#in turn feeling persecuted for being x kind of man or not really a man while ignoring the comparative x kind of women dealing with bullshit

[knuckle]

ofc trans men benefit from feminism, they are afab lol

all marginalized men benefit from feminism because the patriarchy is reified by other forms of oppression this includes cis men of color for example

[catholic-character-tournament]

CONTESTANTS

I will make the bracket soon but if anyone has any reason why X character shouldn't be in the tournament, let me know. (Please no Kristen Applebee discourse, the pro-Kristen is catholic got to me)

Philip Wittebane has been disqualified

The main I'm ??? Idk if they should be allowed is Philip Wittebane/Emperor Belos

Propaganda was:

Okay okay so like he's technically Puritan-coded but like the Catholic background is still applicable imo. This man truly acts like he's a "savior" and really goes full martyr mode where instead of being like "yeah no my actions were reprehensible" he's like "I AM BEING PERSECUTED FOR DOING WHATS RIGHT BY RIDDING THE WORLD OF THESE WICKED VILE WITCHES". He also follows some Catholic symbolism pretty heavily in the last episode: he's posed similarly to Jesus being crucified, in a monster form he strikes a pose reminiscent of the Adam and God painting from the Sistine Chapel, and he even calls the Boiling Isles(a place full of witches and demons separate from the human realm) a "Perdition", which is "a state of eternal punishment and damnation into which a sinful and unpenitent person passes after death." in Catholic theology. So YES he's Puritan coded but I feel there's enough overlap to consider him for Catholic. Hear me out I know I said Philip was probably Puritan so like. Imagine how funny it'd be to be lumped in the Catholic pool. He would be FURIOUS at being called Catholic he would HATE it. It'd be hilarious. Please consider it.

&

His whole villain modus operandi is crowning himself Emperor in what could reasonably be interpreted in-universe as Hell (it's not, but it sure does fit a lot of the stereotypical requirements of Hell in roundabout ways, specifically Dante's Inferno kind of stuff) by claiming that he's a prophet/follower/proclaimer etc. of "the Titan's Will" which is basically just a reskin of God's Will aka the typical uber-controlling religious fear mentality the Catholic church was and still kind of is known for. He claims that "wild" or unrestricted magic is displeasing the Titan (the main, uh, god-figure? sorta? of the show) leading everyone to destruction (sin) and that the only way to "please the Titan" is to submit to "magical purification" aka have one's magic be sealed off to only allow one type of magic to be used at a time. Those that don't adhere to this "purification" are evil Wild Witches that must be eradicated. The whole ideology is just Catholic repentance and crusading with a different coat of paint. Not only that but he literally built himself a castle with Catholic aesthetics, specifically church/cathedral ones—it has tons of stained glass windows and painting depicting his "virtues" and accomplishments in clearly religious ways, similar to how Catholic churches use their stained glass windows. He also cloaks a lot of his actions as being a part of "the Titan's Will" and is the main interpreter of said Will, which is pretty much like being the Pope. The kicker of it all is that he's just using all of this as a ruse to eradicate all of witch/demonkind because he's a witch hunter with a grudge nearly 400 years old and still going strong—the ends justify the means and all that.

This bitch is a radical Puritan Protestant witch hunter (the Puritan part being subtext due to where he specifically originated from, the witch hunter part EXPLICITLY CANON) and he just goes full ham on the Catholic Pope aesthetic when he becomes Emperor—lots of gold, grand regalia/clothing, religious iron fist, the whole bit. Over witches and demons, the very thing he's trying to wipe from existence to "save humanity." He basically becomes the fucking Demon Realm Anti-Christ Pope or something. Something something you became the very thing you swore you would destroy something something. The finale of the show ends off with him BECOMING A DRAGON (Revelations allegory) because he got turned into parasitic green goop. The irony here is so massively ridiculous it's insane. Not only that but HE'D HATE BEING NOMINATED AS A CATHOLIC. CAN YOU IMAGINE? PURITAN WITCH HUNTER BECOMING TUMBLR'S CANONIZED PATRON SAINT? HE'D BE SO FREAKING PISSED ABOUT IT (deserved)

List below cut

Matt Murdock/Daredevil (Daredevil)

kurt wagner/nightcrawler (x-men)

Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Trigun)

Homura Akemi (Madoka Magica)

Vector the Crocodile (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Kirei Kotomine (Fate franchise)

Ronan Lynch (The Raven Cycle)

Temenos Mistral (Octopath Traveler 2)

John Ward (FAITH)

Claude Frollo(The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

Eddie Brock (Venom)

Enrico Pucci (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Amon from (Tokyo Ghoul)

Galahad (The Mechanisms)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

Johnathan (Shin Megami Tensei IV)

Seeley Booth (Bones)

Doomguy  (Doom)

Pope Pinion IV (Cars)

707/Luciel Choi (Mystic Messenger)

Aymeric de Borel (Final Fantasy 14)

Dana Scully (the X files)

Father Alexander Anderson (Hellsing)

Ky Kiske (Guilty Gear)

Akane Kurashiki (Zero Escape)

Hell boy (HellBoy)

Kristen Applebees (Dimension 20's Fantasy High)

Louis de Pointe du Lac (Interview with the Vampire/The Vampire Chronicles)

Pastry Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

Sister Michael (Derry Girls)

Wesley Hailoh (Rhyme and Reason)

Abuela Alma Madrigal (Encanto)

The Derry Girls (Derry Girls)

Aslan from (Chronicles of Narnia)

Father Paul (Midnight Mass)

Helena Bertinlli (DC comics)

Jean Valjean (Les Misérables)

Mac McDonald (It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia)

Mark Heathcliff (The Mandela Catalogue)

Saint Citrina Rocks (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

Tatsumi Kazehaya (Ensemble Stars)

Belizabeth Brassica (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

Caesar Zeppeli (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Chrollo Lucilfer (Hunter x Hunter)

Father Brown (Father Brown)

Gabriel (Ultrakill)

Hot Pants (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Javert (Les Miserables)

Jeanne d'Arc (Alter) - Fate/Grand Order

Justin Law (Soul eater)

Lady Rhea (Fire Emblem)

Luis Serra Navarro (Resident Evil)

Mello (Death Note)

Ryker | Show: Roleslaying With Roman

Nate Ford (Leverage)

