#in retrospect I like Sizzle too

[skeletonsfortea]

Here are some nicknames I've been brain storming, but I'm liking the anon who suggested Hot Pocket, it's fun!!!

Starlight

Sugar Lips

Pebble

Sizzle

Pop Rock (like the candy, if they have a bold but sweet personality)

Stardust

And also a question! ^u^

Would Vulture be into joining a book club? Cause based off the chapter that came out I feel like his opinions would be interesting xD

Maybe...he'd need some convincing though...

But he'd enjoy it, although he might throw hands if someone said something stupid.

I think I should iterate that the codename should be something you'd be cool with strangers calling you...but Pop Rock is fun, I'll admit, and Pebble too!

[nin-jay-go]

arin and ras are out in the wilds when they find and welcome back an unexpected teammate.

word count: 1556

-=-

Arin sighed and speared another strange fruit with his stick. Its juice spilled down the branch, and he angled it away so it didn’t drip onto his hands. He frowned and held it over the fire, watching the way its skin sizzled and roasted. 

It was the fourth day of being out in the wilds with Ras. The tiger had reclaimed his hammer and was scrubbing its surface with a spare shred of cloth Arin had volunteered from his gi. His ear turned towards Arin, listening to the fruit cook.

They were tired, to be honest. With Ras having lost all his companions, and Arin abandoning his, they were on their own together. It sucked, and it left them to survive in the wilds with nothing but pure skill and luck, but they were alive. For now, that’s all that mattered.

Arin decided the fruit was roasted enough and handed the stick over to Ras. His nose twitched, smelling the fruit nearby, and he wordlessly turned and took the branch. His chuff was thanks enough. 

“You’re sure you can eat it?” Arin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a carnivore?”

“Obligate carnivore,” Ras corrected. “We have seen very few animals, and have hunted fewer. I will take whatever food I am able to, in this circumstance.”

“As long as you’re not gonna die from eating that,” Arin shrugged, going back to his own dinner - a weird squash-like vegetable that smelled like wet mud and pumpkin. It, too, was roasted over the fire, and tasted something similar to eggplant, but sweeter, and with a coarser texture.

They ate their dinners in silence. Arin chewed on his lip when his squash was gone. Ras had taught him how to hunt for animals recently, which Arin was not very good at, but he hadn’t done anything to tell him about his parents. A little hint of doubt crept into his mind. What if Ras was lying? What if he didn’t actually know where his parents were, and he wasn’t gonna even teach him anything useful?

No, he decided. They were both just focusing on survival right now. Besides, even if he did turn his back on Ras now, where would he go? His parents are gone, the ninja definitely wouldn’t want him back when he betrayed them like he did (though he wouldn’t want to go back to them anyways), and he didn’t want to wander the Merged Realms forever until he died. That seemed pointless.

So Arin only had Ras right now. He could trust Ras. Cuz there’s nowhere else he could go.

A branch breaking startled him out of his thoughts, and he was immediately up in a fighting position in the direction of the noise. Ras, too, had gotten up, ears pressed back and growling low in his throat, tail lashing.

Out from behind a grove of trees flashed something blue. “Who’s there?” Arin yelled. 

And when the figure shakily stepped out from the trees, Arin and Ras straightened up in surprise. Because there was Jay, the Blue Ninja, scowling and holding his arms.

“Walker,” Ras growled, getting out of his fighting stance. His fur lay flatter on his body. “What are you doing here?”

“You sent me away,” Jay grimaced. “I was out here, wandering, thinking about what to do, when I heard something over here and… well…” He gestured at the two of them and their fire. He chuckled. “I was just about ready to return to the Administration when I felt my powers return to me.” 

Lightning crackled around his hand, illuminating his face in the darkness. His eyes seemed to glow an unnatural color until the lightning faded away.

Ras tilted his head and stepped forward, towards the ex-ninja. Jay immediately cowered and ducked his head. “I’m sorry for failing you, Lord Ras! You were right, that damned ninja was trying to get into my head, and for a moment, it almost worked. That weakness cost me.”

“That it did, Jay,” Ras stated unkindly. “I sent you away for you to clear your head. I had expected you to have a longer lasting impact on the ninja, but… in retrospect, perhaps they would have corrupted you further, if given the chance. They were very determined to convince you of their lies.”

“It won’t happen again, Lord Ras. Next time, I won’t be as lenient,” Jay continued, head still bowed. His eyes flashed red. “I’ll finish her off next time.”

Ras looked thoughtful for a moment, tail swishing and head tilted. Arin frowned and looked at the former ninja. Jay used to be the joke-slinging, fun Blue Ninja, fearless in the face of combat and doing it all with a smile behind his mask. This… wasn’t Jay. Not the Jay that the world used to know. His amnesia really screwed with him, huh…

Eventually, Ras huffed and nodded. “You are the only one of my men that still remains. All the rest are either under the control of those Forbidden Five, or are too far to reach now.”

“A-and the Gong of Shattering?” Jay asked, looking up at Ras. 

“With them, presumably.”

Either Arin was really bad at reading expressions, or Jay looked… disappointed at that. That face was immediately drowned by one of hope. “Then…”

“You may stay with Arin and I,” Ras decided. “None of us have much else to do.”

Jay bowed quickly, nearly folding himself in half. “Thank you, Lord Ras. I won’t disappoint you again!”

“Good,” Ras smiled. “See to it that you don’t.”

As Ras walked away, it let Jay see Arin, as if for the first time. They blinked at each other for a second before Jay’s face scrunched up suspiciously. “Aren’t you one of those ninja brats?”

Arin tried not to scowl. “Nope. Not anymore. Not since they betrayed and lied to me.”

“Yea, they’ll do that,” Jay nodded. “You’re training under Lord Ras now?”

“He’s done a better job at training me than Lloyd so far,” Arin shrugged. He was past the point of caring about his so-called heroes. He looked over the former ninja, dressed up in the wolf warrior regalia typical for Ras’ lackeys, but with a few more embellishments. Personalized, almost. “You… don’t remember the ninja at all, then?” Arin continued.

“Am I supposed to?” Jay raised an eyebrow. It was his notched one. That was always one of Jay’s signature traits, alongside his freckles and striking color. 

“You had fought them at some point prior to your amnesia,” Ras spoke up from where he had sat back down. His hammer was in his lap. “Or, so I assume.”

As Jay scoffed, saying something about how the ninja were stupid for trying to worm into his brain like that, Arin stopped to think about this.

Jay used to be a ninja. He may not remember any of it, or want to remember it, but he was still a strong fighter. And, if he could play his cards right with Ras, a good additional teacher. If Ras taught Jay how to fight, then Jay could give him some further tips. And, well, they both hated the ninja right now, and looked up to Ras for guidance. Despite it all, Jay was the best ally one could ask for in their current circumstances.

Ignoring the fact that the Gong of Shattering definitely did something to Jay’s morality. One gong probably didn’t hurt too much, right?

And… Jay used to be Agent Walker - the Manager of the Realm Reassignment division. If anyone knew where Arin’s parents were, it’d be Jay.

As the ex-ninja moved to sit by the fire, Arin hurried to sit next to him. Maybe he didn’t have to abandon all his former heroes. He’ll keep this one. “Hey, Jay?”

“Hm?” Jay hummed in question, grabbing a fruit from the pile Arin had gathered and biting into it raw (and making a face when it tasted like mush, as all of those fruits do). 

“When… when you worked at the Administration,” he frowned, fiddling his hands together, “did you happen to see my parents?”

Jay swallowed his bite of fruit down and raised an eyebrow. “Uh?”

“They look like me,” Arin added. “Black hair, dark eyes - Dad has a bit of a beard, Mom’s hair was short…”

He trailed off, but Jay gave an unsure snort. “Kid, if I remembered every single person who came by the department, I think I could easily replace the first two decades of my life with that. My memory’s bad enough as is.”

Arin tried not to sound too disappointed when he sighed. “Oh…”

As if sensing he made a mistake, Jay clicked his tongue. “Gimme enough time, I’ll try to remember. Two humans, short black hair, look like you, gotcha.”

“You’d try and remember?” Arin asked hopefully. He hoped his relief was evident on his face. 

Jay rolled his eyes. “Yea, yea. Least I can do for my teammate.” He gave Arin a once-over. “You don’t look like a half-bad fighter. Lemme finish up this fruit and let’s spar.”

Arin grinned. “Sure!”

He looked over at Ras, who nodded his approval. He got up and started doing stretches. He was one step closer to finding his parents. And, maybe, siding with Ras and Jay for the long run wasn’t such a horrible idea after all.

[roamwithahungryheart]

Read an excellent post from @evendumbo about media literacy, rom-communism and the Ted Lasso finale & wanted to add my two cents.

I think in retrospect, the answers given by the cast during promo either ring hollow or seem bittersweet because there seems to have been a split between those who knew what Ted & Rebecca's dynamic was/had the potential to be & those who didn't.

For Brendan Hunt to give conflicting answers in the recent AMA, it shows that there was no cohesive Ted & Rebecca arc this season. They used callbacks and fake-outs that fooled the viewers into thinking they meant something. BH admitted that they 'considered Tedbecca [...] without enthusiasm'. Which seems very odd considering the fact that they'd spent three whole seasons proving how irrevocably intertwined these two characters are. Whether you viewed their relationship as platonic or romantic, it says a lot that the platonic crowd recognized that shippers were fobbed off.

From my own perspective as a screenwriter, I think BH (and perhaps the writer's room as a whole)'s interpretation of romantic relationships on-screen was too black-and-white. It was defined by heat and passion rather than an intimate connection between two people.

The idea that a middle-aged second chance romance has to conform to the same standards as a young couple like Roy & Keeley is where they fumbled the bag. They'd already established Ted & Rebecca's deep connection and their parallel lives. The romantic potential was teased several times, right until the very end.

The show prided itself on its use of rom-communism and the way it effortlessly weaved subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) references to classic rom-coms into the narrative. The episode 'Rainbow' was a love letter to Nora Ephron. It reinforced the idea that Ted & Rebecca's bond shared similarities with Harry & Sally. Friends to lovers is an age-old trope that, when written well, works beautifully. There doesn't have to be sizzling passion or palpable heat every time the characters are in the room together. There just has to be a strong connection. A soft, unspoken thing that's obvious to the viewers through the way the characters communicate (particularly non-verbally).

'In the airport scene they are both struggling with whether or not to say [they love each other]. But they both know instinctively that if they do, it could open a floodgate they’d rather not open.'

They could have gone down the Harry & Sally route. It would have made perfect sense. But in the same vein, their relationship had all the hallmarks of a classic Nancy Meyers marriage - think Steve Martin & Diane Keaton in Father of the Bride. We didn't have to see them kiss on-screen or even sleep together in order to establish a romantic connection (although it would have been a huge victory for the shippers) - Ted & Rebecca have nothing to prove. Everyone already knows.

We could have had a beautiful, soft love story between these two characters, but instead the writers chose to squander that potential because of antiquated ideas of 'social conditioning'. It's greatly disappointing.

You can backtrack on authorial intent, but you can't deny the things that transpired on-screen.

[flowercrowngods]

i just figure steve deserves some actual healing, and nancy needs to own up (something something don't thank those who broke you for making you grow)

Steve’s not very proud of it, but being alone with Nancy always makes him a bit antsy. Like the history between them is making the air sizzle and cackle with guilt and treacherous what ifs that Steve doesn’t really care about but can’t help obsessing over. Not in a desirable way, just in an If I don’t think through every possible outcome of this specific scenario, I am going to combust on the spot. 

So he thinks about Nancy. Like that, sometimes, but not because he wants her. It’s just… He knows her either like that or not at all. They never really talked about what happened. They never really cleared the air and instead let the heaviness settle. 

Maybe it’s because heaviness in the air is all Steve knows, but it is starting to wear on him. Especially after everything he said in the face of approaching death. He meant it, too, but in retrospective, he is aware he only sees Nancy with him because no one else ever let him see himself somewhere. 

And Nancy let him. When she knew damn well that her heart wasn’t with Steve. She let him. 

And she let him in the Upside Down, too, let him ramble and let him apologise and let him thank her. I love you, I’m sorry. What the hell am I sorry for?

He wants to be mad, wants her to acknowledge the hurt he went through, wants her to apologise. But it’s been two years. He should be over it. 

How could he be, though? With air so heavy it feels like he’s breathing in lead? 

And now here they are, alone in his house – this big fucking house – and she’s taking a seat on the couch opposite him, both of them leaning sideways against the backrest. 

“Steve,” she begins after a while, her arms around her legs, her head on the couch, looking really pretty in the soft glow of the warm light. 

“What’s up?” 

They’re quiet. Somehow, with Nancy, Steve is always quiet. 

There must be a poem in this somewhere. 

She sighs and just looks at him for a while with that look. That Nancy Wheeler look of I’ve got you all figured out but you need to help me fit the pieces together and show both of us you’re more than the mere sum of your life’s pieces. Steve swallows and waits, mirroring her position on the couch. 

“I need you to take that back. What you said in the Upside Down.” 

His heart skips a bit, the lead growing heavier now, turning into apprehension and dread and the fear of being seen by Nancy Wheeler. Or the fear of having her think that she sees him when she never really did. And now she’s asking him to take back the one time he needed her to really, truly see him. 

“What do you mean?” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it carries through the heaviness just fine. Don’t reject me now. Not again. Not as your friend. Not as Steve. 

“You called yourself an idiot,” she says, a smile tugging at her lips, but there’s more, so Steve bites his tongue. “And you said something about… You were thanking me. For giving you a hard enough thump on your head so you could change and grow into a better person. Remember?” 

Remember the one time you did not shy away from sincerity because you thought you were going to die and told the one person who let you love her, really love her, that you were thankful for everything that happened even though it ended like it did? Remember the one, the first time, you told anyone about your dream? About your life, your future, your desire? 

Remember, Steve Harrington? 

“Sure,” he rasps, his eyes now breaking away from Nancy, focusing on a loose thread on the blanket thrown over the couch. “What about it?” 

“I need you to take that back.” It’s Nancy’s turn to whisper now, and she sounds so sincere that Steve never wants to look at her again because he’s so scared of what he’ll find in her eyes. 

“Why? It’s true.” 

“No, Steve. No, it’s not.” 

She doesn’t say anything more than that for a while but he feels her gaze on his shoulders. His confusion must show on his face and his head is starting to hurt form the frown between his brows, but still he doesn’t look up. 

“Steve,” she whispers, imploring now, and he closes his eyes because he has a feeling like his world is going to fall apart again any second now, and once more it will be because of Nancy Wheeler. 

Even two years later, she still holds that power, even though she doesn’t hold his heart anymore. 

“That growth, that healing that you did? That’s not on me.” Her voice is wavering and Steve’s frown feels more intense by the second, and maybe he’s clenching his eyes shut. Maybe his hands are shaking where they’re clenched together, wrapped around his shins. “You can’t… I hurt you. I hurt you so bad, Steve, and I know that. You didn’t deserve any of that, and–” 

“You were scared and grieving Nance, it’s–” 

“It’s not fine,” she interrupts him, and she sounds so final that Steve clamps his mouth shut. Everything about him is tense and he doesn’t want to hear it, but at the same time he feels like he can only breathe again when he heard what Nancy has to say. It’s a special kind of torture. The Nancy Kind. 

“It’s not fine, Steve, and… And still you’re out there, thinking you will die, and you thank me? That’s when I realised that I never apologised. I never let you… I just…” A sniffle interrupts her monologue and Steve feels his own eyes beginning to sting. “All that growth, Steve, that’s on you. And you didn’t grow because I thumped your head. I broke your heart. Big time. And you chose to grow. To heal. You chose that. Do you remember when you told me, right after everything happened, ‘It’s okay, Nance?’ and ‘I might be a shitty boyfriend but I’m a damn good babysitter’, or something like that? That’s. That’s you. That’s always been you.

“I’m the one who hurt you. Who broke your heart. But I will not be the one who lets you believe that those who break you get to take any credit in how you heal. I will not be the one who stands by and listens to you calling yourself an idiot in the same breath you’re thanking me for breaking your heart like that.” 

