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scrapyardboyfriends · 4 years ago

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2021 Emmerdale Wishlist

(I was inspired by @softlass27 and wanted to do one of my own)

Some Overall Things

- More community involvement. I know, I know Covid, but hopefully they’ll be able to ease the restrictions before the year is out so it still applies. And aside from that, they need to work within the restrictions to do better. I still thought that clothing exchange in the cafe was a really good attempt to allow different characters to mix.

- In general, they need to really figure out how to work within the covid restrictions better because it has been very noticeable at times and the whole show has felt like it’s been a slower pace, including individual scenes and it’s a problem.

- More appropriate story lengths. I’m tired of these never ending stories that just meander along.

- Better story structure. Stories seem to either magic into being or they’re so slow to start you wonder if there is a story. I just want stories to have proper lead ins and build up and actual climaxes that feel worthwhile. And I want to understand the point of a story both as it’s going and for sure once it has finished. I don’t want to have to keep asking the question, “Is it going somewhere or is this just bad writing”.

- Work on relationship stories. Stop putting terribly suited people together. At least try and build relationships up naturally and allow them to have some time before just shoving them together. Stop having other characters talk about how people should be together. I want to see the actual couple together and understand why. If a couple isn’t working, actually break them up. Cheating stories can work but make them happen for an actual reason and not just cause you feel like drama.

- In general, work on motivations for characters because so many people this year have just done things for little to no real reason.

Character Focused things

- I too am willing to wait till the 50th Anniversary for Robert’s triumphant return. Enjoy that dad and son time Ryan, your time will come. Hopefully post pandemic restrictions and when there’s a new decent producer who has some robron nostalgia.

- In the meantime, I would like the show to allow Aaron to become a real character again. While, I’ve very much been fine with his massive break this year because it’s given me time to process him not having a tall blond glued to his side, I would like it if he got a bit more screen time next year. And I would like for that screen time to include interactions with characters that are not Liv and Chaddy. I’d love to see him get a friend, whether that’s Mack or someone else, I just want him to have someone else to talk to. I would also like to see him have an actual story even if he is a supporting character, but make him a consistent one, not support to the support and not just a cameo for an episode or two. I’d love to see him have more to do than a relationship story but if he must, for the the love of god at least put some amount of effort into it. Or just let him go on random bad dates that he gets to talk to his new friend about how no one is right.

- I want Chaddy to break up. Whether it’s actually a cheating story or they just realize how unsuited they are for each other after all, I don’t care. Let the Christmas wedding curse persist. (In lieu of that, I want them on screen as little as possible together and if they are they better not be having any problems or be overly sappy and if I hear more than one or two “Graaacieees” I’m out)

- As for Liv, either Isobel can get a big break with her music and Liv can take a never ending trip to Dublin or they need to do better. If she stays, I want to see her become an adult. I want to see her make some choices about her future, get a job etc. I’d still like them to explore what a relationship means to her without having it be a plot point in the next abuser’s story. That still means something to me and I’d like to see it on screen for real and not just in the background.

- For the love of god give Matty a story. Let him date, let him and Amy finally get together but like...do it better this time. Let him move out of Moira’s and stop being a footnote in her stories. Let him get promoted at the HOP or get a new job. Go back to his transition story. Let him interact with his friends more. Just almost anything really.

- With Charity, we all know Vanessa will be back eventually and they’ll put them back together, so in the meantime, I’d like to them to start figuring out a balance for her. I agree somewhat that the regressive behavior she’s engaging in now feels a little ridiculous but that’s mostly because it’s baseless. They need to find real reasons and motivations for her to have her scheming fun the way they did with Robert and Cain. So first things first, I would get her the hell out of the pub because that was always a bad idea. I want her back in a business that allows her to wheel and deal and scheme without it always having to be random criminal activity. I also NEED them to allow her to say she’s bisexual on screen and to own that and to stop having writers put in those stupid unnecessary biphobic jokes. And they need to allow her to realize that she’s okay on her own and that any growth she had wasn’t only down to Vanessa.

- For Cain and Moira, I want them to actually stay together this time and not immediately get broken up by something absurd. They can be tested, but only so they can prove that they are really working on their issues.

- I’d like Laurel and Jai to get through their grief and stay together.

- I want Jamie to get a fucking back bone and break free of Andrea altogether and break free of Kim too. I’d be cool with him and Mack actually being friends. I’d like him to get a real love interest too.

- For Mack, I want him to keep being the snarky, fun breath of fresh air he has been but I’d like to ground him a little bit too. I want him to find something real in the village, whether that’s a friend or a love interest. Jamie and Aaron are good friend options for him. Just someone to give him a real solid tie to the village and give him some to talk to/confide in. If they wanted to make him bi, I would not be opposed. I’d also like him to make some progress with Moira in the next year so that doesn’t remain stagnant.

- For Kim, I want this stupid story with Cain to already be over because it’s based on nothing. I know she’s supposed to get a love interest and I’m already dreading it. I do want her to get a love interest but I want it to feel real with real feelings and not come out of nowhere like I expect it to. I think Kim needs real connections in general. That brief period where she was friends with Rhona was good. They should give her another friend. Just. something to make her feel less like a cartoon villain even if she still is an antagonist.

- I want someone to run over Luke and Wendy. I want them the hell out of Vic’s life and the hell out of the village. I still can’t fathom why they ever introduced them or had them stick around.

- I need Harriet and Will to go away. They’re useless and they’ve overstayed their welcome at this point. I want to free Dawn because I feel like she could be a decent character if she wasn’t shackled to them. If the Malone story FINALLY ends with Harriet and Will both leaving, that would be a miracle.

- I want Dan and Amelia to move to Croydon so someone else can have their house. They’re just not relevant characters anymore.

- I want the new vicar and his son to be good characters and for more of their family to come in, hopefully female family members so there can be more women of color on the show too. But also I just want them to all be good characters with good connections and good stories.

- If Marlon and Rhona are going to get together again, I want them to actually work out as a couple because I’ve quite enjoyed their friendship over the years and I think they could work as a couple again if they just maintain what they’ve had and don’t ruin it.

- I’d like this whole stupid Al story to blow up in his face quick so we can move the hell on. If Al’s going to stick around, I need him to do something interesting. Either ground him more and give him better relationships or have him go full villain.

- For Gabby, I want to see her continue to grow and get more adult stories, once that don’t include her meddling in people’s relationships. I’d like to see them explore a relationship story with her too. If she wants to realize she’s bi or something too and that she and Liv are meant to be, I’d be fine with that too.

- More Jimmy and Nicola but don’t use that screen time to destroy them.

- For Meena, I’d like them to tone her down just a bit and resolve the weird petty stuff between her and Manpreet. I’m cool with them exploring her and David but I don’t want it to feel as rushed or haphazard.

- For Amy, I kind of want Tracy to just blow the whole Frank thing just so she can deal with the consequences and move on. Or just have her tell Matty as they’re getting closer and have him be like “eh my mum killed Emma so this is fine” and then it brings them closer. I just want it out there so it’s not hanging over her head anymore. I also just want her on screen more and with Matty and being friends with Vic.

- For Vic, other than being free of the Posners, I’d just like her to reclaim her life a bit more, maybe see her at the HIDE more, maybe catering more, maybe a better love interest.

- I’d like to see Billy get something decent too that’s not just another lame attempt at brothers at war with Ellis. Let him find a career he likes, make a new friend, finally make peace with Aaron, something.

- Ellis can move to Dubai.

- Sam and Lydia just need to keep being their perfect selves. Give them some fun little stories.

- The Mandy/Paul/Vinny saga needs to END now. There’s just no reason Vinny should be keeping all of this quiet. It’s dumb. Paul needs to go. Mandy needs to steal Paddy away from Chas or something. Vinny needs to hang out with Sam and Lydia and Samson again and maybe find a better career than whatever scrap jobs Aaron can throw his way.

- Belle needs to go back to maybe being a vet and maybe date someone that’s not an affair?!

- Leyla and Liam need to just stay together or break up for good.

- Rishi needs to stop being treated like a child.

- Tracy needs to just have this baby so we don’t have to hear about how she’s pregnant anymore (though I have enjoyed the reprieve lately) Are we sure Nate can’t go to prison after all?

#emmerdale #emmerdale complaints corner #this is verrrrry long #no one is surprised

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alistair-blackwood · 4 years ago

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perhaps “safe” for the jm prompts? just something sappy and hurt/comfort-y, you know?

Safe

“I made some soup.”

Martin lowered his book. Jon was standing in the doorway, smiling shyly and cradling a bowl of something piping hot. The sight made something squeeze Martin’s chest and he chuckled.

“It’s a busted ankle, not a cold.”

“I know. However, it’s still lunch time.”

Placing his book on the end table, Martin held out his hands to which Jon, after walking around the bed, deposited the bowl, their fingers brushing.

It looked to be cream of mushroom. Martin’s favourite. He scooped up a spoonful and cooled it with a breath.

Jon took a seat at the corner of the bed.

“We’re out of heavy cream and chicken stock, so best to remember that for our next trip to the market.”

Martin lifted a brow. How could they already be out of heavy cream? He had just bought some the other day. Then, the implication of the statement sunk in.

“Did you make this?”

“Well ...” Jon picked at his fraying sleeve. “I suppose the answer to that depends on how you like it.”

Martin’s heart swelled with affection. He brought the spoonful to his mouth and swallowed it down, smacking his lips, making a real show of considering it. Really, though, it could have tasted like a toxic sludge and Martin would still have found it delicious, because Jon had made it for him. Thankfully, though, it didn’t come to that.

“This is really good,” said Martin, following the first spoonful with another.

“Really? Not too garlicky?”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing, to be honest.”

“I doubt that.”

Martin hummed in lieu of an answer, downing the soup in earnest now. Jon had never taken an interest in cooking before, more comfortable with being directed around the kitchen by Martin. Maybe this could be the start of an illustrious career as a future head chef? Oh, just to see him for a moment wearing a poofy chef hat and apron.

“What are you giggling about?”

“Oh, nothing important.”

Martin scraped out the last of the soup before setting it on the end table, putting his hands in his lap with a contended sigh.