Nico D'Angelo (Percy Jackson)

Patton Sanders (Sanders Sides (Web Series))

Pucci (Jojos Bizarre Adventure)

Puss in Boots

Quasimodo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

SCP-166 (Just a Teenage Gaia) 

Shadow the Hedgehog (sonic)

Sir Keradin Deeproot (Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy)

The Penitent One (Blasphemous)

Tobias Schneien (Ghost Eyes)

Vito Corleone (The Godfather)

Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series)

Asia Argento (High School DxD)

chuck e. cheese

Bishop Raphaniel Charlock from Dimension 20 - the Ravening War

Blake Langermann - Outlast 2

Brother Cellanus from The Completely Unerotic Adventures of Brother Cellanus

carlos reyes from 911 lone star

Carrie White (Carrie)

Catherine of Aragon (SIX the Musical)

CC from Code Geass

Detective William Murdoch (Murdoch Mysteries)

Double (Skullgirls)

Doug Jones from The VelociPastor

Dracule Mihawk (One Piece)

Duo Maxwell from Gundam Wing

Father John Mulcahy- MASH

Felicia Hardy (Black Cat) | Spiderman

Firestar warrior cats

Flayn from Fire Emblem Three Houses

Frank Castle

Gerard from Unholyverse

Gloria Maria Ramirez Delgado-Pritchett (Modern Family)

Ibara Shiozaki from My Hero Academia

Inori Yamabuki/Cure Pine and Fresh Precure

Jason Todd in DC Comics

John "Soap" MacTavish (Call of Duty)

John Gaius (The Locked Tomb)

Junk rat from Overwatch

Knuckles the hedgehog from Sonic.

Kuroe (Magia Record)

Kyoko Sakura from Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Leliana (Dragon Age)

Lestat de Lioncourt - the Vampire Chronicles (Books/Movies/TV)

Libra (from Fire Emblem: Awakening)

Link - The Legend of Zelda

Maddie Fitzpatrick (Suite Life of Zack and Cody)

Marcy Park (The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee)

Mercedes - Fire Emblem: Three Houses

Michael Carpenter (Dresden Files)

Michael Corleone, the Godfather

Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg from Ride the Cyclone

Philip Wittebane/Emperor Belos - The Owl House (disqualified)

Pontifex Belizabeth Brassica from Dimension 20's A Crown of Candy

Rin Okumura from Blue Exorcist

Robocop

Sasuke from Naruto

Shiozaki Ibara bnha

Shiro Fujimoto from Blue Exorcist

simon belmont castlevania

Steve Rogers

Tammy Edwards from the play Legoland by Jacob Richmond 

Valeria Garaz (Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 reboot)

Valery Michailov (Goncharov - 1973)

Zakuro Fujiwara from Tokyo Mew Mew

Kawabuchi Sentarou (Kids on the Slope)

Kaworu Nagisa (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

Emilio Santoz from The Sparrow

Remy LeBeau (Gambit) from Marvel Comics X-Men

jesus but from jesus christ superstar. i think this should count 

Leon from 8:11

Sister Mary from The Young Pope

Replacement:

Miles Morales (Marvel Comics)

Friar Tuck (Robin Hood)

[babesonly]

fic recs 2.0!

hello kings (gn) ive got significantly more fic than last time which means this is gonna be a little more organized than the last post bc it is much longer <3 categories in order are non casefic canonverse, casefic/roadtrip fic, finale fixits, endverse, non supernatural aus, and then non destiel ones. titles will be in bold for my favs! also within each category they’re in order from shortest to longest

Canonverse

I’m a tulip in a cup by godtiering (1.2k)

I worry that I never really came back from hell. I wonder why, if I got remade by heaven, I’m still the same screwed up kid that I always was.

Sometimes I worry I’m not into women at all.

"Guess not,” he looks at his shoes.

a REALLY good fic that’s basically just a look inside dean’s head during my bloody valentine do not read this looking for a fun time but please do read it

on vessels by flightsofangels (1.9k)

“You know,” Cas mutters into Dean’s bare skin. “When I was still… an angel, I used to dream that I would take you as my vessel.”

hello consumehimnatural fans!!!!! read newt’s fic right now its incredible

dean winchester is not a nicholas sparks protagonist by microcomets (1.9k)

Dean fell in love with Cas the way you fall asleep--slowly, and then all at once. Or some other hackneyed and trite bullshit. God, this is embarrassing.

dean is in LOVE. he’s also a disaster who keeps staring at cas’ hands. sigh

Stay by aeli_kindara (2.5k)

Coda to 13.06 (Tombstone). In which Castiel reckons with the aftermath of Dean's grief.

hello fellow widow arc fans <3 click here to see cas find out abt the events of advanced thanatology !

walking on a string by swordfishtrombones (2.7k)

Between the doomed offensive at the Firmament and the impending retreat from the ravaged northeast border, Castiel left camp long enough to answer one of Dean Winchester's prayers.

S6 DEAN IS A WAR WIFE. been really into early seasons deancas lately and this one is very good. god

the flesh of the mighty by Mudprophet (2.7k)

Ezekiel 39:17 "you shall eat the flesh of the mighty and drink the blood of the princes of the earth."

MY GOD. anyone who saw the @autisticandroids​ purgatory cannibalism talk and was interested read this right now. also anyone who enjoyed nbc hannibal OR raw (2016). if romantic cannibalism is remotely aligned with your interests read this right now. god

Sam Winchester, Ally At Law by alittleduck (3.3k)

Sam was pretty sure he could read every single gay friendly guide to coming out or supporting queer family members ever written and literally none of them would even imply that arguing with gay people that they were actually just homophobic constituted as "ally behavior". However, Sam was equally sure that none of those book authors had found themselves accidentally watching their brother get pounded by an Angel of the Lord at 9 am on Tuesday, so Sam was pretty sure he might actually still have the higher ground. Now, if only Jack would stop trying to bond with Dean using gay slurs long enough for Sam to convince everyone of that, he might just be able to cobble together some remnant of sanity or, failing that, dignity.

