#im SO normal do you believe me i was so well adjusted about this prompt

[divine-misfortune]

ughgjguhh I just think that forced intox and free use kinks with quintessence

It's been too long since I was freaky about quintessence, and even longer since I was weird about Swiss being a freak. So. I got carried away. Like. 3k worth of carried away.

Swiss and Phantom found a better use for Mountain.

Contains: Irresponsible uses of quintessence, intox play, dubious consent, objectification, under discussed kink, rimming, free use, coercion

Divider by @wrathofrats

Read below the cut or on ao3

In hindsight, Mountain should have been suspicious when Swiss approached him with a joint and a smile far too welcoming. He knew that now. Well, some part of him finally understood Swiss’ intentions but the thought did not make its way to him in his hazy state. It was nothing more than a thought drifting aimlessly off into the far corners of his skull. Crowded against the furthest edges of his brain to make room for the sweet tinged smoke Swiss continued to feed him. Lost to the swirling crimson fog behind his eyes.

Propped up by Swiss and Swiss alone, he was nothing short of boneless. Laying between his legs, back to chest. He was barely managing to hold his own head up, occasionally tipping back against the multi ghoul’s shoulder instead. The joint Swiss held close to his lips had not strayed far, even when he wasn’t actively taking a drag, he was still breathing it in. Mountain was a few puffs past floating into orbit but he just kept taking it every time Swiss offered it. It wasn’t even a conscious decision anymore, an automatic response at this point. 

There had been work to be done, flowerbeds needing weeding and shelves needing dusting but he truly couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, all because Swiss wouldn’t let him get that far. Any forming idea was overshadowed by him, by the weed, batted away to somewhere irrelevant. It was a purposefully carved out vacancy. Swiss had left him a blank slate by design. Emptied only to be filled with something he deemed more favorable. 

Swiss’ unoccupied hand laid on his bare belly, having idly wriggled his fingers under the hem of his shirt. He was toying with the dark hair leading beneath his belt, but the one by his mouth was what he was trying to focus on. 

Even before he’d fully exhaled his last lungful, Swiss was bringing the joint back for another drag with a low hum of encouragement when Mountain hesitated to wrap his lips around it. He’d truly lost track of how much he had smoked. How much Swiss had made him smoke. It didn’t feel like much, or that they had been sat in his bed like this for very long, but he felt further gone than he had any right to.

How was Swiss so cool and collected? Mountain couldn't remember if the multi ghoul had taken a drag himself yet. 

His expression twitched away from blissful nothingness towards an attempt at confusion as he tried to focus long enough to turn his nose up at the offer. Even tried to sit up on his own. 

“Hey, hey…Where do you think you’re going, sunflower?” Swiss murmured close to his ear, breath warm and sugar coated. Not exactly chastising him, but the words sapped the will to move. He hadn’t gotten far in sitting up, but his whole body sagged. “We haven’t even finished this bad boy yet, gotta help me.” 

"Swiss," he mumbled, more so slurred. "S'too much." 

“Too much? But you’ve barely had any.” The fingers petting through his happy trail stilled just long enough for something warm to flood him from the core outward. Swiss itched to turn his face upwards. Watch his hint of red bleed through the copper in his eyes but there would be time for it later. “You can smoke a little more, just do it for me, honeysuckle.”  

Lips parting despite his better judgment, Mountain's eyes drooped. Heavy. Everything felt so heavy. 

Swiss pressed his lips to his temple as he took another slow inhale of smoke, cooing praise that didn't quite register. He tried to blink but found his eyelids stubbornly refusing to budge, barely able to crack them open for one last glimpse of the room.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent just floating, existing alone in some far off atmosphere. It felt like decades, like he should have opened his eyes and found his body aged and layered in dust. He stirred slightly, without the express purpose of trying to fight his way out of it, just to remember if his limbs were still there and functional. Mountain heard a giggle when he weakly tried to gather the sheets in his hands, followed by a soft shushing noise from behind him. 

His expression twisted and soft hands cradled his cheeks, lifting his face and turning it side to side as if examining him.

“Oh you really got him fucked up, didn’t you?” Phantom mused, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his temples. Slow easy circles that Mountain could almost see traced behind his eyelids. 

“Wasn’t hard, he’s easy.” Swiss chuckled, perching his chin on his shoulder. “Takes to quintessence like a fish to water, the weed was just to help him remember how to forget s’all.”

”Did a good job of emptying him out.”

“Gifted you a blank canvas, buggy. Perfect subject for practice.”

Phantom made a soft, thoughtful sound. He reached out to twist a wavy strand of hair around a nimble finger before tucking it behind one of Mountain’s floppy ears. It twitched in response. Mountain chuffed and Phantom giggled. He stroked over the soft fur with his thumb up until the earth ghoul was helpless to sink further into Swiss. Melting for him already. 

Mountain felt the beginnings of a purr kicking up, a low rusty sound that the two mutually cooed over. 

He dragged a knuckle along the sharp cut of his cheek and Mountain’s eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly. Not nearly enough motion to classify it as ‘opening his eyes’. Phantom traced over every carefully crafted detail of his face; the crooked curve of his nose, the faint but permanent dips of his dimples, the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. It was the first time Phantom had gotten to unapologetically admire the earth ghoul like this. 

Another giggle, breathier. A warm puff of air close to his face before Phantom stole a quick kiss. Chaste, innocent, over before Mountain’s sluggish brain could comprehend it. 

“You’re cute like this…” Phantom whispered, shifting further onto the bed. “Don’t know how Aether helped himself, I’d have wanted to keep you like this all the time.” 

Swiping the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, Phantom made Mountain semi aware of the drool collecting at the corner of his parted lips. If he could think to move his limbs, he would have hastily wiped his mouth on the back of his hand while spinning some lie - ‘I would never”. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Nothing. 

The tip pressed just past his lips. Some quiet, insistent urge pulled at him. An ingrained response to suck. It was the only reason Mountain could move, to chase that carefully crafted desire Aether had trained into him. He took the rest of Phantom’s digit fully into his mouth, laving his tongue over the underside. 

Phantom’s breath caught in his throat and Swiss made a curious noise.

”…Did you?” Phantom breathed, moving again. He was straddling his lap now.

”Wasn’t me” Swiss responded with a genuine innocence. “Think Aeth left a few surprises in there.” 

“Fuck,” he shuddered and tipped Mountain’s head up. “I want to see those eyes, big guy. Open.” 

The fight was still there. Mountain struggled quite clearly, and neither did anything to make it easier. No little zip of magic to rid that impossibly heavy feeling. They both seemed to silently revel in watching his eyes flutter uselessly while still suckling on Phantom’s thumb. When he finally managed to open them, they were practically just the whites. Phantom hooked his finger behind his teeth and held him by the chin, loosely shaking Mountain’s head back and forth. 

”Gotta look at him, clover. Let him see.”

A whine bubbled up in Mountain’s throat, his glassy stare tried to find him. The weed had left his eyes reddened, but Swiss had left his iris’ crimson. His influence was only slight, truly just a few drops of poison in the water, but a stoned Mountain was a pliable Mountain, quintessence aside. It was already almost easing off, copper specks found within the red.

Phantom trilled, pleased at the sight. 

“You want more, don’t you Mounty?” He hummed, returning to petting over the flat of Mountain’s tongue. “Want to go deeper, huh?”

“Hu - ‘lease.” 

“Even knows his manners when he’s been made stupid.” Swiss chuckled, nuzzling sweetly against his shoulder. His stubble was scratchy but Mountain couldn’t say he minded. 

Phantom leaned down, a content kitten curl smile on his lips as he got level with Mountain. Eye to eye. “Wanna watch you drop.” He whispered, the beginnings of his particularly tingly brand of quintessence began to seep in. Like there was static in his veins instead of syrup. More fuzzy than empty. 

Slow lapping waves up the stretch of his body, lulling him further into the waters of oblivion. Mountain felt it draw him forth like the call of a siren. He waded, deeper, further, as far as Phantom coaxed him to go before he found himself abruptly ripped under the surface. Suspended in pleasant nothingness. Floating safely away from his body. 

All that struggle for nothing, his eyes simply rolled back into his skull like they belonged there. 

“That’s it, look at you bug, look how good you’re getting. Easier every time, huh?”

”Mhm!” He was beaming, tail thumping against the mattress behind him. 

“Now, did you do what I told you to?”

“Yes sir.” Phantom nodded, catching his lip between his teeth as his eyes wandered down to Mountain’s lap where he was already tented in his jeans. “He’s um…Real big, isn’t he?”

”Real big, but you’re gonna take him just fine. Nice and slow, just like I told you, right baby?”

”Yes sir,” Phantom repeated, a bit quieter this time. Bashful.

“I want to see, c’mon stardust, show me how pretty it is.”

The little ghoul swallowed with an audible gulp, getting to his feet only to fumble with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. Swiss laughed, endeared by his shaky hands, and reached out to simply tug the knot loose with one little motion. Phantom wriggled his way out of his pants and shed his shirt much faster before crawling back onto the bed. It was his turn for a brief glint of hesitation, kneeling naked on the bed under the ravenous eyes of the multi ghoul. Lavender creeping into the tips of his ears and down his collarbones. 

He returned to straddle Mountain, facing away this time. Phantom bowed his head first then dipped his upper body down, back arched, tail thrown over his hip. Presenting himself mere inches from Mountain’s face. The scent of arousal alone could have made his eyes cross, but Swiss dragged him down from outer space to admire the sight before him, and Mountain was quite obviously drooling this time around. 

Faded bruises marked the expanse of the trembling thighs bracketing him, driven by anxiety or anticipation he didn’t know. His little cock was chubby where it hung, shiny and purple at the tip. It throbbed at nothing. Gave a little jump without any stimulation. But it was that blue little gem that sent Mountain’s own cock crying for attention and Swiss growling deep in his chest. The base of the plug sat pretty between his cheeks, a mix of lube and his own slick managing to drip from it down the seam of his balls. 

The muscles on his back flexed and he visibly clenched around the plug when Swiss reached out and grabbed a handful of his ass. He dimpled that soft supple skin, pressing into the more muddied and fresh marks, like he’d bruised him by simply groping. 

”Sweet fucking hells…”He grabbed a fistful of Mountain’s hair and pushed him forwards, “taste him, I know you want to, even if you haven’t realized it yet.” 

A little tug on his locks and Mountain’s mouth fell open completely, tongue lolling out. Swiss pulled him through the motion, hissing when Phantom mewled pitifully at the flat of his tongue against the underside of his sack. The earth ghoul’s tongue was wide and flat and hot as it slid up his balls, over his taint, and between his cheeks. Phantom was squirming, bowing further, silently begging for more.

”Take it out. Make it wink for him.”

Phantom’s body shook more noticeably when he reached back, face pressed into the sheets as he hooked his fingers around the base of the plug and began to pull it out. He sounded positively wounded at the widest point, sagging into the mattress when it finally popped out. His hole gaped, clenching around nothing. Needing to be filled. More slick dribbled out of him. 

“Did…Did I do it right?” Phantom mumbled into the mattress, wiggling his hips like Swiss might not know what he was referring to.

”Did such a good job, doll.” He gave Phantom’s ass another good squeeze and a little parting tap that was hard enough to make Phantom yip. “Let's get him out of these jeans, give you your reward.” 

The little ghoul’s limbs might as well have been made of jelly with how clumsily he rearranged himself. Phantom was as graceful as a newborn foal. He looked to be on the brink of ruin as he tugged at Mountain’s belt, pushed past it when he finally freed him from the confines of his zipper. Those violet eyes went wide holding him in his hands. Cock flushed and sticky, he throbbed downright painfully in his grip. His world was spinning, stable only where Phantom held him.

“Shit…It’s, is it gonna fit?” 

“It’ll fit.” Swiss assured, cupping his cheek. He pet over the flush warming his face. “He’s gonna make you bulge, gonna be able to see how he fills you, but you’re going to make it fit, aren’t you? Gonna make it fit for me?”

Looking down, Phantom once again chewed at his lip and swiped over his slit, smearing a growing bead of pre over the head. Nervous. 

“Don’t worry lovebug, take your time. Not like he’s going anywhere.”

He sat up on his knees, practically shoving his chest into Mountain’s slack face. Not present enough to enjoy it. Swiss, however, was. He pinched at one of the pebbled buds on his chest and Phantom shuddered, staying perfectly in place until Swiss had decided he’d had his fun. Only once he’d managed to make Phantom start dripping in Mountain’s lap did he decide to let him continue. 

Any confidence he might have had was instantly squashed when Phantom guided the blunt head of his cock to his hole. Even before he tried to sink down onto it, he could feel how big it was. His slick and lube suddenly didn’t feel like enough and his brows drew together with concern but Mountain felt Swiss nod behind him. Gripping the earth ghoul’s shoulder with white knuckles, he pressed the tip inside and his mouth fell open in a silent cry. The only sound he managed was a feeble whimper high in his throat. 

Swiss sucked in air between his teeth, cursing softly against the shell of Mountain’s ear. 

Slowly the clouds occupying his head thinned and the heat of lust was no longer a distant sensation. Mountain felt sweat beading at his brow in an instant. It was like being wrapped in towels fresh from the dryer, soft warm and fuzzy. He groaned. Phantom was tight, snug wrapped around the first few inches of his cock. He was practically pulling him in. 

His muted senses returned and hit him like a freight train. Delicious agony in how his cock pulsed in the clutch of his sweet, unbroken body. Mountain felt a semblance of a thought slip through the cracks, he wanted for the first time since Swiss sparked up and set his plan into motion. 

He wanted, and he wanted bad.

Moving was a Herculean task. His body was pure molasses, but he managed a low, angry growl as he took Phantom by the waist. Nearly encircled in his hands. The little ghoul squeaked in surprise but just about wailed when Mountain abruptly dragged him down a few inches. The cry punched out of him was nothing short of devestated. His claws bit into the earth ghoul’s shoulder and somehow, by the will of some malicious creature, Phantom clenched around him. So tight it was almost painful. He nearly doubled in on himself, that snarl growing louder. The proper part of his brain remained off, tucked far away, he was reduced to a base instinct for a moment.

Once again Swiss cursed. Louder and surprised. His hand flew to Mountain’s throat and Mountain was hit with another purposeful wave of heaviness. Forcing him back under almost violently. Mountain once again went limp with the saddest little warble, hands sliding uselessly off of Phantom’s hips and back onto the bed. 

“Phantom” Swiss hissed, fingers flexing dangerously against Mountain’s slowing pulse. Hardly worried about him acting out further, he was effectively tamed. He was leaning over the earth ghoul’s shoulder, eyes narrowed and fixed on a breathless, shaken little quint. Just a deer in headlights. “Didn’t I warn you to pay attention?”

“I - I was…”

”Told you to focus, but you get him inside and you just go too cockdumb to remember.” He sneered, bringing Mountain back against his shoulder. His voice just barely softened. “Big guy thinks with his dick, not his brain, when he’s like this…Keep him docile or he’s gonna take what he wants from you, and you won’t be able to stop him when he gets his paws on you.” 

Shame and embarrassment aside, the threat of what could happen made Phantom’s cock visibly kick. 

“Remember your magic, bug. I won’t be stopping him again if you slip up. Gotta be careful” Swiss settled in place again, petting Mountain’s cheek till that dopey smile returned. “He’ll fuck you stupider than he is now, and it’ll be your own damn fault.” 

[effervescentdragon]

Dunno if you’re still accepting three sentence (ha!) prompts but:

Charles/pierre + “didnt you read lord of the rings in highschool?” “No, i had sex in highschool” aka nerd boy charles and jock pierre

🐶

you fucking said this to me about star trek and i told you i both watched star trek AND had sex in hs you asshole @mssr-monagato #bestofbothworlds tho ngl st was sometimes better than the sex. also im putting this in a vaguely james bond spy au fuck it ✌️

"So, Quartermaster, what is my technical support this time?"

Charles turned in his chair, fixing his glasses as he looked up at Pierre. He looked Pierre up and down, cleared his throat, then huffed.

"Stop leaning on my desk, Double-Oh-Ten," he said snappishly. "You are messing with my organisation."

Pierre moved away, but raised his eyebrow. The desk before him looked more like someone upended a whole shelf on it. There were documents everywhere in multiple languages and with multiple levels of confidentiality, three screwdrivers and a handful of screws, at least three phones and a large number of electeonic gadgets Pierre decided to bother Charles about sometime later. There was at least one poison pen mixed with the innumerable normal ones, and Pierre counted three coffee mugs all around. Charles grimaced

"Shut up," he said, and Pierre mimed zipping his mouth closed. "You've been briefed?" Pierre nodded. "Good. Then you know that you won't be able to bring anything electronic into the mark's house because of the low-level EMP field, it will just stop working. We will have to go analogue." Charles ginned. Pierre decided his facial expression fell somewhere between utterly adorable and absolutely deranged. Then again, he was a bit biased.

"I will give you knives if -"

"I'll bring my own," Pierre interrupted. Charles rolled his eyes.

"If you are unable to bring your own." At Pierre's slow smile, he huffed. "Yes, well, I figured. The earbud is a bust, but short frequencies should work, so you better report to your back up regularly, or I will be very cross." He pinned Pierre with his eyes until he nodded as solemnly as he could make himself without overplaying it. He didn't look like he believed Pierre, which was very smart of him, but he also knew there was nothing he could do. Pierre was counting on that.

"Anyway, when you get to the safe, your main objective is to get the plans for the Palantir, so we can confirm it is what we believe it is." He scoffed. "Although that naming is so on the nose, they are either counting on us being stupid, or are bluffing their asses off."

"What do you mean?" Pierre asked. Charles paused where he was assembling an assortment of pens - poison, bomb, sedative, feom what Pierre could gather - and looked at him incredulously.

"Palantir? Like - like from The Lord of the Rings?" At Pierre's blank stare, he opened his mouth in shock. "Didn't you read Tolkien in high school?"

Pierre grinned with all his teeth.

"No, cher. I had sex in high school," he said, and Charles blushed instantly, his cheeks coloring that incredibly appealing red which made Pierre want to bite. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "As you well know."

Charles fumbled with the pen in his hand.

"Yes, well, to each their own." He adjusted his glasses. "Tell me you at least watched the movies."

"Nope." Pierre popped the p, and Charles' eyes dropped to his lips. He leaned further in, putting his hands on the mess on Charles' desk, making sure not to disrupt anything. "But I will be in a mood for a movie night when I get back."

He kept eye contact with Charles, and could basically see the cogs turning in his head. The cross around his neck suddenly felt heavy, and he wished he could grab it and perhaps send a prayer if anyone was listening, to grant him some leniency. Some happiness.

"It's a trilogy, actually," Charles said quietly. "And it would - it would take a whole day, if not the whole weekend to watch them properly."

"I would love to," Pierre said, equally as quiet. "I would - would you show me?"

Charles inhaled sharply, his eyes shifting away before they came back to rest on Pierre's, and there was something there, something Pierre has been hoping for, wishing for, since the moment Charles walked into the room full of agents as the new Quartermaster straight from Pierre's long-forgotten past and made Pierre's heart stutter and stop.

"If you - if you really want to, then yes," Charles said, and Pierre felt the weight he never dared acknowledge lift from his chest.

"I do," he said. "I wanted - I would've watched them in high school, if you wanted me to." Charles' eyes widened. Pierre laughed self-deprecatingly. "For you, I would've probably even read the damn book."

"Six books," Charles corrected automatically, then flinched. "Well, three, but - it doesn't matter."

"Charles," Pierre said, knowing he shouldn't. Not at work, where it was all codenames and security, but he didn't know how to make Charles believe him otherwise. "I would've read the whole damn library for you."

He moved his hand slowly until his pinky finger was entwined with Charles'. They both looked down at where their fingers touched, and Charles moved his own hand slowly to envelop Pierre's.

"Alright," Charles said, voice low and shaky. "Come back and we'll do a movie weekend." He paused. "A sleepover."

Like we did when we were kids, before everything that happened, happened, he didn't say, but Pierre heard it nonetheless. When he smiled, it was his first sincere smile in what felt like forever.

"I'll come back," he said, and Charles gripped his hand tighter for just a breath. "I'll come back to you."

Charles' answering smile was shy, and beautiful, and just for Pierre.

[coolest-in-chaldea]

hello! im quite excited for this blog fate fic blogs are quite hard to find may i have some headcanons of merlin realizing he has fallen in love and what a relationship would be like hopefully thats okay good luck with the blog!

Merlin Realizing He’s In Love Headcanons

note: hi! thanks so much for being the first request ever sent in!! Sorry this took so long to get to, I’ve been swamped with school and grinding on f/go for daysssss, 90 saint quartz but no 4 or 5 stars 😔💔 also I finally got on my laptop so anon is an option now for anyone wanting to request :D

- Merlin’s vast knowledge of pretty much everything happening at any given time is a little scary, so I don’t think he’s really the type to be dense. I think he’s more likely to pace around and talk to himself for a day or so while ‘deducing’ that his racing heart and flushed face are in fact indicative of falling in love. He’s not super serious like some of the other genius servants, he’s more-so just really awkward at handling social situations since he spent most of his life pretty isolated in his tower.

- Meanwhile, everyone else in chaldea are holding their breaths because the lack of Merlin shenanigans is starting to get suspicious..you and the Camelot servants especially are going ‘awww shit here we go again’ as you anticipate an elaborate scheme to come.

- Merlin definitely isn’t insecure, but I don’t think he’d have any plans of confessing at first because he’s never seriously imagined himself in a relationship. He’s perceptive enough to know that he likes you, but he doesn’t see any significance to it until it starts to get distracting!