Nancy is crying now, the silent way that will make your voice waver and the tears roll, but that won’t turn into sobs or anything like that. Steve knows, because maybe, maybe he’s crying, too. 

“You can’t spend your life tricking yourself into misguided gratitude when the only one to ever change your life and your heart like that is you, Steve Harrington. Do you hear me?”  

There is a hand on his knee, and suddenly they are hugging, clinging to each other like the lead in the air between them has now settled on their shoulders, and the only way to be okay is to cling to each other with the grip of understanding and forgiveness. 

“I’m so sorry,” Nancy whispers into his neck. “You’re so good, Steve. So good. And you’re all of that because of you.” 

Steve doesn’t really know what to say, and even if he did, he couldn’t say it around the lump in his throat, so all he breathes out is, “Okay,” and, “It’s okay,” and, “Thank you.” 

He’s not sure if Nancy hears, but it doesn’t really matter. She is smart enough to know simply from the way he refuses to let her go, breathing around her for the very first time in two years. And he knows from experience – so much experience – that breathing is where healing starts. He has a notion that they will be fine. Finally, finally, they might be fine.

[liltaz-asatreat]

Characters Out of Context

➥ Include one character quote — of your choosing ⁠— from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you'd like).

➥ Give absolutely no context, save for what's between two parts of an interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it.

Tagged by

@spuddlespud

Thank you for the tag!! :D

So I now have. Two multi-chapter fics going lskghsdlkgha I don’t have much written for the second one which is called Double Troubles, and I can talk more about that for anyone interested, but it’s basically an eighth bird AU except the eighth bird is an OC named Meadow, and they have a body in the Material Plane and a body in the Plane of Logic, and the two bodies share one consciousness that switches between the two when one body goes to sleep and the other wakes up.

Just thought I’d give that little bit of context because I’ve literally never talked about it even existing with anyone except Sunny lol

Also, most of the stuff I have written in the Julia AU is still random pieces of different points in the campaign, so I’m just going to pick a quote from each individual file I have saved lol

And this is all going under a read more because it’s gonna get long

Julia Burnsides vs Canon Lore

Prologue Memory: Steven Waxmen: “I want you to know that no matter what you decide, whether you're ready to do this or not, I'm always going to be here waiting for you.”

Chapter 1: Yeemick: “We got attacked by these four idiots who came to take back our captive. We managed to chase them off, but they said something about wanting to kill you, sir.”

Klaarg: “Oh, that's so weird because four of the loveliest people I have ever met came here, also looking for Barry Bluejeans, and they told me that you sent them to kill me!”

(I know I know, but I had to add Klaarg’s line too because that exchange is really funny slkghsdlgkh)

Chapter 2: Julia: “One, what is electronic dance music? And two, Kenny Chesney isn't that bad. My dad used to be a big fan too, but as far as I know, he wasn't a big enough fan to actually get him tattooed on his ass!”

Taking the Gauntlet and Going to the Moon: Taako: “I did a traveling cooking show called Sizzle it Up with Taako,” Taako says proudly. “And a TV, Julia, is...” His gaze gets a little unfocused as he scrunches his face up in confusion. “It's like... um... I remember there's moving pictures. It lets people see what people are doing from far away I think. That's why I say I'm from TV.”

Killian: “Are you talking about a telescope?”

Julia: “It kind of sounds like those video james Magnus talks about sometimes from his dreams. Doesn't it, babe?”

Meeting the Director: (this isn’t really dialogue, but it is a thought Julia has, so I’m counting it lol) Julia: Oh to be able to be slightly irritated at his ego again instead of full on wanting to murder him, it truly is a blessing.

Lunch Conversation with the Director: Julia: “It's a long time ago now. I just...” She sighs. “I just wish I knew sooner, you know? I understand why everything had to be erased, but it makes it harder knowing in retrospect. Now I'm mourning them again, but it hits a little harder this time around.”

Briefing Before Rockport: Julia: “If she thinks I'm gettin' dress for this, she's sorely mistaken.”

Petals to the Metal Elevator Incident: Julia: “Don't worry, it is plenty impressive for me, babe.” She smirks at the way Magnus' face goes even redder and ignores the other boys cackling behind her. “Should we go up to the vault now?”

Julia’s First Conversation with Leon: Leon: “I don't think it's supposed to make sense to people like us. If it did, we probably wouldn't be here trying to do our part to save the world.”

Lucretia Confronts Them about RR Crystal Kingdom: Julia: “We have the Stones, Merle. And Director, I– I'm sorry, but even if we did try to run away, there weren't many options of places for us to go. He stopped time, or at least, he stopped Lucas and Killian and Carey and Noelle from moving and perceiving time while he was there, so there wasn't anyone we could turn to for help, and our other option was to run out of the room to a crystallized central hallway with almost all of the airlocks shut down. We couldn't go anywhere, and even if we did have a place to hide, it would have been a waste of time to wait for him to leave, and we might not have been able to stop the crystal from spreading.”

Julia Catches Taako Crying After Refuge: Taako: “When I was with the Chalice, some parts of the memories of my childhood looked like static, and I can't help but wonder if the dreams really aren't just another aspect of myself that I've projected as being another person and they actually are something or someone missing. So I started writing a letter to them. Or me. Or whoever or whatever this dream person is.”

Magnus and Julia Talk to Fisher: Julia: “We're going to find out what happened to it. I promise.”

Julia Talks to the Red Robe: Barry: “There's a thing coming. The thing I've been warning you guys about. The hunger of all living things. It'll be here soon, and our only hope of stopping it lies with, well...” The Red Robe looks uncomfortable for a moment. “You were never supposed to get caught up in the equation, Julia, and I am truly sorry for that. None of this was even supposed to happen. But we're here now, and this is happening, so I guess we have to make do with the cards we're dealt with.”

Julia Talks to Magnus About [redacted]: Merle: “You just admitted that you put ketchup on spaghetti when you don't have immediate access to any form of tomato sauce or don't feel like making it.”

Magnus: “I've seen you eat dirt, Merle, so you're one to talk!”

Wonderland Catwalk Scene: Julia: “Leave Taako alone,” Julia says with a shake of her head. She glares at the stupid mannequins and the stupid catwalk with its stupid spotlight shining down on it. “I'll get up there and strut.”

Julia Hears the Story and Song: Julia: “You literally know way more than I do, Merle. You know who the lich that came out of Taako's umbrella is who is apparently his sister I'm assuming?” Magnus nods, so she continues. “I'm assuming you know what's in the sky and currently destroying the world–”

Magnus: “Yup, it's called the Hunger.”

Julia: “According to the Director, you... you're... all of you are from a different reality?” Julia exclaims, and Magnus hums in agreement. “And, what is hap–”

Julia Talks With Leon After S&S: Leon: “You know, your husband is like a roach, you know that right?”

Julia’s Conversation with Taako After S&S: Taako: “I grew up with Lup. Yes. But where the fuck was she for the past twelve years, Julia? Because it certainly wasn't with me!” Taako tries to stand angrily, but as he puts weight on his legs, he curses before sitting back down. “And everyone else! Where were they? Spread all across Faerûn because someone couldn't fucking handle being wrong! Because that person couldn't fucking handle holding a conversation!”

Double Troubles

Chapter 1: Taako: "Fine, if you don't want them, then Merle and I will eat them, and you can just have the stale ass bread."

Chapter 2: Meadow: "Um, yeah actually. I uh– I got back into contact with some old friends in the past couple of days, and just yesterday, I actually got back into contact with a friend I have been trying to reach for a really long time.”

Chapter 3: Merle: “Gundren could be dead by the time we get there, but that's just my opinion.”

Chalice Scene: June/Chalice: “This lead to your fateful argument where you failed to convince her to take off the Amulet, and she used it against you to completely take over your will.”

Tagging

@institute-of-planar-shitposts @holdmecloser-gandydancer @barry-j-blupjeans @noodyl-blasstal  @yaboyspodcastpalace @lexarga @phantasmagoric-acquaintance @taakosleftshoe @idkanameatall and anyone else who wants to do it!! :D

and if you don’t want to do it, no pressure :)

[genshin-impacted]

close proximity // Zhongli x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k 

Notes: gender neutral reader “you”, MAJOR Pining in Zhongli’s POV, touch-starved? Zhongli, domesticity

in the long haul, this would be one part of a(n indulgent self-insert) long-fic where Zhongli finds out that you (adventurer/traveler) have been camping out in the wilderness, so he invites you to crash at his place for an indeterminate amount of time 

also, happy birthday zhongli :)

Zhongli thinks that he should have known that welcoming someone so late at night into his home would invite the worst of the gossip. It only grows worse when people see that you continue to come back into his house and that you even have your own key to enter with. 

Luckily, the change from your original Mondstadt attire was the decisive factor that allowed you to walk the streets of Liyue relatively unseen, for you are no longer associated with being foreign or wanted by the Millelith. Instead, you are known to be the one that now apparently resides permanently (or so it seems) in Mr. Zhongli’s apartment, and the attention is now directed toward him.

You’ve even suggested that you float down and enter through an unsuspecting open window in hopes of abating the rumors, but Zhongli thinks about the implications of entering in any way other than the front door and saves himself the trouble. 

You apologize every time he closes the door on a particularly chatty neighbor, but Zhongli always waves it away. He feels more than justified inviting you into his abode. After all, he has caused you the most trouble, despite what you may think of Childe, with his plans for the harbor. Allowing you to share a space with him is nothing short of a fair trade. 

The feeling is only bolstered by the fact that you moved in with only the backpack hauled on your shoulder and nothing else, with Paimon wailing about how good it feels to finally have a pillow to lie on-- much to your embarrassment. (He waves your apologies to this away as well and does not speak of how the bashful expression on your face is rather endearing to see.)

It’s been a few days since the original hubbub, and the rumors have died down after numerous explanations that ‘they are a friend; yes, only a friend, and yes, we are both unmarried and the walls are thin, but you will not need to worry about any unsavory noises, as is routine.’ It’s evident that the nosiest of neighbors believe that he is lying, but he takes his words as seriously as the contracts that bind him.

If anything, the noises that can be heard are the random bursts of laughter or the playful arguments between you and Paimon. If the neighbors expected anything other than this, Zhongli cannot find it in himself to be apologetic because he cannot remember the last time his apartment was filled with so much sound or ever be so lively. The conversations seem ceaseless at times: whether he is sharing facts about Liyue Harbor or the random story he can remember that he thinks you would enjoy or whether you are the ones sharing stories of your own home-- or simply when Paimon asks a question that takes the entire night to explain. 

Zhongli likes the way his stories can make you laugh. It sounded sweet on the week's journey to Daudapa Gorge, and it sounds sweeter now in the confines of his home. Sometimes, when your laughter is all spent and your eyes wet from mirth, he sees you look up at him behind a shy smile with cheeks warm from something other than osmanthus wine, and he finds that he cannot stop watching you.

That is not to say that he is lacking in amusement. Paimon herself would be fine entertainment from her ideas and dreams and strange train of thoughts, but with your quick witted humor and easy-going banter, there seems to be no end to his smiles. Even Hu Tao has pointed out that he smiles more during work in the funeral parlor, and that it was, quite frankly, a little weird. Zhongli has no problems not letting that get to him, considering her boisterous demeanor as the head of the parlor herself. 

Another unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome change is the domesticity. Zhongli has always had his own routine: wake up at dawn to watch the ships leave the harbor, head over to the funeral parlor if he has been called in, peruse (and if he remembers his wallet, purchase) the new shipments, and come home for evening tea. With your presence, he finds himself waking up to sleepy Paimon and an even sleepier you, cracking an egg over the stone stove to cook breakfast. He eats in the morning now and receives an eagerly given lunchbox for him to take around when he goes to work. 

The times in which you leave the apartment differs, just as the time you happen to come back, but you never fail to bid him farewell or greet him when he comes back. You tap his shoulder to call him over for dinner, and you pat his head when you head to sleep. 

With you and Paimon, Zhongli gains a new routine-- one that he grows used to at an almost alarming rate, considering how unused he is to change. It’s almost a shame that this is a temporary set-up-- just until the drama dies down when Rex Lapis’ body is finally given its respects, and you can find a place to stay without being afraid of arrest. But as he has learned recently, some things are bound to change, whether he wants to or not. 

Which is not a bad thing, per say, he thinks to himself, as he cuts through the onions you have asked of him. If there is anything his time as Zhongli has taught him and of his journey with you, the beauty in many things is that they do not last-- which is why it is ever more important to enjoy it while it does. 

“Wow, you really don’t get bothered by the onions, huh.”

Zhongli chuckles, carefully cutting the onions for the stirfry Paimon has requested to eat tonight. He would have suggested eating at Wanmin Restaurant, but a grimace from you when you look at your wallet convinces him to suggest a home cooked meal tonight instead. “It is one of my many talents, it seems,” he says as you put your hands on your hips defiantly. 

“You’re going to be cutting all the onions under this roof,” you announce, walking behind him to turn on the stove. “Ack, I can feel myself wanting to tear up just from walking past that. How do you stand that, Zhongli?”

The smell of sesame oil permeates the kitchen nicely when you pour it into the wok, the sizzling a rather pleasant sound to accompany it. “Aren’t you going to tell me where the onions come from?” You ask as he dices the volatile vegetable.

He turns his head ever so slightly at your question, surprised. He prefers to tell you inane, though fun facts and stories he thinks you would be interested in, but he is surprised every time you come to him for things about Teyvat or of Liyuen culture. Though, he would be lying to himself if that does not please him. “Is that something you would be interested in hearing?” 

“Yeah,” you say, slightly distracted as you take out the ingredients from the cupboards, “I mean, Paimon and I can never find them in the wild, so I figured it doesn’t really grow naturally… so it must be from a farm?” He sees you wave a wooden spoon in question. “But where? Oh-- by the way, are the onions ready? The wok's ready."

“Ah, the onions are actually grown in the villages north of Liyue Harbor,” Zhongli replies, finishing the last of the dicing on the cutting board. “Though most of farms focus on exporting rice, there are some that farm mainly onions-- which is where you see most of the wares being brought in--”

“Oh shit, I put the fire up too high-- Zhongli, I’m going to grab the onions!” 

“Ah, yes, apologies, here--” 

He does not realize you are right behind him until he feels your body press against his for a moment, your hair brushing against his cheek as your arm reaches out for the cutting board. He cannot help but feel himself tense, only able to turn his head slightly just to see your face as close as it has ever been to his. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you say quickly, taking note of his surprised expression. “Nice cutting-- okay, time to cook--” The moment is brief as you rush to slide the onions off the board and into the flames, if the crackling is anything to go on. 

But he finds that he cannot stop thinking about how ticklish your hair was on his face or how warm you were. He remembers the longest embrace in your trembling arms and of your trailing fingertips on his shoulder for a wound that does not exist.

The kitchen is at a comfortable temperature with the stove going on high, but it is by no means hot by any standards. Yet Zhongli feels his ears burn.

“Zhongli?”

He should set the table, he thinks, but for some reason, he feels an ache in a chest every time he thinks of doing anything other than feeling your warmth again. 

“Zhongli?” You ask again, shaking him from his thoughts. His hand curls into itself in a moment of panic as he turns around, wondering if his distraction was obvious. If he were not a God himself, he would have thanked the higher beings that you didn't notice. “Sorry,” you say instead, “I interrupted you last time. What were you saying about the onions? Something after onion farms?”

“Ah, yes, ahem,” he starts again. “Most of the wares the Second Life sells is mainly from the villages themselves, and…” 

You continue to indulge him as Zhongli speaks about the farmlands of the north and about the mountain trade routes in the east when the two of you set up supper. He tries not to think about the way your fingers brush against his when he passes you a bowl of rice or about the way your bodies press together when you wash the dishes.

(Touch-starved. 

He is touch-starved, he finds out much later down the road, when he is able to hold you in his arms without needing to ask. It is why he wishes your hand would linger on his shoulder when you call him to dinner or why he finds himself relaxing at your touch. 

Or why he had started hoping that you would never decide to leave.