Or, the one where Sam desperately wants to invent PFLAG but Dean won't stop teaching Jack gay slurs

JACK VOICE HEY COCKSUCKERS. 

hummed low by microcomets (3.3k)

Dean pulls the Impala over at a cider barn about thirty miles out; doesn't really think about it, just sees the hokey orange lettering off the roadside and lets his hands guide the Impala off the interstate with gravel spitting under the wheels.

they get a nice day out together and dean has a gay crisis and it’s written beautifully mwah

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi (3.9k)

In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything.

sometimes i think about this fic and it hits that at this point dean and cas would have been married for more than a year. cas my beloved...

an exploration of gender; angelic by sometimeswelose (4k)

Castiel's true form is made of electromagnetic radiation. He has spent the majority of his life, if you really want to add it all up and average the whole thing out, as a wavelength of celestial intent.

The thing about being made of light: it's light in the physics sense of the word. Castiel's waves are gamma, x-ray, micro, and radio. He's visible light too, of course, a visible light so intense that it is blinding to most humans.

hello trans cas community <3 he’s literally trans he was assigned genderless and then went hm actually i will be a man! love of my life

Some Boys are Sleeping Alone by prosopopeya (4.2k)

This isn't something that's okay, not for him, but it chases him through the years until it turns into something he can't -- doesn't want to deny. 

ohhh deans tenuous relationship with his sexuality my beloved...

love. worship. consummation. consumption. by redeyedwrath (4.3k)

ConsumehimNatural (copyright marcusantonius) the Series!

These are all snapshots centered around the idea of you know. Hunger in Supernatural. Both carnal hunger and other kinds. Fics are shown in semi-chronological order but this series is generally nebulously early seasons.

for ANYONE who is a consumehimnaturual this is required reading it is INCREDIBLE and gorgeous and very visceral and i am so very obsessed with it. thank you redeyedwrath for enabling my brainrot

the reach of human sense by perilously (4.5k)

“You know what Jimmy Novak looked like. You think he was beautiful—gorgeous, hot, all of it. It’s him. Not me. This isn’t my face.”

“But,” Dean says. He doesn’t know where he’s going with it. Just that Cas’ face is right there, brows drawn together and cheekbones gleaming in the lamplight. It’s a face that’s made his heart skip probably a couple hundred beats collectively since they met.

And it used to belong to someone else.

this one is just very nice <3 cas gets uncomfortable w dean calling him attractive since dean has never seen his trueform and they work it out

Down in the River by Ias (4.7k)

Alone in Purgatory and hunted by Leviathans, Castiel finds himself praying to the one person who can't hear him.

cas i love you <3 cas alone in purgatory praying to dean bc dean is the only thing he still worships i love you so much

Creature of Habit by trinityofone (5.1k)

The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well.

written in s5 when cas was depowered and completely nails the later seasons bitchy husbands dynamic it’s very good and fun <3

sink by crackers4jenn (5.4k)

"Where to?" A 9.06 coda.

very bittersweet very well written and also canon compliant so do not go into this one looking for a happy ending but i DO recommend it it’s very good

Sensational by castiowl (6.1k)

“When I first came to earth, it was advised that we temper the senses bound to our vessels. They were a distraction, we were told. An antiquated form of experiencing existence that would hinder our ability to complete our missions, whatever that may be. My true form can better facilitate these experiences. What you would recognize as heightened senses of sight and sound, among other things.”

Or, how Dean helps Cas experience all five human senses for the first time in one night.

early seasons deancas man. i love the sound part i love dean being so worried about doing a good job with this. god. read this please

Something to Protect by Sass_Master (6.2k)

Dean’s violent reaction to being unexpectedly woken has become something of a running joke among them, but Castiel can’t help but look past it to the underlying cause. It makes him ache to think that Dean feels so unsafe, so persecuted, before he’s even fully conscious.

Secretly, Castiel has been determined to work on that, to ease Dean into awareness in a less jarring way, smooth away one of the many stresses that follow him even in sleep. Now’s as good a time as any to try.

oh to sleep more soundly in the presence of someone you love...this fic is very nice i enjoyed it a lot

all this and heaven too by ftmsteverogers (7k)

“Hey,” Dean said. “I’m not ashamed of you, okay?”

Cas raised skeptical eyes to meet his.

“I mean it,” Dean insisted.

“I understand you mean it,” Cas said. “But I don’t think it’s any better if you’re only ashamed of yourself.”

hello trans dean community here is 7k of trans dean having to deal with his internalized homophobia now that he’s sleeping with cas <3 it is SO good

The wilderness. by orange_crushed (8k)

He takes a shower and the pressure is not especially good, but it doesn’t matter. It’s warm and he stands under the spray a long time. Human skin, he knows, constantly renews itself, shedding the dead cells of the epidermis. He wonders how long it will take until he is an entirely new person, until every cell on his surface is a new one. He looks at his hands under the water. It might take less than a month.

this might be the only post 9x03 fic on here with a happy ending actually? plenty of good melancholy leading up to it though <3 canon divergent after 9x03 though which means no 9x06 fanfiction gap but it is absolutely worth reading

till the juice runs by deathbanjo (8.4k)

Apparently whoever drew up the venn diagram of Dean’s sex life decided the circle labelled ‘good sex’ and the one labelled ‘sex with men’ should be kept far apart.

hello this one is SO funny dean finally gets comfortable enough with his bisexuality to start having sex with men and it goes so very bad every time so sorry about your shitty choices beloved </3

First Date by aeli_kindara (8.9k)

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

this one is very sweet i liked it a lot <3 good refreshing little fic where they just get to have a nice evening together

Entertaining Strangers by cadignan (9k)

Dean settles on to his side, lying in the bed facing Castiel. “So you had sex without me and you bit all my moves. I think I deserve to hear about it, at least. What was her name?”

op im in love with you. premise is established relationship deancas and cas mentions he did have sex before dean and not only that it was a threesome. good for him <3 this fic is cas describing the story of what led up to the threesome and what happened during it while dean interrupts regularly. incredible

the shape you take by noviembre (10k)

“What?” Dean says, fake-offended. “I’d be hot as a girl, you know I would.”

And this is when he really, really should have stopped talking. When he shouldn't have whipped back around and asked, “Cas, if I was a woman, you’d fuck me, right?”

Because if he hadn’t said that, then he wouldn’t have had to deal with this:

Cas, meeting his eyes, forehead wrinkles all smoothed out like there’s nothing to be confused about anymore. Cas with something at the corner of his mouth that might barely be called a smile.