- When he eventually starts interacting with you again, he’s 1000% more of a hassle than he usually is. He’s like that one kid in elementary school who just constantly bothers his crush. It doesn’t take long for you to grow tired of Merlin’s 24/7 bs, and when you finally retire to your room for the night you have a frustrated ‘why me?!’ moment. Tbh you’re just trying to figure out what you could’ve possibly done to prompt Merlin’s wrath, but the knights of the round table are painfully aware of why Merlin’s been constantly targeting you.

- Merlin’s an extremely talented mage, and I’m sure he’d switch around or transform some of your things, but I could also see him pulling some of the classic childhood pranks on you with the assistance of magic.

- You’re having a lovely conversation sitting across from Artoria, but when you get up to leave, you immediately trip and faceplant onto the floor. A very concerned Artoria asks if you’re ill and, trying not to lose your cool, you have to explain to her that SOMEONE apparently tied your shoelaces together with an elaborate series of knots in the shape of a flower. There wasn’t anyone else near you, but you both exchange an exasperated look as you know exactly who the culprit is.

- Merlin's flirting is still totally focused on annoying you and/or pissing you off. what can I say? it's just his favorite hobby! He's the type to believe than any attention from you is good attention, so he's more than happy to provoke you in order to put your focus on him. He's not that awful though, and he sticks to being a general nuisance and causing mild inconveniences as opposed to actually harming anyone. He does care a lot about you if he has feelings for you after all, he just has a...funny way of showing it.

- You will constantly be asking yourself 'is Merlin antagonizing me or flirting with me??' (the answer is both btw)

- If you're shorter than Merlin, he always interrupts your conversations by strolling over and using your head as an armrest. If you aren't, sike yes you are actually because the cheeky wizard is now floating to be taller than you >:)

- Merlin has literally zero chill and I think he'd continue to be chaotic af whether he's just crushing on you or you've been dating for years. He probably does like physical contact and cuddling, but he refuses to initiate it like a normal person. He'll eventually get comfortable enough to where he doesn't have to be affectionate via pranks, but don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean that Merlin ever gets calm or discreet about it.

- Any time you're sitting on a couch, chair, the floor, or your bed, regardless of what you're doing, he will just come stand next to you and very dramatically fall on top of you (secretly careful not to hurt you of course) and just chill there sprawled over you in whatever ridiculous position you ended up in. If you adjust him to a more comfortable position (his favorites are sitting with his back to your chest and your arms holding him or vice versa and sitting tucked into your side with one of your arms around him and his around your waist) he'll be more than happy to comply, but how you deal with your beloved needy wizard is up to you!

- Tbh I could see a confession going one of two ways, both extremes on opposite ends of a spectrum with no in between. Either

A.) he never officially confesses, but you get the idea and you both come to an agreement of being exclusive to each other (or having communication as partners if you're polyamorous) as well as comfortably doing everything a couple would, just with an official label OR

B.) He's a total showoff and performs the most absurd, elaborate and extreme confession with magic the world has ever seen. I cannot get the thought of those brilliant wizard pronoun images made by iguanamouth out of my head-

I'm imagining THIS but it's a confession like those 'will you be my date to prom?' signs people make 😳

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[shealwaysreads]

Sterek Fic Rec: The Future!Fic Edition

Kiss Me on This Cold December Night by @leslieknopeismyspiritanimal

The hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck tingle, and he swallows hard against the unmistakable sensation of someone staring at him. He’s tempted to just ignore it, but after a few seconds, his curiosity wins out and he looks up from his phone instead. He doesn’t notice anything right away, flicking his gaze along the people on the other side of the intersection until he suddenly stops and backtracks. It’s a little hard to see, what with the thick drizzle and the cars whizzing between them, but he would recognize that glorious bearded face anywhere, even after six years. Holy shit.

Well. This is so damn good okay? We've got grown up Stiles with his own career, and Derek who is an architect and has had therapy and is happy and safe and well adjusted. AND THIS IS THEIR MOMENT. Cue Stiles getting all hot and bothered by Derek successfully adulating, and Derek being blown away by Stiles' everything. And there's Christmas. So you know I'm in love with this fic.

Homing Mechanisms by @sterekationstation

Magnetoreception: The sense which allows an organism to detect a magnetic field to perceive direction, altitude or location. How birds find their way home.

--

Stiles returns to Beacon Hills after four years at Stanford, only to find out that Derek has moved back into town. He brings him a housewarming gift. Derek makes food. Things escalate from there.

Derek Hale and happiness - the ultimate kink - a sentiment shared by Stiles in this fic. It’s just perfectly done - both of our fave boys back in Beacon Hills and finally, finally able to settle and be happy. Favourite line including ‘Stiles' brain bluescreens for a second when he sees how dark Derek's eyes are.” 

Testing the Waters by @coyotequeens

Prompt fill: "I would LOVE a future!fic where Stiles randomly bumps into Derek, maybe in nyc. He's in college now or maybe even post college, and this is their first time interacting since Derek left Beacon Hills. Stiles is obviously SMOKING HOT now and Derek finally got his shit together and is a successful 30 something."

This is awesome - Derek is settled and content and he has friends and a job and he’s happy okay? And then Stiles shows up and it’s even better. In such a short fic with no ‘plot’ grimm just writes such a believable experience and it feels like the start of the future.

How to Be a Normal Person by @drunktuesdays

Instead he sits for a moment, looking at the empty search box, fingers on the home row the way his mother taught him. He thinks about that, and about the hole in the wall he’d lived with for so long, and the way Isaac had grinned at him last night when he’d finally gotten around to plugging the refrigerator in.

He finds himself typing in, “how to be a normal person.”

This is just brilliant. Hilarious and tragic and heartfelt all at once, I love this Derek who doesn’t have his shit together, I love his growth. I love Trixie more than possibly anything in the world. And Stiles totally loves Derek. So, you know, it’s all good.

Sunshine (Walking On) by @jentnova

Derek Hale has a good day. (There is ice cream.)

All of this is good. The whole fic is just filled with such warmth and gentleness and love it’s just a delight to read. Derek Hale is happy here, so so happy. You will be smiling the whole way through.

Believer and a Homecoming by ldsme

“I’m serious Derek,” Stiles whispers. “Come home.”

Okay so “gratuitous beards” and “explicit peace” are both tags on this work which I feel negate any need for me to wax lyrical about it. BUT IM GONNA ANYWAY. This whole fic is just. Ugh. It’s just so satisfying and achingly sweet, and Stiles has no idea until he does. And Derek is so hopeful and open and so surprised that he is loved and I could cry at how much he deserves this ending.

How It’s Meant to Be by  TangentiaLives

"Hey," Derek replies, a ready smirk curling the edge of his mouth. He's always ready to smile when Stiles is around: it just seems to happen that way.

Again, Stiles says, "Hey." Derek waits expectantly, and Stiles pushes off the Jeep, shoving his hands into his pockets and ambling towards Derek like he's got all the time in the world. "Do you want to get something to eat?" he asks, the quiet confidence that Derek will say yes making the timbre of his voice a little lower than usual.

This is short, but sweet, and totally lovely. Just what we want to happen to these two - naturally falling into one another.

Inexorable by @notthequiettype 

Derek might never admit what he wants from Stiles, what he's wanted for so long, but Stiles is okay with that most days. It's been years of this low thrumming, pulsing want between them and Stiles thinks of it like a living thing, warm and familiar and constant.

I just really like the way this plays out - Derek’s restraint (for so many reasons) and Stiles actually being content with how things are, but still needing to mention it, to push. Because he’s Stiles and because he knows that he and Derek deserve more. So lovely.

The House That Built Us by @cleverlittlekit  

"I like open concept," Stiles says, and Derek wonders briefly if he is simply thinking out loud. "And lots of seating. Like, maybe a big, cushy sectional. A couple of recliners. Lots of room to lounge."

Derek nods, mostly out of habit. He's become accustomed to hearing Stiles without really listening to him.

Derek builds a house, Stiles doesn’t understand, until he does. This is so sweetly done, Derek is so lovely, and the final scenes in the house with dinner and the tour are perfect.

I know My Kingdom Awaits and They've Forgiven My Mistakes by @bleep0bleep

It’s now, watching the fading rays of the afternoon sun on the longest day of the summer, that it becomes more and more apparent that Stiles needs a car. Stiles gets a text message from an unexpected someone. And a gift.

This is just, so believable actually. It could be a canon future and I love that. It’s short and has a hopeful ending, and the Sheriff is amazing.

[wolf-stark]

You ask I deliver — both tfatws asks in one!

tfatws weekly ask 1

i finally saw ep1!! i wont be able to see ep2 until thursday at the earliest but i already have some Thots on this ep. here are the ones I remember

first is, and i'm so sorry for this, a grammar lesson. an appositive is when you stick an additional phrase in between commas, dashes, or the like. i actually just used one! the "and i'm so sorry for this" in the first sentence of this paragraph is an appositive. thing is, most english speakers don't normally use them when they speak, only in writing. so i'm always on high alert whenever i hear somebody in tv or movies use one. (it's generally a marker of bad screenwriting). anyway there was one right in the beginning of the episode. the white army guy yelling at sam wilson said "first lieutenant Torres, our intel officer, will be helping on the ground." yeah so. the writing of this series started out on the wrong foot for me. but the rest of the episode was obviously tons and tons better (every interview i see with malcolm spellman makes me love him more and more)

the contrast between the opening minutes (falcon action sequence) and the rest of the ep.... i would 100000/10 rather watch a series with just sam and bucky dealing with life. i dont give a single crap about the flag-smashers or any of that. i just want sam, sarah & fam getting their boating business back on the ground & yeeting racist dickwads, bucky going through therapy and making amends, sam and joaquin being bros, sambucky homoerotic tension, etc.

the cinnamontography! wandavision mostly used cinematography to signify era n stuff. tfatws doesn't have wv's premise to go off of, so here's some tricks i noticed:

with sam there's obviously all sorts of shots with the captain america iconography next to his face, but he hasn't totally claimed it. there's the mural of steve rogers in the background; there's sam staring into the shield like it's a spectre of steve's face; there's sam looking into the exhibit, the shield and sam separated by glass and a layer of camera focus. steve is a constant spectre, always there, an idea, a symbol himself. sam's relationship with this iconography is distanced. he is separated by glass exhibit walls. by painting canvases. he doesn't yet feel worthy to take on that iconography. this whole thing was pulled off quite well but also a bit on-the-nose if only in quantity. there's just sooooo much fancy iconography stuff

speaking of the exhibit, there's something that i get real pissy about. it's when like, there's an action going on you're supposed to be paying attention to but the cinematographer is like,,,, hey! check out this location! or this headline! or something! there was a lot of that in the exhibit. the camera was like, you could focus on sam and rhodey's convo (which was fine but could have been so much better with an extra like 10 minutes of deep character study talk) but noooo you want me to look at the symbol for the united nations and read all the text about bucky who hasn't even showed up yet. shut up i know the lore and ill watch the shot-by-shot breakdown yt vids you don't have to make the shot this long jkdsalcjklasejf

my fav trick was with bucky and the therapist. i had seen a clip of the scene with bucky and the therapist beforehand and i thought the cinnamontography was super obnoxious, but then i was like, oh duh. the shots frequently change the distance between the camera and its subject. sometimes it's uncomfortably close and sometimes it's really far. a clear allegory for the duality of therapy, esp for bucky! therapy is an invasive process wherein he is ruthlessly examined, picked apart, and berated for his trauma (this therapist is crap in every way btw, "mean therapist" works for greg house and greg house only). so the camera goes close. it makes the viewer claustrophobic like bucky. but when he's like "no i haven't had any nightmares" the camera suddenly goes really far. we see bucky as this tiny head in the center of the bottom of the frame. we are distanced from him. he has pushed us away. we cannot see him. he lies because he is vulnerable. so yeah, amazing work there. the therapy scene was hard to watch on purpose!

did bucky slip a note to yori inside the dollar bill? bucky stop making me emooooo. the suuper awkward fake smile has me 😭 (veteran trying to adjust!)

mark my worrrrds when sam asks someone y the govt picked john “white bread” walker they’re gonna say “we needed somebody everyone can get behind....someone uncontroversial, someone everyone can see themselves in” like that exact racist dog whistle

tfatws weekly ask 2

just saw ep2 so im taking advantage of the 2 seconds i can be on tumblr without worrying about tfatws spoilers before new episode drops

when isaiah said "your people put me in prison for being a hero" and bucky thought "your people" means hydra. 🤦‍♂️

speaking of racism, the interplay between sam being Black (anti-Black racism) and sam being the Falcon (negrophilia, "can i take a selfie w you as i deny you a loan?") and the intersection between the two (j*hn lichrally called sam "steve's wingman"! he takes the crypto out of crypto-racist in like 2 seconds!) !!!!!!!! a Black celebrity's Black experience, the separation of man and identity!!!! (thinking about vanessa bayer in snl in that skit "beyonce is black" telling her black friend "you're not black, you're...my girl!")

after sam gets racially profiled by cops we see j*hn standing in front of cop cars cinematic parallels turns out j*hn is racist who knew

this therapist sucks major ass but she got bucky and sam together in the same room and ready to collaborate...that's something ig. it was lichrally couple's therapy she said she used her miracle exercise with couples sambucky antis get blended

bucky says "he was wrong about you so maybe he was wrong about me"...that's not how people talk. when therapist asks bucky, the guy who doesn't talk at all about himself, "y do you hate sam", the last thing bucky's gonna do is actually connect his hatred of sam to his own self-worth issues. bucky generally refuses to talk about himself, so why would he talk about himself in the one context that nobody ever links back to their own neuroses: hatred of other people? one thing human beings hate most is admitting we're wrong. admitting you hate someone because of your own issues? that's a major therapeutic step. bucky would absolutely have to be prompted to do that. even like one or two lines of dialogue more would have set up that line better. but in terms of the actual thought? an amazing way to take the sam/bucky relationship. bucky bases his self-worth on steve believing in him, and if steve is wrong bucky has no self-worth, so 1) he has to develop self-worth disassociated from steve's assessment of him and 2) he has to love himself before he can love sam, and 3) he has to realize that sam giving up the shield is a sign of sam's humility not his unworthiness.

conversely, we don't get into why sam hates bucky? yeah sam has the right to hate a guy that has tried to kill him (albeit while brainwashed) multiple times, and now shows up in his life just to bash him but. everything happens so fast i cant follow their relationship

in fact i dont feel like i understood much of anything. like y did bucky and sam go on that mission together? how connected are sam/bucky/joaquin with the government? doesn't bucky just want to retire now? literally what is everyone doing/feeling and why???

if battlestar becomes a knowing commentary on the black best friend stereotype i'm gonna party, but i dont expect much of that

the interplay between man and symbol. captain america is obviously a symbol. the shield is obviously a symbol. but steve rogers? the. man behind the cowl? he too seems to become a symbol. a paragon of a good guy, so good he's unreachable. steve was just a guy stop idolizing him the last thing steve would want is to be idolized

as the resident musician/music nerd on mcublr, 1) that captain america rally music slaps, but 2) re: the song at the end of the ep, if you're just gonna rip off mozart's lacrymosa then at least play mozart's lacrymosa. we wont blame you the lacrymosa slaps (if you dont know what im talking about go on yt and search it up youll recognize it fo sho

look i love enfys nest as much as the next guy but if tfatws is gonna get erin kellyman to play another innocent little gurl blackmailed into the fakeout-villain position (her text seemed to suggest as such) then 😡 like why can't women just....be evil? young, freckly, innocent-looking women? girls are not untouchable pure objects but full of rage and resentment just as much as anyone can be

bonus ep1 comment: bucky says about that senator whose car he hijacked, "she continued to abuse the power i gave her." fictionaldarling on yt say that he says "i" because he can't disassociate himself from his winter soldier persona which begets endless and senseless guilt. like dude. can i not be emo for like 1 second.

OKay. First off, as much I enjoy your sending it to me, what made you decide to send me these??

-

TFATWS WA #1

Don't worry about getting this to me as early as possible. I usually don't watch the episode right away.

1. Cool writing lesson.

2. Everyone wants a comedy show [like Friends] about the MCU superheroes.

3. Cinematography is always a beautiful thing.

4. Sam definitely has to carve his own Captain America status for himself, outside of Steve's ya know everything.

5. They have to do that for people who was just now tuning in because they're in love with Sam Wilson or Sharon Carter.

6. I think the therapist was taking a 'tough love' approach for Bucky, because she likely has some very strong opinions about the literal assassin she's been assigned to give therapy too. She did not choose to talk to him, she was assigned that make that clear in the second episode.

And, Bucky isn't lying when he said it wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't a nightmare, it was a resurfaced memory. So, technically he wasn't lying - and yes, the camera does move away because while he's saying he didn't have a nightmare, he's not expanding on what actually happened - so, he's still pushing the therapist/us away.

7. Bucky, and Steve, have/had a TON to adjust to.

8. Yeah, I agree that will be the bullshit line they give. If they ever actually talk about it.

TFATW WA #2

Yeah, always got to take advantage of avoiding those spoilers lmfaoo.

1. Honestly, that line was double meaning. Both about White people and Hydra [which is made up of mostly white supremacists/nazis] So, the line is gesturing to both White People in general and Hydra assholes together. I think the terminology is “double edge sword”??

2. This whole paragraph structure confused me, ngl - so I'm going to answer it the best I can. I do like that they're not ignoring the fact that Sam being Black is 1000% the reason he's not the Official Captain America - because the gov't is racist as hell.

I also like the little lines about how they point out little things about Sam's Falcon persona, like that kid calling him 'Black Falcon' specifically and Sam's response show the split between Sam and Falcon itself.

John is a dick for calling Sam the wingman of Steve Rogers. Sam was a hero all on his own before Steve asked him to join up again. [Side note, it's lichrally??]

3. Exactly, the parallel of Sam being profiled and surrounded while just on the street and John being surrounded by fans and being able to spring Bucky with apparently only a few sentences shows a Loooooot

4. Honestly, at this point I wonder if she's not actually a therapist and is just an agent assigned to assess Bucky outside of an Official Building. I do know, however, that her 'look at each other and speak' exercise is actually a real therapy practice. It's just a little slower.

5. Actually, I think he would've blurted that out. That whole line. I don't think Bucky hates Sam. I think they could've done the scene better, but I think that had Sam prodded him/the therapist been more annoying Bucky would've lost control of his emotions and blurted out the whole "If he was wrong about you, he was wrong about me" but I feel like the writing for this show is just... not there. Sometimes you blurt shit when you get overemotional and I think that was what Bucky was supposed to be like.

6. I don't think Sam hates Bucky, I think he doesn't trust him though. I do wish they'd talked about that though. The whole 'talk to each other' scene should've been a LOT longer and a LOT slower.

7. Sam and Bucky's relationship is being fast tracked because they don't really know how to work the relationship out, writers-room-wise. Bucky is technically retired, but I feel like he's trying to live up to Steve's expectations and doing what Steve would've done and we all know that if Steve was there, Steve would've jumped on that plane with Sam. It looks like Sam/Bucky/Joaquin are a side-team based from Military services but as Sam says they're all free agents so...?

8. Sadly, They seem to just be propping up to be another stereotype.

9. Captain America is a symbol. Steve Rogers is a man. But now Steve Rogers is an idol because of all the shit he's been through and honestly, it's not a bad thing he's become an idol for people - it's using Steve as a reason to make White Bread Walker the next Captain that makes Steve's idolization so fucked.

10. I don't know anything about music so I have no opinion here, sorry.

11. Enfys?? Also, I think they did the whole Innocent Girl Thing as side commentary for Bucky lowering his guard about seeing a young girl rather than a guy.

12. Bucky is the Winter Solider. The Winter Solider is Bucky. That is how Bucky will always see it because although he was brainwashed, it was still him and he remembers all of it. When you have constant memories of something 'someone else' did, you tend to not be able to pull the two personas out of each other. I want Bucky to take up the title, White Wolf instead of Winter Soldier. Honest.

This is all my opinion, I’m honestly a little disappointed with the writing of TFATWS so far so... I’m not really optimistic about this.

[hockeylvr59]

do you think you could do a blurb about sidney or paul bissonette running into an ex and finding out they have a kid? and wanting to help out and maybe there are still lingering feelings between the mother and sid/biz? im thinking about writing a series about this and i wanna see what someone else could do with the idea first - tseggy

So I know you’ve already started yours but I promised you a twist on my own prompt so this is what I came up with. It’s not really a blurb but since it’s cramming a lot into a stand-alone piece the length is what it is. (1,478 words)

____

You were 17 when you’d found out you were pregnant and at first, you couldn’t believe it was true. 

You hadn’t been seeing anyone…in fact, you’d only had sex once. You’d had one too many drinks celebrating the fact that your neighbor and best friend Paul Bissonnette had been named captain of the Saginaw Spirit for the upcoming season. Most of the people from the small party had cleared out, leaving you and Paul relaxing in the basement of his parents’ home. His hands had drifted and one thing led to another. 

Now there was a little plastic stick in your hands telling you that nothing was ever going to be the same. 

Almost immediately, you made the decision that you couldn’t tell Paul about the baby. He had such a bright future in hockey ahead of him and this was something that you couldn’t weigh him down with. And seeing as you lived next to Paul’s parents, the decision not to tell him meant that you also needed to hide your pregnancy from the world. 

So for four months, you managed to hide the growth of your belly by adjusting your wardrobe so that you were always seen in overly large sweatshirts. And for four months, that facade worked. 

It worked until one untimely moment where a slick patch of ice on the sidewalk in front of the Bissonnette house got the better of you. You’d cried out as your feet came out from under you and immediately upon making impact, Paul’s mom Yolande was by your side. As she questioned whether or not you were okay, the shock of the moment caused you to spill your biggest secret. 