“You’re going to spoil me, you know. I’m going to be expecting this sort of thing on a regular basis before too long.”

“I mean, I don’t mind. Cooking for you.” Jon stared down at his hands. “I’m just rubbish at it. That had been the third batch.”

Ah. So that’s how they had run out of heavy cream. Martin smiled anyway.

“I’d love it if you cooked more often.”

Jon returned his smile, soft and timid, before turning to Martin’s bandaged ankle.

“Mind if I take a look at that?”

Martin gestured that he go right on ahead, and winced only a little when Jon gently cradled his heel and lifted it.

“It seems like the swelling has gone down,” said Jon as he unravelled the tight binding. Martin squirmed as feeling rushed through his foot, both pleasurable and painful in equal measures. Jon paused.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure? It didn’t seem to hurt you this much yesterday.”

Martin shrugged. Slowly, Jon thumbed the ball of Martin’s ankle.

“How’s that?”

“Yep,” Martin said, face screwing up. “Definitely still broken.”

Humming, Jon lowered his thumb, rubbing the area just underneath the fracture in slow, gentle circles. Mmm. Yes, he was enjoying this quite a bit more, now.

“Good?” Jon asked. “The swelling should go down if there’s ample circulation.”

“Yeah …”

Jon continued to massage his ankle, digging into the tendons of his calf, until Martin had to fight to keep his eyes open. When Jon started to pull away, he grunted.

Jon blinked, and Martin’s face became hot.

“I mean, uh …” He cleared his throat. “I’d, um, really like it if you … kept going? Please?”

Jon smiled.

“Of course.”

Settling more comfortably onto the bed, Jon pulled his other, uninjured leg into his lap. Martin sunk into the soft pillow, letting his eyes slide shut.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #drabbles #malevon #i eat sap for breakfast!!!

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fatter-in-real-life · 4 years ago

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Grocery List of Pain

I woke up 3 hours early. Can’t sleep. Can’t stop thinking. And I need to shave my head.

I have a phone appointment with my mental health nurse today. In lieu of sleep, I made some notes regarding what I need to talk to her about.

- everything seems really temporary - panic attacks - loss of belief in love - inability to sleep - chest pain - I want to shave my head again; can’t have hair - no attention span

I’m sure I’m not alone with some of these thoughts, but they’ve been plaguing me. Particularly the feeling that everything is temporary. I know that in the grand scheme of things, nothing lasts. Humans are a blip in Earth’s history, blah blah blah. But right now, everything, small to large, feels fleeting. Love, time, life, emotion, safety... None of it lasts.

Which is one reason why I shave my head so much. I don’t seem to want attachments like that. particularly the physical. Maybe I’m just afraid of commitment? I mean, I’m 33 and I’ve never had a relationship last longer than 2 years. Though in fairness to me, I’ve mostly dated intolerable assholes. (Mostly.)

And that leads me to my loss of belief in love. I guess, growing up, I always just assumed everyone fell in love and stayed that way. Looking at my parents, it seemed a reasonable conclusion. However, now that I’m an adult (sort of?), I’m starting to realize that maybe I’m not meant for love. Maybe I’m not meant for a long-lasting, meaningful relationship. I fall too hard, too fast, and it always ends in pain.

Thankfully, nothing approaches the pain of being 15. That was easily my worst year. But over the past 3 years or so, I’ve been back there. Only in episodes, but those are enough to remind me how impossible it was to survive being 15. I barely made it out. I’m glad I did, but ... what is life without love? Every great work of art is a work of love. (Or hate, but that’s 2 sides to a coin here.) Passion. Life is nothing without it. And I want my life to have meaning. I’m passionate about writing, about music, about activism. But mostly, I’m passionate about love. Yes, I am that sappy and sentimental.

Hold on, I think I just connected a dot. I have no attention span and I can’t make a relationship work. Perhaps the two are related. You’d think I’d know this already but how many nights do I lie awake and inspect my inner workings? Not nearly enough, it seems. Maybe my inability to have a lasting relationship is one part fear and two parts lack of attention?

That doesn’t quite add up, though. In all fairness, I tend to give my all in every relationship. I go hard or go home, as it were. It’s when the red flags start popping up that my interest wanes. For example, in my last relationship, my ex started becoming distant and angry and depressed. I did everything I could to communicate and figure things out together, but he pushed me away. I slowly started giving up at that point.

I think that’s why he accused me of being uncommunicative. By the time he was ready to talk, I’d given up. Of course, he wasn’t ready to talk until after he’d flown off the handle and literally punched holes in the walls. I think it was fair of me not to listen then.

Perhaps, then, the problem is that I’m too in my own head. Lately, I’ve been unable to hang out in my own company. Which is unusual for me. I’m usually quite happy alone, but when my roommate was gone for a week, I was a wreck. Lonely, depressed, self-destructive, reckless. I’m an impulsive person by nature, and not having him around to kind of temper my rashness was ... catastrophic.

I wish I had some sort of over-arcing insight to share here. I wish this rambling mess of a post had something more to offer than, “I’m a mess.” I wish I knew how to fix me. All I know it, I need to shave my damn head.

#mental health #mental illness #depression #anxiety #panic attacks #love #passion #relationships #mental wellness

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leatherbookmarking · 5 years ago

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a list of fics i would like to write, in no particular order, however there are those that i could, technically, realistically write, and those that i know i can’t

sappy as fuck epistolar wangxian, a’la anne of windy poplars; I MANAGED TO GET MY HANDS ON A GOOD BRUSH, SO--

horrible xue yang fic (though, looking at the already existing fics, maybe it’s not as terrible as i initially thought)

we’re entering the “unlikely due to difficulty level” territory

something something certain things go differently, communication skills aren’t that abysmal, jiang cheng ends up marrying wen qing solely to give shelter to her and her people, there’s nothing between them

unless...?

they spend the first week of their married life entirely distanced from each other. it is not because of anything, really, just--being a young sect leader is difficult.

the first moron to suggest he has his wife help him gets WRECKED

the second moron to suggest the same gets a Look. life just isn’t fair for some people

jiang cheng crawls out of his Hole Of Marital Seclusion to find wen qing chilling with jiang yanli. there’s a kid playing with pebbles next to them. what the fuck

wei wuxian is also here. a lot. still with his fucking flute. jiang cheng can’t decide what emotion he feels about this. mostly “the need to shout”

as it turns out, wen qing is... rather capable. clever and well-learned. (of fucking course.) can negotiate well (tested on himself, not on anyone from the outside). and very pretty

jiang cheng has several thoughts about her

he also has thoughts about wen ning

he tries not to. he really, really, really, really tries not to

could wei wuxian please decide on the state wen ning is in?! as soon as possible, preferably?!??

this is when my timelines start to ??? a little. either way there might or might not be a wen ning in a between-state in lotus pier

until he isn’t! in a between-state anymore

there is a fierce corpse LOOSE in LOTUS PIetcetc

not really? he seems fond of the ponds, though

wen qing is so cool. she is so cool and also jiang cheng’s legally wedded wife.

OH GOD WIFE

of course, it’s not because they. yeah. but... wife...

(captain holt voice) WIFE!!!!!

google search i had a crush on a girl and then things went to shit and then i married her so i have a crush on my wife what do??? i do????

W I F E !!!!!!!!

eventually they make out love lmao you wish eye contact for longer than three seconds

jiang cheng has to calm his breathing after that memorable event. wei wuxian is having a lot of fun with that. he is soon about to stop, though

something something jiggy survives guanyin, and

lxc knows jgy should be executed for his crimes, but. he doesn’t want anyone to die. it’s too many dead people for him. can people put dying on hold for a while? can they do that, for him?

jgy knows he should be executed for his crimes. it’s not ideal, but he’s tired. ideal would be fucking off somewhere far away. dying, in a way, is that.

ideal is not lxc smuggling him to cloud recesses and marrying him.

to be frank, literally no one is happy about this. no one.

jiggy exercises Emotional Manipulation^TM and uses what lxc has told him, trusting, about himself, to hurt him. to hurt him into finishing the job, to be precise, but boy, stupid boy, have you not heard? lan xichen has enough of people being dead

conversating. so much conversating.

so many leaving suddenly (in lieu of slamming the door) and forlorn downward gazes

(hisses through teeth) no one is happy

jgy shouting! lxc crying! the drama!

there’s a time when lxc kisses jgy, out of--many reasons, really; out of love, a horrible, painful love; out of grief; because he’s powerless; because he shouldn’t; to shut him up, and even so he is very gentle. meg yao could easily turn his head to the side; his fingers are barely touching meng yao’s cheeks. he could very easily refuse.

but he doesn’t.

instead, when lan xichen takes a breath, he smiles just so and says it is a pity i can’t bear children.

lan xichen performs an act as close to storming off with doors slamming as you can get in cloud recesses, and doesn’t visit him for a month. like, man.

A CASE FIC i love case fics!!! unfortunately you have to be smart to write them :/

we are getting out of the difficult territory now

this is not a fic because i plan to draw it but i can’t stop thinking about stress cook jiang yanli AND anger baker xue yang in modern au

we can ABSOLUTELY eat all that, insists jiang cheng, approximately at the same time wei wuxian shoots a message @ the group chat that uhhh we have some food, come to have some food too if you want?

it is a trap (some in fact means a fuckton and you will not leave before it’s all eaten)

it is a double-sided trap, as it turns out, because:

well, we can’t come empty-handed, lan xichen says. we can’t, lan wangji agrees

nie mingjue decides that they absolutely fucking can’t come empty-handed and together with huaisang they procure a whole fucking AMOUNT of mapo tofu

jin zixuan can’t come empty-handed, not when JIANG YANLI IS THERE, so he also prepares something

meng yao eats approximately as much as a sparrow (not in the “his own weight” sense) so he couldn’t care less; he brings fancy chocolates nonetheless

wen ning is going through a relaxing baking phase...

xiao xingchen looks at song lan. song lan looks at a-qing. a-qing looks at xue yang. xue yang looks at his four pavlovas

everyone is increasingly distressed with each guest, resulting in humble requests to “leave. please leave” when yi city gang arrives

“fuck you. you leave”, xue yang says, and, imagine that, some try

#thinky thots #shut up shrimp

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johnny-and-dora · 6 years ago

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i’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice

“I was thinking about...our kids. Our future kids, I mean.” He says, still determinedly fixated on the window, and Amy feels herself completely melt.

or, the one where jake & amy have a snow day. (festive fluff - happy holidays!)

read on ao3

There’s a certain way that Amy Santiago expects to wake up on a Tuesday morning in late December.