Cas saying, calmly and without hesitation, “Yes, Dean.”

--

Dean Winchester fucks around and, with the inadvertent help of some witches, Finds Out.

dean winchester your gender is diabolical. this fic is insane and its the only thing that matters actually. dean fully convinced its normal and straight to think about being a woman so you can fuck your male friend. incredible. op im proposing to you

Sinnerman by a_good_soldier (10k)

Dean listens to Nina Simone, reads Anne Carson, and makes out with a dude (sort of).

yall want to read about dean realizing he’s in love with a man as a direct result of learning to better respect women right?

you’re fooling yourself by cowboydeanwinchester (13k)

Dean Winchester and Castiel retire from hunting to raise baby Jack. Dean struggles to allow himself the things he truly wants.

Jack is two, Castiel and Dean are idiots, and Sam's gotta solve everyone's problems.

love a married couple who doesn’t know they’re married <3 everyone say thank you sam for bullying dean 

The Girlfriend Experience by rageprufrock (15k)

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

a classic for good fucking reason. we’ve all talked about dean thinking holding hands is too gay after having just had gay sex but my personal favorite was sam accusing dean of cheating on cas because dean bought condoms. incredible

No Kingdom To Come by domesticadventures (16k)

“We should fuck,” Dean says.

Cas looks up from where he sits on his bed, hair still damp from the shower, frowning as he places a finger on the page of his book to mark where he left off.

There are a million things Cas could say here; Dean has rehearsed them. After lunch, his restlessness had given way to a vague panic, a dread that matched his every step and crept along with him from room to room. Eventually, he had returned to his bedroom and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth, playing out all the possible scenarios. When Cas asks him Why? or Are you being serious? or when he sighs and says, in that way he has, Dean, he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to shrug casually, like he isn’t invested in the answer, like he isn’t desperate for an outlet, and say, Why not? He’s going to raise an eyebrow and say, What, are you not interested? He’s going to crowd into Cas’ personal space, he’s going to shove himself right up in there and whisper Cas against his ear.

Instead, Cas says, carefully, “Okay.”

literally the only quarantine fic i’ve ever bothered to read in any fandom and completely worth it it’s SO good. they become fwb and dean has an existential crisis and he keeps bringing up meaninglessness and death during sex

Bodies by Speary (18k)

It was a secret they never acknowledged even with each other. It would change everything, end everything if either of them ever dropped the act. So they became very good at acting, at keeping up the lie that gave them what they wanted. Even if that lie involved constantly seeking out temporary, consenting female vessels, Cas would do it. He told himself it was worth it for Dean. He just hoped that he could stop wanting more, or maybe one day Dean might stop pretending that he wasn't really sleeping with Cas every time.

i don’t even have anything to add tbh if that summary did not immediately make you click we are very different this fic is incredible. god. fellas do you ever make yourself a woman so you can fuck the man you love without him having to talk about it or confront his sexuality

it’s such a mystery (the way you know me) by fleeceframe (20k)

So the man crouching in front of Castiel is named Dean. He wonders if that’s supposed to mean something to him.

“Cas must’ve got hit with something earlier. He just dropped like a sack of fucking potatoes a minute ago. By the time I was checking on him, he had already woken up again, but now he doesn’t fucking know who we are.”

“I’m right here you know,” Castiel says testily.

Sam’s eyes are wide even as his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks between Dean and Castiel again.

“What do you remember, Cas?”

“Firstly, that I’m not Cas. I don’t know who Cas is, but it’s not me. I don’t know who either of you are, either."

or the one where castiel is hit with a memory curse that makes him forget the winchester brothers and is stunned to find out he has a family... also why can't he stop thinking about dean?

BEST amnesia fic oh my god. cas my beloved you deserve the world. everyone read this that is not a request.

More Than Ever by Sass_Master (20k)

Dean’s getting some pancakes together for breakfast when Cas saunters in after a run.

He’s trying to focus on whisking batter, unfairly distracted by Cas a few feet away, breathing heavily and shining with perspiration. Dean’s been painfully aware for a long time that Cas is pretty easy on the eyes, but he’s used to seeing Cas buttoned-up and unflappable, looking straight-laced in a stiff oxford and an unflattering trenchcoat.

Now Cas is sweating, Dean’s borrowed t-shirt clinging to his skin, flushed from exertion and Dean really can’t deal with that in his kitchen right now.

this entire series is really good i enjoyed it a lot, i’m just putting this one specifically on the list bc the rest of the series is very explicit and this is really good as a standalone for anyone who wouldn’t be into the rest of the series!!

Being Dean Winchester by Anonymous (20k)

"You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in."

Who the fuck was this bitchy "warrior of God" doing talking to him like that? Fuck Cas-tee-el and his dumbass trench coat and abrasive motherfucking attitude.

Dean was done with this shit.

***

Wherein a monster of the week steals the essence of Castiel's vessel, so he must use Dean, recently raised from hell, as a vessel instead.

it is at this point i realize that there are more fics than i expected there to be on this list that involves a threesome with only two people/using the presence of a female body to act like what’s happening is heterosexual. deangirlism is a disease 

I Shall Not Want by domesticadventures (20k)

His grace is burning out, and the wasteland it leaves inside him becomes an echo chamber for all the memories, all the fear and doubt and self-loathing he's collected over the years. Things said and done hound him on endless repeat until he's convinced they’ll break through his skin and fill the silence of the bunker.

His head is killing him, and he sits hunched over an open book, not really reading, just digging his fingers into his skull and praying nothing slips through the cracks.

this one is GORGEOUS i love it so so much. dean and cas are both struggling so much to get by and they’re trying to support each other but fucking it up and they have to grow together and learn to cope with the fact that this is where their lives are and they fall in love i need everyone to read this

To Boldly Go by 8daysuntiltheapocalypseiguess (24k)

Title: Just One of Those Things Author: Impala67 Series: TOS Rating: M Summary: Four years into their five-year mission, and all the planets start to look the same.