“The baby.” You’d mumbled, your hand immediately drifting to your stomach. One look into Yolande’s eyes told you without words that she knew exactly what was going on, she had always been a smart and intuitive woman. As she insisted on taking you to a local clinic she never once questioned whether your parents knew. They didn’t. She never questioned who the baby’s father was. It was obviously her son. And she never questioned what you were going to do. 

Instead, after assurance from a doctor that the baby was okay, Yolande Bissonnette let you make all of the decisions, providing whatever support you needed. She never insisted that you needed to come clean to her son, though her motherly looks implied that she wished you would. 

By the time that your belly was too big to hide from anyone, Yolande had helped you gain early admittance to college, had helped you move into an apartment, and had helped supply you with everything you needed to get off to a fresh start with the baby. She was by your side as you delivered a little boy who looked just like his daddy. 

Years passed and you basked in raising your rambunctious little boy. He was everything you remembered Paul to be as a kid but he had your brains and introverted temperament making him a little bit more well-rounded than his dad. Throughout it all, Yolande and eventually Cam were there to watch as your little boy grew up. 

You never hid who his father was from your son, watching Paul’s games on tv whenever you could. It was hard on all of you keeping this secret, but as you watched Paul live his life from afar, you knew that this was what was best. Paul seemed happy with the life he was living and that was all you had ever wanted for him. 

But now your son was 16 and the game was finally up. You’d gotten the call that your baby had been in a car accident and without thinking things through like you normally would, you’d called Yolande immediately. In the heat of your emotions, you’d forgotten that Paul was in town for the weekend to see his parents. 

Upon reaching the hospital you were informed that it wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. A broken leg and concussion plus a few scrapes and bruises were all that your baby had suffered, though the car had been totaled. That didn’t matter so long as he was okay. Doctors declared they wanted to monitor him overnight but that he should be released tomorrow. 

You’d been sitting with him for a bit when his girlfriend arrived and you sent her in to sit with him while you waited for Cam and Yole. As you peered through the glass of the hospital room door you watched as your son consoled his girlfriend. They hadn’t told you yet, but your gut told you that history had repeated itself and despite how many times you warned your son about safe sex, that he was now about to be a dad. It was some sort of sick joke from the hands of fate, furthered by the fact that the man you had spent almost 17 years hiding a child from had just walked through the hospital doors with his parents. 

You weren’t sure what had been said to him as you basked in Yole’s arms, letting the remainder of your fearful and anxious tears out. 

“He’s okay.” You eventually whispered. “Nothing time won’t heal.” A relieved laugh was shared between the two of you before she sent you a soft look while peeking behind her to where Paul was standing, his eyes boring holes into you. “He’s in with Taylor so let’s give him a few minutes before you go see him.” You whispered having previously shared your suspicions with the woman who was basically a mother to you. With a nod, she mentioned going to get some coffee and after dragging Cam with her you were alone with Paul for the first time in over 16 years. 

You expected him to be mad if he had been told what was going on. You expected things to be awkward whether he knew or not. What you didn’t expect was for Paul to slowly approach before gently tugging you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. 

“What can I do to help?” was the first phrase to leave his mouth and though you’d thought you were okay, the weight of the past 16 years, the weight of your son becoming a father, the weight of Paul finally finding out just became too much and you found yourself crying in his arms. You didn’t understand how he was holding you right now. How he wasn’t pissed off beyond belief. When your breathing had finally steadied, Paul pulled away and your eyes met his, the same eyes you saw every time you looked at your son. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m pissed off right now.” He mumbled. “I’m pissed and I’m hurt but this isn’t the time or place for either of those to be dealt with.” 

The man standing in front of you now had clearly matured some with the years and all of the feelings you’d pushed down for so long bubbled up to the surface. He was even more attractive now than he was then by leaps and bounds and you sighed. 

“Come meet him?” You whispered and when Paul nodded, his hand slipping down into your own, you pulled him gently into your son’s hospital room where Taylor was now sitting beside him on the bed, his hand on her stomach. The second they heard the door they both scrambled to part and you took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “Don’t bother. I already know.” You stated softly. “But that’s an issue for tomorrow…today there’s someone I think you’re overdue in meeting.” 

Your son’s eyes widened almost comically as he took in the sight of his dad standing behind you in the hospital room. 

“Dad…” He said, his tone showing disbelief at the fact that his father was standing in front of him. At first, Paul responded with silence but after a moment he stepped toward the bed and leaned down to pull your son into a hug. You could hear the two of them murmuring softly to each other and for a moment you just watched before noticing Taylor shifting nervously in the corner. Moving to her, you eyed her for a moment before pulling her into a hug. 

“It’ll all be okay.” You assured her. “It’s not ideal but if any family can make it work, it would be us.” 

The sight Cam and Yolande returned to was one filled with the tensions from lapses of judgment, years of secrets, and new beginnings. There were questions to be asked and answered, hard conversations to be had but now that things were laid bare for the first time, it was a time to move forward and to make the best of things, and maybe…just maybe…the best of life was yet to come.

[yvnseong]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𖧷 𝘤𝘩𝘢 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘰

hello again! so following the release of “many summers past” i got the uRGE to write the second story I mentioned in the first post. before that though i’d really like to thank everyone who read it and said such nice things, i’ve never gotten such a response for ANYTHING i’ve ever written and i’m just so thankful and so happy everyone enjoyed it :)). this is still inspired by @asdfghjilysm , hope you enjoy this continuation of the story <3 (this only makes sense if you’ve read “many summers past” so please read that before this)

@x1-imagines (hey bub I know you’ve been waiting for this ♡)

𖧷𖧷𖧷

Junho’s eyes crinkled slightly as he sat on the grass of our backyard playing with Cocoa and Brownie, the two dogs we had adopted not long ago. I smiled gently cradling Cocoa on my lap as brownie played excitedly with Junho. “You told Yunseo the story with Eunsang?” Junho said suddenly.

I smiled softly, “She was bound to find that photo one day love. I did tell her, poor girl started crying after I told her.” I said gently chuckling at the girl. Junho softly laughed along with me knowing Yunseo cried at pretty much anything remotely sad.

“I still miss Eunsang some days.” Junho said his eyes looking up at the sky a sad smile present on his face.

“I do too love.” I responded looking down at Cocoa gently rubbing the top of her head as she settled further into the warmth of my thigh. There was a moment of silence before it was interrupted suddenly.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Yunseo came walking in excitedly from the house. Her school uniform wrinkled slightly, the bow tied around the neck of her shirt pretty much undone by now. She walked towards us and plopped herself down in front of Junho and I, shortly after she was tackled by Brownie.

“Hey honey!”Junho and I responded in sync prompting us to look at each other before laughing. “How was your day at school?” Junho asked turning his attention towards Yunseo.

“It was fine, extremely tiring but otherwise I’ve had worse days.” She said while petting Brownie who laid over her lap. The petite girl almost getting engulfed by the decently sized dog.

“What made you stop by today love? You usually only visit on weekends.” I asked as I watched Cocoa move towards Junho where she decided to settle on resting against his leg.

“I came by cause I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the other story.” She paused as Brownie began to bark for seemingly no reason what’s so ever. As her barking ceased she finished her statement, “The story about you and Grandpa.”

Junho watched me begin to adjust myself again on the grass where we both sat. “This story’s a little longer, are you sure you want to hear it today?” Junho smiled slightly beginning to relive the events. Yunseo smiled at the smile the grew on her grandfathers face, she nodded her head quickly.

“I’m sure.” She stated confidently. I smiled at her, as I gently took Junho’s hand in mine and began to fiddle with his wedding ring, a habit I’ve had for more that 4 decades.

“Alright then.”

𖧷𖧷𖧷

Summer 1969

Y/N sat on her bed unable to do anything other than cry. Being unable to comprehend the gravity of what her mother had just told her. Her mom sat at the edge of Y/N’s bed, hand on her back in a failed attempt to comfort you. He wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be. You had seen him just yesterday. It wasn’t real.

Her head hurt, a pounding sensation at the back of her head as she sobbed. Your hands gripped onto a pillow tightly, your face buried into the pillow trying to make yourself believe that he was still here with you, that maybe you’d wake up and it’d just be a really bad nightmare. Yet deep inside, you just knew it was true even if you desperately hoped it wasn’t.

𖧷

Just two weeks ago Y/N and Eunsang had been running around the park joyously, now not even a month after you were watching him and his mother being buried. It was painful to say the least, your body trembled as you tried your hardest to suppress tears. The bouquet of flowers clutched tightly to your chest fell. Right as you realized you had dropped the flowers you looked down to pick them up, but before you could someone else had.

You looked to your left to see Cha Junho, Eunsangs best friend, and one of your decently close friends. He gently handed you the bouquet of flowers offering a very obviously forced smile. His eyes, nose, and ears were tinted red as he solemnly stared at the floor trying his absolute hardest to stop his tears. Standing side-by-side you both stood there quietly waiting for the burying to be comeplete so you could place your flowers and finally try and part with him.

You watched as his sister looked up from the grave to see you, she could barely muster a smile before she ran up to you tackling you in a hug. She buried her head in the crook of your neck as your arms wrapped around her frame beginning to cry with her. She pulled a small photograph from her purse as she pulled away and gently handed it to you along with a delicate bracelet, your tears only fell harder looking at the two objects.

“Eunsang had these with him till the very end, and he wanted you to have them.” She said in a choked out whisper. You smiled softly at the picture she handed you, and through her tears she also smiled. “Do you want to say goodbye?” She asked knowing very well that you had been standing nearby waiting for it to be cleared out so you could say goodbye without anyone hearing what you had to say.

You nodded, sniffling before turning to look at Junho who now stood with another one of Eunsang’s friends. Turning away you walked towards where the fresh dirt layed, you gently placed the bouquet of white roses onto where his body layed. You crouched down in front of the grave beginning to whisper, hoping that Eunsang could hear you.

“I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry. Thank you for the bracelet Eunsang. I really love it. I’m sorry we won’t be able to see eachother anymore, but just know you’ll never been forgotten. I love you.” Eunsangs sister sniffled and you breathily laughed through tears.

𖧷

You and Junho walked towards a nearby cafe. Not talking to eachother if anything barely acknowledging eachother. You were going to be picked up by your mom there and Junho’s parents owned that cafe. It was pretty much unavoidable. When you arrived at the cafe Junho opened the door and let you walk in first to which you mumbled a quiet thank you before moving to sit with your mom at a table by the large window.

“How are you honey?” She said smiling, in some way trying to console you. Your voice hoarse, lips quivering, and eyes threatening to overspill with tears once again you mumbled out ‘im fine’ but it was apparent you weren’t.

A plate of food was put in front of you, there stood Junho. “It’s on the house.” He said quietly, before walking off to the back most likely to change into his work uniform. You looked down at the food realizing it was your favorite. For a moment, just a moment, it felt like you weren’t totally alone.

𖧷

End of Summer, beginning of Fall 1969

Starting school was horrible. Over what was left of the summer you and Junho had become friends. It started off with talking to eachother about Eunsang, sharing how hard it was without him, then slowly you both opened up to eachother about your more personal lives. You weren’t best friends, but you knew quite a lot about eachother,

Everybody knew about Eunsangs death. They rubbed it in your face, constantly asking questions, and pestering you with it. It was horrendous. Everyday when lunch time came around you’d sit on the floor of the biggest bathroom stall and couldn’t help but cry. It was a horrid feeling being pestered about a lost love when your not even ready to talk about it to the people closest to you.

Then it happened. The one day that would change everything.

The day was normal, you got up, got ready, ate, walked to school, and waited on a bench before school started. You mostly sat quietly thinking about anything at everything. When they came around. The three girls you hated most. The girls who made it a point to make your days so bad you had seriously thought of switching to a school 4 miles away from your house. There they started with their daily taunts, except this time someone kept them from finishing.

“Will you three shut up?” A voice rang, you knew that voice, it was Junho. It always seemed to happen like this. Something happened and Junhos there for you before it could get worse. The girls of course flashed their long eyelashes, twirled their hair around their fingers, and tried to flirt their way out of a confrontation with everyone’s dream boy.

“But Junho, we weren’t doing anything!” Kyunghee whined, gently pouting at him. He scoffed rolling his eyes before moving past them to stand in front of you holding his hand out to you.

“Hey Y/N, would you like to sit with my friends and I?” You placed your hand in his and started to stand up, before nodding and walking off with him.

𖧷

Summer 1971

Oh my, things sure had changed. Over the last two years you and Junho had become best friends. Every week you both took weekly trips to visit Eunsang and his mom’s grave, to place flowers, clean up, and just talk to him and keep him updated on how you two had been. Your love never wavered, but it was different now.

You both sat cross legged in front of his tombstone, telling him about how recently you’re niece had been born, and how one of your older sisters had recently started dating Sihoon, one of Eunsangs friends. Junho laughed and brought up how Sihoon had practically almost fainted the day he planned to ask her out. You laughed, gently moving to rest your head on Junho’s shoulder.

“I miss him.” Junho said his arm moving around your shoulders, his right hand resting on your shoulder. You smiled before replying. “Me too.”

𖧷

Fall 1971

It was a breezy autumn day and you had forgotten a sweater. Typical. Junho, Dongpyo, Minhee, Hyeongjun, and you had headed out for a day to the beach, it was much colder than you expected. You sat on the blanket placed over the sand shivering as you watched Dongpyo and Minhee battle it out on who got to eat the last cookie that you had baked while Hyeongjun was looking for seashells on the wet sand by himself and you had no idea where Junho had went.

You laughed at Minhee’s face as you watched Dongpyo run off with the cookie quickly followed by Minhee who yelled out, “Come back you twerp I want that cookie!” Mid laugh you felt a sweater being draped over your shoulders and someone plop themselves besides you.

“I can’t believe you forgot your sweater.” Junho said laughing at you. You looked up at him pouting, “The forecast didn’t say it’d be nearly this cold.” He smiled looking down at your face. Your cheeks flushed and you looked away as you slipped your arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

His eyes examined your face and his heart fluttered, keeping his feelings from you had been so hard, but he was willing to give you as much time as you needed to heal. You turned to look at him, his face being shined on by the sun as it began to switch places with the moon. He looked gorgeous. You smiled shyly your eyes never leaving his. He found himself leaning down, his nose bumping against yours, he smiled shyly. Your face leaned forwards and your lips connected. Everything felt so right.

𖧷

Winter 1972

Christmas time, a very joyful time of year. You and Junho smiled as you watched your niece excitedly wait for you to hand her the gift you had gotten her. Your eldest sister smiled watching Hyunjoo excitedly smile at the box wrapped in decorative paper. She hurriedly ripped the paper and was very happy to see a doll. She smiled and instantly ran throwing herself at you, pulling you into a hug, a long string of thank you’s coming from her mouth.

The gifts from beneath the tree began to lessen until there was none. Your mom began to start picking up the wrapping paper scattered across the floor and putting it into a trash bag. Until Junho interrupted, “There’s still one more gift.” He said.

You turned around shocked to find Junho knelt on one knee. Your hands flew up to your face, a rush of emotions overcoming you, tears beginning to prick your eyes. “L/N Y/N, I know how difficult the past few years have been for you, and I’m so incredibly glad you’ve let me come onto your life. I want to be with you and love you for the rest of my life, and if you’d like to, Will you marry me?” Tears began flowing from your eyes and you gently laughed, falling to your knees and wrapping your arms around his neck, “Of course I will!” His arms snaked around your waist pulling you closer as you cried softly. His lips gently landed on your forehead.

You families clapped exitedly at the news of your engagement. At just 20 years old they watched you two knowing, just knowing, that maybe it’d actually be forever

𖧷

Fall 1973

Junho’s arms wrapped around your waist pulling your body closer to his. He rested his chin on your shoulder quietly standing there with you. You smiled gently, giggling at the face he made when you turned your head. Your hands continued washing the dishes as his lips placed gentle repetitive kisses on your right cheek.

“How was your day at work love?” You asked him as you put dishes onto the drying wrack before moving to get a towel to dry off your hands.

He sighed as his arms loosened around you allowing you to turn around to face him. His hands reattached themselves tightly to your waist pulling you up against his chest before leaning to place a chaste kiss to your lips. “It was tiring as ever. I’m just glad I’m home with you now.” You smiled slightly, your forehead resting against his shoulder, you lifted your head up to place a kiss to his jaw. He smiled shyly.

“I ate dinner a while ago, but I left some for you in the fridge. I’ll reheat it.” You said as you pulled yourself from his warm embrace to go reheat his food. He leaned against the counter smiling to himself, “I love you Y/N.” You giggled quietly to yourself as you put the soup you had made earlier in a pot, turned on the stove, and placed it onto the burner. You walked to him again and looked up at him, “I love you too.”

You both now sat together at the table talking about your day. You listened as he complained about a co worker who had been especially irritating today. There had been a very important topic your mother had been pestering you about. The doctor’s visit. You began fiddling with one of the rings you wore on your left ring finger.

“What’s making you nervous?” Junho questioned, very aware of the habit you had when you got nervous. You crossed your legs a let out a long sigh. Your hands sweaty you rubbed them over your legs before you finally gathered your courage to tell him. “I went to the doctors today.” He nodded waiting for you to fully finish what you had to say.

“I’m pregnant.” You said wincing at the words you had finally said out loud. Your eyes shut, you weren’t sure what to expect as a response. He stayed quiet. You opened your eyes to see him begin to tear up. He blinked rapidly before he gave you the biggest smile he had ever given you. He stood up and let his head fall, his hands going up to cover is face as he cried. You instantly shot up, your hands gently cupping his face and wiping his tears.

His hands fell down to your waist and he pulled you into a kiss before he practically fell to his knees. He leaned his forehead against your stomach where the baby was growing and just gently smiled as he began to press kisses to your stomach. Your hands moved to his hair, you gently carded your hands through his brown locks and smiled.

“I know you don’t know me yet, but I’m your dad. I just wanted you to know I already love you.”

𖧷

Spring 1979

You watched happily as Junho sat on the floor playing with Sunghoon. It was Sunghoons birthday and you were but a few months away from having your third child. Your five year old boy stood up excitedly, Junho followed suit running around with the action figure chasing after Sunghoon. Miyoung, your two year old girl, was curled into your stomach while sat on your lap.

“You’ll never catch me!” Sunghoon exclaimed as he dashed across the living room, Junho very nearby replied, “Yes I will!” In an instant Sunghoon had been lifted up off the floor and into his dads arms, he squealed as Junho moved to sit cross legged on the floor and began to tickle him. You giggled along with them, Miyoung quickly began to ask to be let go which you did. She ran towards her brother and dad and began to softly hit her dads hands trying to save her brother.

Once Junho let go Sunghoon quickly scrambled away from him, but hugged Miyoung closely smiling and saying, “My savior!” You smiled fondly as Junho came to sit besides you, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist as he kept his eyes on his two children. He smiled, “I can wait for our last.” You giggled softly leaning your head on his shoulder, “Me neither.”

𖧷

Summer 1982

Sunghoon ran straight towards you, Miyoung following closely behind as they ran towards the bench you were sat at. Eunju, your youngest child, smiled as she reached out for Sunghoons hand, which he instantly took. Sunghoon had a special space in his heart for his sisters, he really loved them.

“Where do you want to go Eunju?” He said softly, Miyoung was crouched in front of Eunju gently adjusting her hair before standing up and taking her other hand.

“Slide.” Eunju replied, her eyes set straight on the slide in the near distance. Sunghoon and Miyoung giggled slightly at their younger sisters lack of words, but walked towards the slide instantly after hearing her request. You smiled happily, you watched Sunghoon sit behind Eunju and Miyoung sit besides them on the slide next to them. They went down and you could hear Eunju’s quiet giggling.

Junho plopped down besides you on the bench holding out a small flower he had found. He took your hand and gently placed the flower into your hand following the small kiss he placed on the back of your hand. You took a further look at the small flower and smiled. Junho watched fondly as you got excited after recieving flower from him, even though he had made it a habit to bring you flowers quite often.

“Thank you Junho.” You said turning to look at him quickly, before returning your gaze to the children now on the swings. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips quickly before responding, “Of course my love.”

“Daddy kissed mommy! Ew!!” Sunghoon and Miyoung said in unison, Eunju unaware of what to do added onto it with a small unsure ‘Ew.’

You giggled softly before you stood up and said, “Hurry up! The ice cream man is over there! Whoever makes it there last has to clean up the mess you guys make at home!” You began to run in that direction, closely followed by Sunghoon and Miyoung. Junho stood up quickly and picked up Eunju and began to run after you three.

He smiled to himself, before laughing. “I can’t believe you guys left me!”

“Daddy now you have to clean up at home!” Miyoung said giggling.

𖧷

Summer 1992

“Sunghoon will you shut up? It’s just a date.” Miyoung said frustratedly as she put her shoes on.

“It’s not just a date! It’s your first date. You have to be careful.” Sunghoon said in return, Eunju sat on the bed in the bedroom she shared with her older sister and watched.

“Oh my god, Sunghoon you don’t have to protect me anymore. I can protect myself. I promise I’ll be careful, and be back by 8.”

“7:30.” Sunghoon said firmly ignoring his sister.” She sighed in annoyance before once again stating, “8.”

Before Sunghoon could reply Eunju had said, “7:45?” Miyoung and Sunghoon looked at her and smiled fondly. The put their stubbornness aside and looked at eachother, “7:45.” The said in unison.

Eunju smiled happily her braces on display as she stood up and began to look for a book to read. “Unnie, promise you’ll be careful?” Miyoung smiled lovingly at the sister just two years younger than her, “I promise.”

“Hurry up Miyoung remember I’m the one driving you over there.” She cursed under her breath before saying bye to Eunju. She ran down the stairs saying quick goodbyes to her parents and ran out the door into her brothers car.

“It’s her first date already.” Y/N said sadly. Junho sulked silently, “My little girl is growing up so quickly and I don’t like it.” You giggled silently before you smiled to yourself after hearing the car start, “She really is growing up.”