It involves her eyes gently flitting open to the tuneful, familiar vibrato of her trusty alarm clock at 7am . It involves slowly unfurling herself from her cocoon of blankets, skimming through the news on her phone, scrolling through the comments on her laminating blog.

For the past four years, it’s also slowly come to involve the love of her life sprawled next to her - usually finding increasingly creative ways to enable the snooze on Amy’s many, many alarms and trying his hardest to tempt her back to bed for five more minutes.

(She can roll her eyes all she wants, but she can’t deny that Jake’s methods usually prove very effective before she can finally lure him up with a forehead kiss and the promise of coffee.)

The almost sub-zero temperatures – and, of course, the always warm hands and soft puppy-dog brown eyes of her husband – never fail to make sticking to her perfected December routine a reasonably difficult task to fulfil. But Amy loves her schedule almost as much as she loves Jake Peralta, and so it’s a routine that she rarely breaks, even when everything outside of the comfort of their bed feels like some kind of barren icy hellscape.

So it’s a surprise, then, when she’s woken up on a Tuesday morning in late December by the unmistakable sound of chaos coming from the kitchen, a picturesque pale sunrise framed by the windows that tells her it’s far too late to be 7am, and an empty space next to her where Jake should be.

Amy can’t lie; for one, hideous, jarring second, she panics. Still disorientated by sleep, she can feel horribly familiar dread rising in her throat at the horribly familiar emptiness of his side of the bed – but then she feels the body warmth still radiating from the sheets, and her ears tune to his voice belting Mariah Carey in the next room, and she relaxes. She chides herself for falling into old habits so easily, grateful that they’re merely old habits now.

Her rings glint on the bedside table – a promise of forever she’s more thankful for than most - and she quietly slips them on, smiling softly as she wraps up in a makeshift blanket cape and makes her way towards the kitchen.

Jake’s not going anywhere, and neither is she.

She leans in the doorway, instantly feeling lighter at the spectacular sight of her husband, dressed in pyjamas and a bright red Santa hat, fully engrossed in singing along to cheesy Christmas songs with intense passion while he makes pancakes and coffee. She isn’t completely sure she isn’t still dreaming.

Amy fondly watches him for a minute, unnoticed, weighing up the entertainment value of scaring the shit out of him against using him as her personal space heater– she eventually goes with the latter, draping her arms around his waist in lieu of a greeting. Melting into him from behind as she rests her chin on his shoulder, she feels his laugh vibrate through the both of them and immediately feels a hundred times warmer.

“Hey, babe. Enjoy your lie in?”

“Mmph. You’re warm.”

He turns around and she cups his face with her hands, tilting her head up to kiss him.

When they break apart, he smiles at her in that stupid fond way; and she can’t help it. She forgets about how cold it is and forgets her anxiety about work and being late and pretty much everything else in the universe except his stupid face, because it’s stupid and adorable and she could probably spend all day kissing it if she could.

He takes her hands in his; interlacing their fingers and trying not to grimace at how freezing she inevitably is.

“You are...so cold. How are you always so cold? Are you a reptile? Have I married into some kind of secret underground lizard mafia? Are you going to drain my blood and steal my heat?” Amy rolls her eyes.

“Yes, Jake. You got me. I’m only here because I want to steal your heat.” She says, deadpan, and Jake waves a triumphant finger like he’s just solved a case.

“I knew it! I’m the best detective.” He squeezes her hands fondly before letting them go to return to the stove. She pours freshly made coffee into two mugs and takes a sip from one, leaning back against the counter and watching Jake work, humming along to the radio.

“I’d ask if you wanted to help me with these but I presume you want our kitchen to remain not on fire.”

“Ha ha.” They stay like that for a few minutes, Amy stifling laughter as he overdramatically flips the pancakes in sync to the music - but now that she’s less frozen and can actually focus, a glance at the clock creeps uneasiness at the break in her routine back into her system.

“Wait, aren’t we...super late for work? Our shift started an hour ago.”

She tries and miserably fails to sound nonchalant at the idea of not being punctual - Jake turns around to raise an eyebrow at her and she makes a face at him. Childish distracting marriage it is.

“...Have you not looked outside since you woke up?”

“No...” Amy tugs her blanket cape around her a little defensively and he smiles, gesturing to the kitchen window with his spatula like a wizard waving a wand. She makes her way over to the window, half-expecting to see some kind of post hurricane apocalypse devastation she somehow slept through...

...and instead it’s just the familiar view of the downtown Brooklyn apartment building across from theirs, perfectly intact – and buried by at least six inches of pure, white snow. Everywhere she looks is blanketed in white, like the entire city has been dusted with icing sugar. The entire scene looks like the backdrop of the Christmas card they got from her parents this year – it’s breathtaking.

She turns back to Jake with wonder glowing in her face, warming at the childlike glint in his eyes and his goofy, eager wide grin.

“Snow day!” He declares excitedly, plate of pancakes in each hand, and Amy can’t help but smile.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I know – and even better, city stopping. Holt sent a text telling us not to bother coming in an hour ago –the night shift are covering us seeing as we can’t get there and they can’t leave.”

“So?” “So, I woke up early, got way too excited at said snow, knew we weren’t going anywhere and shut off all your alarms so you could actually have a lie in.” He grins, and not even for the first time that morning she wonders how she got so lucky.

“I love you.”

“Love you too. The point is, everyone’s way too distracted by the snow for any crime to occur, which means we get a day off, which means –“ He hands her a plate – “celebratory snow day pancakes!”

Amy laughs and starts to eat, fondly watching from the window as the big family from the third floor that always send them a card run outside to pelt each other with snowballs. Jake puts one arm around her and she rests her head on his shoulder, blissfully content.

The snowball fight escalates after a few minutes, the kids engaged in an all out war with the parents even joining in, and Jake becomes immersed in it like it’s one of her mother’s favourite telenovelas.

At first she thinks he’s trying to figure out which kid to place a bet on winning (her money’s on the girl with the red scarf and the powerful throwing arm) but when she actually studies his expression it’s all wistful and dreamy, and she can tell he’s far away. She nudges him gently.

“What’re you thinking about?” Amy asks, half concerned and half curious. Their empty plates and coffee mugs are discarded on the kitchen counter, radio turned down to a quiet hum of vaguely festive themed white noise, both of them still fixated on the snow outside.

“Nothing.” He says, unconvincingly, and she has to remind herself not to use her interrogation room voice on her husband.

“You’re always thinking about something, Jake. Usually about fifty different things at once.” He exhales a short laugh at that, looking at her with such pure affection it almost sweeps her off her feet.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just...embarrassing. And sappy.”

“I like embarrassing and sappy.” She smiles, gently pushing him to open up – but he just shakes his head in response, gaze returning to the window where they both watch the dad pick one of his kids up and spin them round, laughing.

A few years ago she would have determinedly kept pushing further - but now Amy stays silent, the (fairly recent) luxury of knowing that he’ll open up sooner or later not lost on her. It only takes a minute before he speaks again.

“I was thinking about...our kids. Our future kids, I mean.” He says, still determinedly fixated on the window, and Amy feels herself completely melt.

“Oh.” “Yeah. Just...days like this, where we could go out and play in the snow...and they’d be wrapped up in like fifty different layers from head to toe, just like you, running around in cute little hats and scarves and coats...and we’d have snowball fights and build snowmen and then afterwards come inside and have hot cocoa and fall asleep watching cheesy Christmas movies on the sofa. I’d...I’d like that.”

“Yeah?” She prompts gently, her heart swelling at the picture now in her head. She’s thought about it too, of course, now more than ever – buying presents for her seemingly endless nephews and nieces, seeing Gina’s seemingly endless pictures of Iggy in adorable little jumpers and tiny bedazzled mittens, dodging her mom’s near constant invasive questions about grandchildren despite the six she has already.

She’s already far too excited for their first Christmas as a married couple, preparing for a few nights spent crammed into the usual cabin upstate with the whole family. It’s going to be complete chaos. She can’t wait.

“Yeah. Not right now, because I still like having you all to myself way too much...but soon. One day. I just...I really want...” He trails off but he doesn’t need to say any more – she hopes how she squeezes his hand is enough of an answer. They’ve talked about this a lot, even more so since getting married.

Not now, but soon. Not if, but when.

“Me too.” Amy says, trying very hard not to spoil a perfect and romantic moment by crying at how much she loves her husband, burying her head deeper into the fabric of his sleeve so that he won’t notice. He kisses the top of her head and she can tell they’re both thinking about the same thing, warmth spreading through her whole body at the thought of soon sharing the holidays with kids of their own.

She could never picture having kids so easily until they’d been together for a while and she realised she just couldn’t have had them with anyone else. He’s always had a way of altering her life calendar in ways she couldn’t possibly expect, and she doesn’t think he’ll ever stop doing it.

Amy just hopes to God that they won’t inherit his eyes, because otherwise they’ll probably be able to get away with anything.

Like getting to her to go out in the snow, for example – she’s basically resigned to her fate as soon as she sees Jake looking longingly as the picturesque winter painting outside their window.

“You want us to go out there, don’t you.” She says grimly, almost physically shivering in anticipation of how cold it is. He turns to look at her in mock offense, eyes glinting.

“Amy Santiago-Peralta, don’t tell me we’re not going out in the snow. You love snow!”

“I love the idea of snow, in theory. In practise it’s cold and wet and gives you an excuse to throw things that are cold and wet at me.”

“...You also get to throw cold and wet things at me?” He offers as a tempting incentive, and she sighs, taking one last glance outside – even she has to admit, it looks beautiful out there.