It seems almost too obvious now, in retrospect, but Zhongli does not mind that he is constantly learning something new about what it means to be human-- not when it means he can finally hold your hand walking down Liyue Harbor and squeeze your hand and feel you squeeze back.)

[queenofimagines]

Stranger from Out of Town

Summary: Arvin had no reason to be here. After the things he’d done, he had no reason to be blessed with an angel like you. But after spending so long on the run, after spending so long looking over his shoulder, he couldn’t help but fall in love with the one person who made him feel safe. All is well and good in Arvin’s life until one determined and obsessed sheriff decides it’s time to pay Arvin a visit.

Notes: Ya’ll, this one’s a doosey but I hope you enjoy it anyways. For the purposes of this pic, Bodecker is still alive.

When Arvin woke up that morning he could feel that something was different. Arvin’s life had been flipped upside down by his own actions that had ultimately been what forced him to live his life on the run. He had spent the better part of a year running, zigzagging across the country in the hopes of shaking the authorities off; first traveling down to Georgia, then up to Iowa, then back down towards Texas and so on before finally finding permanent resident. Arvin knew what the rest of his life would look like from here on out. He understood that he would spend the rest of his time on God’s green Earth looking over his shoulder and never finding the quiet life he longed for. Arvin knew that he was cursed, from the moment his mother had died he had been plagued with loss and he was sure he was one of the unlucky souls who had come to be the Devil’s plaything. Arvin had expected that his life would forever be riddled with rot and chaos, damned to suffer through conflict after conflict after conflict. But when Arvin opened his eyes today to the sun streaming in through window and the sound of bacon sizzling coming from the kitchen, he finally understood what it felt like to be at peace.

Arvin swung his legs over the side of the bed, hauling himself up and making his way down the hall. His steps were heavy with sleep, shuffling against the floor loud enough to alert the person in the kitchen to his presence. As Arvin drew closer, he began to hear the hum of a song that was unfamiliar to him, just barely covered by the sound of someone flipping an egg, prompting him to hurry his steps to arrive at the delicious smell and the lovely voice that had almost lulled him back to sleep where he stood. Rounding the corner, Arvin couldn’t help but grin at the sight before him. There you stood in front of the stove, still dressed in your nightgown, cooking a breakfast big enough for two. 

Two. Such a simple word with such little meaning. An insignificant word that made Arvin’s heart swell with delight. It wasn’t just him anymore, alone and scared, no, now it was him and you. To Arvin, it was hope. Arvin watched as you plated the food you had prepared before turning around and flashing him an earth shattering smile. You would never know how much it meant to him, your smile, and that you were here, right now. You would never know the kind of stability you brought to him. And he planned to keep it that way, to keep you in the dark about all the things he’d done. To keep letting you believe he was just the stranger from out of town who stole your heart.

When you met Arvin, he was just a newcomer, a lost soul who had found your quaint little town practically in the middle of nowhere. He had stirred up quit a buzz when he walked into your parents’ little diner, asking if there was any place he could stay the night, but seeing as your town was so small, small enough that it could safely be left off of most maps and small enough that tourism wasn’t a main source of income, the answer was unequivocally no. Your father, who had been Arvin had the luck of plopping himself next to, informed him that the closest motel was almost a three hours drive away. Arvin remembered staring out the window, watching the last rays of light vanish, his hope along with it. It would be impossible for him to get someone to see him this late at night, let alone actually stop for him. Arvin felt like he could cry in that moment, but your mother, ever the good Christian woman, had offered to let him stay at your house until tomorrow morning. Arvin was grateful that your mother had been so kind, and in retrospect you were too, but you remembered how much you resented Arvin when your mother told you he would be staying with you. At first, you were all for it, one night with an attractive stranger from out of town in your house wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but the next day both Arvin and your father came home in the afternoon after they had supposedly left to take Arvin to the next town over earlier that morning.

“Turns out this boy knows his way around a car,” your father had said, beaming.  He had later told your mother privately that he had offered Arvin a place to stay with your family and a smaller than average wage in exchange for his help around the shop. Your father owned the only car shop in town and was in desperate need of a new assistant, and seeing as you didn’t want anything to do with being a mechanic, your father saw Arvin as a golden opportunity, someone to possibly pass the torch to. Your mother was more than happy to let him stay, finding his handiness around the house useful, but you were less  ready to welcome him into your life. Arvin had garnered a lot of attention, especially from the female population, and most of the girls at your school would pretend to be your friend in the hopes that you would invite them over, just so they could get a glimpse at him. It only got worse when your parents had commissioned Arvin to pick you up and drop you off to school. The girls would stare, trying to get a closer look at Arvin, a few of them even having the courage to go up and talk to him. It made you sick, that attention he got and how much he seemed to enjoy it. You had convinced yourself that it was skepticism about his character, but now that you look back on it, it was nothing more than petty jealousy that bubbled in your stomach. It was stupid, really, to be jealous that a boy was giving other girl’s his attention, especially since you hadn’t seemed very keen on the idea of him even being in your town, but what you didn’t know was that it wasn’t the attention that Arvin enjoyed, it was the fact that in the people around him, in the kindness that people showed him, Arvin could see a future here; a future with you.

From the moment Arvin laid his eyes on you, he was smitten, he would even go as far as to say it was love at first sight. Arvin wouldn’t confess this to you until almost a year after you’d met when he tried to ask you to prom (with your parents’ permission, of course). It was honestly a train wreck and did not go at all how he had planned. Arvin had invited you out to the town’s gazebo, he had strung up lights as best he could and set up a nice little dinner for the two of you. He saw a figure slowly approach, thinking it was you, only to be disappointed when Susan Hall, who Arvin remembered you hated with a passion, stepped into the light and flung herself at him, telling him how sweet it was of him to do this and attempting to kiss him. You had seen the whole thing and, devastated, you ran away, Arvin chasing after you. He had caught up to you in the woods behind your parents’ property and explained what had happened, confessing that he loved you and only you. You believed him, and rightfully so, as you later found out that Susan had crashed your plans on purpose to try and steal Arvin from you.

Looking back on it now, with you leaning against his in the small house that you had bought the second you graduated high school with the little money both of you had saved up and some help from your parents, Arvin was glad he had ended up in your dreary town, no matter how complicated your relationship had been when it first started. He watched as you admired the ring on your finger, smiling at it as if you had been missing it all your life, the now empty dishes sitting in your sink waiting to be washed. It was times like this Arvin remembered why he had to keep his past life from you a secret. He loved you and often found himself wanting to tell you all about his past life. Every time you asked why he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders Arvin wanted nothing more than to tell you everything, but Arvin loved you too much to let you go and he couldn’t bare to think of what would happen if you knew what he did.

“Darlin’, I gotta get ready for work.” He said, lips pressed against the crown of your head.

“Why don’t you call in sick today,” you suggested.

“I would but your dad would kill me.”

“You know he loves you Arvin.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t wanna disappoint ‘im.” With one final kiss to your head, Arvin stood up and made his way to your shared bedroom. You began to clean the dishes, not having to go into the diner until later that day. As you began cleaning the last pan in the sink, a sturdy knock came from your door.

“I’ll get it!” You yelled, hearing Arvin begin to hurry to the front door. You had opened the door just as Arvin arrived at the end of the hallway. In front of you stood a tall man with a sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt.

“Mornin’ ma’am, my name’s Lee Bodecker,” The man said. “I’m looking for a man named Arvin Russell and I heard I might find him here.”

“Arvin?” You repeated, confusion written all over your face. You turned to look at your husband, eyebrows furrowed in a silent question. From where the sheriff stood, he couldn’t see Arvin, his figure being blocked by the door, but if he leaned ever so slightly to the left he might be able to peer into the house and see there was someone else there. You knew something was wrong, you had never seen Arvin look as scared as he did now, so without a second thought, you had gently closed the door so that your body filled the gap it created, leaning against the door frame in an attempt to feign nonchalance.

“I’m sorry, Mister, but there ain’t no Arvin Russell here. Whoever told you there was must have been misinformed.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure as the hair on my head.”

“Oh, alright. Then may I ask who it was you called to just before you opened the door?”

“My husband.” You said after a long pause, caught off guard by the man’s question.

“Mind if I speak with him?”

“Well I don’t but I’m not sure how you’d feel about seein’ him naked. He’s takin’ a shower right now.” You began gently tapping your foot, your nerves beginning to get the better of you. You had never been all that good at lying, something about it made you feel wrong, dirty. But you needed to protect your husband, after all, it’s what he would do for you.

“Then would you mind if I waited.”

“Actually I would. I have to leave for work soon and, with all do respect, I don’t much like leaving a stranger unattended in my house.”

With a small nod and a tip of the hat, the man bid you goodbye, getting into his car and driving off. You closed the door and turned to Arvin. It was silent for a long time, you waited for Arvin to explain himself but Arvin didn’t know what to say. His worst nightmare was coming true and he was terrified that your love for him wouldn’t be strong enough to survive this.

“Arvin,” You said, as calmly as you could, not wanting to spook him or yourself anymore, though it proved a lot harder that you thought. “Why was that man at our door?”

Arvin opened his mouth as if to say something but for the life of him he couldn’t find the words. He was frustrated with himself, and from the looks of it you were getting pretty frustrated at him to.

“Arvin,” you said more firmly. “I just lied to a goddamn sheriff for you. Please, tell me what’s going on.”

Arvin took a deep breathe before explaining everything to you. He told you about Lenora, and how hung herself. About the preacher and Bodecker and about Bodecker’s sister and her crazy husband. He explained everything he had done with complete and utter honesty. And he cried, longing to reach out for you but knowing his hands were too tainted to be worthy of ever holding something as beautifully pure as you. You didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, you understood his reasoning. To you, it seemed like the people Arvin had killed had it coming. But on the other hand, your husband had killed people. It didn’t matter what the reason was, taking a person’s life was a sin, something unforgivable in the holy book. Despite your better judgement, your decision ultimately came down to this: Arvin was your husband, and you loved him.

You slowly approached Arvin’s shaking figure, gently wrapping your arms around his shoulders and threading your hands through his hair. Arvin broke down into sobs, holding you impossibly close to him as if he needed you more than the air he breathed.

“Arvin,” You said once he had stopped crying, your own tears beginning to fall as you realized that there was only one option left for you both. “Arvin, we need to go.”

“What?”

“We need to go.” He gently pulled away from you, looking into your eyes, checking to make sure he heard you correctly.

“B-but this is our home.”

“I know Arvin, but that sheriff didn’t believe a word I said and he’s gonna be asking around town for you. It won’t be long until word of what you’ve done begins to spread. We need to leave before it’s too late.”

You gently ushered Arvin towards the bedroom and told him to begin packing a bag, unaware of the figure lurking at your backdoor. Bodecker had listened in on your conversation, hearing every word you and Arvin had spoken to each other, preparing for the right moment to make himself known. It was now or never, he thought, hearing you tell Arvin to pack a bag. As quietly as possible, Bodecker broke the lock on your back door, slowly making his way towards your bedroom. The door was wide open, he could see you and Arvin darting around the room trying to find your essentials. It was almost perfect, how unaware you both were. How wrapped up you were in yourselves that you didn’t even notice a 6 foot tall man practically right in front of you. With a sadistic smile, Bodecker raised his shotgun.

You froze when you heard someone pump a shotgun behind you, whipping around to find Bodecker standing just a few feet from you, gun aimed at Arvin. Your heart was beating so hard you thought it might burst, the thought of losing Arvin only increasing the adrenaline that was currently coursing through you.

“You thought you could get away, didn’t you?” Bodecker asked.

“Please, your sister and her husband, t-they were gonna kill me I didn’t hav-”

“I don’t care! You killed my sister. My sister! You killed the only person I loved Arvin. And now, I’m gonna return the favor.” In one swift motion, Bodecker turned to point the gun at you, raising his gun higher to aim at you properly. You closed your eyes before hearing the bang of a gun. You waited, standing stock still as the terror of the situation slowly got to you, but you didn’t feel pain, instead you felt a set of hands holding your face, a voice softly telling you to open your eyes. You did as you were told, seeing Arvin in front of you, eyes frantic. You looked at the ground next to him, an unfamiliar gun next to Arvin’s foot. You came to the realization that Arvin must have used it to shoot Bodecker, your suspicion being proven correct when your eyes landed on Bodecker’s now lifeless body laying in a pool of his own blood.

“A-Arvin-” Arvin softly hushed you.

“It’s okay, you’re okay now.” Arvin pulled you closer to him, cradling your head and shielding you from the body. Soon you could hear sirens in the distance, the panic slowly rising inside of you again. You could feel Arvin begin to panic too, his breathing starting to pick up.

“H-his badge.” You said, pulling away from Arvin, scared that he would be taken away from you. “We-we need to get rid of h-his badge. A-and any identification he has. It has to look like an- like an accident”

“R-right. Right, okay, uh...” Arvin began searching Bodecker’s body, quickly finding both his badge and ID and hiding them in a small hollow under one of the floor boards where you kept your savings. You and Arvin quickly came up with a cover, agreeing to keep it simple. The police arrived not long after, conducting an interview and putting you both through due process. You told them what you and Arvin had agreed to say, that the man broke into your house and tried to rob you, but thanks to Arvin’s quick thinking, Arvin was able to get to his gun and shoot the intruder. The policemen interviewing you were  skeptical, wondering why neither of you called the police after killing the man. You blamed it on shock, saying that Arvin’s first instinct was to comfort you, the intruder did have a gun pointed at you, after all. The policemen eventually dropped the subject, seeing you begin to tear up as the adrenaline and shock of the day began to ware off. Your parents came to get you and Arvin, offering you both your old room at their house until they were able to get someone to fix your back door, an offer that the both of you readily accepted. That night you and Arvin held each other just a little bit tighter, neither one of you finding sleep to come easy.

“We can’t tell anyone what happened today.” Arvin said, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you.

“I know.” You replied, tightly clutching onto his shirt. “I love you, Arvin.”

“I love you, too, Darlin’”

You didn’t know what would come out of tonight. You didn't know if you were making a mistake by trusting Arvin after everything he had done. You weren’t sure if you were messed up for loving a murderer or if you were right in believing that Arvin was doing good, even if it meant doing some more than questionable things. But you knew one thing, you knew you loved Arvin and that he loved you, and that you both would always protect each other, no matter the cost.

[kumawrites]

what are you, my sugar daddy? (pt. 1)

☆ ushijima wakatoshi x reader ☆

☆ - 3.9k words

☆ - a/n: aight ushijima fuckers here y’all go. but like,,,, me too tho i’m a proud member of the ushijima club. alternatively titled, “y/n has good morals (unlike me) and ushijima really does not want to be sued”

☆ - taglist (ask to be added): @miceonmars

//

When you said you wanted to be hit by a car to pay for your tuition, that was a joke. A joke. Apparently, God didn’t quite catch that it was supposed to be a joke, and decided to bless you with what you asked for. A car! A car that ran you over at a crosswalk!

In retrospect, it was probably your fault. Sure, you were on your phone, too engrossed trying to read a tweet while walking, which was surprisingly hard as you couldn’t really keep focus on the words. But you could have SWORN that the light turned green. For you. Not for the car. You think. Well, maybe not. You really didn’t remember, too focused on the pain sizzling through your entire body to think straight. The (very expensive looking) car had hit your body head on, and while it wasn’t going too fast, you would probably be dead if it was, it was still a car. And your body was still in the street, just chilling.

And oh god, you still had to get to class. Not only were midterms just around the corner, but maybe you had spent too much time in class definitely not paying attention and rather playing a bootleg Club Penguin on your computer. Trigonometry is boring, and Club Penguin is not. But, your negligence to your studies was going to be your downfall if you didn’t actually start paying attention. And you had planned on it! Too bad your plans got ruined.

At least the sky was pretty today, and so was that guy. Wait, what? You’re well aware that there was a crowd surrounding your dead(?) body, but no one had really made it into your peripheral, probably too scared to move your body. You didn’t blame anyone for not getting too close to you, it was a good precaution to not get injured any further. But you noticed that one man was crouched over you, brows furrowed, phone next to his ear. He looked distressed. Wonder why? That was your last thought before you promptly passed out on the warm concrete.