𖧷

Fall 2002

Y/N and Junho walked down the hall excitedly, Junho held a ballon and flowers and Y/N held another ballon with a teddy bear.

“Junho I’m so excited.” He looked at you and smiled, “Me too love.” You continued to smile, your hand getting slightly sweaty.

“Junho it’s our first grandchild!” His eyes crinkled and he laughed at your excitement, “I know, I know! I just can’t believe we’re going to have our first grandchild already.” You arrived at the door and Junho instinctively opened the door and let you walk in before him, he always did that.

You walked in and came into view if your daughter Miyoung and her husband at her bedside, he must’ve arrived earlier this morning. Eunju sat in the recliner sleeping, she had been with her all night. Sunghoon was rushing home from a business trip eargerly wanting to meet his niece.

“Mom, dad, meet Yunseo.” You looked down at the small baby girl in her arms. You almost comepletly dropped the bear and let go of the balloon. Junho quickly grabbed the balloon before you let it go. Miyoung laughed softly. “Would you like to hold her Mom?”

“Of course I do!” You said smiling as you sat by her bedside after her husband had moved. You took Yunseo into your arms and smiled. You leaned down and pressed a small kiss to Yunseo’s forehead.

“I love you.”

𖧷𖧷𖧷

“Wow.” Yunseo said taking in the whole story. “I had no idea mom and dad were high school sweethearts!” Junho laughed at her state of shock. Yunseo tucked her hair behind her ears and just sat there. She tried her hardest to process the whole story.

“You and Grandpa met because of Eunsang.” She said quietly, not really present. I nodded softly. “When was the last time you visited him?”

I thought about it for a while not really sure, “I’m not exactly sure, but’s it’s been a very long time.” Junho sat in thought before answering, “Maybe 20 years?” I looked at him trying to do the math before agreeing, “20 years sounds about right.”

“Do you ever want to visit him again?” Both Junho and I nodded, “Of course we’d like to visit him.” Junho smiled and began to stroke the back of Cocoa’s head.

“It’s really been 50 years without Eunsang huh?” I smiled sadly, “It has been 50 years without him. It’s so unfortunate he only got to live for 16 years.” Junho nodded in agreement. “He never got to have his 17th birthday.”

Yunseo watched as both Junho and I reminisced, she smiled quietly. “I have to leave soon but this weekend will you both take me to visit him?” I smiled, “Of course we will.”

Yunseo gave us both a quick hug before she said her goodbyes and walked off to her house just a few blocks down. I walked towards the table with Junho now sat with food about to begin to eat.

“Eunsang deserved so much better.” Junho stated looking down at the bracelet that matched the one Eunsang used to wear. You looked down at the bracelet he had his sister give you the day of the funeral. They matched. “He really did.”

The fall the followed would change your life for the better, but as you looked down at your bracelet that matched with Junho’s you can’t help but think maybe, just maybe Eunsang had hoped you two would end up together. Junho remembered the promise he made with his best friend a month before his death. He promised him no matter what he’d make sure Y/N was happy.

Eunsang rested at ease knowing you were both happy. As summer ended, the fall that followed changed everything you knew. Maybe it was for the best

[rubysrevenge]

TWDG’S SURVIVAL GUIDE // OR LACK THEREOF.

This is my attempt (and late start) at NANOWRIMO, going off the TWDG drabble challenge prompt created by @stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale

character(s): Mitch & Louis ship(s):Mitch/Louis (Louitch) word count: 2881 a/n: I've already been outted as Louitch trash on Tumblr, so I decided to dedicate one of these drabbles to them. It's nothing too romancy, I guess, but things are implied. Take it however you want, I guess. Anyway, I got super carried away with this one, and I don't expect any of my other "drabbles" to be quite this long, but who knows? Regardless, I hope you all enjoy!

————

3 // You Make Me Laugh.

His eyes scan across the name a second, third, and fourth time, and he contemplates ignoring the text, turning his phone off, and going back to sleep.

Mitch: u up?

Despite his first gut instinct, Louis lingers, continuing to stare at the four character text for much longer than necessary. He chews on the inside of his cheek, cursing himself as his curiosity gets the better of him.

A few more seconds pass as he tries to futilely resist the temptation to bite.

He lets out another groan before caving and bringing up his other hand to tap out a message back.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Louis: yeah, why?

Mitch is responding almost instantly and Louis feels immediate dread.

What on Earth is he about to get himself into?

READ ON AO3

He’s nearly asleep when his phone chirps and the screen lights up.

Louis’ battle with insomnia is nothing new. Often times he’ll struggle with it for weeks on end, but, being too stubborn to take anything for it, he allows himself to suffer.

So, naturally, the one night that he actually manages to start drifting off is the night when someone decides to message him.

With a groan, he groggily reaches for his phone, eyes squinting as they fight to adjust to the light of his screen. It takes him a second, but soon enough, he sees just who is messaging him this late.

12:37 AM isn’t that late, Louis realizes, but most people are at home, in bed, asleep at this time— much like Louis, himself; minus the ‘asleep’ part.

His eyes scan across the name a second, third, and fourth time, and he contemplates ignoring the text, turning his phone off, and going back to sleep.

Mitch: u up?

Despite his first gut instinct, Louis lingers, continuing to stare at the four character text for much longer than necessary. He chews on the inside of his cheek, cursing himself as his curiosity gets the better of him.

A few more seconds pass as he tries to futilely resist the temptation to bite.

He lets out another groan before caving and bringing up his other hand to tap out a message back.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Louis: yeah, why?

Mitch is responding almost instantly and Louis feels immediate dread.

What on Earth is he about to get himself into?

Mitch: got u smth Mitch: think ull like it

Now Louis’ interest is really piqued, though he hates to admit it. It’s hard to imagine Mitch getting him anything. Or, well, at one time it might’ve been. As of late, Louis has taken notice of little things here and there. Things such as Mitch messaging him more; randomly giving him things; watching him more… He doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s...odd.

Louis: do you have to show me NOW?

Mitch’s reply is immediate — ‘yes’ — followed by a cascade of others —

Mitch: so get ready Mitch: im on my way to get u

Louis just stares at his screen for a moment, like he can’t believe what he’s reading, before he’s finally typing back.

Louis: it’s almost one in the morning, mitch

Mitch: so???

Louis: SOME of us are trying to sleep

Mitch: well good thing ur already awake then huh?

Louis could strangle him, he swears. He probably would if he didn’t think he’d get his ass handed to him if he tried.

Ultimately, he knows that it’s pointless to tell Mitch no. By now, he’s already on his way over, and will be determined to get Louis out of the house one way or another.

He’s really backed into a corner here.

After a long pause, dramatic groan, and faceplant into his pillow, Louis finally, begrudgingly, responds.

Louis: alright FINE. but you better make this quick

He swears he could chuck his phone across the room when all he gets in response to that is a winky face.

Admittedly, Louis spends more time laying around than he ought to, and it isn’t until his phone is buzzing again with another text that he realizes that he’d dozed off.

He jumps up out of bed before he even reads the text informing him of Mitch’s arrival. He quickly texts back that he’ll be down in a second.

Honestly, he has half a mind just just go in his pajamas, but it’s not exactly warm outside, so he ultimately decides against it, instead, slipping on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He practically has to force his feet into his already tied Converse, and is pulling a hoodie on over his head by the time he’s leaving his room.

Most times, Louis finds himself missing his parents with their busy work schedules, but this night in particular, he could not be more relieved by their absence. At least this way he won’t have to risk getting caught.

By the time he reaches the front door and pulls it open, he catches Mitch in the middle of sending another text, but upon seeing that Louis has finally joined him, discards it.

“About time,” he says in place of a greeting.

“What’re you doing here, Mitch?” Louis doesn’t even try to hide the tiredness in his voice.

“Well, I told you I was coming to pick you up didn’t I?”

Louis would love to wipe that ebbing smirk off his lips. He only entertains the thought for a second, however, before he comes to the shocking revelation that Mitch hadn’t driven here.

“Where’s your car?” he asks, as if that will somehow magically produce an answer he would actually want to hear.

Instead, what he gets is; “Didn’t bring it. I walked here.”

“You what?” Idly, Louis wonders if there’s a possibility that his eyes will fall out of their sockets.

“What am I, speaking French?” If Mitch is attempting to be funny, it’s not working. “I walked here, Louis.”

Louis must have a disagreeable look on his face because the next thing Mitch is asking is, “Is that gonna be a problem for you?”

“Oh, no,” Louis replies, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone (he blames it on the lack of sleep), “Not at all. In fact, I was actually looking forward to walking however many blocks with you while being sleep deprived and dead tired. That’s really gonna be the highlight of my night.”

Mitch rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Whatever, Smart-ass. Let’s go.”

Without waiting for a response, Mitch starts off down the street, and for a moment, Louis just stands there, bewildered.

“Wha— are you serious, right now?”

When he notices that Louis still hasn’t budged, Mitch stops and turns back to look at him.

“C’mon, Lou! It’s not that far! Just right down the road!”

Louis doesn’t believe him...but he ends up following after him anyway, and internally cursing himself in the process.

Louis takes long strides to catch up, and when he does, he easily falls into step beside Mitch.

He’s silent for a few minutes before a thought occurs to him.

“Hey, wait— I thought you said you had something for me,” he says, casting Mitch a sidelong glance.

His eyes are met with yet another smirk as Mitch winks and says, “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

Normally, Louis loves surprises, but coming from Mitch? He’s not so sure. An uneasy feeling swarms around in his gut the more he thinks about it.

“Can’t wait…”

By the time they reach their destination, Louis is decidedly... underwhelmed.

“This?” he asks, incredulously. “This was your ‘Big Surprise’?”

It’s an abandoned building— some old department store that appeared to have not seen any business since the eighties. Louis wasn’t sure why it was still around or why the city hadn’t had it demolished or renovated yet. He wondered how long it would continue to be around before anything was finally done about it.

“Noooot quite,” Mitch responds, simperingly, tearing Louis from his thoughts. “Follow me.”

They walk around to the back of the building where an old, ricketity looking ladder can be seen, clinging to the brick. The paint is mostly all gone, being replaced by a majority of rust, and Louis swears it looks like the thing would poof into dust at even the lightest of touches.

“Up here,” Mitch says, stepping towards said ladder.

“Wait, what—?” Louis’ eyes widen, clearly not liking this idea. It’s not that he’s scared of trespassing, per se, but more so because there’s no way in forty hells that ladder would ever pass a safety inspection. It’s a death trap waiting to happen.

Though it doesn’t seem to deter Mitch.

“You’re not gonna chicken out now, are you?” He teases, already hoisting himself up the ladder. “After you’ve already come so far?”

“No!” Louis replies defiantly. Yes, he may be tired as all hell, and yes, he might think that his chances of falling to his death on this thing is a very real possibility, but if there’s one thing he’s not, it’s a chicken.

So, without giving a second thought, he’s climbing up after Mitch, trying to go as fast and careful as he can. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually breathe again until he’s finally on the roof.

He takes a moment to look around.

It’s not that he’s never been on top of a roof before — he’s done plenty of things and been plenty of places that he shouldn’t — but just that he doesn’t know why they’re here.

Mitch sits close to the edge so that he can peer out at the other buildings and everything below them. Soon enough, Louis has joined him. But not before asking, “So why did you bring me here, exactly? To look at the stars? I could do that at home.”

“Just relax and take a seat, wouldja?” Mitch replies flippantly. “That’s not the only reason why I brought you here.”

Louis reluctantly takes his seat and sends Mitch a quizzical look.

“Then why—” He cuts himself off the moment he sees what at first appears to be a cigarette, but definitely isn’t. “—is that weed?!”

“Whoa, hey!” Mitch, despite not needing to, takes a quick look around before fixing Louis with a stare. “Would you keep it down?”

Louis, for once in his life, actually shuts up, just staring, wide-eyed. The look results in an exasperated sigh from Mitch.

“Hey, just— calm down. It’s not a big deal or anything, alright?” He shrugs, before tilting his head back to look up at the stars for a brief moment. “I just like to come up here to think sometimes… And smoking helps me relax. Didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal to you.”

“It’s not,” Louis clarifies quickly. “I mean— I don’t really care, I just— wasn’t expecting it.”

Mitch finally looks back over at him. “Is that right?”

“Yeah—”

“Because it seemed like it was a pretty big deal to you.”

“Well, it’s not,” Louis defends. “Like I said, I just wasn’t expecting it. In fact, I wasn’t expecting any of this. —— So what, this was your plan? Get me up here to look at the stars and watch you smoke weed?”

“Well…” This time, if Louis didn’t know any better, he’d swear that he could see a genuine smile pulling across Mitch’s lips. “No, not exactly. I mean— yeah, stargazing is bound to happen, but I wouldn’t just smoke in front of you like that…”

“Oh—”

“Without offering you some first, at least.”

“... What—?”

Contrary to what some might believe, Louis has never once smoked before. He’s been around people who have, sure, but he’s never personally smoked, himself. 

“I know people call me an asshole,” Mitch replies, “but I do have manners… Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Louis teases. “That’s a shocker.”

“Shut up.” Mitch reaches over to give him a light shove. “You want some or not?”

“Oh, uhhh…” Louis shrugs, pretending to mull it over, even though he already knows what he’s going to say. “I...dunno. I wasn’t really planning on it or anything.”

“Have you ever even tried it?” Mitch asks, regarding him curiously. Though, judging by Louis’ reaction earlier, he has a pretty good idea.

“Well, no—”

“It’s really not that bad,” Mitch goes on to explain. “You were complaining about not being able to sleep earlier, right? This would help with that little problem.”

As tempting as that sounds, Louis still hesitates. He doesn’t want to seem like a punk, or like weed even bothers him for that matter, because it really doesn’t. He truly means it when he says that he doesn’t care if people smoke it. His main concern is just how he, personally, will experience it.

He must take too long to give Mitch an answer, because Mitch adds, “Hey, it’s no big deal if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna force ya or anything.”

That said, he decides not to waste any more time, retrieving a lighter from his pocket and lighting the blunt.

For a few moments, Louis just watches him, eyes trained on the rings of smoke that drift from his lips as he exhales. His eyebrows pull together for a second before he finally makes his decision.

“Okay, fine. Hand it over.”

Mitch, genuinely surprised by this, glances over at him, eyebrows raised. “You sure?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis replies. “I mean, this was a part of what you had in store for me, right? Fuck it. Might as well.”

Mitch can’t stop the beginnings of a grin from tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hell, yeah!” he cheers, passing the joint over after one more drag.

Louis hesitates for a moment, before deciding to throw caution to the wind. He’d already come this far, anyway.

Bringing the joint up to his lips, he takes a drag, only to end up going straight into a coughing fit, much to his embarrassment, and Mitch’s amusement. 

He can feel his cheeks burn as Mitch’s laughter meets his ears and all he can do is let out a slightly strangled, “Shut up!” as he passes the joint back.

“What?” Mitch asks around a chuckle. “That was funny!”

“Was not!” Louis denies, doing his best to suppress a pout. “I’m just— still getting used to it, that’s all.”

“Wanna try again?” Mitch takes another puff and holds the joint back out to him.

Louis tries again, only to end up with the same results, unsurprisingly.

Mitch laughs again, much to Louis’ chagrin.

“Yeah, yeah— Like you’ve never coughed before.”

Mitch has. He still does sometimes, but he isn’t about to tell Louis that.

“Whatever,” he says, taking the joint back.

That’s when a thought occurs to him.

“Hold up, I’ve got an idea.”

“What?” Louis asks, voice still slightly strained from coughing.

He watches as Mitch takes another drag, holding in the smoke, and the next thing he knows, Mitch is reaching forward, grasping Louis’ face in his hand, and leaning in.

Louis, tense and stiff, unsure what what else to do, opens his mouth to question what Mitch is doing, but before he can, smoke is being blown in his face.

He still coughs a little, but it’s nothing compared to before.

Louis hates the way he can feel his cheeks tingling, and he tries to convince himself that it’s just a side-effect of the weed. It certainly has nothing to do with just how close Mitch had just gotten to his face just then. He doesn’t even like Mitch like that. Oddly matched friends is all that they are as far as Louis is concerned.

“Shotgunning,” Mitch answers Louis’ unspoken question, and the smirk tugging at his lips tells Louis that the color of his cheeks must’ve been more noticeable than he’d like.

“I think I’ll just stick to—” 

“Hey!” 

Louis swears he’s never nearly jumped out of his skin so fast. He stares, wide-eyed over the edge of the building, seeing a cop below. This is not good for many reasons — far too many to list right now — and judging by Mitch’s sudden outburst of, ‘Oh, fuck!’ he seems to share that sentiment.

“Get down from there!”

Only a beat of silence passes before the two of them jump to their feet and take off running as fast as they can.

Mitch hurries down the ladder, jumping the rest of the way down when he’s halfway. Louis scrambles after him, nearly tripping on his way down. Despite his speed, however, he goes about it much safer, rushing all the way down as cautiously as he can, rather than jump like Mitch had. It’s nearly enough to bite him in the ass, however, as the cop who’d caught them on the rooftop rounds the corner and yells out to them again.

“Hey! Stop!”

They don’t stop. In fact, they only go faster.

Apparently, Louis isn’t running fast enough though, because Mitch is reaching back to snatch up his wrist, pulling him forward in an attempt to make him move even faster. Really, it does nothing more than make Louis trip up more times than he normally would.

But they keep running.

They zip past the corner, and turn down another alleyway, bobbing and weaving until they no longer hear the cop’s voice and footsteps behind them.

They both prop themselves up against two walls of an alley, opposite each other, fighting to catch their breath. Louis notes that his lungs burn as he inhales crisp, cool air, and soon enough, much like before, he’s coughing again.

“Holy shit—!” Mitch exclaims in a gasp. “A-are you okay—?”

Louis tries to respond amidst his coughing, but he can’t.

And then… He’s laughing — much to Mitch’s surprise — a product of the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

It dies down just enough for him to blurt out, “I can’t believe you pulled me out of bed for this! This bullshit !” And then the laughter is picking up again. He can’t stop.

A bewildered grin tugs at Mitch’s lips, and he finds that Louis’ laughter is so contagious that he can’t refrain from joining in.

[katana-no-neko]

Sickfic prompt: “Please just sit down. You’re swaying on your feet right now.” Thank you! I love your blog!

Alrighty, this took a little while.

You didn’t specify a ship, but since all I ever write is Nalu, I have to assume that’s what you wanted, hehe

“Heeeeyyyy, Lucy…” Natsu drawled as he climbed in her window. His voice wasn’t bright like it was supposed to be and Lucy could immediately tell something was off before she even turned around to look at him.

She could definitely tell something was off once she did.

Natsu’s face was pale. Very pale. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. His eyes were glassy and he seemed to be swaying.

“Natsu!” she cried, grabbing his shoulders. “You’re sick!”

He looked offended at that and scoffed. “I ain’t siiicckkk! I can’t get sicckkkkk!”

“Well obviously you can!” Lucy pressed her palm against Natsu’s forehead. It was normally hot, considering Natsu’s magic, but Lucy knew it was much hotter than it should’ve been. “Natsu, I think you have a fever!”

“Nah, can’t! Dragon slayers don’t get sick! Besides motion sickness, but that doesn’t count,” he countered, all the while slurring his words. “C’mon! Let’s go on a job today!”

“Natsu, you are in no condition to do work today! You need to sit down and rest!”

“Nope! I ain’t sick!”

“Please just sit down! You’re swaying on your feet!”

“I’m no-“

And then he collapsed against Lucy. She shrieked as she tried not to crumble under his weight, holding him in her arms as he went completely deadweight.

“Na-tsu!” she grunted. “Will you lay down now?” Natsu just groaned and buried his head in between her neck and shoulder, taking in her scent.

“‘M not sick…” he groaned out, although it seemed to Lucy that he was starting to relent.

“Natsu!” Lucy whined. “Listen to your body! It’s telling you that you need to rest!”

The dragon slayer mumbled something incoherent, but he seemed to be nodding, conceding to Lucy’s urgency that he was, in fact, ill.

“Are you going to admit that you’re sick?”

Natsu whined against her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sick…”

“Let’s get you back home in bed, okay? And then I’ll get Wendy?”

Natsu just grumbled something again, earning a confused hum from Lucy. He groaned and adjusted his head so he wasn’t speaking muffled. “Here. I wanna stay here.”

Lucy gave Natsu a surprised look as she helped him move and sit on her couch, his weight becoming a bit too much to bear. “Why?”

“Scent,” he mumbled as he pulled Lucy to sit down beside him. “Your scent.”

Lucy was confused again. “My scent?” He’d shown and alluded to liking her scent before this, but he’d never outright said it like this. Lucy couldn’t help but blush.

“I like it…” he admitted as he laid down in her lap and took a big whiff. “Calms me down.”

A soft smile curled Lucy’s lips. “Really?” Natsu gave a careful nod and Lucy chuckled. “Natsu, I think the fever’s made you delirious.”

“I’m not delirious… ’S the truth…” Natsu’s speech was still slurred, and she didn’t know how he’d managed to believe that he wasn’t sick.

Lucy’s blush was increasing every time he opened his mouth. “Go to sleep, Natsu, you’re being weird!” He replied with another long inhale. “I’ll just go get Wendy, okay?” Lucy started to shuffle out from under him, to which Natsu responded by wrapping his arms around her, holding her still.

He gave her a weird grin. “If you’re gonna make me rest, you’re stayin’ right here.”

Lucy was red down to her chest at this point, but a smile still spread across her lips. “Yeah, okay. But Wendy would be able to make you feel better?”

“Your scent does the same thing, Luce,” Natsu drawled out before he finally fell into sleep, leaving Lucy to fret over what to think. Natsu really did seem slightly delirious from the apparent fever. He might not even remember this once he was better.