“Fine.” She says, resignedly, and it’s almost worth it for the gleeful look on his face as he speeds out of the kitchen to get dressed. She pads out of the kitchen after him, glancing at their beautifully (and haphazardly, due to the chaotic nature of her husband’s artistic visions) decorated tree.

Suddenly, Amy can’t help imagining toys in bright colourful wrapping paper and bright twinkling fairy lights, the adorable pitter-patter of tiny excitable footsteps waking them up far too early on Christmas morning, leaving treats out for Santa, baking Christmas cookies together as a family. She smiles brightly, wondering when that picture got so vivid, wondering how soon that might become a reality.

Amy has a feeling that, very soon, maybe even this time next year, it’s going to get even harder to stick to her usual Tuesday morning in late December routine.

She can’t wait.

#b99 #peraltiago #b99 fic #my writing #jake x amy #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #shut up sian #merry christmas/happy holidays!#this has no plot but it's christmas so who cares #hope you enjoy <3

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silent-killer-0227 · 6 years ago

Text

HitsuKarin Week Day 1

Prompt: Snow Day

Setting: Living World, Post Thousand Years Blood War

The wind blows gently. Every other minute, the temperature seems to drop by a degree.

Karin adjusts the scarf around her neck and looks up the sky. There is no blue in sight, only the gray and white clouds. The first ice crystal finds its way on her lower lip. Soon, snow is falling everywhere.

She returns her gaze in front of her and open her hands, catching the cold, little, soft things in her palms. A sigh escapes from her lips just as the snowflakes melt in her skin.

This kind of day used to make her really happy, but for years now, nostalgia has overriden the feeling of excitement. Snow always reminds her of him.

It has been years since the last time they saw each other. Most of the times since he was gone, she finds herself thinking about him especially during snow days.

Try as she might to dismiss the idea, she can't deny that she misses him greatly.

She misses his infrequent smiles; those smiles as mesmerizing as the falling ice crystals. She misses his character; that one as cold but comforting as the winter. She misses his stories; the random little facts about ice and snow that he seemed to be fond of telling her.

She can't help but silently chuckle at the last thought, remembering those occasional moments when he would ask her something about a snowflake. But in the end, it was him who would answer his own question.

"Do you know what the smallest snowflakes are called, Kurosaki?" He asked her one time when they were sitting down on the rail guard, watching the falling snow in lieu of the missing sunset.

"Call me, Karin. And what? You have a name for it? Aren't all snowflakes the same? So what's with naming them differently?"

He gave out a smile. Faint (but it was there), rare (which made it more special), and warm (despite the frosty weather).

"They are called 'diamond dust'," he answered, brushing off of her subtle gibe. "They are very small and lightweight that they often seem to float in the air. And in the sunlight, they appear like sparkling dust."

He turned to her, only to meet her thoughtful frown. "And interestingly, Karin, no two snowflakes look exactly the same. Each of them is unique."

She blinked slowly, looking as if she was trying to process the information. It didn't take a minute for her expression to return to its carefree nature. "I wonder how much of this snow stuff do you know, Toushirou."

In response, he smirked. "You'll be surprised."

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes. "Or maybe not. You are after all a son of ice and snow so I should have expected it."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a while, contented with looking at their white surroundings. After a few minutes, Karin spoke again. "But they do sound interesting, the snowflake trivia. You have to tell me more about it, Toushirou." Quietly, she added, "Once all of this is over."

"Over," he repeated the word just as quietly, "I wonder if there's such thing. I wonder if there really is an end to it."

"You will come back, right?" she asked, diverting from his philosophical response.

"I am not sure." Sad as it was to hear the words, they both knew that it was the truth.

A weak smile crossed her lips. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want him to see the sadness in her eyes. "Then do me a little favor. Just... please... no matter what happens, you have to stay alive, Toushirou. Promise me."

"There is no guarantee that I will survive from the battle unscathed. If I will survive at all. Same goes for all the people who's going to join the war." It was him who turned to her first. "But I don't exactly plan on getting myself killed either."

The answer was enough for her. Despite his uncertainties, Karin knew that Toushirou would try his hardest to fulfill what she asked from him.

So stay alive, he did. She knows that he survived along with his other comrades. Her Ichi-nii told her a lot about it when he himself came back from the war.

But Toushirou has never been in the Living World again.

She can't blame him for that. After all, he made it pretty clear to her that going back here is not one of his priorities. She knows that he has great responsibilities. He has a bigger life beyond this world, her world. And Karin understands that, but it doesn't change the fact that she is upset of the way it is.

She shivers just as the wind blows again. Fisting the front of her jacket, she wraps it tighter around her body in an attempt to warm herself.

It's getting seriously chilly. If Toushirou is here, Karin would have been scolded for staying long outside despite her being aware of the nipping atmosphere.

"What are you doing, strolling around in this cold weather, idiot?"

Like that, yes. Toushirou is surely going to tell her something like that if he sees her right now.

Karin suddenly freezes, though it has nothing to do with the snappy temperature of her surroundings but with the realization that the question (which sounded annoyed) didn't come from her internal musing.

Wide-eyed, she whips around to get her confirmation.

And there he is, standing a few feet from her. He looks unimpressed but (more importantly) very, very real.

Karin is not a big fan of sappy reunions. She has never been into giving a too romantic reception. Maybe for that same knowledge that Toushirou does not expect her to run to him and jump into his arms.

With one of them caught of guard and the other not caring, they lose their balance just as Toushirou instinctively wraps an arm around her waist. They fall to the ground with her on the top of him.

For years, Karin has been wishing to see Toushirou again, and now that he is here, any kind of drama is the last thing that she wants to toss at him. She is just happy that he came back.

So when she brings her head up to properly look at his face, the first thing she does is to snicker at his surprised expression. There is a big question behind his wide eyes but she is not in a rush to give him the answer.

Instead, she grins at him and fires her greeting, "Hey, Toushirou, do you know that snowflakes are not white?"

As quick as their awkward position is ignored, Toushirou's shock is replaced by fondness. He smiles affectionately at her. "Yeah. Because they are actually transparent or clear, aren't they?"

Her response is a press of her lips against his, which he welcomes with no hesitation. In the middle of falling snow, they let the other know how much they miss one another.

#hitsukarin #hitsukarinweek2019 #toushirou hitsugaya #karin kurosaki #there's snow so i hope it still fits the prompt #i didn't even plan to reunite them then i made them kiss in the end #wth

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thesinglesjukebox · 6 years ago

Video

youtube

ED SHEERAN & JUSTIN BIEBER - I DON'T CARE

[3.00]

Take his hand, stop, or ban the man from the Jukebox?

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: "At a party I don't want to be at" is exactly how this song makes me feel. [2]

Taylor Alatorre: "I Don't Care" is a layer cake of falsehoods. From the opening chord progression you can already guess that this is not going to be a song that explores alienation or nonconformity in any serious, sustained way, but a conventionally reassuring tune in which all worries are resolved through the timely intercession of "my baby." That alone is not disqualifying, but the moments where Bieber and Sheeran try to convince us there's something behind all this nothing are the moments where the song's flimsy foundations are laid bare. In lieu of worldbuilding, they serve us a handful of attention-grabbing lyrics such as "crippled by anxiety" and "I hate everyone here" -- lyrics that, in their suddenness, only highlight how unearned they are. What exactly is so terrible about these parties they keep getting invited to and inexplicably attending? We'll never know. It doesn't help that the Max Martin/Shellback production is as nondescript as can be, aiming for the intersection of dancehall and trop house and instead landing somewhere in an empty field with no recognizable landmarks. [2]

Andy Hutchins: Thank goodness for the fizzy-yet-restrained production by Max Martin and Shellback, the very necessary flotation device for what could otherwise be a dark, honest song about codependency that verges on the deeply creepy. Biebs does admit to anxiety in a brief emergence from his twin ongoing crises -- would you rather be under the Hillsong trance or pondering having Stephen Baldwin as a father-in-law? -- but this is otherwise either a party jam about the wisdom of not going to parties, a lane Alessia Cara pretty effectively drove a few years back, or a song about loving the one you're with and hating everyone else, something that Ellie Goulding, Swae Lee, and Fucking Diplo somehow made a better endeavor six months ago. I will be here for Billie Eilish figuring out, some time from now, that there is one hell of a dirge to be salvaged from this; I am not here for this as currently constructed now, nor ever. [3]

Stephen Eisermann: This definitely makes me miss Justin Bieber's material (which, WHAT), but it feels a bit too timid to be the superstar collaboration that it is. I do think that the song does a good job of placing Sheeran's and Bieber's styles together, but rather than sounding good, it proves that the two styles don't blend well. It's not bad, it's just not enough. [4]

Nicholas Donohoue: This is the logical trend line for Bieber and Sheeran. They've essentially been swapping and converging towards musical ideas for the past four years. A track where you struggle to distinguish the two and no complexity is added to a drum beat plus a groan of a melody line about how parties suck, but your girlfriend is nice is very correct for the both of them and very bland for the rest of us. [2]

Alex Clifton: It's a classic Ed Sheeran composition, which is to say it's catchy with at least one feature I hate (in this case, it's the howling the "OOH OOH OOH OOH" bit). Surprisingly this lacks the overly revealing lyrics that are the hallmark of Sheeran songs, and it tones down the sappiness so we're not stuck with any kissing toothbrushes. It's just... fine, though. For a song about anxiety and letting go, I really wish there were more musical movement instead of being ebullient all the way through -- having a hooky chorus paired with slower or more fraught sections might've been a bit too on the nose, but I need something. I'm glad that Bieber is talking publicly about his mental health struggles but when he sings about being "crippled with anxiety" I don't go there with him because the production won't let me. Had the verses been taken in a different direction this might've been more successful overall, but hell if it's not going to be stuck in my head for the next week. [4]

Alfred Soto: A shrewd son of a bitch who writes dumb songs whose hooks he encrusts with tetanus, Ed Sheeran pairs with the only pop star whose ubiquity has fuck all to do with his compassion, brains, or looks. Bieber and Sheeran's harmonies provide the only known moment of sympathy in the former's recording career, but it doesn't enliven or inhabit this "Shape of You" knockoff. [4]