When you came to, you knew you were in a hospital without even opening your eyes. The smell of the whole place was almost sickly, not surprising, hospitals are literally made for sick people. It smelled heavily of disinfectant and sadness. You hoped that you weren’t hooked up to a bunch of machines and that you weren’t missing any limbs. That would mean a longer stay, which did not sound optimal.

As you opened your eyes, you were absolutely blinded. No, not by the light, the windows were closed and you weren’t even next to them. But by the extremely attractive man, sitting in your room on his phone. Well, that’s new. It wasn’t like you knew who he was, no one that hot was actively associating themselves with you. You didn’t have time to process who the mystery man might be before we turned his head from his phone and locked eyes with you.

“Hello.” He spoke with a deep rumble in his voice. Wow, that’s hot.

You attempted to greet him in return, but your voice crackled leading you into a coughing fit. The man furrowed his brows, and suddenly you recognized him. He was the one that was crouched down by your body! While you were presumably coughing up your lungs, the man quickly left the room. And there he went. Maybe he was an angel. Maybe God sent him down as an apology for not reading the entire request. That was probably it. Hot people like that definitely didn’t exist in the real world.

Too focused on the crazy thoughts in your head, you didn’t notice that he actually came back! With a nurse! Oh. He came back?

So he was real, you deduced. Well, when you were able to get words out of your dry throat, you’d ask him his skincare routine. And workout routine. And well, his life routine at this point. It was like there were no faults, physically at least. He was probably a psychopath who broke into your hospital room to kill you. Yeah. That’s it.

You weren’t paying attention to reality, and didn’t even notice the nurse leave to go call a doctor. And then there were two. You only snapped out of your very deep and intellectual thoughts when he cleared his throat.

“Hello. Again. I apologize, it seems I hit you with my car.” His brows furrowed once again, and you were extremely tempted to tell him to stop, he would get premature wrinkles if he kept that up. But, you needed to have an actual conversation with this not so mystery man.

You took a breath and actually managed to speak this time, although it was still raspy. “Howdy.” Howdy? Did you really just say howdy? “It seems you did, huh?”

That was all you were able to get out before the nurse came back with a doctor. The doctor grabbed his rolly stool and sat down by your bed, explaining that you had only sustained minor injuries and were actually lucky since you didn’t hit your head. Your left leg, however, was a different story. Since that was the side you got hit on, your leg was basically in shambles. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but you wouldn’t be able to walk for quite a while, having broken your bones in multiple spots. Well, that sure did suck.

You didn’t have a car, so you were forced to walk everywhere. But, that didn’t really matter at this point. It wasn’t like you would be able to drive a car with a broken leg.

Other than your broken leg, you were basically fine, and would be able to be released from the hospital in a few days. They wanted to run some extra tests, just to make sure you wouldn’t die somehow due to your injuries when you got home.

The nurse then switched out one of your IV bags and promptly left with the doctor, after making sure you didn’t have any further questions, leaving you alone in the room with the handsome man.

You didn’t really know what to say to start off the conversation, but luckily, he started. “Do you feel okay?” He questioned and you had to ponder that. Yeah, for the most part you did feel fine. But you hadn’t gotten out of the bed, and whenever you shifted your hips they ached. So, a solid maybe? But you didn’t want to make him feel bad, so you simply nodded your head.

“Yeah. Aside from the leg, obviously, I feel alright.” You shrugged as you examined your casted leg. Your gaze shifted from your left leg to the man, sitting a safe distance away from you. He looked rather stiff, with his hands properly placed in his lap. His posture was impeccable, and you bet he didn’t have back pain when we woke up in the morning, lucky bastard. You also noticed the very expensive looking watch, adorning his left wrist. Then you remembered just what kind of car hit you. It was for sure some fancy car, but you were no car expert, so you had no idea what model or even brand it was. But that meant this man had money. Good for him.

“I’d like to make up for it. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to pay your hospital bills.” Your eyebrows shot up, not expecting that. Honestly, you were ready to take the L and go into debt to the hospital. And then probably pitifully ring up your parents and beg for some money. It wasn’t like your family was poor, but they were for sure not rich. While they’re able to keep themselves afloat, you weren’t sure what a presumably large hospital bill would do to their finances. And they really weren’t responsible for you at this being, being that you’re in college and living on your own. So simply taking this stranger's money would be super easy, right?

It would! If you didn’t feel extremely responsible for the entire situation. Damn it good morals! Why did they have to come out now! Thinking back on the accident, it was most certainly your fault, and taking this law-abiding citizen’s money just rubbed you the wrong way. Yeah, he was rich, but he seemed genuinely extremely apologetic. If that was what the furrowed brows meant. You were just assuming. You were also assuming that he was a law abiding citizen, but his presence alone almost guarantees it. Almost.

“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate the offer, but this whole situation is for sure my fault. My carelessness led to your car, uh, hitting me. So don’t worry about it. I’ll just call my parents, and figure something out.” You said as you brushed your fingers through your ratty hair, attempting to get the knots out. It was a mess, and you couldn’t even see it. You wondered what you looked like, probably not hot. The man, however, did not seem pleased by your response, somehow managing to furrow his brows even more at your response.

“No, I insist. Please let me pay for your bills.” He seemed almost offended that you attempted to decline his offer.

Nonetheless, you weren’t about to allow yourself to mooch off of a stranger, even if he looked rich. “Thank you, but it just feels wrong, you know? They can’t be too bad.” Somehow you knew that sentence was going to bite you in the ass later. You gave him a slight smile and before he was able to respond to your foolishness, his phone dinged. He looked down at his phone, and abruptly stood up, and wow, he was tall. But you almost expected him to be this giant, since his whole being and presence was just like his height, large. You blinked at him, as he looked almost distressed as you kept looking at you and then back at his phone. He sighed as he slipped his phone in his windbreaker.

The man glanced around the room until he found a slip of paper and a pen. He quickly scribbled down something and then handed the paper to you. “I have to go, but here’s my contact information. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” And with that, he left the room. You looked down at the paper and read his name, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Huh. Sounded familiar, but you just couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You shrugged and put the contact into your phone, knowing that you would somehow manage to lose the paper if you didn’t.

You were fully prepared to never call him, however, still not wanting to make him pay for anything.

//

Your eyes almost fell out of your head as you read the bill. Was it even possible for a number to be that big? The amount of digits was almost offensive to look at, and your roommate, Kaori, seemed to agree.

“Y/N, that number is going to give me a migraine, please put it away.” She dramatically sighed as she sprawled out on your bed, next to your sitting, basically frozen body. You break one leg! Just one! And this is how much that costs? You’d have to sell your soul and kidney to even begin to pay the bill.

“If I throw this bill away, do you think it’d just disappear?” You asked, fully prepared to rip the paper in half.

“Hmm.. Probably not! I don’t think the IRS would be too happy with that. Wait, is that was the IRS is for? You know, I don’t know. But it’s worth a try!” Kaori and her many words of wisdom never seem to get old.

“Very helpful Kaori.” You sighed and flopped down next to her. She instinctively began to scratch your scalp, as a way of support. Whenever you were stressed or upset or anything, you’d come to Kaori and ask her to scratch your scalp. It felt good, and she knew where all of the best spots were. “I don’t know how I’m going to pay for this, especially without letting my parents know. They’d seriously castrate me, Kaori. I would be dead. Deceased.” You dramatically wailed, and Kaori just kept running her fingers through your hair.

“Didn’t you say the guy who hit you offered to pay for it?” She arched her eyebrow and you sighed.

“Yeah.. But I just feel bad? You know? Then again, he looked like he wanted to pay.”

“Then let him! There’s your solution. Call him up right now and explain that you’re just a little too broke to pay for them and would very much appreciate his financial support.” She sat up and removed her fingers from your scalp, causing you to groan. She grabbed your phone, unlocked it, you had given her the passcode ages ago, and opened your phone app. “I’ll even call him for you! Well, press the call button. You need to talk to him. What was his name?” She asked as she scrolled through your contact list.

“I don’t know, uhh, Ushijima? Yeah, Ushijima. I think?” You casually mentioned and didn’t even notice how Kaori’s eyes went wide with shock.

“Sorry, what?”

“Huh?” You turned your head towards her at the sound of her confusion.

“What.. What did you say his name was?” Kaori looked shell shocked and you had no idea why.

“Ushijima..? I forgot his first name, it was Waka something. Umm, Waka, Wakatoshi? Yeah, that’s it. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Why, do you know him or something?”

“Know him? Do I know him!? Y/N, he’s a D1 athlete! Ushijima Wakatoshi hit you with his car! Oh my God, Ushijima hit you with his mcfreaking car!” Kaori exclaimed, and you could only look at her in confusion. You genuinely had no idea who that man was, other than the man who ran you over, but apparently he’s a big deal. To Kaori at least. You listened to her as she spoke on and on about Ushijima and how great of a volleyball player he is. Apparently, in high school he was one of the top aces in the country. Honestly, you didn’t know what an ace was, but you nodded along to whatever Kaori said, knowing that she was a manager for her highschool’s volleyball team and a sports medicine major.

“So, basically, what you’re saying is, I got run over by a super famous athlete? Is that it?” You blinked at her as she finished her speech that was basically about the entire history of men’s volleyball. You learn something new everyday.

She nodded enthusiastically and re-unlocked your phone, in search of one name. “And that’s why you need to call him! Think about the scandal of it all! ‘Famous Athlete Brutally Runs Over Innocent College Student’! He definitely does not want that on the news.”

“Well, first of all it wasn’t brutal. The only thing broken about me is my leg. Second, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who caused the whole thing, so I’m not innocent. And finally, I’m not going to blackmail him into paying for my bills.” You rolled your eyes playfully at your roommate and she huffed.

“Fine, fine. At least call him so he knows you’re still, well, alive.” She handed you your phone back, and his contact was already dialed. You groaned at Kaori and put the phone up to your ear as there was no going back.

After about the fourth ring, the line was picked up. “Hello?” Ushijima’s deep voice managed to sound deeper over the phone, and you had no idea how that worked, but this wasn’t the time to think about that.

“Uh, hey, Ushijima? It’s Y/N, the person you, uh, hit with your car.” Was it even possible for you to sound even more awkward? Out of the corner of your eye, Kaori was muffling her giggling and you threw a nearby pillow at her face, which she caught. Stupid sports majors with their stupid athleticism.

“Hello, Y/N. How do you feel?” Even though you had only spoken to Ushijima once, you could tell what kind of person he was. Blunt and didn’t have a lot of words to say. He was probably the kind of person that didn’t bother sugarcoating anything. Respectable.

You hummed in response. “I’m okay. My leg doesn’t hurt, but I guess that’s because I can’t really feel it? Or something.” You bit your lip and an awkward silence fell over the phone call. “Um, how are you?” You asked completely out of formality and because you had no idea what else to say. Holding a conversation seemed like it wasn’t going to be easy.

“I’m fine. Y/N, I’d like to ask to pay your hospital bills once again.” Oh, you were right. He went straight to the point.

“I really appreciate it, but like I said before, I definitely caused the accident. It’s not your responsibility to pay for my bills. They’re, uh, not really that much anyways. Haha.” Could he tell you were lying? Kaori sure could, and even you could recognize how fake your voice sounded.

Apparently, he could tell that you were lying. “I asked to see how much the bill was when I was at the hospital, and it is not a small amount, Y/N.”

“Oh. Uh. Well, I guess you’re right. But still! It feels a little icky?”

“I don’t mind paying. My job pays me very well. I can easily pay your bills. Are you in college?” He asked out of the blue, following his not so subtle flex. Okay, he probably didn’t mean to flex, didn’t seem like that kind of guy, but boy he sure did.

“Sure am. I’m in my second year, dying.” Groaning, you remembered all of the schoolwork you have to catch up on after putting it off AND getting hit by a car. You wouldn’t be surprised if you failed Trig. But you probably shouldn’t.

He grunted in response. “Do you drive?” Ushijima asked another odd question that seemed to have come from nowhere.

You didn’t know how that had any correlation with the current conversation at hand, but you responded anyways. “Oh, no I don’t. I usually just walk everywhere, not that hard to do. Well, maybe now it might be.” The annoying realization that you couldn’t just simply walk everywhere had just hit. Again. When you remembered earlier at the hospital, you simply forgot all about it! A true way of solving your problems! But what an inconvenience getting hit by a car is. At least you got to meet someone who could be considered a celebrity. And he was hot! Really, it was a win-win. No, that’s a lie. Your leg is broken and you’re suffering from crippling debt. But you still met a hot guy!

“I’m going to pay the hospital bill, Y/N.” Ushijima bluntly stated and snapped you out of your daze You honestly almost replied with a ‘yessir’. He was just so confident, how could you argue with that? Wait, how were you supposed to argue with that? The whole goal of it is for him to not pay your bills, but how is he so damn convincing with just a few words? He’s truly an enigma.

“Please, Ushijima, it’s really fine. I think. Wait no, ignore that. I’m very much confident that I am fine. Yeah. That.” Your voice wavered as you panicked and your eyes darted to Kaori, watching your dumbass in amusement.

“Excuse me for a bit.” It didn’t seem like Ushijima had cared to listen to your babbling, and simply hung up. You put your phone down from your ear and stared at it. What? He just excused himself? Can he do that? Well, of course he can do that. It’s Ushijima Wkaatoshi, and at this point, you were pretty sure that he was capable of doing anything if he really wanted to.

Kaori crawled back next to you and tilted her head. “Did you hang up on him?” She curiously stared at your phone, displaying the recents page of your phone calls.

“Uhh. No. I didn’t, at least. He was just like, excuse me, and hung up?”

“Huh.” Kaori simply vocalized.

“Huh for sure.” You agreed.

Before you had time to even think a cohesive thought, for once in your life, your phone rang. You looked down at the display to see that it was Ushijima calling. Well, he did say excuse me, implying that he was coming back, but you didn’t really have the time to process his words before he hung up, just minutes ago. You stared at your phone before you answered, still trying to wrap your head around what was going on.

“Uhh, hello? Ushijima?” You answered your phone.

“I paid your bills. Please do not worry about them. They were quite significant.” You choked. Kaori stared at you like you had just grown two heads, presumably hearing Ushijima’s words. He, he just, did it? This man just paid your bills? Like it was nothing? Was he allowed to do this? It wasn’t like you weren’t relieved that someone else took care of your ridiculous bill. At this point, you were just downright impressed! Ushijima really just did that, huh. A true display of big dick energy, if you must say yourself.

It was almost impossible to find a way to reply to him, after all of this insisting that you were completely fine and he didn’t have to cover the bill. Apparently, you must be really bad at pretending since you were definitely not fine. Or maybe Ushijima is just incredibly perceptive. You weren’t for sure, and you also weren’t for sure if you’d ever figure out. Actually, you’re well aware that you’re a shitty liar.

“I would also like to cover your physical therapy and transportation until you completely recover.” Well that statement certainly gave you whiplash. It was almost as his expensive car ran you over again. He wants to what?

“Wait, hold on. Okay, so first, thank you for paying my bill, but really you didn’t have to. I’ve said this enough, but it really was my fault. And you don’t have to cover anything else, the hospital bill was just enough. I seriously can’t thank you enough, and I’m fine and alive. You really don’t have to do anything else.” You explained and hoped you didn’t come across in an ungrateful way. This man had just paid your unreadably expensive hospital bill, after all. He was showing you so much kindness already that you really didn’t know what to do. Your kindness acceptance meter was full.

Even after your mini speech, it still seemed like he didn’t care. “Please send me your schedule for classes and your address. If you want anything, do not hesitate to call me. That includes food, or anything you want. It does not matter. I have to go now. Please take care. I will see you soon.” And with that, he hung up, leaving you shell shocked. Did this mean what you think it meant? Anything? Seriously, anything? You were very much sure that this was far past the usual situation. Ah yes, the usual situation where a famous athlete hits a dumb college kid with his car. Happens all of the time.

But you were pretty sure that it wasn’t a normal thing to be offered food, or as he said, anything you want. Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute.

“So?” Kaori was looking at you expectantly.

“Okay so, I don’t know if this is how it works but, I think, just maybe, I got a sugar daddy?”