“I’m confronting you about this scent thing when you wake up again,” Lucy said to the sleeping form. “You’re being weird.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

(3) Hashirama mentions that Tobirama has a hard time understanding social interactions, how about something where Tobirama encourages someone else’s attention without meaning to? Is it obvious this is leading up to another Tobirama gets punished scene? Lol I’m curious if Madara will be more into it now. Or maybe Hashirama can use this as an opportunity to get Madara to see Tobirama *needs* punishments? (Up to you what happens to the poor man interested in Tobirama)

And here is a short list of things I’d love to see (or see more), in whatever context works for you: Tobirama getting spanked + figging

—–

Tear Into Your Soul - Chapter 7 (ao3 link)

In Tobirama’s defense, he wasn’t actually listening to what the man was saying.

(It’s not that he thinks that defense is going to help him any now, but really, truly, he wasn’t.)

It’d been an extremely long day of negotiations by that point, and between Hashirama’s smiling inability to take no for an answer and Madara’s hot temper and paranoia, the vast bulk of negotiating the details of the treaty governing the joining of the village by what has got to be Fire Country’s most punctilious clan inevitably fell on Tobirama and Izuna.

If Tobirama never sees another Hyuuga again, it would probably be too soon, but horribly enough they still have another two days of negotiations to go.

In the interests of preserving their respective sanities, Tobirama reached an agreement with Izuna that they would swap off attendance at the parties that were being held each night (the parties were a crucial part of negotiations, designed to show off Konoha’s wealth and strength, but also incredibly exhausting when you also needed to review that day’s adjustments to the treaty with a fine-toothed comb to make sure Hashirama hasn’t given away a mountain again). Tonight was Tobirama’s night, much to his displeasure; when Izuna picked which days he wanted to attend, he’d clearly calculated in advance for the fact that it would be a festival night, and thus the party five times as large.

And, when Tobirama complained, Izuna had smugly pointed out that it still made sense to do it the way he’d suggested, as he had a special someone that he wanted to spend the festival with and Tobirama did not.

Which – fine. Whatever.

(Given how universally terrible his reputation in the village seems to be, apparently no matter what he does, Tobirama recently started strongly encouraging the perception that Hashirama and Madara were in a quasi-secret relationship with each other alone, ensuring that the rumor mill took him out of the equation. So, really, it isn’t a surprise that Izuna thinks so, too, even though Tobirama might’ve hoped that Madara would at least have told his brother about him. But it’s fine, really; by now Tobirama really should’ve gotten used to being too unimportant to mention.)

Tobirama comforted himself privately with the knowledge that it wasn’t like Madara and Hashirama weren’t going to be stuck at the party too, anyway, so he’d still be able to spend the festival with them.

As it happened, however, while they were both in attendance at the party, Hashirama somehow manage to goad both Madara and the Hyuuga clan head into a drinking contest, leading to Tobirama avoiding the whole lot of them.

That’s probably how he ended lurking in the corner, politely not-listening as Hyuuga Gorou, a large looming sort of Hyuuga with a round face, rambled on about something or another.

The conversation definitely started with comments regarding on that day’s negotiations, he remembers that much; Gorou had some minor ministerial role helping manage Hyuuga finances and clearly thought of himself as rather important, which Tobirama might’ve been more likely to believe if not for the Caged Bird seal on his forehead, when everyone knew the important decisions were made by the main family.

That seal ended up being the crux of the problem, in fact: Tobirama’d never gotten a chance to examine the Caged Bird at any length, but with Gorou standing quite so close and having already drunk several cups of sake already, dulling his senses, it didn’t seem like that big a deal to sneak some glances at the seal once every few moments to try to figure more of it out.

This, as he was later informed, was a Mistake.

Seriously, how was Tobirama supposed to guess that Gorou’s meandering conversation, which had eventually landed on the Hyuuga clan’s preference for brides who were demure and obedient and quiet and not frivolous, was referring to him?!

It’s entirely not his fault that Gorou had apparently interpreted his tendency not to look people in the eye as shyness, which it most certainly wasn’t, and his practice of whispering suggestions (and reprimands) to Hashirama as meekness, which it definitely wasn’t, and…okay, Tobirama is in fact fairly quiet and not frivolous, but the rest of it was clearly beyond ridiculous. But apparently Gorou then compounded his mistake by misinterpreting Tobriama’s occasional sidelong glances up at Gorou’s forehead as flirtation, of all things.

And anyway, even if he had been flirting, which he wasn’t, there was certainly no call for Gorou to try to grab him in for a kiss!

Tobirama had a kunai at the man’s throat before he could blink – he’s a shinobi! you don’t suddenly grab shinobi! everyone knows that! – but Gorou just laughed and said something about a bit of feistiness being good in the preliminary stages and next thing Tobirama knew he was shoving the man back onto the floor so he wouldn’t get roasted by Madara’s signature katon attack.

“Madara!” Tobirama hissed, turning to glare. “Stop attacking! He’s a guest.”

Madara’s eyes are hazy with drink but his face is very clearly filled with inexplicable rage, and he opens his mouth to say something when Hashirama cuts in between them with a laugh and a “Oh, well now, it’s clearly time to go to sleep, don’t you think? Tobirama, help me take Madara back home before he causes any more trouble – my apologies for interrupting your evening, Gorou-san –”

Gorou spluttered a bit in response, but Tobirama, pleased by the excuse to exit the party, had quickly agreed.

If Tobirama had known what was in store for him, maybe he wouldn’t have so readily agreed.

“I wasn’t flirting!” he protests again, tugging at the restraints that had sprung up around him the second he’d walked through the door of their bedroom. Mokuton, of course, pulling him down onto his knees until he’s looking up at the two of them. “I didn’t even notice he was interested!”

Hashirama shakes his head sadly, like Tobirama isn’t perfectly able to detect his gleefulness underneath. “You shouldn’t lead people on like that, Tobirama. It’s not nice to them, and look at how upset you’ve made Madara.”

Madara does, in fact, seem to be rather upset: he’s pacing the room, muttering angrily to himself as his chakra lashes about the room and glaring occasionally at Tobirama.

He’s also very clearly as drunk as a skunk.

“How much did you make him drink?” Tobirama asks Hashirama, though he keeps his eyes focused on Madara - somehow doing that seems to reduce the number of glares and reduce the incoherent mumbling.

“I didn’t make him do anything,” Hashirama sniffs. “He agreed to that drinking contest all on his own…he won, by the way.”

“Good,” Tobirama says, because it is. They want to be friendly, not show weakness, and that extends to the little things like drinking contests.

“‘course I won,” Madara interrupts at that point, his voice slurring. “Stupid Hyuuga, thinkin’ their dojutsu’s better - think they can take our place - take what’s ours -”

“Horrible,” Hashirama agrees solemnly. “What terrible people they are.”

“Anija, stop encouraging him.”

Hashirama predictably ignores him. “Still, the blame’s not just on their side,” he tells Madara. “I’m going to have to punish Tobirama for flirting like that.”

Tobirama sighs, while Madara nods seriously as if he actually thinks Tobirama did something wrong.

Given that Madara normally objects to Hashirama’s punishments, at least in the beginning, it’s pretty clear that he is, indeed, incredibly drunk right now.

“Of course,” Hashirama says thoughtfully, and that’s when Tobirama gets nervous. “If you like, you could punish him instead..?”

“Me?” Madara asks, looking comically taken aback by the suggestion.

“Of course you. Don’t you want to show him he’s yours, and not that awful Hyuuga’s?”

If Tobirama didn’t know it would only make things worse, he’d be glaring at Hashirama right now. He really shouldn’t be encouraging Madara like this. If these negotiations work out, they’re going to have to live with these people!

“Mine,” Madara says. The slurring’s only gotten worse. “Yes, I can - show 'im…”

“Punish him,” Hashirama prompts. He looks so very smug; if it wasn’t for how genuinely fond of them both he so clearly is, it would be intolerable.

Madara nods.

“Are you sure about this?” Tobirama asks warily. Madara’s never taken an active role in punishing him before; it usually makes him uncomfortable to start with before he gets drawn in to Hashirama’s games, yielding to the inescapable force of Hashirama’s will. Taking the lead like this is – different. “Madara -”

“Shut up. You’re mine. Mine. And - and I’m gonna teach you.”

…great.

It’s not that Tobirama objects, necessarily, to Madara being the one to punish him – he suspects Madara will be more merciful than Hashirama usually is, since Madara has yet to develop Hashirama’s immunity to his pouts –but he’s a little worried about how the alcohol will affect this encounter, given how pissy and jealous Madara clearly is right now.

Of course, on the other hand, it is rather nice to hear Madara call him his.

“Hashirama, Hashirama,” Madara says, almost whining. “I need you to get me. Something. A thing. I need it.”

“Oh?” Hashirama inquires, looking amused. “Whisper in my ear.”

Tobirama strains his ears, but can’t hear what Madara says, but whatever it is does make Hashirama laugh.

“Oh, yes,” he says, grinning. “I can get you that. Why don’t you get Tobirama ready first?”

Madara nods, overly serious again in a way that suggests he’s using all of his remaining brain cells to focus on not falling over.

And then Hashirama actually leaves the room, of all ridiculous things, and Madara walks (remarkably steadily) over to Tobirama.

Tobirama opens his mouth to try to inject at least some semblance of reason into the situation, but he’s interrupted with Madara pulls him in for a kiss. It’s soppy and wet, and Tobirama can taste the sake on Madara’s tongue, the other man’s bubbling hot chakra making his skin buzz pleasantly.

Tobirama has no problems with this form of punishment.

Madara starts kissing all over his face, cheeks and neck and jaw, mumbling really quite delightful things like “never giving you up” and “all mine” and “not going anywhere” as he does.

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, you idiot,” Tobirama groans, but he lolls his head back so that Madara can get better access to that one spot on his neck he likes. “Even if I did leave – which I wouldn’t – you and Hashirama would immediately come get me back.”

“Damn right we would,” Madara agrees, working off Tobirama’s clothing. It’s taking a while, given that he can’t quite manage buttons with any coherence, but since that in turn means lots of touching and groping and more kisses, Tobirama doesn’t object. “S’why you gotta be shown that you can’t go – go – flirting with people. S’pecially not Hyuuga.”

That damn rivalry. Konoha is going to explode once the Uchiha and Hyuuga are forced to actually live together.

The parent-teacher nights at the academy are going to be particularly gruesome, he just knows it.

“Will it make you feel better if you punish me?” Tobirama asks, feeling deeply fond of Madara right now.

Madara nods, and pulls Tobirama – now naked but for his collar and the flexible bindings Hashirama left behind – over his lap.

Tobirama suspects he’s about to be spanked, and squirms a little to make sure he’s in a proper position to get stimulation to his cock when the strikes come down. It’s the sort of thing Hashirama would remember to make sure he can’t do, but Madara’s drunk and Tobirama’s opportunistic.

He’s also a little curious, to be perfectly honest. He’s watched Hashirama do it to Madara a few times, but Hashirama’s punishments to him haven’t involved spanking yet.

(Though that hasn’t actually saved his ass any. If he didn’t know better, he’d think his brother was secretly getting revenge for being made to do paperwork by making sure that Tobirama can’t sit comfortably while doing his own.)

“Aww, Tobirama, you look so cute like that,” Hashirama coos from where he’s clearly just entered the room. He’s in Tobirama’s blind spot, which is irritating because it makes Tobirama tense up automatically even though it’s his brother; he shouldn’t be nervous around his brother, no matter what. He forces his body to relax.

Naturally, that’s when the first slap comes, making him yelp in surprise.

Hashirama bursts out laughing.

“Great,” Tobirama sighs. “You’re drunk too.”

It’s much harder to tell with Hashirama, since he’s only ever drunk when he chooses to be. Not that many people know it, but Hashirama’s body metabolizes anything – including poisons, as some very unfortunate people have learned – and alcohol is little different. It takes an effort of will for him to remain tipsy, though to Tobirama’s annoyance it is an effort Hashirama engages in on routine basis.

“Of course,” Hashirama says cheerfully. “You don’t think I’d let them get into that drinking contest without some moral support, do you?”

“You don’t need moral support for drinking – ”

He manages not to yelp this time when Madara spanks him, mostly because he’s a shinobi who is perfectly capable of taking a few hits, even while his brother is being distracting.

If he hadn’t been able to figure that trick out, he would’ve died on his first battlefield.

“Look, Hashi’ama,” Madara rumbles above him. “He’s gone all red.”

He runs a hand lightly over Tobirama’s skin. It feels nice.

“S’pretty…”

“You should do it some more,” Hashirama, who’s never seen a situation he couldn’t make worse, suggests. “Make him really red.”

Tobirama braces himself, but it proves largely unnecessary. Madara’s drunkness is luckily not of the variety that involves subconscious mastery and his strikes, while powerful, are haphazard and fairly predictable, and he doesn’t mind Tobirama rubbing off against his lap with each hit.

(Madara’s chakra is so warm around him, spiking at every hit, pleasure and smug satisfaction radiating outwards, that Tobirama’s cock is glad for the stimulation.)

It’s…not bad, actually. Perhaps it helps that Tobirama was never disciplined like this as a child – his father used other methods to obtain compliance, and his mother never found fault in him – so it’s not as humiliating as it could be.

“Look at you, humping his leg like an over-eager puppy,” Hashirama laughs. “Maybe I should get you a pair of ears and a tail, too.”

Right.

There’s the humiliation.

Tobirama feels his face go red and he tries to stop himself from moving – from grinding down further on Madara’s lap as the man laughs along with Hashirama, putting his warm palm on the stinging part of Tobirama’s thighs and ass – but just as he finally gets a measure of self-control, Madara reaches down and shoves his legs open.

Familiar hands settle on Tobirama’s ankles, keeping him from closing his legs, and Tobirama immediately stops moving obediently. He wishes his brother would get out of his blind spot, or at least start talking more, no matter how embarrassing: he hates displeasing Hashirama more than death, and tracking the ebbs and flows of his chakra tells him only so much without the added benefit of seeing his body language.

A second later Tobirama stops thinking about it, because Madara’s just pushed something into him, something that is most definitely neither his fingers nor his cock, but which also doesn’t feel like one of Hashirama’s Mokuton roots. If anything it…

Smells of ginger?

Tobirama’s main specialty might be creating new jutsus and seals, but everyone always seems to think that that involves waving his hands around until something new happens rather than all the science it actually involves. To do what he does, he needs a solid foundation in physics, biology (especially shinobi-specific), mathematics, earth sciences, and, of course, chemistry.

So he figures out what’s about to happen about half a second before the oils of the peeled ginger start causing a distinct tingling, and then burning, sensation.

“Madara!” he exclaims, then yelps as Madara starts spanking him again.

This time Tobirama starts writhing in earnest, torn between his own instincts: if he tenses up in preparation for the strikes, the burning from the ginger spikes up considerably, but if he forcefully relaxes, the slap hurts much more than when he was ready for it.

Also, Madara’s laughing at him.

Probably because his fingers are clenched on Madara’s thighs and he’s desperately grinding himself into Madara’s lap, his cock hard and dripping. He feels his face flush with humiliation – he’s heard of this, it’s a punishment for disobedient children, isn’t it, and of course a katon clan would focus on the feeling of fire for punishment – but it’s not even that, not really, and it’s not the pain, which is really quite minimal compared to broken bones or other tortures.

It’s –

He doesn’t know how to describe it.

It’s the way Madara keeps saying he’s beautiful in that soft drunken slur, telling Hashirama to look at him, the warm feeling of approval in his too-hot chakra and how it’s reflected in his brother’s too-bright-too-green one; it’s the way Tobirama could escape if he wanted to, he’s a shinobi, but he won’t because he doesn’t want to, even when it’s uncomfortable and painful, because this is important to him, letting Madara do with him as he liked is important to him – not as important as deferring to Hashirama is, no, nothing can be, but it’s almost the same feeling.

Submission. Belonging.

“He’s so good for you, Madara,” Hashirama says fondly, and Tobirama can imagine the expression of approval on his face. “Look at how beautifully he suffers; how can you not want to punish him? How can you not want to keep him?”

Tobirama whines.

Madara puts his free hand on Tobirama’s neck, warm and bracing even through the collar. “Have you learned your lesson?” he asks, even as he keeps alternating spanks and long, tender strokes that vaguely remind Tobirama of how Madara likes to pet stray dogs or his hawks or whatever. “Are you going to stay mine now?”

“Yours,” Tobirama agrees. “Yours, yes, yours – can I come now?”

Hashirama laughs again. “And I’m not even restraining him,” he says, sounding pleased. Even pleasantly surprised, which is wonderful; Tobirama loves nothing more than to surprise his brother with something that makes him happy. “Oh, very good, Tobirama; I approve. It’s only right that you should ask for permission first. What a good boy you are.”

Tobirama nods, feeling a little drunk himself – the adrenaline high of trusting someone as dangerous as Madara with his body, the feeling of burning that reminds him a bit of the man himself, the endorphins of the blows…and, yes, the wonderful way it feels to know that he’s theirs and they’re his, that even if Izuna has his own special somebody that Tobirama does too, that he got to spend the festival with them anyway even if it wasn’t quite what he’d imagined.

(Yes, he’s a spiteful and overly competitive soul, but at least he knows it.)

“Yes,” Madara says, voice low and hot. “Yes, Tobirama, come for me. Now.”

And he puts a hand down under Tobirama, wrapping it around his cock to give it a few strokes, and that’s all the stimulation Tobirama needs, embarrassingly little, before he comes.

It’s only afterwards, when he feels all hazy and floaty, does he realize what a mess he’s made of Madara’s formal pants.

“Shh, shh, it’s all right,” Hashirama says, petting Tobirama’s head, which has somehow ended up in Hashirama’s lap. “Don’t worry about it. He always gets like this, you know – he was made responsible for laundry as a child, what with his suiton skills, and the last thing you want is for him to try to pull liquid out of your clothing while he’s not concentrating; he has a tendency to miss.”

Tobirama thinks that last part was aimed at Madara rather than him. It makes sense from context, but it takes him a few seconds of puzzling to figure out who Hashirama is talking about, and that probably means he shouldn’t be doing suiton.

Even though he hasn’t missed in ages, and anyway it’s not as if Hashirama wasn’t fine afterwards. The only thing seriously injured was his vanity.

(It’d been kind of funny, actually, what the sudden infusion and removal of water does to hair.)

Still, there’s no point in arguing the point now – he’s been so tired and stressed about this negotiation, given how wealthy and influential the Hyuuga are and how including them increases the likelihood of their village being formally recognized by the daimyo significantly, and now he’s relaxed and Madara is warm and cuddling up against him, so clearly the right thing to do is just go to sleep and worry about laundry and clean-up later.

He returns to consciousness slowly when he hears birds, which suggests that it’s very early morning, and Madara is speaking quietly over his head.

“– it’s not that I disagree with your methods, entirely,” he’s saying. “I mean, the fact that you’re brothers is still…nevermind. It’s just – I don’t know. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not? He liked it.” That’s Hashirama, using the practical and reasonable tone of voice he uses when he’s steamrolling someone into something without letting on that’s what he’s doing. “You’re my best friend, Madara. I like sharing him with you. And that means he’s yours, too.”

Madara’s chakra shivers with pleasure.

“Yours to keep,” Hashirama purrs. “Yours to punish, yours to reward…I don’t know why you object so much.”

“Relationships aren’t about punishment,” Madara says, but it’s weak. He’s already half convinced, Tobirama can hear it. “Normal ones, that is.”

Hashirama snorts. “How would you know? Seen many of those?”

Madara somehow makes the ensuing silence sound somehow sulky.

“Don’t worry so much about what’s normal,” Hashirama says. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Just enjoy it. I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll always take care of you both, you know that.”

“I worry when you say things like that,” Madara grumbles, but he settles back down along Tobirama. A moment or two later, he asks, “Do you think he…? I know I was drunk, and I’m terrible at saying – but sometimes I think he thinks he’s – second best.”

“Something keeps making him think that,” Hashirama says, and there’s a strange edge of steel in his voice. “I don’t know what, or who, but I won’t abide it. I’ll tear the ill-will out from our village by the root if I have to.”

“I’ll be right beside you,” Madara promises, his voice equally hard. “I’ve heard it, too, but I can’t trace it, can’t track it…”

Tobirama thinks they’re talking about him, though he is second-best, he has to be, when the village he works so hard for so clearly hates him. He knows the two of them love him, of course – or at least that Hashirama does, and that Madara is fond of him too, as he can see from the way the man fights for him when there’s no need for it, but Tobirama would never allow the village to stain their reputations with whatever toxicity he carries within himself.

Though – the way they speak of ill-will, it’s as if they think it’s something alive, something malevolent.

He doesn’t know what they mean by that; there’s nothing like that, surely.

Oh, he supposes that Hashirama has been getting techy again about the village disliking him the way his clan always has – all those rumors in the village about him, about how cold and heartless and terrible he is – and, yes, to be sure, the rumors are worse than ever before, and it seems like nothing he can do will raise his standing a single jot, but that can’t be what they’re talking about.

After all, what benefit would anyone get from trying to isolate him like that?

(If he didn’t know better, he would almost suspect Hashirama of providing his village with a convenient scapegoat to get out their anger on, but that’s obviously impossible. Hashirama would never willingly let anyone speak ill of something that belonged to him.)

“Be patient,” Hashirama says. People don’t think he’s good at patience, because he’s so boisterous, but Hashirama can keep pieces in reserve for years before playing them. He’s got the patience of the trees, and they think in terms of decades, even centuries. “Give it time.”

“But…”

“Give it time.” A spike of amusement in Hashirama’s chakra. “In the meantime, we can keep punishing him until he’s certain of our affection.”