Iris Xie: It's just so tired. Even the whistling sounds under duress, like they were forced to make a pop song under gunpoint because Scooter Braun is in competition with Kris Jenner for the most amount of $$$$ before 2019 is over. I'd be a lot more interested in the storyline around such a vapid song and how on earth these two pop stars could make such a soulless song. The fake trumpet and lack of harmonies sound like a bullshit essay that you would scrawl and drop off into your 8th grade English teacher's mailbox. [0]

Scott Mildenhall: If Ed Sheeran, Justin Bieber and you, the listener, were the only three people to ever feel disaffected, this single would be met with confusion. Luckily, alienation is further from being the exception than the rule, so it's actually at the top of the charts. With that in mind, would it not be more realistic to offer listeners a chink of light, rather than relaying the destructive instinct that everyone else is so much more together (and so much more shallow) than they are? This is far from the first song to play into that temptation, and perhaps it can build community by implication, but even that is undermined by the upshot that this is, above all, a love song. Sheeran and Bieber feel saved by the ones they have with them, and that is "I Don't Care"'s core. It has less to say for those who don't feel saved. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: The problem isn't the premise -- we've had centuries of songs about how parties rule, we can handle a few more about how they suck. (And Sheeran and Bieber are at the level of fame where they're probably thinking of industry parties, their own circle of hell.) Nor is it the over-chill production, for once. Nor is it how it reminds me of Dream's far superior "I Don't Like Anyone." Nor is it even the tangents about "not fitting in" that are one line away from "A lot of preps stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them." The problem is that Ed Sheeran and Justin Bieber, as they do, make it all about their seduction skills. The heterosexual girl who'd be charmed by "shall we dance" would probably prefer her boyfriend in a suit and tie, or at least in something that took more than five seconds' worth of effort. Justin Bieber's confession of anxiety is about as convincing as ex Selena Gomez's, and using it to flirt is offputting at best. And there's a promise with this premise after all: If the party sucks so much, why not just leave? [4]

Joshua Copperman: Clearly! [3]

[Read and comment on The Singles Jukebox]

#Justin Bieber #Ed Sheeran #music #pop #music review #writing

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weilongfu · 6 years ago

Text

The moments after, part 5

Read it on AO3 here.

PREVIEW: “Chu ge is thinking such big thoughts,” Xiao Guo says, his head pillowed on Chu’s other arm. “Don’t think about them for now.”

“You should be thinking about them too,” Chu says frowning, but not willing to raise his voice. “Your life is in danger.”

“But I have you, Chu ge. You and me against them all, we can do it, right?” Xiao Guo looks over his shoulder at Chu and Chu wonders if such sappy lines should really be melting his heart in this kind of situation. It’s foolish and silly to let their guards down.

But if Chu closes his eyes, he can feel the warmth from Xiao Guo settling beneath his skin. He can smell Xiao Guo’s shampoo under all the antiseptic from the hospital, and although he can’t really tell whether they’re doing anything or not, the talismans give Chu a sense of safety.

It is a moment of peace before the storm.

Guo spends another few nights at the hospital for observation. Chu ge does not leave his side.

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated, to return my feelings out of pity,” Chu ge says when they decide to talk about what happened. “You are too nice, Xiao Guo. Too nice to everyone. You’d feel bad about rejecting me and make yourself miserable just so I wouldn’t be.”

Guo resolves to try not to pout even if Chu ge’s words are true. “But Chu ge… I don’t think I could ever not return your feelings.” The more Guo thinks about it, the more true it is. He hadn’t wanted to put a name to the nebulous feelings for Chu ge, acknowledging them would make them real, and then he’d be afraid that Chu ge would reject him.

Chu gently turns Guo to face him. “Your sweet words are going to get you into trouble one day, Xiao Guo,” he murmurs against Guo’s lips.

Guo feels his face heat up at the gentle press of lips before Lao Zhao’s coughing interrupts them. Guo’s face turns bright red at being caught while Chu ge turns a frosty glare at Lao Zhao.

“Hey, I’d rather be kissing Xiao Wei right now too, you know!” Lao Zhao says in lieu of an apology. “But we have important things to discuss. Soon, Xiao Guo, you will be released from the hospital. Xiao Wei and I have… discussed things with the spirits around here and they’ve been helping to keep more unsavory things away from you, but once you leave, you will need to protect yourself.”

Guo stiffens at the mention of spirits. “S-so what happened that night…”

“Not spirits, demons of a sort,” Lao Zhao corrects. “And you saw a bit of what Xiao Wei and I really are, didn’t you.”

Memories of a sword flashing in the light, the crack of a whip and the bang of a gun rise in Guo’s memory. Chu ge places his hand on top of Guo’s in comfort and Guo relaxes slightly. “You and Shen Laoshi… You fought them. When Qing ge called for ‘reinforcements’ h-he mentioned the god of ten thousand mountains and the shadow that patrols life and death.”

Lao Zhao smiles. “My reputation is extraordinary, isn’t it, Xiao Guo!”

“But Lao Zhao, when did you-”

Lao Zhao looks Guo in the eyes and for a moment Guo sees thousands of lifetimes flash before his eyes before he sees the ancient world with what looks like Lao Zhao and Shen Laoshi slaying ghosts and demons.

“We can't guard you at all hours of the day, Xiao Guo,” Lao Zhao says regretfully. “It would draw too much attention to you and make the situation worse. Plus, we would never catch the person starting this mess. You and Lao Chu will have to protect each other until we can find a way to lure the one spreading rumors about you to other demons.”

“Chu ge needs protecting?” Guo’s face twisted up in confusion. “Isn’t Chu ge the one people need protecting from?” Chu ge digs his knuckles into the top of Guo’s head as Guo squirms away, laughing.

“Lao Chu has essentially, thanks to Xiao Wei, thrown his lot in with you,” Lao Zhao grumbles. “And here I thought I’d win the bet, the cheater.”

“What was that,” Chu ge asks.

“Nothing, nothing!” Lao Zhao waves them off before pulling out a stack of yellow papers, all of them talismans. “This is for Lao Chu, Shen Wei and I will be showing you how to use them properly.” From his jacket pocket, Lao Zhao pulls out a collapsible baton. “This… This once belonged to you, Xiao Guo. I am… hesitant to give it back to you,” Lao Zhao says with gritted teeth, as if painful memories are associated with it. “But I’ve upgraded it a bit and you do need it. I swear on Nuwa, if you light my jacket on fire with it again…” Lao Zhao trails off but Guo and Chu ge catch the grimace on his face, as if Shen Laoshi is yelling at him in his head. “Just be careful with it. Hopefully some of what Lao Chu has taught you already will be useful with it.”

Lao Zhao places it in Guo’s hands and steps back quickly. Guo runs his fingers over it, it feels familiar even if he’s never seen it before, doesn’t understand what Lao Zhao means by it was once his. But the grip feels right and when Guo flicks his wrist to extend it, it does so with a snap and a small burst of electricity and flame. The first burst startles Guo which causes another. Chu ge instantly realizes the pattern and smacks it out of Guo’s hands. Lao Zhao starts rubbing his hand over his face, like he knows he’s made a grave mistake.

“The baton discharges fire or electricity. It initially only triggered when Xiao Guo was afraid by turning his fear into energy,” Lao Zhao grumbles. “That trigger remains, but hopefully, the trigger Xiao Guo will use from now on will be when he wills it.”

Guo looks at the baton as if it is a snake, ready to bite him. Chu ge picks it up, collapses it, and stuffs it into his bag. “We’ll deal with using this later.”

The next day, Shen Laoshi escorts both of them back to the apartment building, giving Chu ge an explanation on the different talismans and how to use them effectively. Guo barely hears them, his eyes darting to every darkened corner, every hidden nook and cranny. Shen Laoshi had promised that the demons wouldn’t bother them while he was around, but it didn’t stop Guo from jumping at every shifting shadow.

Chu ge doesn’t say anything, but he holds Guo’s hand and it is enough to reassure him.

-------

Shen Wei leaves the both of them at Xiao Guo’s apartment before heading off for class. He also leaves notes for the classes Xiao Guo has missed and some assignments for the next few classes. Chu makes himself busy by putting up the talismans that Yunlan had given him, one in every corner of the apartment. He brews tea for Xiao Guo, fluffs his pillows, and checks his pain medications.

It’s when he’s in the middle of making congee that Xiao Guo apparently decides that he’s had enough.

“Chu ge,” Xiao Guo exclaims. “I’m not even hungry yet! Just sit with me, please.”

“You have to eat something with your pain meds.”

“But that’s hours away!”

Chu stops chopping vegetables and looks at Xiao Guo. He looks grumpy and miserable in his corner of the couch, swaddled in Chu’s sweatshirt, and the pout is not something Chu had ever thought he’d see on the young man.

Chu immediately decides, based on the fluttering of his own foolish heart, that the kicked puppy look is going to be dangerous if he encourages this behavior.

“Better to have it ready now than wait later,” Chu replies while firming his resolve.

“Chu ge!” Before Chu can react, Xiao Guo is burying his face against Chu’s back, his right arm around Chu’s waist. “I just need you right now. Please, Chu ge… Just sit with me for a bit.”

Chu covers Xiao Guo’s hand with his own. “Ok, don’t be upset.”

“M’not upset,” Xiao Guo says, his tone petulant.

“If you sound any more upset, I’ll think you’re throwing a temper tantrum.” Xiao Guo only makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan. “Come on, take a nap. You’ll feel better.”

“Nap with me, Chu ge.”

“If I nap with you, do you promise to actually rest like the doctors said? Your collarbone won’t be healed for two months, at least. Don’t make your recovery time longer.”

“Which Chu ge is this? To be so careful and chiding,” Xiao Guo asks. “I thought you’d make me do one-armed push ups by now.” Chu protests at the joke, but Xiao Guo laughs at his indignant expression and Chu can’t find it in him to complain anymore.