[asa-sauce]

those forgotten things

❀ haikyuu!! x (ukai’s kid!) reader

flavor: honey mustard  

warnings: none!

a/n: hi, sorry for the long wait! if you're coming from my tiktok, thank you for the continued support! i don’t know who the specific love interest is going to be, so for now it’s basically the entire karasuno team x reader.

note: ukai is your adoptive father. and this takes place at very very end of season 1/very beginning of season 2. you are 16.

+ Your dad, Ukai Keishin, forgets his water bottle at the convenience store before practice. You decide to bring it to him... Big mistake.

The bell on the door announces your presence with a gentle chime, and the cool air coming from the ancient air conditioner hits your face.  It's a heavenly relief from the sizzling heat, and you thank heaven for the store being so close to school.

"Hi dad! I'm home!" You call out, but no answer comes.

"Where is he?" Misaki asks, head bobbing up and out like a buoy. There's a prep in her voice now, like a child at an amusement park.

"He's probably in the back or something, I don't know." There's no one else in the store.

She sets her heavy, multi-key chained school bag next to the chair, and you notice that the normally happy face of the plush bunny keychain is smushed against the table leg, smile distorted into a frown.

She starts her jaunty browsing around the store, weaving in and out of each aisle. You do the same, not knowing what you're in the mood for, and meet her at the candies and gum.

"Seriously, Y/n, how do you not find your dad attractive?" The question catches you off guard, and you find yourself quickly scanning the front of the store for any customer that might have just walked in. Did she really just ask that?

You swivel around in a slow, dramatic way, giving her an incredulous look that just about asks that question. She looks at you with that casual—but all too serious—charm, as if she had simply asked what the weather is going to be like tomorrow.

"'Cause he's my dad." She rolls her eyes, dissatisfied with the answer, then juts her head forward just enough to add more emphasis on her next words.

"But he adopted you. You aren't blood-related."

You stare at her. She can't be completely serious, right?

You and Misaki met last year on the first day of school. Meeting her was like something out of an anime. The rambunctious airhead meets the quiet, down-to-earth girl who just can't say no to people.

She literally proclaimed your friendship to the world on that first day of school.

So this: her apparent infatuation for your dad, is very far out there, yes. Yet in retrospect, it's nothing beyond her character.

"Jeez, you're weird," you say, deciding to smile it off. You turn to grab a neon blue bag of chips from the shelf beside you. Misaki laughs, head thrown back, in a maniacal way, and disappears behind the aisle end. "Did you get your food yet?"

"Yeah." She's chosen a popsicle today, already unwrapping it while she continues to peruse the aisles more, just for fun. Her fingers drag along the underside of each plastic price tag, making a clackclackclackclackclak sound that's almost ominous.

"How much is it?" You ask, to which she tells you. You go over to the cash register and take out the appropriate change from your wallet, placing each bill and coin into the correct spaces. Even though you're a member of the family-owned store, a business is still a business, and the small ones like this especially need anything and everything they can get to thrive.

Misaki sits at the table for a few minutes, and you guess that she's waiting for your dad to come back out. She's slouched over her brightly lit cellphone screen, her thumbs continually pattering as she responds to all her messages.

It's awkward.

Even though you and Misaki have gotten pretty close since meeting each other, those uncomfortable silences still sometimes appear.

But then she begins talking about a boy she's been texting these past few weeks, mostly talking it out with herself then seeking your advice. You give simple reactions, and comment when she expects it. A simple 'he did not!' or 'ugh!' will satisfy her.

Of course it's not all that one-sided. She talks, you listen; you talk, she responds. And quite frankly, you don't mind it.

But then the silence emerges once again, until she lets out a big, audible, intentional sigh and stands up.

"Well, I gotta head home, my mom's getting fussy about something again." She shoves her phone in the side pocket of her bag, short hair whipping around as she hoists her bag over her shoulder.

"Okay, see you tomorrow, Misaki." You can feel the breath of relief beginning to grow inside your lungs as she collects her things and heads for the door.

"Yup. Tell your dad I said hello!"

"I will."  

No you won't.

And with a final automated jingle of the door chime, she leaves. You wait until the white bunny keychain on her bag is no longer in view to release that breath of relief.

And then, you smile.

"Alright, dad! You can come out now!" you announce, your head tipped back towards the blue curtains. In a comical way, just the face of your father appears, with tufts of yellow hair sneaking out behind him. With his eyes wide he scans the room, side to side, searching for any trace of your friend.

"Is she gone?"

"Yeah, she is."

The rest of him appears then.

Ukai sits himself on the slanting, rickety stool behind the counter that is literally almost on its last legs, with his feet propped up. It's his way of "intimidating" all the "shitheads" that come through after school—is what he says.

You hop onto the counter, splitting open the chip bag. A puff of flavored air travels up into your nose.

"How was that English quiz today?" Ukai asks, catching a whiff as well while you pop the first chip into your mouth.

"Good. I got a 97." you reply after swallowing.

"That's my girl."

You hum in response, munching on another chip. Looking into the bag, you spot a wider, saltier chip that curls at one end. It takes up half the amount of chips, you realize as you take it. It should be a crime, you think, to fill up more than half of the bag with air.

"I'm gonna leave here a little earlier for practice tonight. A few of the boys wanted me to help them with a couple new combinations."

He swings his legs off the counter and sits up, mumbling something about wishing he had taken a nap before walking back into the house to change.

You go through the motions of unpacking your school bag, decideding to work on math first.

You spread your textbooks and papers out on the counter, an organized mess as you like to say, of calculus.

Your pencil moves rapidly across the page, the little flower charm on dangling back and forth with each squiggle.

Your dad leaves around ten minutes later, but not before giving you a quick kiss on the head. The sun is still high and proud, and has no intention to descend until an hour or more later.

It's your favorite time of day. The sun falls through the glass doors in a way that makes the entire world seem just a little more fanciful. It's usually quiet in the store, and after an entire day of constant conversations from you and those around, you can't help but yearn for these peaceful moments. It's entirely why you agreed to take over Ukai's shifts ever since he began coaching Karasuno's male volleyball team.

If anyone comes in at this hour though, they're likely to be a student from Karasuno, but in about five minutes the store's most frequent customer, Etsu, will stop by, and will no doubt be mewling for a meat bun.

You plop down on the seat behind the counter, taking a moment to your self to breathe. You tug at the base of your long ponytail, releasing your unruly hair from the confines of your hair tie. Although you aren't directly related to Ukai, over the years you've inherited parts of his look. One of those being your 'lion's mane' (as your grandmother calls it).

Ukai had adopted you when you were ten, but the six years you've known each other feel like sixteen. You don't remember much about your biological family, and for privacy reasons Ukai doesn't know any more than you do.

You have no harsh feelings towards them--no contempt or ill-wishes for leaving their own daughter. Of course, there are days when you wondered where they are, and what life might be like if they kept you.

Perhaps it is for the best, you always came to. Maybe it is meant to be this way, because at least the life you are living now with just your dad and grandparents is good. It's good—

You hear a dull chip as the lead snaps. It flies off to the side, leaving a small pencil marking etched into your paper. It's minor, but still an annoyance when deep in thought or concentration. Still, it's nothing that can't fixed with two pumps at the end of the pencil. You start over again, scribbling out the final numbers when familiar happy mewl grabs your attention. Before you can even look over, your cheeks lift into a smile.

"Hi, Etsu!"

It's a reaction that happens as soon as the sound reaches your ears. You set your pencil on your paper, math equations and theories slipping from your mind.

Etsu hops onto the counter, his blazing orange fur shimmering in the sunlight. Despite him being a stray, his fur is the softest thing on the planet. You hope he is a stray, because that's how you connected to him in the first place. Sometimes you wonder if he's had those long, quiet nights alone.

"You ready for a meat bun?" You say, sliding a hand back from his head to mid back. He anticipates your touch, always tilting his head up before you caress him again. The mewl he gives, so meek and mild, is what you understand to be a 'yes'.

And so you go over to the pork bun warmer and carefully pluck a bun from the middle shelf, trying your hardest not to touch the metal racks in between. There's still a little splotch of red on your hand from the last time you burned yourself.

The doughy flesh of the bun is warm under your fingertips, and droops slightly, heavy with pork. Steam escapes from every pore, and then, as you slice the bun open, it billows out.

The soft sounds of Estu enjoying his meal brings you a gratification that only comes on—again—during peaceful moments like these.

But as you watch him, you notice your dad's tall, black water bottle and cellphone sitting next to the rotary.

I should probably go and give it to him, you think, watching the bottle now instead of Etsu.

It's about four minutes walking distance from the store.

It wouldn't hurt.

"Nana! Dad left his water here. I'll be right back!"

You wait until you hear the warm, candied voice of your grandmother to leave the store. For a moment, a part of you misses the cool air conditioning.

****

As you enter the breezeway leading to the gym, you realize that you've never been here after school. There's a different vibe, you immediately notice; one that has your steps slowing.

You have never seen the boys your dad coaches. It's not like he forbade you from going to games; and it's not like didn't have any interest in the sport. It's just that you...never.. saw them practice.

You can hear the shoes squeaking and the ball slamming against the waxed floor. It's starts to sound like a horror movie soundtrack, in a weird way.

You peep your head in, carefully clutching the metal door frame.

Five boys, the ones your dad mentioned about earlier, are the first things to catch your eye. One of them, with hair as orange and fiery as Etsu's, is mid-air.

You spot your dad fifteen feet away to the left, arms crossed over one another, head tilted down and eyes wound up--his Focus Face, as you liked to call it. He's deep in his concentration, watching every move of the players on the court. You don't want to interrupt him, so you wait till one of the sides makes a point.

That point comes no sooner after you decide, and after it does, the boisterous cheers of the side closest to you fill the room. You take one step in, more confident, then another, till you're past the metal threshold.

"Dad?"

The man in question turns on instinct. He knows that voice. For fifteen years he's heard the sound of that word, the specific pitch and inflection. So he turns, void of any hesitation or forethought, only wondering why you're here a good few seconds after he sees your face.

Everyone else turns too. The word is so foreign in that environment it feels like slime against skin. The cheers stop. Even the ball stops rolling, and all eyes are on you.

"(Y/n)? What are you--" your father begins, still wide-eyed and surprised. They stay like that for only that moment, however, before returning to their sharp gaze. He turns to the boys, and says, "Excuse me for a second."

You meet him halfway as he walks towards you, neverminding the boys' stares. Haven't they ever seen a girl before? Wasn't that a girl standing right beside your dad?

"You forgot your water bottle," you half-whisper. The stares are getting to you, and you start to feel like you're being cooked alive. "I thought you might need it."

Behind him, a soft murmur lays low in the air. You're hyper-aware of it. What are they saying?

"Thanks, sugarplum." Your dad smiles, something that you know others rarely see, and takes the bottle.

You follow the same path back towards the doors, every now and then peaking glances back at the curious boys. They look kinda goofy, you think, just standing there like they had just witnessed a miracle, like the Lord Jesus Christ himself had come down from the heavens.

But as you turn the corner, a wall that wasn't there before blocks your path. It takes two seconds to register this, but in that first second, you're already colliding into it.

You stumble back, and so does the wall, giving you enough space to look up and see two eyes staring down at you. They're brown and wide with fear, as if had just broken an ancient artifact and was about to be executed.

A squeaky sorry tumbles from your lips at the same time he apologizes.

"Are you okay?" The wall--boy...man?--says. You're still in a daze, but lucid enough to give him a reassuring smile. You've seen him around before. You've never talked to him, but always feel bad that others perceived him as villainous or criminal. Deep down you he know has a kind soul... and a cute face.

"I'm fine! Don't worry about it."

"(Y/n)! You alright?" Your dad calls out from where he is, leaning over to see who you bumped into.

"Yeah! Everything's good!" You pip.

The wall in front of you shifts to the side, clearing the way for you to exit.

You walk with your head down all the way back home, afraid that anyone and everyone could see how red your face was.

God, that was embarrassing.

****

"Coach, was that your daughter?!" Tanaka says, almost teasingly. He's the first to break the silence, and has an apparent death wish.

Soft eyes go razor sharp again. No way was he going to let any one of those hormonal teenage boys near his precious daughter.

"Get back to work, Tanaka!" Ukai barks. All the color drains from Asahi's face, who is still standing by the doors.

"Wait, you mean... I just ran into your daughter?"

"It's okay, Asahi, don't worry about it."

"But...but..."

"Does she go to Karasuno?" Hinata asks over Asahi's blubbering, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Yes, but don't you dare even think about--

"Is she a first year?"

"SHE'S A SECOND YEAR, FIRST YEAR, NOW GO GET READY FOR PRACTICE."

"Y-yes sir!"

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Collateral

Azula Week Day 4: AU

Summary:   Rather than getting struck down by Azula, Aang is able to go into the Avatar state.

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Near Death, Major Character Injury, Trauma.

She was too late, just a breath too late and now she will lose everything. Both of them will. And it is her fault. She had gotten them both killed with her overconfidence, her ego… Perhaps she underestimated the Avatar some, put too much weight into his good heart and pacifist nature despite knowing very well what the Avatar state does. The lack of control it comes with.

Perhaps she will die. She doesn’t think that that seems so bad in retrospect. Death might be the best thing for her with so much to be ashamed of. Death might be the best thing for both of them, she can only hope that it will be swift.

She is surprised to find that Aang lashes out at Zuko first. Maybe it is purely instinct; months of having been pursued and chased down by him coming to the surface in one merciless strike. He throws Zuko clear across the cavern, she hears a crack and cringes. She isn’t one to flinch at a fallen comrade, but a brother. A literal brother. Bad blood aside, she doesn’t want to see it shed.

She doesn’t have a say in that. Aang lashes out with fire next, replicating the whip that Zuko had used on Katara. Cruel justice.

She wonders what karma the Avatar will deal her. She who has been nothing but unsympathetic. Nothing but an antagonistic and unyielding force. At least Zuko has had flickers of compassion.

The Avatar turns to her. She can see nothing but hatred in the glow of his eyes. And for the first time she is thoroughly terrified. Bone deep, paralyzingly terrified. When she looks into those eyes, into that bright light, she only sees darkness. Death.

She  can only see that she has brought this upon herself.

Her lips part. “Avatar…” she mumbles. It isn’t like he can hear her over the roar of the wind gusting around him.

She closes her eyes and the first burst of pain rocks her body. She falls against the floor head first, she is dizzy, vision fuzzy--black even when she has her eyes wide open.

Her world becomes a barrage of rocks and fire. And then of water, water that pulls her mercilessly under until she can bear it no more and then it spits her out, giving her only enough time to recover before taking her again.

She hadn’t realized that the Avatar could be so rough and unforgiving. Her body washes back onto the rocks, fatigued and weakened. She hasn’t the energy left to lift a finger.

“Aang, stop it!” She hears Katara shriek.

She feels water slap against her face.

“Aang, this isn’t you!”

For one blissful and sublime moment, Azula thinks that the Avatar is retreating. That he is going to show her mercy and spare her. For one pretty moment, she thinks that she will be okay…

The pressure that builds behind her eyes is intense, everything burns, she thinks that he is boiling her alive from within. She screams, terrifyingly, ear splittingly. She knows that she is going to die. “I’m sorry!” She shouts. “I was just...I…” she trails off into a sobbing repetition of her apology. The Avatar doesn’t hear her or he doesn’t care. Each and everyone of her chi points burn, she thinks that she can feel them evaporating, sizzling away until she can’t lift a finger.

“Aang, stop!” Katara shouts again. Azula thinks that she can see the girl clinging to his arm. “You got her back Aang, you showed her what it’s like, you can stop now.”

She thinks that she is bleeding from the mouth.The sizzling doesn’t subside until her vision goes black.

.oOo.

The carnage is extensive, Dai Li agents are strewn out on the floor, slumped against the cavern walls, he tries not to even look at the jutting crystals. He knows exactly what he will see there. And he knows that he has done this.

He feels sick. He should have just let Azula strike him down.

There aren’t many people left and those that are stare at him with horror in their eyes. He first sees Iroh, he thinks that the man is dead. Oh Raava, oh Raava, not Iroh. The man, despite it all, is a good man, a kind man. And he lies dead on the floor.