Tobirama mentally rolls his eyes. He knows what Hashirama’s doing, even if Madara doesn’t – tying Madara to them both with guilt and love and responsibility, making him feel the obligation of staying not just because he’s needed but because he’s jealous of the power he’s been given, Hashirama skillfully turning pleasure and punishment both into chains that Madara will never break no matter how or if he tries to run.

Madara still thinks there might be away out, after all. He hasn’t yet figured out that there isn’t.

No way out…

Tobirama suddenly sits straight up, shaking both Madara and Hashirama off of him. “The negotiations!” he blurts out. “The Hyuuga joining the village! I’m going to be late!”

“Tobirama –” Hashirama starts, then yelps when Tobirama grabs him by the ear and shakes him, even though he knows Hashirama will find a way to take it out of him later. Paperwork and administration have always been Tobirama’s domain, unquestionably, and even if it’s only because Hashirama doesn’t care for them, he has never challenged Tobirama’s mastery there.

“Get dressed this instant! You’re the Hokage, you can’t be seen as lazing around! The Hyuuga value punctuality as an important measure of respect; we will be mortally offending them if we are not prepared in time! Madara –”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Madara shouts, holding his hands out in front of him. “I’ll be bathed and dressed in minutes, just don’t hit me with a water dragon again!”

It was one time. Also, that water gout was barely the size of a small goat; Tobirama has hit Madara with far worse in their occasional sparring sessions.

Besides, there’s no way he’s trusting Uchiha what’s-the-point-in-a-bath-that-takes-less-than-an-hour Madara with getting himself ready in time.

Tobirama readies the jutsu.

Madara tries to run.

(It’s as futile as any attempt to run from a Senju is, and Tobirama’s sure if he tried he could think of some metaphor for how Madara was slowed down by tripping over their tangled bedsheets.)

With some (significant) effort, Tobirama manages to get them put together and presentable in time for the first meeting of the day.

And if the means he uses to do so cause rumors to start up again later that day, rumors about him being tyrannical and overbearing, filled with arrogance and harshness and nothing but spite, almost reptilian in his condescending disdain, accompanied by reports that his brother and his lover had been seen together whispering that something had to be done about his cruelty –

Whatever.

If that’s the price Tobirama has to pay for his brother’s happiness, for the village Hashirama and Madara dreamed of together, then he’ll pay it gladly.

[impertfectedchoices]

I Promise - PT.3

Prompt: In a Heartbeat Ship: James X MC POV: (Point of View): James Word Count: 1,653 Tags:

@hhiggs | @destinio1 | @marryjanewaston

Artist Comment: Holaaaaa, So, pardon the, AGAIN, long break. Life’s been kicking my WHO-LE existence 😭.

This one, unintentionally, is going to be a really emotional part. This wasn’t my original plan, but it just… kind of happened. The past two months have been pretty hectic, and I’m really trying my best, But when you go through bs, it seems like you’re alone. A quote I’m gonna be using in this pretty much sums up what I’m going through. And I feel like it fits in this fic too well. So, I hope this comes across well. While writing this part, I actually cried, like, semi-broke down 😭. This hits a real personal note to me, and I hope you guys understand it. So, FAIR WARNING! I’m trying my best to not look at the situation, but how I’m going to get out of it. And your “now” won’t be your “future.” Anyone can come out of a crappy situation and thrive. You just gotta go through the storm. And all that sappy stuff, lel. 💕

PS, This, as well, was on a whim. No planning, drafting, or prethinking about plot before I write…. just gonna try to spot all the spelling errors this time 😂

le’Enjoy!

•

8:01pm

It’s feeling like elephants are sitting on my chest, since getting back to the car. I’ve never, necessarily, had problems with my breathing being under control. But sitting here; watching the car lights from main road dance across my windshield, I find that I’m constantly reminding myself to take breaths. The more I force myself, it seems, my breathing gets more shallow. I’m repeatedly feeling on the inside, each attempt to grasp at anything stable. I’ve always been able to zone out, and let my mind center on my sane points. But, as of recent, there’s nothing to feel. Numbness has replaced any form of joy to my life, leaving me a drained form of myself.

From the library, past… past MC’s house, to the highway that took me a few miles away from Hartfeld.

Familiar roads allowed for the holes to appear slowly into the wall I temporarily built up, within a 30 minute time span. I parked, went inside and felt the anxiety creep its way back in. My mind tried to put itself back together, but seemed conflicted with the storm’s leftover mess that wasn’t letting up. Every time I attempted to collect my emotions, regain what stability I believed consumed my existence, something happens to throw my progress out the window to clean, discard, and replace. One fall after the next.

My hands were still, wrapped around the wheel. Never leaves, but tightens every so often. I could feel myself tense up, veins more visible, and the white peaking through from the grip I’d had. I needed to focus on something, Anything.

There’s like… maybe over 30 cars in the parking lot.

40?

Just turned red…

Counted off 5 cars turning right at the light.

…now 6,

7?

Yea, 7.

Turned green.

White… Toyota

Um, think it’s a Camry.

The left side’s light always seems to last lo-

• knock, knock •

Now, just realizing the knocking happening next to me, I’d subconsciously whipped away any traces of emotion left on my face to greet who it’d been. To my surprise, I was greeted back with a less then stable face bundled up in her jacket. Unlocking the door, Abbie walked to the passengers side. I opened the door for her, as she climbed in, with semi-urgency. “W-wow, it���s a lot colder than I thought I’d be today.” She said with a bit of a stuttery smile. It had been getting colder since fall started creeping in, but the temperature rarely came to mind, with everything else taking up room. I tried my best to disguise any strain that I’d been feeling earlier, to save face. “Yeah, falls been catching up on us.” mentioning with a halfhearted smile. As I began fiddling with the knobs; turning switches to adjust the heat, she cleared her throat before she began breaking the silence again, “James,”

Looking back up, her face, almost immediately tensed up. Actually looking at her, you could tell she’d been worn out. She looked as if she’d been crying, and her eyes grew puffier the more seconds passed by. Abbie seemed very resilient at times. But in this moment; just like everyone else, I was stunned to see her so weakened. “Abbie. MC’s going to be oka-“ “Don’t lie,” The cracking in her voice was low, but audible enough to ring throughout my head. “James, ?Kaitlyn and Zack told me everything. I went to meet up with everyone, got inside and… and everyone was just, falling apart. Chis pulled Tyler to the side. And I’ve, I’ve never seen him look so broken. Zach couldn’t even look me in the eyes, and Kaitlyn could barely get enough words out without breaking down mid sentence…” The more she spoke, the more the reality of the situation sunk back into me. “…They told me you left, and that’s not like you. So I had to find you.” She’d been turned directly to me, eyes swelling. Looking down at my steering wheel, my hands at some point fell back into position. Feeling myself tense up, still forcing myself to control my breathing enough to speak, “I just, it was hard for me to stay in there for much lon-“

“JAMES, THAT DOESN’T MATTER!” Wide-eyed, My eyes darted back up to her. Her face had gotten a hint redder than normal, and her expression was drenched with frustration, annoyance, worry, and concern. She had been trying to do what everyone felt was impossible; break through the walls I built up when placed in these circumstances. I understood what she was trying to get accomplished, but of all moments, now wasn’t the time. “Abbie,” Attempting to bite back any amount of sternness in my voices, I continued, “… I know how your feeling right now, this isn’t easy on me either. But the last thing we need to be doing is losing it on each other.” It seemed like everything I was saying, though, was just fueling the fire. “What an excuse. So is this your way of ‘solving the situation?’ Running off and hiding in your car?” “No, but staying in there isn’t going to make it any better.” “So, what is staying locked up in here is proving? All I see is someone running away from their problems!”

I could feel every ounce of me radiate irritation. It was getting harder to swallow it. “So do you truly believe I don’t care about MC? Really?” “If you did, you’d be in that room waiting for her! You already took her for granted before, and to think I thought better of you James. I had high hopes, but she’s given you way too many chances for you to get your act together… and you just SIT HERE! You may have had a lot on you plate, but she’s literally given every chance to fix her schedule to make time for you. And all she can get is a few texts, Time you give her for newspaper club meetings? You literally stand her up to work on some dumb paper when you knew she’d been sick. And no apology? Nothing?”

I’d still been staring at the steering wheel as she spoke. The more she yelled, the tighter my grip had gotten. What she didn’t understand was that this was literally killing every inch of my being inside. It felt like I was falling in this hole; ever since Vasquez passed, plummeting. Im just ready to hit the bottom, look at the distance I have to climb, and start climbing, but there isn’t a bottom. I just keep falling. It never ends. This constant torment doesn’t seem to have an end. And I just want it to be over. Everything emotion warped around in my head together; anger, fustration, sadness, guilt, irritability, brokenhearted-ness, fear, heartache, pain. It all reeked in my body, consuming me as all I could hear in my head was yelling. Abbie’s voice faded out, and all I could here was my subconscious talking: It’s your fault, you should’ve been there, you did this, where were you, she needed you, you weren’t there, your no good for her, she’s wasting her time, your taking her for granted, she deserves better, let her go…

“God James, I would thought you’d learn better from everything you put her through. Even with Vasq-“

BEEEEEEEEP!

“BE QUIET!!!!!”

I slammed my fist into the wheel instinctively. I needed the voices to stop, the agony to stop, I just needed to be able to hear thoughts that were my own. She jumped, looking shocked towards me. She didn’t expect such a response from me.

“Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, it’s not true… it’s not true. I care… I care, I swear.” I’d kept repeating this to myself, extensively tight clutch on the steering wheel, hunched over it.

“I care, I swear I care about her… I love her so much, God. Please, make her okay, i swear I’ll do better I care I care I care She means the world to me she does I need her”

I kept repeating it, over and over again. I needed what I believed to overpower what was going on in my head. But I didn’t have the strength to keep up the facade. They were right, it was my fault. She’s been so stressed because of me. I didn’t deserve her, I should have been a better partner, a better friend, a better boyfriend… I didn’t notice Abbie grab me from my stance and held me. She had been the one consoling me this time around. The hold I had over my emotions just gave out. It felt as if me as a person broke, shattered for the first time, as I was left to face my emotions, instead of disguise them.

“I’m so sorry, MC. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m sor-ry I’m so- I’m so-rryyyy.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Dropping my face into my hands, my heart wrenched and I dissolved in myself. Shaking, all I could do was replay what she’d told me, making my soul call out for her more;

”I’m fine James, it’s just a small cold. Nothing I… *sniff* can’t handle!”

”I’ll be okay James, I promise.”

”Geez, so mushy.”

”… but I love you too, my darling.”

•LAST •NEXT

[ellynefics]

‘Round Midnight

genre;; realistic, college!AU

pairing;; Im Changkyun x fem!reader, mentions of Showhyuk and Kiheon

plot;;

@astroisk said to @floofsta-x: things you said when you were drunk !!

       Send me a prompt and a ship! (✻Ask Box)

You always act like Changkyun’s drunk appearances at your dorm room door bother you, but really you don’t mind. You’d rather he be sleeping in your bed than in a stranger’s.

warnings;; angst!! slight platonic fluff!!

words;; 1929 (1.9k)

Why did time have to pass so slowly? Straightening up, you sighed and rubbed your forehead. The muscles in your back ached in complaint, not wanting to leave their hunched position. Homework was consuming your evening; you had spent the majority leaning over your notes and laptop keyboard. All your concentration went to the task at hand, and you were deep in the throes of writing an English paper. Sure, the topic wasn't overly interesting (some bull about Shakespeare’s works compared to Voltaire’s), but a paper was a paper. At least it wasn’t a rush job; the due date was a little more than a week away, so you weren’t half-assing everything.

You told yourself that when the clock said quarter to midnight, you would wrap it up. Snuggling under warm blankets sounded amazing, as well as closing your tired eyes and catching a few winks of sleep.

But there was another motivation, besides bed: the treat that awaited you in your mini fridge. This was the thing that truly made it worthwhile. About an hour and a half before, you had pulled a can of peach slices from your drawer of food. Dumping the contents into a soup mug, you proceeded to stick that in the freezer. If you left it long enough, the juice would become slushy, and the fruit itself delightfully frosted over. Then it was a delicious treat, and the perfect end to a long day of hard work and toil in the name of higher education.

One more sentence, you told yourself. Just a few more words, and you’ll probably look up and it’ll be five minutes past.

You were right. After typing in a little more of what you had in mind for your research paper, you glanced up to find eleven forty five was come and gone. In a flash, you had packed everything up into your backpack. Then you hopped out of your chair and grabbed your pajamas from your bed. It took only seconds to change. Excitement filled you to have that cold mug in your hands, and be popping peachy goodness into your mouth. Shutting the light off in the bathroom, and then the main light, you went to your small fluorescent lamp. Soft, white luminescence permeated the room when you pressed the button on its top. Then, grabbing a fork from your silverware cup, you practically ran to the fridge and pulled open the door.

The mug was so cold, at a perfect temperature. Poking the top of the fruit, you found that it was right at that most delicious stage, too. If it wasn’t so late, you would have been singing and dancing. Peeling back the covers of your bed, you hopped underneath them and pulled a cute cat video up on your phone. You were now warm, cozy, eating a cold, sweet treat, and watching kittens. Again, truly the perfect end to the day–and also the week, you realized. It was Friday. Oh, how easy it was to forget in the swing of things. Classes overwhelmed your days, activities your evenings--the days often blurred together.

You had barely gotten through half the mug and three compilations of cats when you heard the outside door open. That was, the one to the common room, that divided your suite from the one across the way. Unsteady, stumbling footsteps approached your side. Then there was a knock, and you immediately knew who it was. They almost didn’t even have to call through to you. “(Y/N)? Ya in?”

“Coming, Changkyun.” With a sigh, you set aside your snack. Sliding off the bed, you made your way over to the door, flipping the light on before unlocking it. Your eyes had to adjust to the sudden brightness; so, for a moment, he was a hazy figure as you pulled it open. You, as well, were probably out of focus for him, considering his state. 

Usually, Im Changkyun was a clean-pressed, organized young man with a proud posture and great fashion sense. However tonight he was clearly messy and disheveled. The effects of copious amounts of Soju dulled his normally-sparkling eyes. It was so unlike him, that to anyone less of friends with him than you, the difference would be shocking. At least he still had a wide, white, blinding smile and his signature swagger.

Yeah, Really, this wasn’t much of a surprise. It was part of the normal routine. See, sometimes, after a night out at the bar, he would appear here, wanting to hang out. You’d let him in, and banter back and forth for a while before he’d inevitably fall asleep in your bed. Good thing you had a comfortable futon. Why he sought you out in particular was a mystery, but you trusted him. At least, enough to let him be alone with you, even in an inebriated state. Everyone knew you as the motherly friend, even from the beginning. For some reason, Changkyun was often the recipient of this strange affection. You worried about him when he wasn’t taking care of himself.

“Changkyunie, please don’t tell me that you walked here. Or, worse–drove.”

“Nah,” he answered sloppily and traipsed in. You stepped aside to let him past, and of course he headed straight for your bed. “Jooheon dropped m'off. Had t'go get t'others.”

“Okay. If you insist, I suppose I’ll believe that.” As much as you loved to tease and act annoyed at his sudden visits, you never were genuinely angry. Besides, you would much rather have him be here than somewhere unfamiliar. The absolute last thing you wanted to hear was a story out of his mouth about waking up scared and confused, in a strange bed or on a couch in an apartment he’d never seen.

He plopped down on the mattress, grinning as he bounced up and down a couple times. Then he toed his shoes off onto the floor and slid his legs under the covers. He always acted this way, like an unashamed little kid. It was aggravating sometimes but also endearing. You grabbed your mug of peaches (which was still fairly cold, thank goodness) and settled down on the other end of the bed, facing him.

“So, good night tonight?”

“Yeh,” Changkyun smiled and leaned back. In seconds, you were trying to pick words out of his drunken babble. He was so unashamed in telling you what had gone down earlier with him and his six good friends. A bottle of Soju had made the rounds, (“we all had, like, a loooot,”) they had nearly injured someone while trying to play darts, pool hadn’t been much better, and eventually they had just decided to stick to hanging out. Hyungwon met a lady, and they had gone home together. Quite unsurprisingly, Minhyuk and Hyunwoo had abruptly left side by side, too. (“Whennare those guys gonna date? C’mon, we ge'it, we know they sleep t’gether.”) Then Changkyun told you he had asked Jooheon to bring him here, to be with you. Still, nothing too surprising. That was also something in the normal routine. (“Jooheonie din’ have anything ta drink,” the boy in your bed reassured you, eyes wide. His hands waved sloppily in front of his chest. “Someone had ta take us’all home. It was his turn.”) Then his dimpled friend had gone back to pick up Kihyun and Hoseok. (“Jooheonie 'n Kihyun hyung looked like they were ‘bout to eat each other up,” Changkyun chuckled with perhaps too much glee.)

You couldn't help noticing that the whole time, he had his gaze fixed firmly on your hand, and bites of your succulent yellow fruit. Curiosity must have overwhelmed him because he stopped his story telling to ask. “So, whaddya eatin’?”

“Peach slices,” you answered, grinning back and spearing some on your fork. “Want one?” you held it out to him, cold fruit glistening enticingly on the prongs.

He didn't answer, but really he didn’t need to. All he had to do was lean forward and open his mouth. You stuck the bite in, and was almost instantly met by, “Hm, 's cold. Yum.” As he chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, he shot you one of his winks. Ah, Changkyun’s winks were disarming and oh-so-cute. Despite yourself, you chuckled and felt your cheeks heat up. There was a playful grin on his face, too, and that didn’t make things any better.

It must have been when you dropped your gaze; you could swear that someone else replaced him. Though his voice was still his low, rich own, all a sudden it was clear as a bell. “(Y/N)...d--do you know how beautiful you look right now?”

You dared to glance up and saw that his wet eyes were clear. You stopped, mind blanking for a moment. Obviously he wasn’t sober, he couldn’t be just like that, but...did he just confess to you? Eventually, you were able to croak some words in reply. “C--Changkyun, you know I have someone…”

To say that you hadn’t thought about yourself with him would be a lie. Changkyun was handsome, kind, considerate, romantic, and as far as you knew, single. His lips were probably sweet and soft (not that you thought about that more than once a blue moon). A girl could fall for him so easily, and without a doubt, you would have. That was, if you hadn’t already found the love of your life.

The two of you met in high school and were inseparable from the very beginning. It hurt at first that considering your different majors, you each selected different colleges, too. Being so far apart from each other had been a change, but nothing could kill your love for him. If you had concurrent free hours, he Skype called you, without fail. When you pulled up the screen to the sight of the man you wanted to spend your life with, your heart fluttered like it was the first time he kissed you. Before you had moved away to your respective schools, you had pledged to be faithful to one another. Even now, you wore his promise ring. When you twisted it on your finger, you could almost feel the warm touch of his lips on yours and his gentle hands as he cupped your cheeks. The trinket was a tangible reminder of his adoration, and that his heart was always with you.

Not to say there weren’t temptations, though, and Changkyunie was definitely one of them. Especially at times like this, when he looked so vulnerable, sitting just feet from you. He trembled a little, like he wanted to reach out, but he wasn’t going to let himself.

“I know.” He sighed at last. “Sometimes I like to imagine that you’re mine, though. I hope that’s ok. If it’s weird, I’ll stop. I understand how much you love your boyfriend...”

“No, it’s fine. Ah--honestly, I think about it, too.”

A sad smile spread across his face at your words, and he gave a little sigh, burying himself under your covers. It wasn’t long before he was asleep, snoring softly, peacefully.

As you watched him for a little longer, you knew that he’d probably not remember this in the morning. It meant so much to you, though. The love you felt in your heart for your handsome friend felt more stable, more justified. 

You were glad he came to you. You were glad you let him in.

[bellarkefanfiction]

suddenly i see (this is what i wanna be)

*click through to read on ao3

written by: Mel | @mellamymake

prompt: "You stepped on my glasses and now I'm pretty much blinded and you have to accompany me everywhere till I can get my new glasses" for anonymous 

word count: 5178

"I can't believe you've managed to hide this for so long."

"To be fair, I wasn't hiding," Bellamy points out, a touch of colour rising in his cheeks. "I just don't like to wear them when I'm out. That's not hiding."

Or, the one where Clarke moves in with Bellamy and is shocked to discover that he wears glasses.

In Clarke's honest defence, she wasn't even aware that Bellamy wore glasses.

"What about beach week two years ago?" she demands, staring at the black frames balanced across his nose. "Did you have glasses then?"

He adjusts them with two fingers, peering at her through the lenses. "I think it's pretty safe to say I've had them ever since I got them, Clarke. Which is, oh, about fifteen years ago."

"But did you wear them?" she persists, her frown deepening. "I'm really sure I would have remembered you wearing them."

He pauses then, his brow furrowing. "Well. I always wear them at the end of the day. Like, right before going to bed. So..."

"So only in your room, then." At his nonchalant shrug, she throws her hands up into the air, huffing exasperatedly. "I can't believe you've managed to hide this for so long."

"To be fair, I wasn't hiding," he points out, a touch of colour rising in his cheeks. "I just don't like to wear them when I'm out. That's not hiding."

"You've been wearing contacts all these years," she mutters, shaking her head. "Those are contacts I've been looking at, all these years."

"It's not like I've been wearing a wig or something," he points out, looking vaguely offended. He pauses, looking at her. "Although, if you happen to come across a face mask made of something that looks a little like human skin—"

"Fuck you," she says easily, stretching her leg across the couch to kick lightly at his knee. Of all the jokes they've cracked between them over the last couple of weeks about moving in together to save on rent, this one definitely ranks near the bottom. "Okay, so why are you wearing the glasses now? Are you going to bed at—" she spares a quick glance at the clock in the corner of the news channel they're watching, "—eight forty-nine P.M.?"