Xiao Guo drags Chu away from the cutting board, nudging him once they both lay on the couch until they are laying on their sides. Chu has his back against the back of the couch, an arm around Xiao Guo’s waist, their legs tangling together. If it weren’t for the sling, Chu thinks, it’d be perfect. Xiao Guo is perfect, fits in his arms, his breathing quiet and even, his body warm and whole and alive.

“Chu ge is thinking such big thoughts,” Xiao Guo says, his head pillowed on Chu’s other arm. “Don’t think about them for now.”

“You should be thinking about them too,” Chu says frowning, but not willing to raise his voice. “Your life is in danger.”

It is a moment of peace before the storm.

Xiao Guo drifts off, breaths coming slower, muscles relaxing for the first time since they arrived. If Xiao Guo feels safe, then Chu decides he can afford a moment to relax too.

-------

A week later, Da Qing waves goodbye to Zhu Hong as he leaves the gym. Getting her up to speed was easy and she was grateful that Lao Chu and Xiao Guo wouldn’t be stinking up the place with their sexual tension, one lifetime of it was enough. She promised to have some members of the Yashou tribes on the lookout for anything suspicious and to listen for rumors about Xiao Guo.

After a quick look around, Da Qing leaps into his cat form and with a quick climb, starts running along the rooftops.

It feels strange, Da Qing thinks, to have all this activity happening again. Ever since the new seal was put in place, the SID, despite having a massive surge in applications and several branch offices, eventually dwindled away year by year with few to no cases at all except for the occasional grudge.

The timing is all wrong for this sort of case, and Da Qing wishes he were still chief of the local branch with several officers under his command instead of “retired” and playing errand boy for two gods with more time and power than sense. Of course they couldn’t protect Xiao Guo all day, they also couldn’t go into Hell guns blazing, but leaving them like this, they were bait.

A few talismans and Xiao Guo’s old baton wouldn’t be enough if the demons decided to attack in a horde again.

“Who would have this much pull among demons?” Da Qing asks himself. “Who would be able to spread this kind of rumor?”

A soft mewl, a sign from one of the local cats, catches Da Qing’s attention. The cat reports in that someone’s been leaving weird bits of garbage around the neighborhood and takes Da Qing to one. At first glance, it looks like litter. Crumpled newspapers carelessly tossed aside and Da Qing scoffs until he smells them, reeking of Hell and death. When Da Qing morphs back into human form to spread it open, he jumps back with a hiss. The insides are covered with spells to draw in misery, spells to call spirits and demons, and directions to Xiao Guo’s apartment.

Da Qing’s eyes flash as he mutters a few words and the paper ignites in crimson flames.

Da Qing finds several more scattered in a circle around Xiao Guo’s apartment building, a paper cup with writing on the inside, the torn cover of a book, a scroll hidden in a soda can, and even behind posters and advertisements out in broad daylight.

“This is too involved!” Da Qing yells as he runs off to warn Lao Zhao.

#guardian #guardian 2018 #guardian fic #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #zhao yun lan #shen wei #shen wei/zhao yunlan #weilan #guo changcheng #chu shuzhi #chu shuzhi/guo changcheng #chu/guo #guo/chu

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junhuiste · 7 years ago

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[ junhui - a sweet sting ]

⌦ fluff, very faint nsfw themes, secret admirer!reader, high school!junhui, some “godammnit i’m a fool!”s dusted throughout, and a surprise hollywood guest visit from your fav jolly holiday ho ho hoe

⌦ junhui was simply an ethereal being and you wanted to let him know (ur boi is slightly cocky in this one but don’t worry, the word grease doesn’t exist in this fic unless it’s to describe a juicy burger)

⌦ words: 2701

It wasn’t the fact that your teacher babbled about Tuesday’s test and you couldn’t conspire any speculation about what she said, nor was it the fact that you were on the brink of dozing off and that you sat right smack in the front of the class where the teacher could give you a side-eye.

No, it wasn’t any of that, and it was never any of that since this subject was one you had such a tenacious grip on that you knew like the back of your hand. Inexplicably enough, you should have been taking a mental note of next week’s test as school was a priority for you, but in lieu of that, it was the ruffling through the hair, the affable giggle, and the suave, almost slick tone of voice a certain someone had that was it for you.

To see someone carry themselves in such a manner left you jaw-slacked constantly, and this, to put it frankly, your hand at night, as you lied in bed atop cotton-polyester, took this thought to an extreme extent, as it trailed down your hips, leaving you whimpering out of pure guilt and desperation, and in a puddle of shamed, soaked underwear. It was never fair–to witness Adonis’ reincarnation, such pulchritude in its sheer form, but you had to hinder yourself from acting upon these measly thoughts of yours.

Wen Junhui was the absolute, outright, most–“Y/N? Did you not get enough sleep last night? I know you guys are leaving this school in half a year and don’t have much fuel left to power through this year, but please, stay with the program,” your teacher’s words rattled you, yet still went in one ear and out the other, “all of you, please get at least 6 hours of sleep, because I know 9 hours isn’t realistic for you guys anymore.”

A searing spring of mild distress coiled around you tightly, seizing your body in the warm atmosphere of humiliation. Internally sighing, you turned around as your classmates were groaning “Ugh, same!” because you were at the peak of relativity, just to capture a fragment of a glimpse of the criminal who invaded your thoughts every class period.

Nothing but a blank look of boredom was sprawled across his face–the face that undid your every train of thought and had you run over from blatant admiration. You didn’t really intend to occupy his gaze for an unadorned, yet heightened 3 seconds, but when Wen Junhui looked at anyone, he looked at them.

“I get you. I’m tired as hell too and I really don’t have enough energy to carry on through the damn year, but trust me, we’re all dying, and we can get through this together,” the lackadaisical curve bestowed upon such a magnificent portrait flashed at you, and out with his words came a silky yet mellow resonance.

Was it possible to want to touch someone’s voice, to actually hold their voice in your hands? Yes, because you wanted nothing more than to twiddle your thumbs over the texture of Junhui’s voice. Every interaction you had from him, though there were barely any in your repertoire, turned you into a jumbled mess of the alphabet. You couldn’t comprehend what actually happened in the last 5 seconds but you were pretty sure that every ounce of your being had melted away and dripped into your thoughts, through the cracks of Jun’s palms.

“Uhh, thanks for reassurance?” You barely managed to squeak out before turning back around, as if you were the last morsel of toothpaste and Junhui’s reaction was an idly squeezing hand.

Wen Junhui spoke to you. Yes, he did, as in vibrations caused by molecules and the energy in his throat were directed towards you. This didn’t send you to the moon and back, but it fired you at the fastest speed possible to all planets in the Milky Way NASA discovered, including Pluto.

It wasn’t that you floated around school and camouflaged into the surface of the locker that you barely talked to Jun, not really, but when given the chance by some gracious deity up there to encounter him in some way, you shied away, which was followed by a mental slap to your frontal lobe.

It wasn’t that easy, however, to just approach someone as beloved around the school as Jun, and it was never that easy for someone that didn’t really demand for his attention. That kid was bolting through the school daily, so who cared about eggshells? He crushed them. Even getting a glimpse of him outside of school was nonexistent, as he had some sort of martial arts practice, or something of that branch, and you’d heard around from senior buzzing that he was apparently a good dancer too, so there would be no way for you to ever catch him.

Sigh. What the hell were you doing with some frivolous little crush on Junhui? It wasn’t like you were at the most somewhat dismayed when you watched some girl pull Jun by his collar to sneak a kiss at him, and it certainly wasn’t like you were kind of crestfallen when you saw another girl wrap her arms around him in his car, no, maybe to some extent, but never heartbroken.

How downright ludicrous would it be for you to swell up with these feelings over something as trivial as a crush?

And fuck, oh fucking hell did you loathe that word, and every time it clouded your thoughts you wanted to groan in resentment.

Freshman year, when you spilled the beans to your circle of friends about how you felt about this boy, the only word you’d ever retained from the pep talk they gave you.

“Y/N you’re so cute, aw! You’re out here with a little crush!”

“So, does Jun know about this crush of yours?”

“Are you really going to tell him about your crush?”

“Oh boy, I swear to god if this kid crushes that frail heart of yours he’ll never see the light of day again.”

Such a foolish word with its steady grasp on you. It just seemed to ruin you through its fingers, watching your downfall, you crumbling to your core in the palm of its hand. Poor you, letting yourself get destroyed single-handedly by nothing more than a puny little 5 letter word. It was utterly tragic, and you didn’t really do anything about it, but there was just something tugging at you from inside, somewhere, but you didn’t know where, and any kind of concurrence you had with that boy, it just dragged you into its toxic hell of embarrassment.

For the rest of the period, you stayed with whatever dignity you had left clutched to your chest, alongside the half-eaten candy bar you had on your desk in case of a breakdown later.

Junhui’s eyes weren’t even trying to catch you in its line of sight in the slightest bit, nope, none of that, but that thought lingered in the corner of your mind throughout the lesson, thus you couldn’t even curl yourself into a ball, but more so crammed your flushed being into a messy mingle of entangled limbs.

“Hey!” you whipped your head around faster than the tiniest ounce of unease could knock you over.

Thank fuck; it was nothing more than student body trying to get you to buy candy cane grams.

You didn’t want to be rude to the students who actually tried at school, whether that be by making friends or attempting at the ugliest mayhem of a math problem, so you hastened your steps towards the boy in the middle with the widest grin you’d ever seen.

“...and then just sign off with your name and we’ll deliver it to them tomorrow in class!” the student in the middle, who you recalled as Seokmin...who also ran around the school, exclaimed.

“Um, thanks, but I think I might just buy one tomorrow, I don’t think I have enough mon–” “Hey, Y/N! Thought you were having lunch with us today?” your friend, Yeri, cut you off, in which it was something you both did to each other that pushed your buttons, but today she saved you from seeming a tad bit coarse. And you didn’t want to come off that way to someone as amiable and genial as Lee Seokmin.

“Yeri, do you want to buy a candy cane gram here from student body?” Seokmin asked.

Your friend pondered for what seemed like a second in an hour, and rapid beams of affection radiated a little too strongly.