In which Dean is not Gene Roddenberry, but he does write Star Trek fanfiction.

mx winchester writing star trek fanfiction to process his own trauma <3 this is a wip but it’s SO good and i also have not consumed a single piece of star trek media so it IS definitely readable to anyone who isn’t a star trek fan. please read this

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo (30k)

“Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.”

this is on here just for the 1.5 people who were putting off this one like i did for no reason. it’s extremely good and it is just gentle. i enjoyed it a lot

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord (42k)

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

yall ever wonder what it would’ve been like if the sam and dean arrest storyline in s12 was interesting? yeah <3

Teaching Poetry to Fish by aeli_kindara (52k)

In which Castiel teaches poetry to fish. Also, himself. Also, eventually, Dean.

(A series-long story, diverging slightly from canon after S14.)

cas learning about humanity through poetry before dean and thats what led to him developing enough emotion to be lobotomized....cas i love you so much

Emergence by ellispark (58k)

Something’s been missing from Dean’s life for the past three years, a void left after a hunt gone terribly wrong. He often feels a sense of longing with no discernible cause, a need to talk to someone who isn’t there.

A call from an acquaintance leads Dean to James Novak, a man who disappeared more than a decade ago, and suddenly Dean gets the feeling he’s found what he’s been missing. But James isn’t really James — he’s the angel Castiel, who’s wanted by angels, demons and hunters alike. And he may be at the center of the storm that wrecked Dean’s life all those years ago.

another cool amnesia fic!! for unknown reasons everyone forgot cas three years ago but cas didn’t forget anything. cas deserves so much love and support. god

a turn of the earth by microcomets (95k)

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

cas getting to meet and fall in love with pre hell dean just as much as he loves the dean he already knows oh my GOD. i love this fic so much. turn of the earth my beloved

Crossing Lines by sometimeswelose (122k)

Two Deans, one Cas - it's not as sexy as it sounds

Or

An ethics lesson from Hell

Or

The one where Dean from the past meets Dean in the present. They're not sure they like each other very much.

deans intense self hatred vs cas’ unwavering love for every version of dean oh my GOD also this is a wip fair warning but it’s so worth waiting for updates i’m having such a great time with this one i cannot wait to see how it gets ended

Plot Holes by saltyfeathers (160k)

Of course it wasn’t over after the apocalypse.

There was season six. Then there was season seven. Against all expectations, there was season eight. There were the alphas and purgatory, and then the Leviathans, and then the angels fell. Enter season nine. Loose threads Metatron, Abaddon, and Crowley have to be tied up. Sam, Dean, and Cas have to try to tie them while at the same time dealing with their evolving relationships and newfound graceless states.

Amidst all the chaos, someone has started publishing the Supernatural novels again. Convinced there’s something amiss in the pages, Charlie starts her own quest to suss out the truth behind the Winchester Gospels.

With the help of various faces, old and new, they must now not only deal with the typical runs of demons and recently fallen angels, but also reconcile the battles raging inside themselves, as the fate of the world, once again, quite literally lays in the palm of their hands.

saltyfeathers said i WILL make the plot holes in this show mean something because the showrunners are sure as shit never gonna adress them ! and i thank them for it bc this was a really cool read

Casefic/Roadtrip Fic

Deprived Of Every Planet by KelpietheThundergod (9k)

Dean's breathing is audible in the scant space between them, irregular. The motel room is dark, pale blue shadows falling in through the gaps in the blinds. Throwing a pattern of uneven white stripes over the bunched up covers. Over Dean's fingers twisted in the sheets. One half of him in shadow, softened by the dark. The heat of his skin. The tremble of him under Castiel's touch.

He caresses a hand over Dean's chest, slowly. Dean's mouth falls open, his body arching into Castiel's touch. Castiel stops over Dean's heart. Through the fever of his desire, he rejoices about the wonder of experiencing another's heartbeat through one's own senses.

Dean gasps, but then he turns his face away and towards the dark. Eyes closed tight and brows furrowed like something is hurting him.

Castiel stills.

“Dean?”

the case is background on this one but it Does take place over the course of a case so im putting it here. god touchstarved dean trying so hard to work through his shit for cas head in my hands i love this fic so much

before and after breakfast by spocklee (10k)

The monster of the week is a ghost who hates meat, alcohol, and feeling yourself. Guess who it is during the commercials.

chapter 2 of this one.....god. dean and cas you are both so unwell <3 i love everything abt this fic everyone read it now

we shovel all the ashes out by xylodemon (15k)

Dean’s always known things were headed this way. He just figured getting dragged under would be cleaner and easier than jumping in feet-first.

fics that make you go Oh they love each other...also there’s lesbians in it literally what else could you want.

thunder road by dothraki_shieldmaiden (20k)

After Chuck is defeated and the Winchesters settle into life without God, Dean Winchester is bored.

OR: Dean and Cas take a road trip and figure out some stuff along the way.

this fic is just like. it’s kind! this fic is kind it’s just a pleasant experience and i enjoyed it thoroughly. they’re in love and it’s good

Suck It, Judy Garland by GlitterDwarf, midrashic (20k)

It had to be St. Louis. Or, the one where Sam and Cas get fake married for a case, and Dean loses his mind.

actually im gonna defend dean here imagine youre dean and cas gives what definitely sounded like a deathbed love confession while making eye contact with you and then immediately afterwards fake dates your brother. who among us would not have been a bitch about this

best friends without benefits by lizbobjones (20k)

It’s nearing three a.m. and they’ve been on the road a long time. Sam’s been asleep in the back seat since eleven. Giving up and handing the wheel over to Cas and letting the guy who doesn’t sleep drive had seemed like a good idea.

the premise of this fic is so funny. cas voice dean you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid. everyone read this

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo (22k)

This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore.

alt version of getting rid of the mark of cain, the darkness never happens. this one is VERY heavy but it’s so good and it has a hopeful ending. ive read this one twice and loved it both times

Someone Who’s Feeling For Me by ellispark (45k)

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

hello op please contact me. please contact me and let me see the inside of your brain. this fic was an unparalleled experience and everyone should also go through it. i love it so very much

Bumper Cars by mansikka (111k)

Two teenagers are missing from an abandoned carnival, and there’s enough to raise suspicion that their disappearance involves a ghost. Dean, Sam, and Cas arrive in town to investigate, though what they find leads them away from those teenagers, and on the trail of a ghost story that churns up things from their past.