He might as well have killed Zuko too, Zuko who looks up at him with more hatred than ever before. His scar is freshly bleeding all over again. His sister is to his right. She isn’t moving either. Not even a little twitch. Aang’s sickly feeling grows into a full nausea. He stumbles over and loses a lunch that he hadn’t even eaten.  

“Ka-Katara, what have I done?” He looks at his shaking palms. Though wholly untainted, they might as well be covered in blood.

“I tried to stop you.” Is all that she says. Softly, sadly. “I really tried. But--”

“I was going to hurt you too, I would have...Oh no, please tell me that I didn’t try.”

She doesn’t speak and that is answer enough. She knows that it is because she quickly sputters, “I’m not mad, I know that, that wasn’t you. I just wish that you knew how to control it better.”

He doesn’t think that she wants to speak of the Avatar state ever again. “Can you help them? Please tell me that you can help them!” Aang gestures to Iroh, to Azula, and to Zuko. “You still have the Spirit Oasis water, right?”

Katara takes a shaky breath and nods. “I don’t know how much I can do. But I can try.”

.oOo.

Azula wakes in Iroh’s arms. Her body is still on fire and it has none of the pleasantries of a good session of firebending. “Where’s Zuzu?”

Iroh moves a few strands of hair out of her face. “He’s fine. Better than both of us.” He gives a bitter laugh.

Azula’s brows furrow. She tries to move but she is too weak to manage. She can’t place the feeling of dread that washes over her. “Where are we?”

“You aren’t going to like this but we are with the Avatar and his companions.”

She feels a twitch, she should have been able to jolt upright at that. It puts an extra edge of panic in her cracking voice when she shouts, “what?”

Iroh cringes. “My brother won’t take well to the news of our failure…”

But it isn’t their failure. It is her own. Her own plan that hadn’t worked. She has done this to herself and to Zuko…

“I need to go home, I need to see fath--”

Iroh cuts her off. “Ozai is the last person you should be by right now.”

And finally it settles in that she can’t defend herself in any way at all. She can’t move, can’t even twitch a finger. “No.” She mumbles. “No, no, no…” They should have let her die. At least she would have retained some dignity that way. “I can’t...I have to…” she tries twitching her toes, lifting a finger, anything… “uncle!” He flinches at her scream, at the sobs that tear from her throat.

.oOo.

Aang’s eyes open wide. Her shrieks fill the entirety of the stolen vessel. He grips the bedsheets and grits his teeth. He can press his head to as many pillows as he’d like, he can cover his ears as hard as he can but he will still hear her yelling. Her tormented, distraught yelling.

For as long as he lives, he will never got into the avatar state again.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Smokey brand Retrospective: Red Pill Me

Cinemacon has passed and there has been a lot of awesome sh*t revealed. On the top of that list, obviously, Spider-Man: Far From Home has me geeked to high heaven but there were a ton of other noteworthy reveals. There was some Batman reveals, a few Mission Impossible 7 and Top Gun 2 trailers, plus audiences ever got a surprise screening of Ghostbusters: Afterlife. Now, that would be great on it's own but cats even got a little sizzle real for Matrix Resurrections: The long gestating fourth Matrix film. Apparently, this thing is releasing in December. I am lukewarm at best. I have fond memories of the Matrix trilogy as a whole but, since it’s final release some twenty years ago, the Wachowskis have been revealed to be one trick ponies. They kind of suck at film making. I mean, i liked Speed Racer but i just generally enjoy Speed Racer. It helped tremendously that Christina Ricci was Trixie, too, but everything after that was kind of balls. I also really like V for Vendetta but that’s not real their movie, they just adapted it. I guess you can say that about Speed Racer, too. Anyway, in light of there near Shyamalan-esque track record with their films, i wanted to revisit the first three Matrix films and see if they hold up, to try and muster some sense of excitement for what comes next.

The Matrix

Of the trilogy, this is easily the best film. Everything about it is exceptional. The Matrix was a whole ass shift in the cultural zeitgeist. It was a lot of people’s first experience with accessible cyberpunk and I'll always love it for that. I’ll also love it for normalizing Hong Kong style action sequences and giving us the most breathtaking application of Bullet Time I've seen to date. The Matrix s why the theater exists. If you’ve never seen this thing on the big screen, you missed out on something very special. I had just just turned thirteen when it released and checked it out at the dollar theater. I had only ever seen anything like this, in anime. Seeing all of my favorite Eighties OVAs filtered through the big budget Hollywood lens was incredible. I even like the rather pedestrian narrative. I think the story worked for what the movie was trying to do. It’s a shame the Wachowskis have tried to rewrite history about the narrative as of late. I understand the underlying themes of identity and sexuality but come on? That’s some college film theory bullsh*t that got tacked on after the fact. Now, if the original script is to be believed, then, yes, all of that, but what we got is not so profound. This is a basic Chosen One narrative with Dope ass effects that were ahead of it’s time.

A fr as the cast, what can i say? These motherf*ckers were perfect. Keanu Reeves as Neo was inspired. It’s wild to say that because dude is a plank but it works. He’s the POV character, he’s who you see that world through. Making him a blank slate so to speak, helps with immersion and that is a world you definitely wan to be immersed within. This was my first experience with Carrie-Ann Moss and I've loved her ever since. Her Trinity fast became one of my favorite characters and I'm actually pretty excited to see where she is in the new film. Lawrence Fishburne as Morpheus was an interesting choice. I wasn’t mad and it worked perfectly but it was weird seeing him in such an active, action oriented, role. That said, for me, this movie is made by Hugo Weaving. He is absolutely monstrous as Agent Smith. He’s got this scene chewing energy that mirrors Christoph Waltz’s Hans Landa and we all know how much i love that Nazi f*ck so that’s really high praise. To this day, I've got his Humanity is a Virus speech memorized. It was just that f*cking good! The Matrix is an exquisite watch and it is absolutely mandatory viewing if you consider yourself a fan of cinema.

The Matrix Reloaded

Whoo, boy, talk about a drop in quality. Reloaded released four years later in 2003 and it screams Studio Mandate. I was a sprightly eighteen years old when this thing dropped and made it a point to see it opening day. I really enjoyed the first outing so i figured this one would be just as amazing. Indeed, i remember leaving the theater thinking to myself how decent of a sequel it turned out to be. It wasn’t better than the first but it didn’t sh*t the bed like most follow-ups do. Fast forward to present day and, after watching this thing again for the first time in probably fifteen years, it’s kind of f*cking bad. Like, as a cinematic experience, it’s pretty tight Everything is amped up. Tons more action, way more bombastic set pieces, stakes have been raised considerably; The Matrix Reloaded is everything you want in a summer blockbuster sequel. However, that’s it. Everything else is worse. The acting has become way too hammy and the new cast members fit into this narrative like a square peg in a round hole. Why is f*cking Niobe even in this thing? Who even is the Merovingian? Why is Mouse? The pacing is all over the place, too. Like, this thing stops dead in it’s tracks on several occasions but that’s not the worst of it.

The worst thing is the narrative. What the f*ck even is the story trying to be told in this movie? It doesn’t make any f*cking sense. The Matrix was, very obviously, a standalone film. That was a closed narrative. Neo’s story had been told. Everything after that is unnecessary. This movie is an exercise in the unnecessary. I appreciate all of how unchained and manic Smith is in this but, outside of that, what the f*ck was the point of this whole narrative? It’s filler. This movie is filler and it feels like it. The returning cast is serviceable and seeing Zion was interesting. I like how all the survivors are just sweaty black people. I literally hated everyone added to the cast though. Well, that’s not quite true. I rather enjoyed Collin Chou as Seraph. Dude was inconsequential but i love seeing Asian martial artists not name Li or Chan getting some shine. Also, Monica Bellucci is in this and i kind of just love her in general. Her Persephone is absolutely disposable but she looks damn fine in that plastic wrapped dress of hers. I literally can’t be bothered mentioning anyone else. They are that forgettable. This movie is that forgettable. And it’s arguably the best of the two sequels.

The Matrix Revolutions

Talk about going out with a thud. Man, i saw this with my best friend, rest in peace B, and we both hated it. He was an even bigger fan of The Matrix than i was so his disappointment was palpable. I’ll never forget his visceral reaction when that rainbow spread across the super happy Hollywood ending. Dude was hot and he had every right to be. The first Matrix set up this intriguing, immersive, world full of fanatic visuals, great piratical stunts, and a very through provoking premise. The second Matrix was your basic Hollywood sequel; More shine, less substance. But Revolutions? Man this is peak Wachowski fail. You saw hints of this messiah sh*t in the first, it’s literally a Chosen One narrative, but thy went all in on that sh*t in Reloaded. By the time Revolutions finished, this whole narrative was so far up it’s own ass, it didn’t know which way was up. It just f*cking ends. Everyone is dead and it’s over. The Wachowskis went heavy on the Jesus imagery, they were not subtle, and the f*cking conflict just ends. Robot don’t stop using people as batteries. Flesh and blood Humans still have to live in Zion. The only thing that’s changed is Neo’s dead and Agent Smith has been deleted. That’s it. The Matrix still exists, people are still trapped in it, and everything that happened in these films doesn’t f*cking matter. Literally right back at the start of the whole goddamn conflict. Revolutions is so f*cking disappointing, dude, by every measure of that metric.

Hugh Weaving is still pretty good as Smith and Keanu does his best imitation of white bread as Neo but, like, everything else is just so pedestrian. Plus, this thing is long. Like, unreasonably so. Why the f*ck is this movie two hours? The entire trilogy is kind of like that but it’s most egregious in this one. This story could be told in ninety minutes, just like Reloaded. Why the f*ck do i have an extra half hour of bullsh*t in this? Like, that whole “Neo Lost” arc was unnecessary, in both sequels. F*cking why? I don’t hate Revolutions. It’s not a “bad” film per say, it’s just disappointing. It’s the poster child for the law of diminishing returns. The Matrix Revolutions is the what happens when you let creatives with fresh egos, run amok with one hundred and fifty million f*cking dollars. So much spectacle but even less substance that Reloaded and that motherf*cker was a hollow mess. Still, The Matrix Revolutions is better than anything Michael Bay or Zack Snyder has ever made so i guess it’s got that going for it.

[sibillascribbles08]

cole and literally anything i beg

Anything? Mmmmaybe some lava?

Kai was dozing until he heard the apartment door open. It made him sit up quick, his tablet falling from his chest to his lap.

“Cole?” Kai called out, though he couldn’t see the door at all from here.

“Who else?” Cole called back.

Kai shrugged and rotated himself so his feet rested on the floor. “On some occasions Jay comes over unannounced, or Nya.”

“Oh, hanging out with Jay without telling me?” Cole finally appeared in the living room doorway, not hesitating to lean against it as he smirked.

Kai couldn’t keep himself for staring for a second. Cole must have been hiking again. Sweat glinted on his forehead and on his chest. Once again he left his flannel shirt half open, leaving little to the imagination.

Kai forced himself to ignore the burning in his cheeks. “I’m sure you do too from time to time, or are you too busy wandering around outside of town.” He stood up and put his tablet on the coffee table. “You hungry? You’ve been out all day.”

Cole shrugged as he straightened up. “Yeah, but I won’t make you cook something.”

“It’s fine. I need something too.” Kai stared at him. “You should go take a shower.”

Cole scoffed and stuck out his tongue. “I’m not that sweaty.”

“Yeah sure, I bet if I squinted I could see my reflection on your pecs.” Kai glanced at them but kept himself from staring. “Just go.”

“Fine, fine.” Cole waved a hand as he headed down the hall to the bathroom.

Kai let out a long breath as soon as the door closed. This wasn’t getting any easier, was it? He swore when it started it was just a mess of emotions from coming out of a 20 year almost-coma and seeing your friend suddenly with thirty extra pounds of muscle and enough chest hair to knit a sweater. He figured he just needed to adjust to everything that changed.

In retrospect agreeing to be roommates was probably what doomed him, but he didn’t want to live alone, and Jay isolated himself. Kai might have Nya as well, but since she started seeing Skylor he found himself leaning on Cole more than anyone.

Not that it was one sided either. Cole seemed to need the company just as much.

So it made sense to share an apartment, right?

But Kai swore if he had to deal with Cole lounging around the living room shirtless again he’d go mad. Why did it get to him so much now? It never did in the past.

Maybe he should just ask Cole to shove him against a wall and make out with him already. Was that too forward?

Probably.

Kai drew his focus to cooking instead, digging out some leftover veggies and some rice to make a stir fry. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it’d be filling.

The sound of it all sizzling in the pan was loud enough that he didn’t hear when Cole came into the kitchen.

“Smells good.”

He turned, seeing Cole standing much closer than he expected. His eyes fixed on his friend’s chest and trailed down for a second.

“God.” Kai sputtered as he adjusted his grip on the pan. “Seriously, can you put a shirt on after you shower? Or some pants?” He pointed at the towel on Cole’s waist.

Cole frowned and headed to the fridge to pull out their jug of water. “I still don’t get what your problem is, Kai. You see me shirtless all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it any less distracting.” He sputtered.

It took a moment for him to even realize what he said.

“Distracting, huh?”

Kai’s shoulders went rigid. He looked back at Cole, seeing him leaning against the now closed fridge. His eyes were focused but his lips showed the slightest of smirks.

“Didn’t know you were into this.”

“Oh shut-up.” Kai moved the pan off the heat, knowing he was going to burn the food at this rate. “Yes you did, you must have some idea. If I didn’t know you better I’d swear you were flirting half the time.”

“Did you want me to be?”

Kai growled as he tilted his head back. “Stop making fun of me. Yeah, I have a crush, okay? Can you even blame me?” He gestured to his friend. “Twenty years later and you turn into a lumberjack dream boy. You even wear the flannel shirts! If you hung out the in city more I’m sure tons more people would be throwing themselves at you.” He tossed up his hands as he headed to the cupboard to grab some plates. “Just forget about it, okay?”

He opened the cupboard only for Cole to shut it again. Kai went tense again, but forced himself to turn around, looking at his friend who was now well leaning over him.

“Why should I forget about it?” Cole raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you know.” Kai avoided his gaze. “If the feeling isn’t mutual...”

“I can’t say I thought about it too hard Kai but... really doubt I’d want to be with anyone else either.”

Kai couldn’t help but frown. “Is that you just saying you’ll settle for me?”

Cole laughed. “You’re thinking about it all too hard.”

“Well you’re not thinking enough. Come on, Cole, I don’t want to jump into something like this and risk ruining our friendship over this. It’s one of the few things I have left after...” He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter.

“Yeah, alright. That’s fair. Fine, let me think about it then. Let’s just eat dinner for now yeah?”

Kai nodded and allowed himself to glance over Cole’s chest. His friend didn’t move away yet, now reaching over Kai to pull the plates down before heading to the table.

Kai kept staring for a moment before he blinked and dragged his head back to reality. “Wait, are you seriously going to sit at the table in just a towel?”

“Why not?”

“You’re going to get your butt germs all over the seat.”

Cole snorted. “What? Seriously?”

“Yes!” Kai could feel his cheeks heating up again.

“Wow, I’m going to sit on it extra hard now.” Cole plopped down on one of the wooden chairs.

“Cole please for the love of god just get some pants.” Kai covered his face and groaned.

“Fine, fine, plate dinner for me then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kai agreed, but didn’t move his hands away until he was sure his friend left the kitchen.

[pippki-writes]

Soupe au Pistou [Chef Andre - Part 3]

NOTES: One of my friends got me to join an e-fed, and even though I know nearly nothing about wrestling, I do feel confident in my ability to write fairly entertaining nonsense. And I’d love to share that nonsense with you lot too!

(Chef Andre Poêlon, Toddrick, and other non-wrestler side characters are mine. The other wrestlers—the Faction, Adam Miller, and Dionysus in this installment—belong to their respective creators.)