“Um, I don’t think there’s anyone–wait, actually...Wonwoo! Oh my god! He’s the cutest person ever, just the way his nose scrunches and his voice–fucking Jeon Wonwoo!” the way her pupils glimmered at some flashback she was probably trying to recall in class of Wonwoo doing his thing or something like that, it was one you’ve seen before.

One you’ve known all too well, one you’ve experienced yourself before, but not for Jeon Wonwoo, but for another 6 foot tall hunk who never seemed to be around.

“Jesus, Yeri! I knew you liked Wonwoo but not to the point you’ve noticed frivolous habits of his!” “Shut the hell up, Y/N, you’ve marveled at Wen Junhui for 4 years. Seokmin, Y/N will take a candy cane gram, thank you.” You couldn’t blame her, it wasn’t like you noticed his seasonal hair color changes, as this time of year you’d expected it to be black like it had been last year, but you were taken aback with a pleasant auburn surprise.

You didn’t hate his copper look, but rather thought about it too much to the point where you wanted your hands to be the one to dishevel it, your face to be buried in it when he hugged you, man, when would you learn to shut the fuck up?

“‘Dear Junhui, you’re the x to my y,” Yeri started, “and I might be shy, but you look like a goddamn snack all throughout the clock, I wouldn’t mind it if we get cockblocked?’ I don’t know, say something sappy, or you’ll scribble all over the paper.”

I wouldn’t mind if we get cockblocked? You began to wonder what kind of crack they’d been selling at school these days, and how the fuck Yeri had gotten her hands on it.

“Whatever, I’ll leave it short and sweet. Oh! And I’ll leave it anonymous, so he doesn’t know it’s from me,” you wailed.

An ample amount of reality had been inflicted upon you in what was an explicit and stinging 2 seconds you had to think, but you’d just realized that Junhui probably, no, definitely, received dozens of these every year, and it hurt to try and grapple onto sensibility like that.

You’d both part ways within months, never going to bat an eye at each other, and it certainly wasn’t like you’ve made actual actual eye contact in the past, but instead of parting ways with Wen Junhui, he’d jaunt contentedly into his future, while you trudged, trying your best to forget about who ⅕ of your attention went to in high school.

Another slap in the face.

Maybe that’s why you were sending him a candy cane gram (but Yeri totally shoved the cutely decorated paper in your face, you’d argue): Junhui was a sweet boy, and all you’d ever seen him as was a candy-coated type of person, but it left a mild, abiding prick in your mouth as you had danced and made a deal with Satan, whose middle name was Get Your Fucking Shit Together.

Yeri shrugged as she knew you’d try to outargue her and have a neighborly sort of quarrel if she ever inquired to know your reasons for your anonymity. Plus, the line grew a little bit as you had both been standing there for the past 12 minutes trying to conceive a mushy message about two aforementioned losers, whom had both never left your minds. And, she didn’t want to miss out on her sandwich, especially because she prepared it herself this morning!

“Thanks Seokmin!” you both slap your small papers on the sad, rickety, practically busted school plastic table, provoking the ugliest creak that in turn, startled a mess of raven hair into next week.

“OhmyLordhaveanicedaythankyouforsupportingStudentBody!” a poor Lee Seokmin tried to string together a cohesive, buoyant sentence without having his left buttcheek slide off the chair.

It was Wednesday.

Maybe it was Hump Day, sure. Maybe it was the day student body announced that they were distributing the candy cane grams during 4th period. Maybe it was the day where you could’ve been your normal, muddled self, but in actuality, was it the day where you’d get noticed by a Junhui?

Whatever up there was working its powers, you expressed your gratitude towards in a sigh of relief, as you had already taken the test for this class. Tuesday had been promoted to being your beloved day of the week, your prized child that set up high expectations for younger children, but none could ever really live up to Tuesday. It was Wednesday today, however, as no one in all of existence had lived to experience Tuesday twice.

Muah, you cradled Tuesday in your mind, not only had you not given Junhui any sliver of attention, but you also fucking aced that test. Tuesday was a godsend.

“Ho ho ho, fellow children of Stats 3rd Period! You know, I really don’t know why my elves in the student body insisted on still handing these treats out, because you’re all naughty in my eyes, but whatever! A nice one is a nice one!” The whole class chuckled for a good few minutes as Choi Seungcheol, all clad in a red, velvet Santa suit (and was it mentioned Seungcheol took his role too seriously and got too attached to his fake white wig and the sad little beard he took pride in?), tossed his mighty big, matching red bag full of candy cane grams into the air.

“Seungcheol, please just hand them out.” your teacher flashed an all too well known demeanor of disapproval towards the boy who probably won a $10 bet with Jeonghan for wearing the costume.

Santa Seungcheol paraded to Junhui, and dropped 6 candy cane grams individually on his desk, each one clattering uncomfortably atop the splintered desk.

“Ya know, I thought they’d all be from Minghao and Wonwoo trying to troll you again, but uh, congrats?” Santa simpered to his friend.

“Well, they are somethin’. Tell Jeonghan I said ‘hi’, will ya?” Jun quipped back to a sighing, supposedly jolly bearded man who grunted in return.

You’d almost swung your head around back too suspiciously to snag nothing more than a persistent glimpse at Junhui, who omitted any sort of scrutiny he had from reading asinine love notes to him.

Junhui beared nothing but a carbon copied look at every note that flashed leisurely before him. And then, it almost happened too quickly, but you’d ingrained it in your memory in slow motion.

Getting similar kinds of notes every time with different phone numbers everytime the student body distributed holiday grams was simply a routine for Wen Junhui, he’s read all sorts of notes.

You diverted any absorption from today’s lesson to Junhui curiously raising an eyebrow at the very last candy cane gram he’d received for today. He pouted his lips (well to anyone else it was just a pout, but to you, it was cute, ha, duh), and you watched as he seemed the slightest bit perplexed at this last note, which you’d so badly wished you could snatch for yourself to see if it was yours or not.

The rest Junhui had stuffed lazily into his jeans’ pocket, yet you noticed–but you should really turn back around to the front, though–the very last slip of striped red and white received different treatment, and was placed into the front pocket of his flannel instead.

You tucked away any sense of false hope you had garnered once Santa Seungcheol stepped into the room, as you were probably stuffed in denim instead of flannel.

⌦ a/n: i typed half of this in the school library goddamnit,, but uh,,,this is going to have a shorter part 2, but i’m 1/16 done with my soonyoung fic that i actually started b4 this

#junhui scenarios #jun scenarios #seventeen scenarios #junhui fluff #junhui #wen junhui #seventeen #jun #junhui imagines

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kieren-fucking-walker · 7 years ago

Text

To Give Meaning (Brotzly Christmas Fic)

In which sometimes the meaning behind the gift is the most important thing of all, and sometimes Todd gets it all right (for a change.)

Here’s the fluffy Christmas Brotzly I promised! Heed the notes, my fluff writing is… really not that great compared to my angst and I have had quite a few glasses of wine but I promised and have delivered.

Happy Holidays you lovely lot <3

(AO3)

Todd collapses down onto the sofa after the goodbyes have finished and the door has finally closed behind Farah. It’s close to midnight now, Christmas is almost over and he can hear Dirk rattling around the kitchen doing something Todd can only hope isn’t going to end in disaster. They’ve somehow gotten through the day without it so far, he’d like to keep it that way just for once.

It’s the best Christmas he’s had in a long time. If he’s being honest Todd had never much cared for the holiday, not after Amanda had stopped believing in Santa and it had lost that last spark of magic, even less so when he was juggling all the lies he’d been telling to his family. For the last few years he hadn’t even gone home, just dropped in on Amanda and spent the day watching movies and drinking together which had been fine, good actually, but none of those days had anything on today.

Dirk had woken him up at the ungodly hour of 7am by sneaking around and trying to hide presents under the tree he’d insisted on putting up on the first of December. He’d knocked the tree over in the process and Todd had caught him, wide-eyed with tinsel in his hair denying all involvement. He’d let Dirk get as far as blaming Santa before accepting his fate as being awake for the day and going to make coffee, he needed three cups before the sound of Christmas songs stop making him want to bash his head through the wall. An hour later Dirk had forced him into a horrendously garish Christmas jumper and nearly burned the kitchen down making bacon pancakes. Todd had forgiven him almost immediately because he’d been too distracted by the fact that Dirk could sing, even more distracted by the smile he’d gotten when he’d joined in, to notice the bacon was starting to smoke.

Farah had turned up just as they’d finished airing out the kitchen and righting the Christmas tree and under her supervision they’d managed to put together something resembling a Christmas dinner while Dirk tried and failed to hide his excitement. It turned out to be contagious, Farah’s smile came easier than usual and Todd didn’t even complain when Dirk held mistletoe over his head and demanded he kiss him, he’d just rolled his eyes and leaned in.

Hobbs and Tina had called after dinner had passed without incident, giving them a slightly drunken rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” Tina had reminded Farah that she still needed someone to kiss on New Years Eve to which Farah had blushed and downed her glass of wine in lieu of giving an answer. Hobbs and Dirk complemented each other on their jumper choices and Todd watched the way Dirk lit up when Sherlock had picked out the smaller details and he’d babbled on about the knit pattern as soon as he had a willing ear.

Presents had been… an experience. Todd didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as excited as Dirk to open presents, even Amanda who had woken him up for eight years by screaming and jumping on his bed hadn’t possessed the level of sheer delight that Dirk manages, grin reaching all the way to his eyes and shining under the Christmas lights. Todd can’t think of anything that could make him enjoy Christmas more and immediately berated himself for being so sappy. Still though, they’d sat around the tree and opened presents in an order that Dirk insisted they stick to but only he seemed to understand and by the time they’d finished Dirk had layered a new purple jacket over his jumper, Farah was balancing the weight of a set of throwing knives and Todd was trying very hard not to keep staring at the collection of Ramones original vinyl pressings that his teenage self would have thought was the coolest thing ever, and his significantly older self still did. Amanda had a present under the tree still but she hadn’t been very specific about when she’d be dropping by, sending a Merry Christmas text with a picture of Vogel wrapped in Christmas lights and promising it would be soon. Oddly enough he didn’t find himself missing her that much, not sat here laughing with Dirk and Farah, knowing she was out enjoying herself with her own found family.