He shifts, the flush returning to his cheeks. "Cute. And no, I'm not going to bed at eight forty-nine P.M. I ran out of contacts."

She raises a brow. "You what?"

He shrugs. "I ran out. I gotta get some more."

She stares at him, forehead crinkled with disbelief. "You've been successfully hiding behind your contacts for the last fifteen years, and all of a sudden you just… ran out?"

"Okay, again, I wasn't hiding," he says, pointing at her. "And, well, sometimes shit happens." At her questioning frown, he gives her another shrug. "Shit like, I don't know, when you accidentally throw out the contacts that were supposed to last you the rest of the year before you get a chance to pick up a new pair."

"You what?!"

He rolls his eyes, but the hue of his skin still looks distinctly redder than it usually does, even under the warmth of their living room lights. "I'll put in an order for new contacts tomorrow. Anyway, it's no big deal. They're just glasses."

Except it is kind of a big deal, for some inexplicable reason she can't quite put her finger on. Something the way those black frames sit squarely across his face just makes her stare, the angle of his jawline and the soft arch of his dark brows all suddenly ramped up to an eleven. Even his lips look fuller than usual, plumper and ever so slightly redder than she can remember them being.

It's like he's wearing the glasses, but she's the one seeing several times clearer all of a sudden.

"Yeah, okay," she mutters as nonchalantly as she can, settling back into the couch to pretend she's watching the news, instead of watching her roommate out of the corner of her eye.

She's just not accustomed to seeing him in glasses. That's all. It’s brand new information; she’s allowed an adjustment period.

Once she gets used to it, everything will go right back to normal.

“Coffee’s on the table,” is the first thing she hears when she flies into the kitchen, bag hanging off her arm and shirt still only half-buttoned.

She blows out a harried sigh of relief before flinging her bag into the table to free up her hands, one going straight for the steaming mug of coffee waiting for her, the other swiping up the piece of toast sitting beside it, already slathered with butter. "Have I told you you're my favourite roommate yet?" she says, trying to get in a sip of coffee through a mouthful of toast.

"Not lately, no," Bellamy says idly, squinting at her iPad as he flicks through Netflix. "You’ve got about twelve minutes to get to your meeting, by the way. Checked out traffic while you were in the shower — you're gonna wanna avoid 5th today."

"Fuck," she announces, not bothering to cover her toast-filled mouth. As quickly as she can without spilling everything down her front, she demolishes the rest of her toast within three bites and gulps down half her coffee.

"See you later!" she says, grabbing her bag off the table and dashing out of the kitchen.

"Shoes," he calls from the kitchen.

"I didn't forget," she calls back petulantly, even as she wheels around from the door to grab a pair of flats, stuffing her feet into them and whirling back to wrench the door open.

"Keys!" is all he says in response.

She does an abrupt double take, holding the door open with one foot as she twists round to snatch her keys off the side table. “Bye!” she yells, before slamming the door shut behind her.

--

meetings finally over! think i just booked 2 jobs :D

u eaten yet? want me to

pick up lunch omw home?

???

hello?????

[voice note from Bellamy]

uhhh all i hear is u sayin 'fuck. Fuck, shit' over

and over.. is that supposed to happen

why are u using voice notes that’s so weird

[1 image from Bellamy]

???????

i ask u if u want lunch and all i get is a

screenshot of oppenheimer's wiki page??

Om sajht def

ok u know what im just gonna

get ur usual from the diner

home in 20

--

Clarke kicks the apartment door shut with her foot, working her shoes off with her toes. "Okay, the diner was all out of chicken, so I got you beef instead," she calls, padding into the kitchen to set the large bag of food on the table. "You don't mind, do you?"

She sniggers to herself as she heads over to the tap for a drink of water, catching movement at the kitchen threshold as she turns. "Well, I don't actually care if you mind because beef is what you're getting." She swallows her first hasty gulp of cool water, swiping her hand across her mouth as she turns back around, glass in hand. "Hey, what was with the weird—"

She breaks off, taking in the way Bellamy's standing in the doorway, face all scrunched up as he blinks against the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen. "What's going on with your face?"

His expression turns wry. "My face? Nothing. My eyes are a whole different story, though."

She frowns, taking two steps forward. "What's wrong with your eyes?"

He pauses, blinking hard. "Well. Actually, nothing. It's, uh— it's my glasses."

At first she's completely lost, brows furrowed in confusion. But then Bellamy extends a hand, his thick black frames sitting neatly in the flat of his large palm, and—

"Holy shit," she says, both brows shooting up high. "What did you do to it?"

One of the lenses is slightly cracked, a hairline fracture running along the side of it. The other one is practically shattered.

"I didn't do anything," Bellamy says dryly, stepping forward carefully. "Your bag, on the other hand..."

"My what? What are you—" All of a sudden, the memory of the way she'd all but slammed her bag onto the kitchen table earlier flashes up in her mind, including the stark realisation that she had been in far too much of a rush to bother checking that the coast was clear. "Oh. Oh, fuck. Did I do that? Shit, I'm sorry!"

Bellamy waves a dismissive hand, and she really shouldn't want to laugh, but the way he's focusing on her chin instead of her eyes is oddly endearing. "No, it's okay. About time I got a new pair, anyway."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure you weren't planning to smash up this pair before you got a new one." She watches as he reaches for the bag holding their lunch, fumbling slightly with pulling out the containers. "That explains the weird replies to my texts."

He pauses, looking up at her (well, sort of). "Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was trying to tell you that I can't see, but I don't know how successful those attempts were."

"You sent me a voice note. Along with what I think is the last photo saved in your camera roll," she informs him with a dry smile, fetching another glass of water for him.

He grimaces, sliding one of the containers across the table to her. "Fuck. How incriminating was it?"

"It was a screenshot of Oppenheimer's wiki page," she says, switching the containers so they're getting the right meals. "Very racy stuff."

"Juicy," he agrees, stabbing a plastic knife into his side salad.

She tries to smother the snigger that bubbles up, but it's a half-hearted attempt at best. "Fork's on your left," she offers helpfully, popping the plastic top off her own container.

"Don't laugh," he grumps good-naturedly, waving his knife at her. "I'm blind."

--

For the most part, Bellamy doesn't seem all that bothered by his temporary handicap.

All the same, Clarke feels too responsible for his predicament to just leave him be. She spends the rest of the afternoon reading his texts and emails to him, and narrating her way through their Netflix queue when he wants to change shows (he can't quite see what's going on, but his sense of hearing is sharp as ever. Plus, he can almost sort of make out what's going on when he squints at the TV, especially once she turns the screen brightness up).

At five o'clock, she drives them both to the mall so he can order a new set of glasses, taking his arm in hers so he doesn't walk into a pillar or a glass door.

Upon reaching the optical store, she halts in her tracks, groaning in dismay. "They're closed."

Bellamy stops obediently when she does, turning slightly towards her with her arm still looped around his. "I thought it looked a little dark, but then again, I figured I'm probably not the best judge of that right now. Does it say if they're open tomorrow?"

She peers at the notice on the glass front, shaking her head ruefully. "Nope, closed on Sundays. Can you call your order in, or email or something?"

He cocks his head thoughtfully. "I can try. But I'd still have to come in to show my prescription."

"Shit," she groans, squeezing at his bicep. "Fuck, I really am sorry."

His other hand comes up to cover hers. "It's okay, princess. It was an accident. You don't have to keep apologising for it."

She starts them towards the Dairy Queen kiosk that's just around the corner. "I feel like I have to. If I didn't totally crush your glasses, you wouldn't have walked right into the bathroom doorframe earlier."

"True," he agrees easily. She jabs her elbow into his ribs, and he laughs, tightening his arm against his side so that she's pressed even closer, her mobility limited. "It's fine, Clarke. Seriously. Plus, I've never had an escort before. S'kinda cool."

"For you," she pretends to grouch, digging into her bag with her free hand. "All right, come on. DQ Blizzards on me."

--

"This is new," Miller observes when they arrive at the bar three hours later, arm in arm.

"This is a necessary precaution," Clarke corrects wryly, guiding Bellamy into one side of the booth with a hand on his arm and one on his back before sliding in after him. "We've got some news, guys. Bellamy's blind."

Jasper practically spews beer nut fragments all over the table. "Bellamy's blind?!"

"I'm not blind," Bellamy says loudly, as a tidal chorus of what's and Oh my God's start surging up around the table. "I'm not— Jasper, I'm not blind! I just don't have any contacts in right now. Or glasses. Or any sort of seeing aides that, uh, you know. Aid me with seeing."

Raven frowns, raising an arched brow at him. "You wear glasses?"

Clarke throws out an exasperated hand at her, turning towards Bellamy. "Thank you! See how well you've hidden this little factoid?"

"Okay, again," Bellamy says, blinking hazily at her forehead, "not hiding."

"Wait," Monty interrupts, face pinched with confusion. "I don't get it. What happened to your glasses?"

Bellamy heaves a melodramatic sigh. "They put up a valiant fight, but ultimately, even they couldn't stand up to the weight of having Clarke for a roommate."

"It was an accident," Clarke says with a roll of her eyes, grinning despite herself. "There was a thing with my bag. Anyway, the point is that Bellamy's blind now."

"Not blind," he argues lightly. "Just very, very myopic."

Clarke ignores him, deliberately elbowing him aside as she leans forward. "So if you've ever wanted to make a rude face or gesture at him," she continues, "now would be the time, people."

Raven and Miller instantly both hold up two completely different hand signs, each one just as vulgar.

"I don't know what that is," Bellamy says warningly, pointing vaguely in their direction, "but I can tell exactly who it is that's doing that."

Jasper somehow produces a Sharpie out of thin air, already breathless with excitement. "When do we get to draw on his face?"

"He's blind, Jasper," Monty reminds helpfully. "Not passed out."

"I'm not—"

"You're not blind!" Miller finishes mockingly. "As for 'passed out', well. The night has only just begun, my friend."

"You're not passing out," Clarke tells him once Miller and Monty head off to the bar to fetch the first round of drinks. She turns in the booth to face him, leaning in so he can hear over the buzz of the bar and the sound of Jasper and Raven fighting over the last of the beer nuts across the table. "I can make sure you don't walk into lampposts. I cannot carry you home all by myself."

Bellamy grins, and just for a moment or two, they're close enough that he can focus in on her eyes properly, their gazes firmly locking on each other. "What a good escort."

She rolls her eyes, punching him lightly in the shoulder. There's practically no force to it at all, so she just ends up pressing her knuckles into his arm, their faces mere inches apart. "Yeah, well," she manages to say, "don't get used to it."

She hopes that the way her throat goes dry at the end isn't audible in her voice.

Bellamy merely smirks, his mouth curving in that crooked way that used to piss her off like nothing else back when they'd first met. "Wouldn't dream of it, princess."

--

The thing is, someone does get used to it.

Funnily enough, that someone is her.

For some reason, it feels far too natural to be this close to Bellamy, looping her arm in his every time they're on the move, leading him over to the bar, or the pool table (to trash talk Miller from the sidelines), or the darts corner (so he can squint at the board and pretend like his vision's 'not that bad, I think I can make out the general bull's-eye area' and then proceed to punch three tiny holes into the wall before hastily giving up).

When his friend Harper from work stops by the booth to say hi, it feels far too natural to get up with Bellamy and walk together over to the table where three more of their co-workers are situated, her arm staying loosely interlocked with his even as they come to a stop. (There's a slight snafu when he introduces her to his colleagues. One of the group — Murphy, she thinks it was — raises his brows before saying "Oh, so you're Clarke." She's about to ask exactly what he means, but then Harper interrupts to ask Bellamy something about a meeting on Monday, and the statement just kind of gets buried under the ensuing conversation.)

She even feels disappointed by the couple of times she's not able to walk with him to the bathroom, watching Miller and then Jasper guide him off with a faint but distinct throb of envy.

She's never enjoyed the walk home as much as she does later that night, one hand neatly tucked into the crook of his elbow, the other wrapped lightly around his forearm in what's practically an embrace.

It's just to be safe, of course. They've both had a few beers. They're not unsteady by any means, but she doesn't see any harm maintaining a little closer contact than usual, especially with his shortsightedness exacerbated by the darkness of night.

He's familiar enough with their apartment that he can handle a shower without supervision (not that she was expecting otherwise), but she can't resist checking in on him one last time before going to bed.

He's already under the covers, but he props himself up on his elbows, smiling tiredly at her. "Thanks for looking out for me today." A soft snort. "Literally."

"Funny," she deadpans, smiling back despite herself. "Goodnight, Bellamy."

"'Night, princess."

--

Clearly, being (almost) blind isn't enough to convince Bellamy to stay within the comfortable confines of home, because by lunchtime they're heading towards their favourite taco stand that's two streets over from their apartment, arm in arm once again.

"I mean, it's Sunday," Clarke pretends to grumble, pushing slightly into his side to avoid an oncoming passerby, a large German shepherd loping before him on a leash. "That should be more than enough reason to, you know. Stay home."

Bellamy steps slightly to his right and away from the dog-walker, pressing his arm in against his body to pull her even closer. "Exactly, it's Sunday.A.K.A., the best day for tacos." He shrugs, not bothering to relax his arms outward even after the dog and his owner are well behind them, keeping them pressed flush against each other from shoulder to elbow. "It's just science, okay? Why are you trying to argue with science?"

She snorts. "Science, right. More like your greedy gut." Twisting her arm slightly in his grip, she pokes her index finger at his middle through the soft cotton shirt he's wearing.

He laughs, releasing her arm completely to grab at her hand with his. "No, it's science. Trust me, I'm a teacher. I would know."

"You're a history teacher, " she says in disbelief, letting her fingers curl around his.

"Who's friends with science teachers," he says, slowly and clearly as if for her benefit. "Hence."

She shakes her head, shifting a little closer as they let their still-joined hands drop down to their sides. "Ridiculous."

Well. It's a nice change from having her arm half-raised like that, she supposes. Probably better for her blood circulation, or something.

--

He eventually caves into her nagging and calls in sick to work on Monday.

"Even though this really doesn't count as a sickness," he grouches for the twelfth time, getting up to pour himself more coffee.

She's already in front of him, grabbing the empty mug out of his hands as she pushes at his shoulder in a silent command to sit back down. "Yeah, because not being able to see definitely doesn't affect your job. Not like you need that to write on the board, or grade homework. Or, you know.Teach."

"All right, all right," he says as she sets his refilled mug in front of him. "Point taken."

Later that afternoon, they're at the mall putting in an order for Bellamy's new glasses when they run into Monty.

"What are you doing here!" Clarke says, surprised. "You're not at work today?"

For some reason, Monty seems a little… off. Fidgety, almost.

"Had a late lunch meeting with a client," he says. After a beat, he lifts his thumb, jabbing it over his shoulder in the direction of the food court. "We just… had lunch."

Bellamy seems completely unperturbed by the way Monty's shoulders are rigid, the shorter man practically bouncing his weight from one foot to the other. (Then again, his nonchalance probably has a lot to do with the fact that he can't actually see Monty.) "Oh, okay. Good meeting?"

"Yeah. Yeah, good." Monty seems downright on edge at this point, his gaze constantly shifting between them. "I should go!" he finally blurts out after an awkward pause. "See you guys!"

"What was that about?" she wonders aloud, tugging on Bellamy's hand to get him to start walking again.

He shifts his grip slightly so that their fingers are more comfortably entwined with each other's. "What was what about?"

"Monty. He was all… weird."

"Maybe he's just late getting back to the office or something."

"Yeah, maybe," Clarke says as she leads them into the optical store. "Okay, where's your prescription?"

--

On Tuesday, Bellamy goes back to work, but only after Clarke makes him promise he's not going to try to write or read anything.

"You heard the optician," she lectures on the drive to his workplace. "No straining your eyes. You're only going to make them worse."

"Yes, I know," he says dryly. "Might have slipped your mind, but I've been going to eye doctors for slightly longer than you have, princess." He pats his messenger bag, balanced securely on his lap. "Besides, I've got a good six or seven documentaries in here to keep all my students occupied for the day. Don't worry about it."

"Easier said than done," she mutters, but she can't help smiling when he laughs at that.

She arrives to pick him up at exactly ten minutes past two, undoing her seatbelt and dashing out of the car when she spots him and Murphy emerge from the front doors.

She shoves down on the surge of protective concern, swallowing down the barrage of worried questions already on the tip of her tongue. "No visible bruises, I see," she says instead, taking his arm in hers.

Murphy rocks lazily on his heels. "Wait till you get his shirt off tonight."

"He's kidding," Bellamy says, mistaking her arrested flinch for distress. "I only hit, like, one thing today. It was the trash can. And I only sort of hit it. With my foot."

"So you… kicked a trash can," she supplies dryly. "Well done."

"Yeah," Murphy intones. "Usually, it's a kid."

They drive straight to the mall to pick up his glasses and a small box of disposable contact lenses, for him to use while he's waiting on his regular soft contacts to arrive.

"Does anyone ever work here," she grumbles when they arrive at the optical store to find the lights off and a sign taped to the door, with the words 'Back in five!' scrawled across in thick blue marker.

He shrugs, tugging on her hand as if to stretch out the rigid set of her shoulders. "That's okay. We can go grab lunch first."

They end up choosing a small Thai restaurant that serves up a mean green curry, splitting a small dish of mango sticky rice for dessert. They linger for far longer than is really necessary, sharing an extra glass of iced sweet milk tea between them as they enjoy the easy conversation and the relative emptiness of the restaurant, given the awkward post-lunch, pre-dinner timing of their meal.

"This is it," he says when they're back in the store, waiting on the optician to fetch his order from the back room. "As soon as those glasses get on my face, this prince turns back into a frog."

"Joke's on you," she deadpans, elbowing him lightly. "You've been a frog all along."

He laughs, his hand tightening reflexively on hers. "Harsh, princess."

It's really not that big a deal, or any notable size of a deal at all, but she finds herself holding her breath when the glasses come out of their shiny new case. There's an extra minute or so where the optician gives them a last polish, prattling on and on about all the lens fit and the design of the frame, but then finally, he's handing them over to Bellamy, and—

"Whoa." Bellamy blinks, the dark brown of his eyes looking even glossier through the clear lenses. "Let there be light." He spreads both hands slightly, his inky black curls curling against the top of the thick frames. "Well? What do you think?"

There's a lump in her throat, and she has no idea how it got there. She swallows hard.

"Oh, yeah," she says, a little weakly. "Definitely still a frog."

They walk back to the car like they always do; separately, hands at their sides.

--

The next three days are oddly uncomfortable.

Everything goes right back to normal. She holes up in her home office to work on her projects, Bellamy goes to school, they have dinner on the couch every night, with a bubbly sitcom or a quirky dramedy playing on the TV.

Even though nothing's really changed, she can't help feeling like everything's been knocked slightly out of alignment. Like the lines and shapes and colours that make up the world around her suddenly aren't quite as clear or bright as they used to be.

"What?" Bellamy says when he notices her staring one night. He lifts a hand, touching his fingertips to his thick black frames. "Look that bad?"

He'd originally planned to wear the disposable ones for the rest of the week, but on the first day wearing them, he'd popped them out within the hour, complaining that they just don't fit like his usual pair.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, yeah. Nowhere near as pretty as your other pair," she says with a grin. They're both fully aware that these new frames are more or less identical to his old ones.

He shakes his head, mouth curved with a wide smile. "Well, you can quit worrying about it. My contacts should get here tomorrow." He taps at his glasses. "Say bye to these."

She's struck by the sudden realisation that she doesn't want to do that. She likes the glasses. She likes how much softer they make his structured cheeks and jaw look, how much fluffier his hair seems to grow, how much more relaxed his entire body seems to become.

"We're having dinner with Raven and Miller tomorrow," she says instead. "Don't forget."

--

Dinner is a loud affair, even with Jasper and Monty passing so they can attend a mutual friend's housewarming party.

Clarke's not sure what it is exactly about the night that makes it so enjoyable, but something about Raven's sharp snark and Miller's lazy sarcasm just seems to turn everything about twelve shades funnier than usual. The little Mexican bistro Miller's chosen for dinner is relaxed and comfortable, with great food and even better drinks, and for the first time in three days, she feels herself loosening up, smiling easier and laughing harder than she has in a while.

She drinks slightly more sangria than she'd originally planned to, but the light giddiness that seeps into her system is definitely borne of genuine joy rather than any hint of drunkenness.

"Raven's funny," she says as she and Bellamy start on the walk back home. "Miller's funny, too. We should hang out with them more often."

He chuckles, his head tilting sideways as he looks over at her. "We hang out with them all the time."

"No, I mean, like, just them," she insists, grinning helplessly. "Without Jonty and Masper."

He squints at her, expression teasing. "You drunk, Clarke?"

She laughs, shaking her head. She really isn't. It just feels like an invisible weight's been lifted from her shoulders. It feels good. "No. Just… happy."

He nods, seeming to consider her answer more seriously than she'd expected. "Good. That's good, princess."

Now she's the one cocking her head, squinting at him. "Are you happy?"

He laughs, but there's an unfamiliar edge to the sound that rings distinctly bittersweet to her ears. "With you? Always."

On sheer impulse, she reaches out, slipping her hand into his. "Good."

It's only when his hand curls around hers, big and warm, that she really, properly gets what it is that she's doing. It's all fine and dandy to hold her roommate's hand for the purpose of guiding him about while his vision's impaired, but—

"Oh." Forcing herself to loosen her grip, she works up a tense laugh. "Sorry. Force of habit, I guess."

Never mind that it's been three whole days since she'd last held his hand. Never mind that they'd really only spent three days before that even holding hands at all, which is nowhere near long enough to form a legitimate habit.

Bellamy blinks, making no moves to let her hand slip from his. "No, it's— it's okay. I mean, I don't mind."