(Andre’s appearance is based on Chef Gordon Ramsay. I’m so sorry Chef Ramsay. Here’s your alternate French-American life)

WC: 1.6K

Installments: Part 1 (The Recipe); Part 2 (L’Aperitif)

SOUPE AU PISTOU

Waffle House, it turns out, doesn’t operate along some transitive property where this Waffle House is equivalent to every Waffle House, where Andre could simply walk in to the nearest Waffle House he found and start scrubbing down the grill, and that count as him working his shift. Not that Andre was likely to find a Waffle House any time soon, as he gazed out along the dark desert horizon, stumbling a little. The nearest Waffle House was well over a hundred miles away from the Sonoran Desert, not that Andre had any idea of it, and Andre had just had his ass—and more accurately, his head—quite thoroughly beat throughout the night.

Well, not completely. They’d won the first match, and that still astonished him. The Belgian Blue had been an apt comparison, he thought in retrospect, remembering looking up at the towering form of Isaac as they’d first squared off in the ring. He hadn’t mentioned it ahead of time, but some small part of him worried that actually seeing the human equivalent of a steamroller in striking distance of all his vital organs would have made his small, carefully won collection of wrestling knowledge leap right out of his head and slam him to the mat in fear.

But no. He was out of his shell now, and finding out with satisfaction what he was made of. He really could do this, and when the time came right down to it he found himself rushing in. Embracing the thrill, eager to fight, hopeful to win but ultimately just determined not to make an embarrassment of himself. No. He only thought about the latter outside of the ring, looking back or pondering the future. The truth was, in the moment, all he could hear was his blood singing with the excitement of the challenge. The sizzle of the crowd cheering, chanting for him. It was fun.

Unfortunately, fun and adoration didn’t do much to heal bruises and sore muscles. “A soak in some pasta water might help,” he thought to himself, as if that made any sense. Warm water full of bath salts maybe, but a tub full of actual starchy pasta water, a roiling boil waiting to cook him?

How many times had his head been hit?

“Andre!”

He looked up, shook his head and let the thought drop. There was Toddrick, bounding toward him, waving. Where had he come from?

“Come on dude!” yelled Toddrick. “Let’s get you back to Indy!”

Cooking, to Andre, was like riding a bicycle. He could practically do it in his sleep, which he practically was, later that night on his shift, swaying slightly in front of the flat top under the warm glow of the Waffle House lights. Toddrick hadn’t bothered to explain how he’d smoothed over his own predicament, and they’d flown the accidentally-borrowed-without-owner-permission plane back to Indianapolis to return Andre to the appropriate Waffle House in time for his next shift. More accurately, Toddrick had flown, and Andre had watched out the window as the dark sky gave way to dawn and the time zones rushed along below them.

Andre had foolishly hoped to get a nap in on the way home, but Toddrick couldn’t seem to pick up on how desperately worn-out Andre was.

“That was, seriously, amazing dude. No lie, ok, I know you’ve been training but if you weren’t my guy, I would’ve probably bet against you in the first round, I mean the Faction? They’re HUGE. You’re tall, but you’re not huge.”

“Mm.”

“And oh my GOD, Adam Miller coming back like that, I—“

Andre’s eyes drifted shut, and he was dimly aware of Toddrick recounting some lore or politics or something Andre knew nothing about, and was far too tired to learn. He’d very nearly managed to sneak into the first stage of sleep when Toddrick said his name and snatched him back to consciousness.

“—can’t be too down about the Machines, Andre, I mean what, this was your third real fight really? You’re just getting a feel for it. I think you did great.”

“Mm. Merci.”

The rest of the conversation, for surely there had been nothing but conversation on the way back or Andre would have been able to rest, made little impression on his memory. Though he did remember dimly wondering where this wrestling federation got so many monstrously-sized people from. Was it a coincidence they all seemed to gather here, or some divine intervention that gathered them? Perhaps divine was too benevolent a term. Andre had thought himself a tall man, back in the culinary world. He was the one who helped get spices and spare plates from the top shelves. But tilting his head back to literally size up opponents on multiple occasions? Just one more new thing to get used to, he supposed.

Now Andre stood at the grill, all his motions on autopilot, his mind dragging itself around inside his skull and whining softly for a nap. “No nap,” he thought to himself, methodically scattering a stack of hash browns with mushrooms, “make it through this shift, then sleep, then think about the next match.”

He prayed Toddrick wouldn’t show up that night to make him train. Andre would lay down and sleep on the pavement if he tried.

Andre used to have a life in the daytime. He thought about it sometimes, mostly in the rare moments that the damned blazing sun beat down on the back of his neck as he ran some late afternoon errand before work, and he wondered if he missed it.

What a stupid question to ask himself. Of course he missed it. He missed the haute cuisine. He missed the certainty, knowing the trajectory of his career. Knowing what the hell he was doing. Knowing the path he was on.

Now he was on a road whose map he didn’t know. He didn’t want to let go of cooking, but would he have to eventually? No. Surely he could do both.

In his apartment, the box fans struggled to push the air around. Another blasted hot afternoon. Most people would go for something cold, but Andre knew the secrets of a summer menu. A hot soup would, paradoxically, cool you down, especially the right soup. Nothing heavy, he thought, opening the refrigerator and sticking his head inside, lingering in the cool air as he looked around for ingredients.

At the restaurant, they would be serving soupe au pistou, made with summer vegetables sourced from a local farmer, fresh house-made short pasta, a light and flavorful broth, topped with a generous dollop of pistou, a pesto-like paste of herbs grown at the restaurant itself.

At Andre’s apartment, the pasta was a box of Barilla that had been on sale for the common crime of approaching its best-by date, and the basil he had been trying to grow in the window was nowhere near as robust as it had once been. But the point of soupe au pistou was that you threw in what you had, and you made it work.

Andre put a pot of water on the stove and flipped the burner on. He plucked the best of the sorry-looking basil leaves. His life wasn’t the ideal life he had had, when his trajectory was known, quantified, and assured. But he would make it work.

A grin, a chuckle. Andre turned from the flat top, spatula in hand, to face Toddrick and the cluster of lenses on the back of Toddrick’s phone, unaware that Toddrick was even filming.

“Those donkeys again? Hah. The Faction.” Andre turned back to the grill, poking and shuffling a scrambled egg along the surface, scattering cheese on top and folding it in. “I may have had my head hit around a few times, but from where I remember, it was myself and monsieur Dionysus that bested two of them once already, non? Another Faction donkey, pah! Nothing. We have this Adam Miller, yes? Beat them in the ring, put a stop to their shenanigans after. What challenge will this even be?” Andre laughed and began humming, tapping the spatula against the edge of the grill in time with the song. He slid the eggs onto the proper plate and started singing to the mostly empty diner.

“Be our guest! Be our guest! Put those Faction goons to rest. Bringing victory assuredly because we are the best!”

Toddrick cut the video before Andre could lose the rhythm of the song in trying to cram “Chef Andre,” “Lord of the Vine,” and “The Prodigal Son” all in one line. Only the few Waffle House patrons and Toddrick’s crew got to suffer through the entire disjointed serenade.

Andre handed over the dollar and change and took his purchase out of the Dollar General and back to his apartment kitchen. He washed the plastic repeatedly in hot water and dish soap, glancing at the cardboard packaging. Nothing specifically said the Super Power Water Shooter wasn’t food safe. He’d seen stranger ways of serving food concocted in the world of haute cuisine.

He squeezed the little yellow trigger over and over, until the water came out clean.

It wasn’t exactly a full soupe au pistou, he thought, as he poured the chilled broth into the funnel and the funnel routed it into the sky blue plastic gun. He didn’t think blending the vegetables and noodles until they were liquified would result in the best flavor profile. And the bits of herbs had been strained out. But it was all flavorful, and undeniably delicious.

He hadn’t been able to find the kitchen and leave his improvements on the food at Wrestlestock. So he had the brilliant idea to just bring a bit of culinary wonder with him to impart, quick draw style, to anyone willing.

He pointed the barrel at himself and squeezed experimentally, laughing and nearly choking at the unexpected success of the attempt.

“Finally,” he smiled, “that’s some good fucking food.”

Next Course: Part 4 (Sole Meunière)

[dansnaturepictures]

12/02/2021-Another icy day of birds at Lakeside (Shoveler and more) 10 different photos in this set to those tweeted tonight (Retrospectively posted)

My Lakeside lunch time walk was shaped by two key decisions today I think. Firstly, with me from looking at an iced over bird bath and my expectation the lakes would be frozen again so after not expecting this and not taking it yesterday I would take my new general lens to Lakeside to capture the iced lake scenes in my outfit of two lenses for my DSLR or DSLR with one lens attached and bridge camera for these lunch time walks I decided to go for the bridge camera instead of the big lens which has done well this week I must say just in case that Smew that had been reported was around in some of the water left and it was far away with my bridge camera the longest distance specialist I think. I took the first picture in this photoset with my normal lens on my DSLR of a view around the estate as I went out for my walk. The second key decision was deviating from my planned route down the gravel path through the two nature reserve areas when I saw people walking down and felt I couldn’t overtake them due to social distancing and that I may be slowed up walking behind them so I instead decided to start where I was going to end my walk going inside the fences of the railway tracks with the trains not running and overlooking the nature reserve area. I took the second picture in this photoset when on the way to the vantage point over the frozen now too boggy pools which have been frozen for much of the past few months the photo showing some nice greenery. 

As I walked on a kind lady told me there were deers in the field further up. When I got there a man with dogs was looking over and engrossed by a sight and I soon saw delightfully at the edge of the water the two Roe Deers there. I was thrilled to see these beautiful mammals, it was such a special view watching the sun shine against them too in beautiful surroundings. It was cracking views I really got the chance to enjoy them it was one of those gleefully intimate wildlife moments especially coming in a working day during an exercise walk. We are being encouraged at work to make the most of our breaks and get fresh air if we can a lot lately and in the depths of a winter its quite cold as I write this (in the early hours 13/02/2021) the deers and everything else today really summed up how inspiring and uplifting nature can be to give me a little break in my days to the highest level of quality. I took the third picture in this photoset of one of the two deers, the big lens would have done well too I think here but it was right in bridge camera range so was I glad I brought it. 

As I walked on with the Water Rail said to be around here in the wet bits in mind I was thrilled when a group of Jack Snipe flew up, more than the one I loved seeing on Monday. Only a year tick a week ago tomorrow, that’s three times I’ve seen this bird in a week which is pretty special. The colder weather definitely helping me to see them here as I mentioned at the start of the week. At a safe social distance myself and the dog walker did share a brief word on the wonderful experience of the deers. And then before I moved on calling from the northern path up above was a man I quite often see since last summer on my walks who was interested and happy to see them too and I told him about the snipes so whilst yes we are on lockdown and what I am doing coming here is taking my one form of permitted daily exercise outside the house you can still take brief moments to talk to and acknowledge people as long as you are at a safe social distance and that also uplifts you in itself. I took the fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset over the direction of the frozen lakes as I walked on. 

Then with the Smew on the mind and the Goosander that dominated last week here fresh in it I had another fantastic duck moment as I took in the westernmost lake in binoculars as a beautiful Shoveler was at the back of the lake. I deviated route once more to go and get a closer and I was so happy to see this wonderful bird I am more used to seeing on the coast. It was exceptional to make out its stunning colours and quirky bill and I got probably my closest ever Shoveler views today when I got beside it on the path in the strip of unfrozen water. It swam up and down near to a Great Crested Grebe pair which I loved seeing and taking in at such a close distance too especially enjoying their splendid colour and appearance. To go with my closest ever Shoveler sighting I think with my bridge camera I got my best ever pictures of this bird today I tweeted these on Dans_Pictures tonight. I did take the sixth picture in this photoset of the Great Crested Grebes and I tweeted another tonight I am having a great few weeks for the grebes here which I love so much. I also was happy to see a Lesser Black-backed Gull flying in during an eventful few minutes of birds on this lake whilst walking. 

The Shoveler was a special sighting for me at Lakeside as my first patch tick of 2021 and possibly even the first ever bird I’ve described as a patch tick as I only put together my patch and garden/seen from house lists for birds, butterflies, mammals and dragon/damselflies in December, as I had never seen this bird at Lakeside before. This felt fantastic to see this stunning bird I really was so excited, my 71st different species I have ever seen at the urban Lakeside Country Park. What a duck scene we have developing this winter at Lakeside. For the past year as before really I have been used to Mallard and maybe a Tufted Duck here and there. But from the increasing flock of tufties that its great to see at Lakeside and now the Goosander and now Shoveler with that Smew reported there is so much about in terms of ducks. I remember early on in 2013 at Hatchet Pond in the New Forest sightings of Shoveler and Goosander top birds for that lake reignited my interest in year listing really after a poor 2012 for me. So to see both at my local Lakeisde recently and have one noted for my patch list was special. Shoveler could be top 5-7 for birds seen on my lunch breaks whilst working from home at Lakeside that special club. The westernmost lake shown looking quite nice in the seventh picture I took today in this photoset. 

As I walked on I liked seeing and photographing birds I am more familiar with here both Coot and Mallard on ice which I took the eighth and tenth pictures in this photoset I loved as with yesterday observing this with other birds such as Moorhen and two Lesser Black-backed Gulls now around on beach lake the easternmost too as I tweeted photos of and I took the ninth picture in this photoset of some of the ever increasing Tufted Ducks here with one Mallard. There’s something so unique and special about seeing birds on ice as I said a lot yesterday. Today brought to an end arguably the best week of Lakeside walks for me since working from home and ever or one of. From Monday-Friday each walks be it photographically or wildlife particularly birds have been to a sizzling standard. With both snow and ice and plenty of sun too landscape photography wise, and for birds rarer ones, returning springtime birds at this area and just the sheer volumne of how many notable birds I saw all things linked to each to other. Each day offered something smashing and different and I loved every minute. I’ll be talking about this week for a while to come I think. Thanks for all your supporting during it and have a great weekend if you are able to. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first Shoveler ever seen at Lakeisde, one of my favourite birds the Great Crested Grebe, Mallard, Tufted Duck, Canada Goose, Moorhen, Coot, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Black-headed Gull, Herring Gull not always a certainty still present after yesterday, Jack Snipe, Robin, Goldfinch, Jackdaw, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Woodpigeon, Starling, House Sparrow and both Goldfinch and Blue Tit in the garden two birds I have enjoyed coming in so much, Roe Deer and Grey Squirrel. 

[swan--writes]

The Deetz went on vacation, the Maitlands are taking care of something in the Neatherworld and reader has to babysit Beetlejuice

I have no idea if this is what you wanted, but this is what my brain cranked out. Really hope you enjoy!

Words: ~2,160

“C’mon kid, ya can’t do this to me! What’ll I do without you? I’ve never been alone with Y/N before!”

“Beetlejuice, come on. I have to leave.” Lydia’s words were drowned out by a pathetic wail from the demon clinging to her suitcase. You watched from where you stood beside Charles’s car. Lydia was attempting to drag her suitcase down the front steps of the Deetz-Maitland house.

Beetlejuice had spent the previous twenty-four hours trying to stop the Deetzes from leaving him. The family had hidden their vacation plans from him for as long as they could, using code words, deleting internet histories, delaying packing for as long as possible. But Delia had let slip on Thursday night that the family was going away for Lydia’s February vacation. Beetlejuice did not take the news of their imminent departure well.

Rather than deal with a bored, hyperactive demon for the week, the Maitlands had opted to spend some time in the Netherworld. Miss Argentina was missing some paperwork for them anyway. Charles had explained all of this to you the day before the Deetzes were to leave. You had been tutoring Lydia for a few months, and had hardly batted an eye the first time you met the demon. Once it became clear that Beetlejuice had no intention of leaving the house while everyone was gone, Charles knew you were just the person to ask for a very special favor.

“Thank you for watching him. I know this isn’t what we hired you for.” Without waiting for a reply, Charles scooped up Lydia’s large black suitcase and tossed it into the trunk of the family car, shaking off the demon as he did. Beetlejuice fell in a heap on the dirt drive. If it added any stains to his jacket, you couldn’t tell. “You know what to do if he gets to be too much?” Charles was already rounding to the driver’s side.

“Yes, I have all of Lydia’s instructions memorized,” you said.

“And you know about–”

“All of the plants, the stray cats, and the cleaning instructions.”