Can newly-human Cas, and Dean, with the help of shipper!Sam, work out the mystery behind the abandoned carnival and its ghost, and along the way, figure out the riddle that is them?

one of my absolute fav case fics it forces dean to confront some aspects of johns parenting and work through some shit and also him and cas fall in love and it’s really well done. love this one a lot <3

Finale Fix-its/Finale Denial

Sorry Jimmy by K_K_TiBal (2.1k)

Based on the tumblr textpost:

jellydeans: so are cas and jimmy novak just up in heaven existing at the same time katebushstandean: #jimmy moves to heaven timbuku so that dean stops trying to make out with him every time they run into each other at the heaven grocery store

this one is just extremely funny. local midwestern heterosexual man is forced to play relationship counselor to the dumbest gay people in existence because one of them wore his face

Dean Winchester Really Needs To Make Some Gay Friends by AreYouReady (2.2k)

“Like, I’m trying to think if I’ve had, I don’t know, crushes. If I ever had a gay thing before you came along and just didn’t notice,” Dean said.

Cas suddenly looked down, and away from Dean. If Dean didn’t know better, he would swear Cas looked guilty.

“What is it, Cas?”

“You have had several… gay things before.” Cas still wouldn’t look at him.

“What? When? How come you know this better than I do?”

There was no way the answer to this question wasn’t funny as hell.

dean learning about gay ppl via the memories of dean smith...incredible.

tiny difference (between ending and starting to begin) by sunforgrace (2.4k)

Sometimes Dean catches Cas staring at the sky.

It doesn’t happen often. Not when Dean’s around to tell, anyway. But often enough that he starts to notice.

Eventually Dean starts to recognize the pattern.

Cas just doesn’t watch the sky. He watches the birds.

Chuck is gone, Cas is human, and the world is safe. In the quiet aftermath Dean and Castiel find each other again.

i really don’t have much to say abt this one it is just very good and they love each other so much

Bring Home by cenotaphy (3.8k)

Dean's phone doesn't ring on the drive back to the Bunker, but that's okay. Because—well, maybe Cas lost his cell, what with getting shuffled back and forth between a cosmic void dimension and all. And anyway, Dean doesn't want this conversation to happen over the phone, he wants to—he wants to talk to Cas face-to-face. They should talk face-to-face.

Dean will tell him—

Dean doesn't know what he'll tell Cas. Dean is, in fact, terrified by how utterly and completely he does not know what he'll say to Cas.

cas being forced to face the consequences of sending the risky text that was despair <3

dean’s coworkers vs the heteronormative agenda by cowboydeanwinchester (4.1k)

Dean started working at a local auto repair shop in Lebanon, Kansas about a year ago. His coworkers don't know much about him. Except that he has a wife. Or maybe he doesn't. But he has a kid. Who is either a toddler or a high schooler. Who is either named Jack or Sammy. He also might have a best friend named Cas, but that also might be his wife.

Truth is nobody knows what to make of Dean.

obsessed w people not knowing a single fucking thing about dean because he talks so much and never explains anything. this fic is SO funny

Enhanced Extraction Techniques by goldenraeofsun (5.8k)

The Empty takes Meg’s shape, Samandriel’s, Duma’s, every one of the thousands of angels Cas killed up in heaven. But in the middle of lecturing Cas in the form of Balthazar, it explodes in a burst of light and sound.

Dean Winchester stands in the aftermath.

the empty playing mind games on an awake cas bc it can’t put him to sleep is a thing i like a lot and this is very very good 

Speak Silence No More by rea_sunshine (8.1k)

When Dean imagined this moment, it went like this:

Dean bursts into the Empty—guns blazing, chin high, righteous anger coursing through him. No matter what form his plans and fantasies and whiskey-drunk-whispered-promises took, he is always, always successful. When he imagined it, he was finally the hero Cas deserved.

The reality of the moment is this:

It’s fucking cold.

dean and cas STILL managing to not communicate with each other properly after the confession is so funny to me and this fic does it really well. also i like that a human being in the empty, where humans do NOT belong, had some like. consequences

my heart is a compass by lagaudiere (10k)

“There you are,” the Empty says, in Dean’s voice. It’s cold, like Dean’s eyes are cold, his expression set in contempt. It’s the expression Cas feared, he realizes, all the times he thought about saying it. Revulsion. It makes him feel sick in the way that goes beyond physical, here where there is nothing physical left.

The moment before it happened had been so sweet it covered up all the hurt. For years, Cas had been holding back those words, biting down on his tongue to keep from saying them. And now he had said it, and he knew that it was good, knew that it was worth it. But on the other side there is only this.

--

In the Empty, Cas dreams of his regrets, until someone comes looking for him.

one of thee best dean rescues cas from the empty fics out there i love the way his memories are written i love how many of them were ones that this fic came up with to give me new things to have brainworms over instead of just making me more fixated on He Watched Him Rake Leaves than i already am

killing time by orestespdf (11k)

It's been four years since Dean saved Cas from the Empty and confessed his feelings in return, and in their Vermont lakehouse, the retired couple is now learning how to heal. One morning, Dean gives Cas a haircut.

(A character study of Castiel.)

perfect fic perfect fic no notes no complaints they love each other so much and now dean is giving cas a haircut and they’re spending the day together. god.

and every time we kiss, i swear i can fly by knameless (14k)

Every time, Dean tells himself it’s the last.

--

aka, twelve times dean and cas kiss.

a just boy best friends kiss for every season <3 mwah

for which no words exist by MediaWhore (14k)

'a prayer for which no words exist' // richard siken

"Dear Cas who art in my bathtub, give me the strength to be honest about how I feel. For your sake and for mine. Forgive me all the times I wasn’t in the past, all the words I should have said but didn’t. And please stay. Please stay with me when all is said and done. Amen. "

Dean rescues a newly human Cas from the Empty. That's the easy step.

mediawhore i am in LOVE with you oh my god this fic. this fic. dean taking care of cas after rescuing him dean wrapping cas in a blanket oh my GOD

swimming with the fish pond fish by februyuri (17k)

Some time between Dean bleeding out on a makeshift hook in a barn in Ohio and Sam making marshmallows on his funeral pyre, Dean was brought back to life. By Castiel. Again. Dean agreed to it if only to give Jack time to work out the glitches up top. So, now Dean’s back in the land of the living and things are ... actually good, for once.