The day had continued with one disastrous game of charades, but mostly with films. Farah pointing out the continuity errors and complaining about the realism of the fight scenes, Dirk providing commentary that became less and less accurate as the hours wore on, and Todd sat between them on the sofa watching them both fondly when they weren’t looking. At some point Dirk wraps an arm around him and Todd leans into his side, their relationship isn’t exactly new, but being close around other people is and even though it’s only Farah that’s with them Todd is surprised by just how much it doesn’t bother him.

There’s still something that’s been hanging over him all day though, and as the hours creep closer towards midnight he feels himself growing more nervous with it. It hits its peak when Farah announces she’s leaving for the night, bundling up her gifts and wrapping them both in warm hugs at the door and as soon as it closes behind her Todd feels his heart rate pick up, glancing at Dirk’s back as he makes his way through to the kitchen.

When Dirk comes back he’s holding two mugs, one which he holds out to Todd full of coffee, and one Todd knows is full of tea with more sugar than the numerous candy canes Dirk had been eating that morning. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes and Dirk tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Are you alright?” he asks, sinking down next to him and sipping at his tea. For a moment Todd just watches him, trying to work out if he should go through with it or not but the decision is already made really and he sets his coffee down on the table.

“I have something for you, actually. Something else, I mean. I don’t know if…” he trails off with a sigh, shaking his head in the face of Dirk’s confused look and reaching down the back of the sofa to pull out an envelope. Dirk’s frown deepens at the sight of it.

“I don’t- Isn’t that one of our files?” he asks, placing his tea down as well when Todd holds it out to him.

“I couldn’t find another envelope to put it in,” he shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck nervously. “I just- I might have- I don’t want to-” his stuttering through reasoning isn’t making the situation any better and he just waves his hand as a go ahead to open it, unable to make eye contact and wondering if he’s made a huge mistake.

Dirk can’t work out what would have Todd so worried, and it’s making him a little nervous himself. More than that though he’s curious, and he flips the envelope over to open it with more care than he’s opened anything, even the parcel he’d thought may have been a bomb. Somehow this seems to carry more weight.

It’s just sheets of paper at first sight, and he’s even more confused until he pulls them out a little and sees the bold type stamped across the top of the page. There’s nothing he can do for a moment but stare, reading the words but not quite registering them.

Probate and Family Court Department - Change of Name Petition.

“Oh,” is what comes out when he finally opens his mouth to speak. There are tears stinging at his eyes and when he manages to tear his gaze away from the page Todd is watching him with wide eyes, chewing on his lip and fidgeting with his fingers.

“I just thought, you know, after everything… and you never legally got it changed so if you ever had to give a legal name it wouldn’t be your name and I know you hate the other one and-” he’s rambling too much but Dirk is still just staring at him and he hasn’t actually said anything but he looks like he’s going to cry. Todd wonders if he’s hugely miscalculated and panics. “Sorry. Fuck, this was a stupid idea I’ll just-” he doesn’t get chance to finish his sentence because Dirk has pulled him into a hug that’s far too tight and there’s a wetness where he’s hidden his face against his neck. It’s instinct to hug him back, heart still racing but feeling like maybe it’s not as bad as he’d thought.

“I…” Dirk trails off, finally easing off a bit and pulling back to look at him, eyes flickering over Todd’s face as he works out what to say. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” and Todd would laugh if it wasn’t for the gravity with which he says it, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. Todd has never known what to do when faced with Dirk’s unfailing certainty.

“It’s not a big deal. It’s not like… I didn’t have to pay for it or anything. I mean, it will have to be paid for if you want to do it, that is. I just…” voicing his emotions has never been his strong suit, he doesn’t know how to tell Dirk he deserves everything Todd can give him and ten times more. Doesn’t know how to say he just wants him to be happy, that he wants them both to have a chance at a new start. “I love you,” it may be the easiest way to say it but that doesn’t take away from the meaning behind the words. Dirk smiles, it’s watery but still reaches his eyes and he reaches out to cup Todd’s jaw with his hand.

“I love you too,” and maybe Dirk has always found it easier to say but that doesn’t mean he means it any less. Todd knows that, he feels it when Dirk pulls him into a kiss that’s hardly any more than chaste but conveys everything neither of them have the words for right now.

When they pull apart they don’t go far, Dirk rests their heads together and Todd watches his eyes sparkle in the colours of the fairy lights strewn around the apartment. It’s gentle, soft, the kind of moment he wishes he could bottle up and pull out when either of them have bad days so they can remember what it feels like to be so completely loved by another. He can’t though, and he’s more than happy to settle for taking the moment as it is and storing it away to keep for himself.

“I’ll need to find a pen,” is what breaks the silence between them. “I’ve never filled out any real forms before, there’s a lot of pages.” He sounds almost nervous at the prospect and Todd smiles.

“We can do it together. It can’t be harder than a tax return, those things are evil. Not that you’d know,” it’s teasing, Dirk never fills out any paperwork he knows he can get someone else to do. It feels important that he does this one though, Todd wants him to do it.

“Shall we make copies just in case?” it’s an oddly sensible suggestion from Dirk that gives away how important it is to him, Todd just steals another kiss.

“Tomorrow. We’ll make copies tomorrow,” he promises, linking their fingers together and Dirk smiles, bright and happy this time.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, pulling him back into a hug that’s gentler than the last one but no less warm. “Thank you.”

Todd just closes his eyes and leans into him, thinks that this might just be his favourite place in the world. How about that. “Merry Christmas, Dirk.”

#dghda #brotzly #my writing #christmas fic #fluff #reformat

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committothedish · 6 years ago

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THINKING OF YOU / MY CONDOLENCES / ON PINING

In museums, often private homes of esteemed hoarders whose day to day lives are opened up to tourists and art students alike for a small fee, you’ll get these pine cones placed on old chairs in lieu of a ‘do not sit sign’.

This is just one of the ways in which nature does the talking far better than bureaucracy ever could. The pine cone says “this will be uncomfortable, because it’s not allowed / because it’s not allowed this will be uncomfortable”. It also gives a sense of the chair’s fragility “please don’t come near me because I might break apart and the insurance forms will be a nightmare”.

Pining the verb has nothing to do with the arboreal noun, despite forced parallels in certain women’s magazines drawn between a tree’s sap and our use of “sappy” for romance. But it does have to do with fragility (a masking of-, warning about- or dealing with-).

To pine is to feel more brittle than usual, reliant on another person or place or state’s ability to keep you intact, and ‘Intact’ feels like a portmanteau of contact and intimacy. This is by chance, but useful here.

Pining comes both surprisingly and unsurprisingly from a German old English word and therefore probably from a Latin one - pinian and poena, suffering, punishment. Fight the urge to think of pine needles and how much those could sting, because it really isn’t about that.

To want to the point of suffering / to the point of punishment. A place could be pined for via homesickness or wanderlust, a physical or mental state could be pined for using nostalgia or false memory or a misleading journal entry (the journal being at once a bespoke playground and cemetery for pining of all kinds).

Pining for a person carries a mix of all the above - perhaps the most specific and the most obscure - distressingly vague when rose tinting to that extent ruins all the tiny, boring and annoying minutiae .

The three are easily substitutable - pining for a place could be mistaken for a person with whom you experienced that place, or an obsession with a state of mind might only have been facilitated with the right geography, or at a time before real distressing things happened. To pine, ultimately, is to project - and realising that’s still a valid feeling with valid effect / affect takes work.

Pining itself is work too of course. To dwell or to speculate on or be distracted by or to lose sleep over something pined-for is exhausting.

Not always obvious or sweaty or factory-like but brain labour usually takes place behind the scenes, never really clocks out, and it certainly doesn’t get paid to do it.

There are psychological cash bonuses though - something as organic as a sensory reminder or as banal as an email, a direct message, a photo. A pining person’s brain will grab onto anything which validates all this painful work and dine out on it for another couple weeks.

Do you ever really know for whom or what you’re pining ?

I have a blurry picture of somebody or somewhere in my head but they seem always just a stand-in. Freud would love this part:

Today I’m in agony over a man I barely know and who is considerably older than I am. This agony is actually about my now-estranged father - an idea(l) of him from childhood in certain urban settings which have my first date with the met-three-times man in common - the West End - where I went as a child and the buses felt so enormous.

Which am I pining for : the older man, my dad, my childhood, or the borough of Westminster / Camden, the date-format itself?

Is my brain telling me I did not receive adequate love during / within these places and times, that I have some love I still need to feel on Tottenham Court Road? If I get what I need will I be less fragile, less afraid of buses?

It’s frustrating: pining has a habit of piling up. Visiting a nostalgia-ridden place with somebody great can compound and confuse the original want. And then I’m scared to visit that place because it will remind me of the somebody, who in turn reminded me of somebody else, and the happiness I felt (or did I?) when I went there with them.

- Pining has physiological results

- Pining is difficult to pick through, and has me wishing for some kind of suffering colander to tell me which parts need attention and which parts need, for now, to be parked.

- Pining is occasionally delicious, and since (at least etymologically) it could sit well within the arena of self-harm, there is something in pining’s pain which is beautifully designed to distract from some other more urgent task.

Pining shuffles the priorities like a deck of cards, just one of its incredible talents awarding fantasy real world consequences.

Consequences: Checking a phone, throwing up, checking an inbox, the mail, isolation, shivering, diverting or diluting conversation, cutting it off entirely, the thousand yard stare mid-sentence, crying, appetite suppression or exaggeration

A pining person isn’t a particularly interesting hang out unless you yourself are the pinee, in which case you’ll be treated to a fierce engagement driven by a lifetime’s worth of magical thinking and undisclosed hurt. You may receive full eye contact, and yet it’s not really your eyes they’re seeing, but some weird mirage of salvation or escape. This happens a lot at dinner.

It’s Proustian, it’s Procrustean. It’s not you it’s me but it’s not really me either - and actually in a way I wish you weren’t here right now so that I could get on with the business of pining in peace. This brings everything back to the unsuitable chair with the pine cone - come closer but stay away, this isn’t what it looks like

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