“What about–”

“The trick stair, third from the bottom.” You smiled down at Delia. She had told you this from over Charles’s shoulder the day before, practically yelling into the phone over the sounds of the raging demon just outside their bedroom. “Don’t worry, the house will be fine. Just go and have fun in London.” To your left, Lydia was helping Beetlejuice pick himself up from the ground. She dusted off his shoulders. Lydia rolled her eyes when Beetlejuice presented her his cheek and, rather than give him the kiss he was after, she pushed his face away, wiping the slime from his skin on his jacket as she went. Beetlejuice feigned insult. Lydia ignored him and climbed into the car.

“Bye, Y/N.”

“See you in eight days, Lydia.”

“Thank you again for doing this, Y/N.” Charles was halfway in the car when he thanked you. You knew why he was in a hurry – you yourself were watching Beetlejuice warily from the corner of your eye.

“It’s not a problem, Mr. Deetz.”

Beetlejuice watched the Deetzes drive away. You watched Beetlejuice. He waved enthusiastically, calling after them that London really wasn’t so great, and that he didn’t need them, and that it was only a matter of time before the London Eye went on a rampage, and you got the sense he was warming up to some very descriptive language before he took a step too far from the house.

Before your eyes, Beetlejuice’s front foot contacted an invisible barrier. “Hey, whoa. Whoa-no! Whoa!” Green sparks shot up from the ground and he was swept into the air, swirling and spinning and shrieking his way back into the house. The front door slammed shut behind him.

This might be a problem, Mr. Deetz.

You smiled in amusement before walking up the front steps and through the front door.

The first three days were quiet. Far too quiet. Beetlejuice floated through the halls at about your eye level, groaning, his hair a dull green. As long as he could still move, you decided not to worry. You refused to leave the house just in case. On day four, however, you realized you were out of snacks. You closed the cupboard and all but snuck upstairs, skipping the third step as you went. You got dressed in the guest room, where you had been sleeping, and washed your face quietly. When you went back downstairs, Beetlejuice was floating from the kitchen and into the living room. You stepped in front of him to stop him.

“Beej.” He came to a halt before you.

“Oh, you’re still here,” he said solemnly. You gave him a look, but ignored the remark. You had spent the last three days cleaning up the messes that Beetlejuice somehow managed to leave behind; water on the floor of the bathroom he didn’t need to use, dishes from the dubious meals he didn’t need to eat, the dirt he seemed to trail behind him.

“I have to run to the store,” you explained carefully. “I will be back in thirty minutes. Don’t do anything weird, don’t set anything on fire, don’t leave any messes that I can’t fix within the week.” Beetlejuice’s feet dropped to the floor.

“C’mon, you know me babes. I’d never give you anything you couldn’t handle.” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eye.

You shook your head. “I’ll be back.”

Needless to say, your heart was racing the entire time you were gone.

When you returned to the house, you only managed one step up to the front door before thinking better of it. Looking around, up to the roof, behind you, and through every window, you didn’t see Beetlejuice anywhere. As subtly as possible, you crept around the house to the back door and entered the house as quietly as possible. The back door brought you into the laundry room, and once you had tiptoed out of it, what you saw only confirmed your suspicions.

The front door was covered in green webbing. One strand of webbing led to what looked like a black flame thrower, off to the side. Would Beetlejuice really set you on fire? You didn’t think so, but regardless, you didn’t want to find out what that contraption did.

When you turned to your left, you were met with Beetlejuice’s face hovering upside-down, mere inches from your own. His feet were lost in the ceiling, and his filthy jacket was hanging over his head. He was grinning.

You gasped, but recovered quickly. “Nice try, Beej, but I’ve been seeing ghosts since I was like, three. You don’t get to me.”

Rather than reply, Beetlejuice leaned forward. Before you could stop him, the demon pressed a wet, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Smart breather,” he growled before the ceiling sucked him up and out of sight.

“What the hell?” you cried after him. You made a disgusted noise and wiped what seemed to be ectoplasm off your face with your coat sleeve. Then, hearing sizzling, you rushed to get out of the thick coat and threw it to the floor. Maybe you should use the flame thrower-looking contraption on it.

You opted not to leave the house again after that. It only got worse. There was the swirling vortex in the guest room closet that you had to leap back to avoid. There was the slimy…thing among the cleaning supplies that you had to chase all over the house and subdue with a bucket before dragging it outside. Even on day six, when you had a movie night and Beetlejuice was sitting right at your feet eating popcorn, he somehow made all the condiments in the fridge fight a battle to the death with the cutlery. The cutlery won. Finally, day seven came. It was uneventful – a dead rat here, a bloody knife there. You wondered if Beetlejuice was starting to settle down.

Even at the time, the thought seemed naïve, but you let it go.

In the middle of the night, you were awoken by all the screens in the house lighting to static and the sound of chanting. Butts and brains. Sorrow and pain! Nooses and snakes, bottomless lakes, corpses with weights…

“Beetlejuice!” You had no idea where he was, so you just yelled into the darkness of your room, barely illuminated by the moonlight. “Cut it out, I’m trying to sleep!” But the chanting continued. Grumbling, you stepped out of bed. In retrospect, you should have known better.

As soon as your foot made contact with the cold floor, something that felt an awful lot like a tentacle wrapped around your ankle, latching on and pulling hard. As you fell to the floor, you let out a high-pitched shriek. Reaching out blindly, your hand found the thick hardcover you had been reading before you went to sleep. Though you managed to grab it, you couldn’t break your fall and your elbow smashed into the floor. The tentacle started to drag you under the bed. You turned and started whacking at it with the book. It took a few tries for you to connect, but finally you felt the grip on your ankle loosen. Scrambling away, you pulled your legs out from under your bed, ran across the room, and hit the light switch. When you whirled around again, wide-eyed, you saw him.

“Beetlejuice,” you wheezed, trying to catch your breath.

Beetlejuice emerged, limping from under your bed. “Jeez, babes, what did you hit me with? The Necronomicon?”

“Beetlejuice,” you growled. You threw the book aside and stalked up to the demon. Your voice was low. “I get that you are bored. I get that you miss everyone. But what do you mean to accomplish by torturing me?”

“Aw, I was just havin’ some fun, baby. It’s no harm–”

You kept the same deadly tone, but now your voice was rising. “Are you kidding? I have barely gotten any sleep this week, I have bruises everywhere, the house is a mess, and I can’t even walk down the hall without being assaulted by a dead guy.” You jabbed an accusing finger at his chest. “That sounds harmful to me!”

Now Beetlejuice was staring at you. Some of the humor was wearing away from his expression. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, then sighed through your nose and turned away. “Whatever. Whatever!” you repeated, throwing your hands up. You climbed back into bed gingerly, the small injuries of the past week all choosing that moment to remind you of where they were. “Just go do whatever it is you do when you’re not screwing with me. I’ll be gone soon anyway, everyone will be back in the morning.”

When you looked up at Beetlejuice again, he almost seemed not to know what to do with himself. Faintly, you noticed that his hair had turned purple. Without speaking, he nodded and walked to the door, head downturned all the while. When he got there, he hesitated. Slowly, Beetlejuice reached down and picked up your book. He brought it back over to the nightstand and, ignoring how you tensed up more and more the closer he drew, he set it down. Then he walked back to the door and left, shutting it softly behind him.

The next morning, you came downstairs fully dressed and expecting to have to battle some new eldritch creature. You had your book at the ready. But when you walked into the living room, it was spotless. All the webbing on the front door was gone, the scuff marks from where you had dragged the thing through the house were erased. Every dent in the furniture, every chipped spot on the walls, every ketchup stain was gone, as though nothing had ever happened. You wandered into the kitchen and found your ectoplasm-free winter coat draped over the back of a chair – the one you always sat in when you came to tutor Lydia. When you returned to the living room, Beetlejuice was sitting on the stairs. He watched you with a sheepish look on his pale face.

You walked up to him and ruffled his hair. It changed from purple to green under your hand. “Thank you,” you said. He gave you a sharp-toothed grin.

At that moment, the front door opened and Lydia Deetz tumbled through. In the time it took you to blink, Beetlejuice had lifted her off her feet and was, according to her muffled complaints, suffocating her. Charles and Delia walked in after the teenager and set their luggage down. Delia walked over to Lydia and Beetlejuice to try to intervene. To your right, Barbara and Adam were bouncing down the stairs and announcing that they were home. Charles leaned on the door and looked down at you.

“So, how was he?”

You gave Charles a weathered smile. “Oh, he was easy,” you said.

Buy Me a Coffee?

[mercykrp]

ACCESSING FILE #00016589 . . . SONG YEJIN is a 23 year old UNREGISTERED mutant with BLOOD MANIPULATION. Last known employment: UNEMPLOYED. She looks suspiciously like JUNG HOYEON, no?

OOC INFORMATION

Name/Alias: Mio

Age: 23

Pronouns She/her

Timezone: Gmt-5

Triggers: None.

Reserve Password: N/A

IC INFORMATION

Faceclaim: Jung Hoyeon, model

Name: Song Yejin

D.O.B/Age: February 20, 1997 (23)

Gender/Pronouns: Cisfemale, she/her

Occupation: Unemployed

Status: Unregistered

Ability: Blood manipulation

BIOGRAPHY

III. “Police say it was a ‘night of horror.’”

Father straightens up in his seat, unbowing from over his meal. “Turn that up,” he orders, but Mother is already scrambling to jab the remote at the TV. She lands on her knees in front of the news anchor’s too-stiff shoulders, casted in flickering shadows bold and blue. A child, eager for her daily cartoon.

[DEATH OF COUNCILOR SEO HYUNWOO]

Yejin drops her eyes down to the table. Her wooden chopsticks lay off to the side, meal forgotten. They, too, are dipped in red, seeping through the edges.

“Last night, Councilor Seo was victim of a stabbing just outside of Seoul’s Gangnam district.”

Father snorts. “Is that what they’re calling it?”

Well, Yejin supposes, they’re not exactly wrong.

“Paramedics were called to the scene, but were unable to revive the Councilor. He succumbed to his injuries en route to the hospital." The anchor thins her lips into a grim line. "Although no details have been released to the public, the police have coined the attack as mutant in origin.”

“There it is!” Mother whoops over the anchor’s sympathetic tone—he is survived by his wife and two children—because there it is. For all its posturing, news is never more than morsels, stuck to the corners of the mouth and sputtered out. But that hardly ever matters; details are the crumbs. Mutant is the center.

Reputation carries into death, after all. Unto it.

“Our Yejin’s a celebrity now.” Father grins. “So to speak.”

Yes, her blood would be impossible to miss, mingled with Councilor Seo’s. It’s in the exit wound, the entry, in the bloom across his shirt. The flecks that dot hers. A double helix, swirling.

A mutant is the killer. Was. Will be. An inevitable conclusion, no doubt. Nameless, but with unmistakable blood. A weapon.

None other than her.

I. Here, peace is nourished with blood

She is weaned on hatred, straight from her mother’s breast. Home is full of it, even. Amidst the uncles and the aunties and the sleight of hand, between the crack of the door and the squeak of the floorboards. Beneath packets of Vitamin C.

We barely have anything, says the spoonful of rice. But they take it anyway, she returns, more recite than reply. Father looks up expectantly. Remember to chew it up before you swallow.

Ink is the spark. Her youth is filled with protests (when they are peaceful), riots (when they are not). How easy it is to hate, she thinks, when uniformed plastic is all venom-tipped teeth can sink into. How easy it is to hate, to bash at forms of pallid skin and tattered hair. It barely seems human.

Thus, it is normal to seek blood. It is the only thing that links us, after all. We are corralled into this.

The first time her flesh is sliced open, Yejin’s gasp cuts through the night air. Little more than a nick on a finger, too cautious to turn pages. But her blood becomes a needle, emotion-sharp and jutting into the air. Ready to defend for her. Ready to attack for her, Mother later amends.

Blood is the fire. No more protests, no more riots. No, she is meant for something more. But she is not carted off like a secret. The heralds of her future are none other than her uncles and aunties, always on the periphery. Unsurprising, in retrospect.

Uncle becomes sect, auntie becomes leader. She learns words like rebel and resistance, hope and revolution. They are small in number, scattered across the country. But the time will come, they say, when there will only be one.

Her parents do not change, at least. Only now she joins them on their walks far too late into the night.

She becomes the tip of the spear, one among many. Honed into a weapon, molded into the means. In the end, blood can only fill what it is poured into, no matter how it stains the edges.

II. This is my blood, which is shed for the many

The Councilor is steeped in a multitude of strange habits.

But perhaps they are only a matter of circumstance. She hesitates to name them for what they are. Who is she, a mere observer, to judge what the Councilor does or does not do with his time? Still, she thinks herself rather fortunate. Said habits have made the Councilor into a cautious man. More likely to drive off, alone, down a winding road towards a decrepit looking bar. Away from Gangnam’s infrared eyes.

What does he find here? she wonders. Whom?

Circumstance would have the Councilor slink out from a side door into Yejin’s waiting path. Fortunate, indeed. He does not notice her at first, still and silent underneath the dim light of a streetlamp. Little more than an incongruity, after all. She is well used to it. A plume of smoke trails behind him, acrid and stinging. But at its very top, a note of perfume, feather-light against her cheek.

It takes him a moment, but he throws a haphazard brow in her direction, nearly stumbling over his feet. He moves to brush past her. Yejin intercepts.

The noise he makes is one of frustration, a cross between a growl and a huff of breath, caught in the back of his throat. “Listen…” He drags out the word, a heavy-tongued hiss, and holds up a palm to ward against her. “Whatever… you want right now. Interview, autograph… money?” He scoffs. “'m really not in the mood, so just. Please.”

Money, hm? It always comes down to money. But they are far past the point of it, now. Now…

She gives him a ghost of a smile. “They cry for blood.”

A shard of ox-red bursts from her palm and pierces through his heart. The Councilor jerks in place, eyes wide, lips still formed around a syllable that gave way to nothing but air. What? She imagines him saying. He hacks a cough, mouth shuddering around rivulets of red. What was that about blood?

Yejin does not blink at the spattered warmth against her skin, nor at the bloom that overtakes his shirt. She keeps their gazes locked and watches it all: the tightening of the lids, the dilation of the pupils. The body is responding to pain. Her blood swirls idly between them, a viscous shimmer contained within crystal walls. His flesh sizzles in protest. And so they stand, frozen, a tableau locked in red. Beautiful, grotesque.

With a flick of her wrist, the moment shatters. The Councilor sags to his knees like a puppet cut from its strings, red fading out into air. Yejin cradles him in her arms, bends as he bends, helping the weight of him down onto the ground.

He is barely conscious when she rises, still hovering over his form. "Please.” Yejin tilts her head at him. “Is that your last word?”

Nothing but a gurgle of the throat, expelled from rapidly cooling lips.

“I cannot tell your family.” She frowns, regret softly spoken. A stone dropped into water. “But I promise to remember.“

Remember it. Remember you. The part of me left in you. A double helix, swirling.

ABILITIES

BLOOD MANIPULATION

Constructs - Yejin can form solid haemokinetic constructs capable of interacting with the environment, in ways such as stabbing, coiling around a target, etc.

Since her abilities are primarily used for offense, she often forms her blood into a shard or spear-like shape. This can range from a single shard, multiple shards in a group, a whip, or tendrils that extend out across a certain distance.

Can also form a rudimentary shield to block projectiles, though it is the weakest of her constructs due to lack of practice.

She has not explored other applications, though technically any form is possible.

Her blood itself has corrosive properties that burn through most organic materials, namely flesh and bone.

Yejin’s manipulation is limited to her own blood pool; she can neither control others’ blood nor can she create new blood.

The solidity/effectiveness/range of her constructs is dependent on her skill, focus, and energy.

She must draw blood before using her abilities. This can be as simple as a prick of the finger. The constructs are not reflective of the size of the wound, but they will naturally be stronger the more blood she expels.

Requires a recovery period after drawing a large volume of blood. In this state, she will exhibit symptoms of anemia due to blood loss: fatigue, lightheadedness, shortness of breath, etc.

On that note, she may bleed to death if she draws too much blood at once, or across a short period of time.