Or, as good as they can be when demons are attacking Earth, Dean’s failing to get over why he died in the first place, and Cas is suddenly, inexplicably taking every opportunity to casually tell Dean that he loves him.

this is a wip! but it is so good and so worth the read i love it a lot and am very excited for the last chapter. it IS pretty heavy though dean has a LOT to work through

looking like a true survivor (feeling like a little kid) by courfeyrac (20k)

"Jack’s a clever kid—has been ever since he was born, maybe even before that—but Dean’s pretty sure he hasn’t figured out where they’re going yet. And Dean’s… Dean’s excited about it. He remembers planning surprises for Sammy when they were little—saving up quarters and sneaking off to the arcade the year he turned seven, or slipping a book Dean had seen Sammy admiring into his jacket before sprinting out of the store the year he turned twelve. There was only so much Dean could give him back then, hindered by lack of finances and transportation and a father who paid attention. Now, though, Dean’s got a wallet full of cash, a tank full of gas, and the freedom to give his kid the kind of birthday he deserves."

Or, it's Jack's fourth birthday, and the kid wants to go to Build-A-Bear.

EVERYONE READ THIS RIGHT NOW. that is not a request this fic undid me. oh my god. oh my god. they’re a family and they’re going to build a bear and they love each other. oh my god. also no it isn’t a baby jack fic he is 4 and he is also alcal

what’s missing is found (our souls can exhale now) by sobsicles (27k)

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

~~~

"But have you ever just met someone and maybe it wasn't from the first moment, maybe it was after all these other moments that meant more than you ever expected them to, and it seems like your soul just—just—" Kaia makes a helpless gesture with her hands, pushing out, and she breathes out loudly. "Like it can finally exhale. And that person isn't guaranteed to make you happy, but they're—they're important. You just know it, you can't even escape it, you can't let them go. Ever met someone like that, Dean?"

"I—" Dean halts, his mouth hanging open. He's looking at Kaia, who's looking at him, and his heart is fluttering in his throat like a caged bird aching to soar again. His mind threatens to spiral out of control, but he focuses, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Um. I—yeah, I have."

deancas AND dreamhunter we love to see it also dean DOES smoke weed with kaia and apologizes for pulling a gun on her what more could you want in a fic

Command Me To Be Well by prospopeya (28k)

Dean did a lot of thinking about when and how he would get Cas back. Months of it, actually, stretching into a year, because while Sam and Eileen were settling into their new lives, Dean was stuck. He was stuck in a faraway corner of the bunker, dark and empty and hollow, ringing with the sound of a vibrating phone.

So when he falls to his knees in that same room, exhausted, hurting, breathless, and he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Cas, he realizes that he doesn't have a single clue about what to do now. Getting Cas out had been easy--actually, it'd been the opposite of that--but the planning of it, the methodical desperation of one attempt after the other had been a familiar rhythm. It'd been soothing almost, solid, something to focus on that wasn't Cas's eyes, watery and jubilant in a way Dean hadn't ever seen that up close on anyone, let alone Cas.

And now Cas is pulling him to his feet, and Dean's stumbling, and he instinctually grabs Cas's arm, and his hand lights up with a fire that he isn't prepared for.

"Hello, Dean."

oh post despair lack of communication....oh dean refusing to work through his feelings...this fic is incredible i love it everyone who enjoys dean doing everything in his power to avoid talking about feelings up to and including having sex with the guy who’s in love with him multiple times should read this

break the skin (to break the barriers) by sobsicles (29k)

The first time she meets him, he's nothing more than an almost-missed appointment.

SOBSICLES TATTOO FIC MY BELOVED. dean grieving and getting tattoos and it turns into tattoo therapy. im SO in love with mitzi it’s insane. requires some suspension of disbelief for how long a tattoo takes but it’s an incredible fic and an unparalleled experience. sobsicles does not miss

ascend by quiettewandering (53k)

Something in the world is wrong.

Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.

But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.

Or can it?

SUPER cool concept i liked this a lot i’m pretty sure everyone’s read it already but just in case someone hasn’t you absolutely should

oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith by sobsicles (62k)

Getting used to Heaven is something of a marvel. It ain't perfect, and Dean thinks he'd hate it if it was, which is probably why it isn't.

~~~

"You don't understand," Dean whispers, exhaling shakily. "I know you don't, because even I don't. The instant you were gone, I wanted you back. Cas, I wanted you back. I wanted—I wanted—"

Cas stares at him, searching his face. After a moment, his own face falls slack, eyes widening just so. "Oh," he breathes out.

Dean wants to be furious that Cas has figured it out before he has—whatever it is—but he's not even that surprised. Cas knows him too well, always has, even more than Dean knows himself. He's been kicking Dean in the goddamn teeth with how deeply he understands him, even about the things Dean doesn't, ever since they first met. You don't think you deserve to be saved, that's what Cas had said. All bundled up in impossibilities and power, this being that looked at Dean Winchester and knew every single inch of him, as if he had a right to each part.

"What?" Dean grits out.

"I love you, too."

the ONLY heaven fic. i do not read heaven fics bc i refuse to budge in my finale denialism i refuse to read fic where it is accepted that dean dies. i was hesitant to read this but god im glad i did it was so good. literally the best possible outcome of dean dying

Endverse

final fantasy. by orange_crushed (1.9k)

“If I’d actually been born human, would I have gotten sick like everyone else? Would I be running around gnawing on the neighbors?” Castiel tilts his head up and even from here Dean can see the black ring of his pupils, wide and dark as dead stars. He’s high as fuck and he’s been loading the guns for forty-five minutes. He stares into the space where Dean is. He smiles and shows his teeth. “Maybe you’d have already put a bullet in my head.”

"This is why you don’t lead storytime anymore," Dean says. "This kind of shit."

endverse last night on earth fics are something that can be so personal actually. god

The Last Song by Moorishflower (3.5k)

The very last song is the Song of Solomon, and Castiel sings it only for Dean. Set in "The End."

this is like. pre endverse and the tone is so like. wistful? is the best word ive got? it’s gorgeous i love it but fair warning there is graphic description of like. viscera and infected wounds

to think that we could stay the same by cipherwriter (6.5k)

cas has all he needs; himself, his creation, and enough power to continue this cycle for a long time. he's fine. dean wants to take care of him anyway.

oh my GOD this one is good it’s based off the thing of how originally endverse cas was supposed to be just sitting in a room killing and resurrecting the same cockroach over and over. very bittersweet at some points i love it a lot, do not read it if youre looking for something happy though lmao

the first church at the end of the world by withbloodstainedclothingon (11k)

The angels don’t eat the brain. Only Croats do that.

this one is fucked but it’s incredible it contains very heavy and violent subject matter and cas is an Actual cult leader he doesn’t just have orgies it is SO well done and i had a great time reading it i recommend it very highly if the warnings sound like something you can stomach

Down to Agincourt by seperis (1.1 million. i know. yes it’s a wip)

There is no such thing as a guarantee when it comes to war.