It's fucking embarrassing to admit, but her breath hitches in her throat — actually hitches. Like she's a character in a cheesy romance novel. "Oh. Okay. As long as you're sure."

She's expecting some sort of wry crack, or maybe a dry, deadpanned reassurance that 'I've survived Jasper and Monty's homemade moonshine, princess. Holding hands with you is hardly going to kill me'.

The last thing she's expecting is for Bellamy come to an abrupt stop, tug firmly on her hand to turn her towards him, bring his free hand up to cup her face and kiss her.

She's kissing him right back before she can even quite grasp what's happening, her free hand twisting into his shirt, the other shifting slightly in his to pull him even closer.

After a long, glorious minute, he pulls back, pressing his forehead to hers. She can't quite tell that fiery warmth blazing between the point of their contact is coming from his skin or hers.

"I'm sure, Clarke," he says, smiling against her lips. "I'm absolutely, completely sure."

--

"See, I told you I was sure!" Monty cries when they walk into the bar the next day, one of his fingers pointed right at their joined hands.

"Holy shit," Jasper says, eyes wide. "Are you guys for real dating now?!"

Clarke pauses, frowning slightly. "Well, we weren't— this is new, it didn't happen till—" She sighs, giving up as the entire table predictably erupts into cheers. "Yeah, okay," she says, grinning at Bellamy. "We are, all right?"

"Told you love was blind," Miller says, sloshing his beer dangerously when Jasper shoves him in excitement.

Bellamy groans. "For the last time, I'm not blind!"

[shealwaysreads]

Sterek Fic Recs: The Future Fic Edition

Homing Mechanisms by @sterekationstation

“Magnetoreception: The sense which allows an organism to detect a magnetic field to perceive direction, altitude or location. How birds find their way home.

–

Stiles returns to Beacon Hills after four years at Stanford, only to find out that Derek has moved back into town. He brings him a housewarming gift. Derek makes food. Things escalate from there.”

Derek Hale and happiness - the ultimate kink - a sentiment shared by Stiles in this fic. It’s just perfectly done - both of our fave boys back in Beacon Hills and finally, finally able to settle and be happy. Favourite line including ‘Stiles’ brain bluescreens for a second when he sees how dark Derek’s eyes are.”

The House That Built Us by @cleverlittlekitt

“"I like open concept,“ Stiles says, and Derek wonders briefly if he is simply thinking out loud. "And lots of seating. Like, maybe a big, cushy sectional. A couple of recliners. Lots of room to lounge.”

Derek nods, mostly out of habit. He’s become accustomed to hearing Stiles without really listening to him.”

Derek builds a house, Stiles doesn’t understand, until he does. This is so sweetly done, Derek is so lovely, and the final scenes in the house with dinner and the tour are perfect.

How It’s Meant To Be by tangentialives

“"Hey,“ Stiles says, breaking the silence as he leans against the side of the Jeep, which has miraculously somehow survived everything.

"Hey,” Derek replies, a ready smirk curling the edge of his mouth. He’s always ready to smile when Stiles is around: it just seems to happen that way.

Again, Stiles says, “Hey.” Derek waits expectantly, and Stiles pushes off the Jeep, shoving his hands into his pockets and ambling towards Derek like he’s got all the time in the world. “Do you want to get something to eat?” he asks, the quiet confidence that Derek will say yes making the timbre of his voice a little lower than usual.”

This is short, but sweet, and totally lovely. Just what we want to happen to these two - naturally falling into one another.

Believer and a Homecoming by lsdme

“I’m serious Derek,” Stiles whispers. “Come home.”

Okay so “gratuitous beards” and “explicit peace” are both tags on this work which I feel negate any need for me to wax lyrical about it. BUT IM GONNA ANYWAY. This whole fic is just. Ugh. It’s just so satisfying and achingly sweet, and Stiles has no idea until he does. And Derek is so hopeful and open and so surprised that he is loved and I could cry at how much he deserves this ending.

Testing the Waters by @coyotequeens

“Prompt fill: “I would LOVE a future!fic where Stiles randomly bumps into Derek, maybe in nyc. He’s in college now or maybe even post college, and this is their first time interacting since Derek left Beacon Hills. Stiles is obviously SMOKING HOT now and Derek finally got his shit together and is a successful 30 something.”

This is awesome - Derek is settled and content and he has friends and a job and he’s happy okay? And then Stiles shows up and it’s even better. In such a short fic with no ‘plot’ grimm just writes such a believable experience and it feels like the start of the future.

How To Be a Normal Person by drunktuesdays

“Instead he sits for a moment, looking at the empty search box, fingers on the home row the way his mother taught him. He thinks about that, and about the hole in the wall he’d lived with for so long, and the way Isaac had grinned at him last night when he’d finally gotten around to plugging the refrigerator in.

He finds himself typing in, “how to be a normal person.””

This is just brilliant. Hilarious and tragic and heartfelt all at once, I love this Derek who doesn’t have his shit together, I love his growth. I love Trixie more than possibly anything in the world. And Stiles totally loves Derek. So, you know, it’s all good.

Inexorable by @notthequiettype

“Derek might never admit what he wants from Stiles, what he’s wanted for so long, but Stiles is okay with that most days. It’s been years of this low thrumming, pulsing want between them and Stiles thinks of it like a living thing, warm and familiar and constant.”

I just really like the way this plays out - Derek’s restraint (for so many reasons) and Stiles actually being content with how things are, but still needing to mention it, to push. Because he’s Stiles and because he knows that he and Derek deserve more. So lovely.

Sunshine (Walking On) by JenNova

“Derek Hale has a good day. (There is ice cream.)”

All of this is good. The whole fic is just filled with such warmth and gentleness and love it’s just a delight to read. Derek Hale is happy here, so so happy. You will be smiling the whole way through.

Kiss Me On This Cold December Night by @leslieknopeismyspiritanimal 

“The hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck tingle, and he swallows hard against the unmistakable sensation of someone staring at him. He’s tempted to just ignore it, but after a few seconds, his curiosity wins out and he looks up from his phone instead. He doesn’t notice anything right away, flicking his gaze along the people on the other side of the intersection until he suddenly stops and backtracks. It’s a little hard to see, what with the thick drizzle and the cars whizzing between them, but he would recognize that glorious bearded face anywhere, even after six years. Holy shit.”

Well. This is so damn good okay? We’ve got grown up Stiles with his own career, and Derek who is an architect and has had therapy and is happy and safe and well adjusted. AND THIS IS THEIR MOMENT. Cue Stiles getting all hot and bothered by Derek successfully adulting , and Derek being blown away by Stiles’ everything. And there’s Christmas. So you know I’m in love with this fic.

A Work In Progress by @alittledizzy 

“Stiles and Derek - they take their time, but they’re getting there. And that’s okay with them.”

In which Derek waited, Stiles grew up, they both healed, and their potential unfurls. This is a really lovely fic.

I know my kingdom awaits and they’ve forgiven my mistakes by @bleep0bleep 

“It’s now, watching the fading rays of the afternoon sun on the longest day of the summer, that it becomes more and more apparent that Stiles needs a car. Stiles gets a text message from an unexpected someone. And a gift.”

This is such a great little fic - you get so much story in such a short space and the miles of unspoken words between Stiles and Derek are so present. It’s pre-slash and its so tantalising and hopeful - just awesome.

[comicteaparty]

March 28th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party chat that occurred on March 28th, 2019, from 5PM - 7PM PDT.  The chat focused on Daemon by Akreampuff.

Featured Comment:

Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB START!

Good evening, everyone~! This week’s Thursday Book Club is officially beginning! Today we are discussing Daemon by Akreampuff~! (http://daemon.smackjeeves.com/)

Remember that Thursday discussions are completely freeform! However, every 30 minutes I will drop in OPTIONAL discussion questions in case you’d like a bit of a prompt. If you miss out on one of these prompts, you can find them pinned for the chat’s duration. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is fun and respectfully appreciating the comic. All that said, let’s begin!

QUESTION 1. What is your favorite scene in the comic so far and why?

my favorite scene is probably the one where billie transforms. this is largely due to it overcoming my expectations, cause a lot of transformation sequences are graceful or maybe even silly. even when demons are involved whether the demons be bad or good. this one though? this one looks terrifying to go through and i love. its such a cool illustrated scene too between the transitional effects and other sorts of kind of magical effects going around. http://daemon.smackjeeves.com/comics/2477610/page-25/

another scene i really enjoyed was the boat scene, specifically when the banter picks up. i appreciate that billie is not willing to trust zeke, but i also like how chill zeke is. i think it really shows off zeke's character in particular since it seems pretty clear hes empathizing with the situation.

mathtans

Made it. I was gonna ask if you meant the transformation forwards or back, so I'm glad you put in the reference. Neither seem all that fun.

I rather liked when the door blew out due to the fire, sending Billie out into the tree. And I mean "like" as in it got to me, not "oh, that looks fun".

The boat and banter was kinda cool. I mostly liked it for the way it could slip in exposition elements in an entertaining way.

RebelVampire

billie getting blown out of the house was a pretty said moment. although i did like this one page where its just debris and her hand http://daemon.smackjeeves.com/comics/2477607/page-22/ maybe im just a sucker for glass debris, but i really loved how it kind of slowed the moment so you could take in what just happened and then the next page really shows that hit and land(edited)

that is also true about the boat scene. the banter was a good balance to keep the exposition entertaining

mathtans

Right, that's the page just after the one I was thinking of. But that was good too, I kind of pictured her as reaching for her mum but being blown back through the window.

I feel so bad for the mum. I think she was in it just enough to create some empathy. Part of me wonders if Dad came back and accidentally started the fire.

RebelVampire

now that would just be tragic. dad sneezes and whoops, suddenly fire

although

tbf

we never see a dead body

maybe the mom is alive

and she started the fire!

mathtans

It's true. I wonder if maybe mum is alive but could even be kidnapped or something... um, or that? She smoke, maybe? ^.^

Fire could also have been started by that other watcher, the one working with Zeke but that Zeke said he couldn't find. Maybe he went rogue.

RebelVampire

that could be. i mean right now just being disappeared kind of makes them the prime suspect

but yeah if theres one thing stories have taught

its never believe someone is dead until you see both their dead body and ghost

so i consider it highly possible the mom wasnt in the fire

doesnt even have to have been kidnapped. maybe she was at the late night store getting milk

mathtans

I wonder if ghosts exist. We only know vampires don't (which was kind of funny as stated).

Everyone probably thinks Billie died in the fire either way.

RebelVampire

yeah im really curious how she expects to just go back. cause shes been gone long enough that someone probably noticed the fire and investigated and made assumptions. or for one of the supposed victims to turn up out of the blue is the height of suspicion

it screams murder or for the insurance money

mathtans

People already didn't seem to like her, so this won't help either. Poor kid.

RebelVampire

yeah tbf i also dont get why she wants to go back

she didnt have any friends

and i didnt get the feeling she had some sort of extended family either

which i mean maybe she hasnt considered it cause shes in shock and being grumpy

QUESTION 2. Overall, it’s very obvious Billie has a lot on her plate regarding her newfound demonic lineage. Emotionally, how do you think Billie will come to deal with her situation, both in regards to her heritage and her mother being dead? How long do you think it’ll take her to adjust (if ever)? Do you feel Billie will endeavor to learn to control her newfound powers after Zeke shows her some more? Or, do you feel Billie will return “home” and try to pretend everything is normal at first? Assuming Billie learns at some point, what sorts of things do you think she’ll learn power wise? Speaking of home, what do you think Billie is going to do in regards to that? Overall, how do you see Billie just dealing with the new situation in general?

mathtans

Could just be a fear of the unknown. And she had that one blonde friend. Kinda.

I feel like one of the things Billie will ask eventually is where's Dad hanging out. I'm not sure if that will help her adjust but I think it'll help her sort some things out.

RebelVampire

yeah im surprised insofar shes not the least bit curious about her dad. especially cause her dad must be well known since those medical daemons knew of him.

enough to even say like father like daughter basically

i feel like for a while, billie might emotionally not deal with. like especially if she stays in the caves, its a lot easier to put the events out of mind. or more i mean she might deal with the demon elements and come to accept that, but i think theres other things shell avoid and not hit her till later

like the fact she has no house

mathtans

I mean, she thought her dad was just some guy, there's still the need to adjust to that.

Also might not immediately want to meet the guy who's supposedly part of this hybrid breeding program.

Yeah. I wonder if the caves are fireproof. Feels like she might have fire issues later.

RebelVampire

actually if her powers wind up being fire related, that has huge implications she started it. and i would hate to be her in the moment she realizes she caused it.

mathtans

Oooh. Like, unconsciously? That would suck. Unless someone watching her decided to start it to make her think she started it.

RebelVampire

that would be devious

but not impossible

especially if powers are somewhat inherited and her dad is the big fire guy or something

maybe what will inspire billie to meet her dad is anger. like in the sense she needs someone to lash out, and hes the secret demon father who made her and gave her demon blood and sort of got her into the situation.

mathtans

Maybe the police will investigate and she can get a report to figure out how it all started. She might not be related to fire though, maybe she has powers of just making people uncomfortable, like she did to her classmates.

Maybe. Or maybe she meets him as a trainer and doesn't realize who he is until later.

RebelVampire

actually thatd be a really interesting way to have him introduced

have him just there upfront the whole time

and then surprise

ya know, i hope the uncomfortable thing is her powers and not just her heritage in general.

cause if all daemons make ppl uncomfortable, theres a huge question of why

cause that stands in contrast to the nicer image zeke wanted to paint of them

mathtans

I'd say Satan was her father except I'm pretty sure Satan's a lady. Either that or the cliffhanger is that there's a librarian.

RebelVampire

somewhat off topic, but i really liked that one page on the boat that was all blue and white while zeke was talking about the daemons actually being good. the palette really made them see ethereal, but i like the contrast of how real colors make them look. like without that blue colored glass as it were, its kind of easy to see why someone would hmm if theyre good or bad.

yeah i kind of get the impression satan is that lady too

cause zeke did purposefully not use pronouns that i noticed

mathtans

Zeke may have his own rose coloured glasses too, mind.

Oh, that's cool. I'm not always good at picking up on art stuff.

I did have a look at the link to the time lapse video on the colouring of one of the pages... interesting how it was flipped horizontally at a couple points, I've never thought of doing that.

Actually, lots of the bonus stuff is pretty fun. Like Zeke's alternate magical transformation, or the 100th page breaking the 4th wall.

Maybe Satan is also the librarian.

RebelVampire

well zeke did say satan is just a title

so satan is the job title given to their librarians

i really loved that bonus page with zeke's alternate magical transformation

it was a good, silly addition in some serious moments

QUESTION 3. Vaguely, Zeke mentions that the hybrids were created because daemons needed something from humans. What do you think this thing daemons need is? Will Billie like the answer when she finds out, or is it going to be something that horrifies her? Why are the daemons so desperate they’d even create a breeding program to get it? The comic also talks a bit about the history of daemons. What do you think was said and done in the past to create such a negative view of daemons? What was even the purpose of making them so hated? Also, who was even the main perpetrator of these distortions? Ultimately, how do you believe both the history and the creation of hybrids will play into the story and the daemons’ goals?

mathtans

Interesting, I guess part of me just thought what they needed was love and attention. But maybe there's something in the genes.

As to the negative view, probably propaganda by cults. Maybe a jilted ex-lover.

RebelVampire

maybe it is love. i mean i dont consider it impossible. though i also would be concerned why daemons cant produce love naturally cause that has horrible implications

maybe humans are better magical conduits or something

idk why thatd be

but its the only thing i can think of

or maybe daemons have longer or immortal lifespans and they need some good ol' mortality

or

since the comic description mentions theres gonna be fighting angels

maybe only humans can fight angels

but they made hybrids cause plain ol' humans are too weak

but speaking of angels, i assume the propaganda was theres. which i mean, if all daemons make ppl uncomfortable, it was probably easy to manipulate the world that way

cause of course youd assume ppl who make you uncomfy were evil

although

if i go with humans kill angels thing, it makes sense why theyd do it. cause if humans dont like daemons anymore, there will be no alliance

mathtans

(Sorry, back) Yeah, it's weird unless they need a surplus or something... oh, right, magic. Hum, that's an idea.

Maybe a daemon can only be killed by a hybrid or something. They need one to go on a quest. Or the angel fight's a good one too.

Maybe the daemons have signed something like that they won't do stuff to angels, and so their hands are tied now that some angels have gone rogue. I wonder if there's half angels too.

Oooh. Maybe only hybrids can breed with angels?

RebelVampire

that could be.

i never considered thered be hybrid angels

if there are i feel doubly bad for humans

no matter what are the puppets

mathtans

Instead of horns and tails they grow wings. Very inconvenient as far as shirts go.

I wonder if there's some actual humans who can do magic, or only hybrids.

Also, their program can't be too successful if they've only managed under 10 in something like 20+ years.

RebelVampire

i got more the impression was that they wanted to start small

which either suggests 1) they really dont know much about the risks or what the consequences are so made a small sample size or 2) theyre afraid of there being too many hybrids

mathtans

Hmm, I suppose that could be too. Though seemingly they weren't sure if anything would even manifest, so maybe their sample was larger than we give credit for.

RebelVampire

im really curious if the blond friend is a hybrid somehow. especially since she didnt mind billie at all

mathtans

I wondered about that, but with so few of them, it'd be a bit of a coincidence.(edited)

Unless they're all from the same region on Earth or something, I guess. (Maybe she's an angel?)

It'd cut against the grain, an angel who likes to skip class and show up late and stuff.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 4. Besides the history of daemons, there are a few other mysteries floating about. Who do you think burnt down Billie’s house and for what goal? Was Zeke really not involved? Could it have been another daemon? How do you think Billie’s mother even ended up with a daemon? Did Billie’s mother really not know he was a daemon? Alternatively, if she knew, why didn’t she tell Billie? Do you think Billie will get to meet her father? If so, how do you foresee that going? Additionally, how do you think it will go when Billie meets the other hybrids? Will she find newfound friends, or is she doomed to be alone? In general, what future events do you see happening in the comic?

they could be from the same region. maybe theres something in the water. but tbh it could just be a coincidence. i dont see why not.

mathtans

Maybe the shocking twist is, Billie's mom was actually an angel! And nobody knew!

I'm kinda curious to see the other hybrids. The author must have kinda figured them out, they were shown in silhouette early on.

Iris

just wanted to quickly say that this seems like a super cool chat, I'm really hoping that I'll be less busy during the next one and be able to get more involved ;o;

mathtans

Heya Iris. We all have our busy times, early March chewed me up.

RebelVampire

hoping it works out too! we'd definitely love to have you, @Iris ~!

yeah i really want to see the hybrids too

but mostly cause new charas

to see billie interact with

Iris

ty! gonna check what next week's comic is

RebelVampire

and have fun

mathtans

I'm curious about the designs, since they all look different. Which is a real interesting way to go on that. (Also, seems Billie lucked out in terms of her armour.)

RebelVampire

@Iris its kamikaze https://kamikazeanimated.com/comic/

yeah im kind of for the theory billie's mom was an angel just cause it seems convenient she got such nice armour

Iris

thanks!!

RebelVampire

i really hope we get to learn how billie's mother ended up with a daemon. cause im really banking on the fact that she probably knew.

cause the lie she told billie seems sort of vague and convenient(edited)

mathtans

I hadn't considered that. (Tinder?)

Iris

(demon tinder. cinder)

mathtans

"There's finally dating apps. Project hybrid is a go."

RebelVampire

appropriate name given the fire themes XD

plot twist: daemons invented dating apps

Iris

makes sense

mathtans

Heh. Maybe they've got a tech area.

So, Billie and Zeke... do we ship them? The conversational bits about being a cat make me think yes. But of course, I prefer to ship Billie with the BadGirl (tm), because of how I prefer yuri.

RebelVampire

idk if i ship billie and zeke yet. im not sure i trust zeke. not cause i think hes up to something, but he seems creepily loyal to the daemons to the point i wouldnt trust him to have unbiased decision making

mathtans

Billie hasn't totally trusted him for that reason though, so I feel like the lampshading makes it possible. Though if he's meant to be her mentor/trainer, maybe not.

Kinda related, maybe Billie will want to stay just because everyone around now won't have that bad vibe she gave to the other students.

Also, there's books.

RebelVampire

yeah i did kind of feel that will be a motivating factor

that now she has a chance to make friends

and not be alone

and i kind of feel that fact will make her stay for a bit "just to see what its all about"

and then shell come ot feel they are family like zeke said

but im also curious how the hybrids in general are treated in the society

cause i do worry theyre getting the useful tool treatment

mathtans

You need to make sure they're plugged in at night. Or they lose their charge.

(Billie's lucky, she doesn't have a tail, so doesn't need to charge up. Zeke, on the other hand...)

RebelVampire

billie is one of the fancy wireless ones you just put on the stand

mathtans

She's her own action figure.

Seriously though, yeah, I wonder if all of them are as chill about things as Zeke. Also, I wonder if anyone else is being monitored out there.

RebelVampire

yeah thatd be an interesting situation for billie to be in

having to monitor some other hybrid

which emotionally i dont feel will go over well for her

mathtans

Maybe she'll have to monitor BadGirl with the ponytail. And I get my ship.

I wonder if any of the other short forms for Satan will get used. ("Actually, my name's Stan. Someone added another 'a'.")

RebelVampire

maybe.

mathtans

Well, all the best to Billie then. Hope her next transformation goes smoother. (Oh, I also liked the whole "and then she died" gag, heh.)

RebelVampire

although now im wondering if satan is actually an angel or if this comic split lucifer and satan

mathtans

Ooh, that's a good question too.

RebelVampire

i guess well find out eventually tho. darn angel propaganda

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB END!

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