The outcome's known. Why try? Return your rusty sword to battered sheath, bow your head and bend your stubborn knee. Why take the field when you cannot win the war? But Harry -- he went down to Agincourt.

PLEASE. i know the length is intimidating i KNOW it’s a very long fic but please. please read down to agincourt i am begging you. head in my HANDS this series is incredible.

Non Supernatural AUS

Long-Term Relationship by bendingsignpost (2.7k)

Castiel says, budging over to make room for Dean on the couch, “I thought we should have a serious talk about our relationship.”

Reflexively, Dean laughs.

Castiel does not.

“Uh, Cas... you know we’re not dating, right?”

look man it’s bendingsignpost okay. it’s bendingsignpost it’s good and it’s sweet and you should read it

One White Lie by komodobits (11k)

Castiel takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t need to run through what he’s going to say – he’s already planned and edited and rehearsed it a thousand times. He is going to ask Dean Winchester out to dinner. If it’s not too forward, he’ll say, perfectly charming. You see, I’ve seen you around the neighbourhood and you always seem so earnest and I’d really like to get to know you bette— The door swings open, and Castiel panics.

He intends to excuse himself. He means to apologise and come back some other time. However, in a moment of blind fear, what comes out of his mouth instead are the words, “Could you spare a moment for Jesus Christ?”

do you ever pretend to be a jehovahs witness for months to hang out with the guy you like because you fucked up asking him out? yeah.

separate ways and sleeping dogs by sobsicles (53k)

Dean is three years sober when Cas comes back into town.

~~~

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Dean, once again, has to swallow the urge to offer to swallow something else. It's very hard to resist the gut-wrenching pull of want that hooks in his chest whenever he looks at Cas. And to think, he used to have him, used to be able to act on that want.

God, he's so fucking stupid.

Well, there's no point in kicking himself three years later for shit he can't change. He'll just sit right here and pretend that his fingers aren't twitching with the urge to reach out and touch. He can't do that anymore, and it's his own damn fault.

"Three years ago," Cas prompts.

Dean huffs a weak laugh. "Yeah. Eventful."

this fic hit me SO hard emotionally oh my god. don’t have much to say bc most of my thoughts on this fic are very personal but my god read this please

Everyone’s a Critic by Englandwouldfall (109k)

The one where uninspired chef Dean Winchester has a one night stand with the male (!) food critic who described the flavour of his garlic bread as 'closeted' and accidentally ends up dating him to try and prove that he's a kick ass chef, thank you very much.

(He may have a point about the 'closeted' thing).

this one is SO fun. dating the food critic who called your garlic bread closeted and lying about your career because you’re embarrassed and you want to redeem your food in his eyes but then you fall in love with him

Non Destiel Centric

gender? you mean that thing i have that pisses people off? by bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie) (946 words)

sam and dean paint each other's nails and dean abuses the technicalities of her gender. what more could you want? 

HELLO HE/SHE DEAN COMMUNITY oh my god the pure rush of euphoria reading this. oh my god. oh my god. 

the quiet road to a distant city by rottingbrains (1.2k)

Sam stares out the windshield again. They’re approaching a city, and she can see the lights in the distance. She’s past the danger zone, and she feels like the world around her reflects that in some way she can’t put into words- as if God is telling her that it’s okay. She did the right thing, and soon she will be past the lonely unknown and into the warm, forgiving light of acceptance. Or something. Come to think of it, the lights only look warm from far away, and she knows that the actual city will seem far less welcoming. Still. Best not to imagine the worst when it’s already going well.

required reading for transfem lesbian sam fans. fics that live in your ribcage to make your heart feel good

Four People Ruby Seduced & One She Actually Fell For (Or: Ruby's Epic Love Affair with Humanity in General and Sam in Specific) by tuesday (3.7k)

In which Ruby has a lot of sex, is not any kind of therapist that would be legal, and helps a few people out for her own reasons. (S4/S5 AU)

for everyone out there who enjoys ruby being a girlboss <3

Fractured Link by Trell (orphan_account) (5.5k)

Meg goes on, resolute despite the way Dean flinches, "He likes me. He likes me a lot, and I like him back, and that's probably good enough for both of us. But fuck me for saying so, Dean-o, he loves you, probably more than anything else on his daddy's green Earth, and you need to man up and give back what Clarence over there has been devoting to you for years."

this is meg/dean/cas which is not smth i really seek out but this was extremely good. set in s7 so it’s meg and dean and honey cas and it’s a lot of dean figuring his shit out and trying to forgive cas and i love meg a lot in this

[wattpadscapcons]

Woo-hoo, requests are open again! :)

Hmmmm......how about a drabble of Kagehara having a nightmare? What if he had a dream about losing the reader and he just jolts up from bed in a cold sweat. And the reader is sleeping next to him and they just comfort him and tell him it's alright, they will always be there for him

I know it's kinda cliche, but hey! It's cute <3

Okkkk..... One traumatized child coming up. I'm getting too old for this I swear. /hj

=

Nightmares (Pregame! Shuichi x Reader)

=

He frequently has nightmares, so you aren't that upset by being woken up in the middle of the night, night after night. Usually he just has to pull you closer to him for him to be able to go back to sleep, on occasion he'll just want to talk for a little while. This, this isn't one of the simple nightmare days.

There is not a lot that can really scare him anymore, working as a detective he's seen just about everything there is to see. Blood covered scenes litter the back of his mind, and he's unfortunate enough to have them blend into his dreams. Up until today, they were close friends, colleagues even, on the gurney, being shown to families from the coroner's office, being sprawled on the ground soaked in the color he was starting to hate seeing.

That enough is enough to wake him up, maybe think about calling them just to make sure they're ok. Just making sure it wasn't real.

=

His partner knocks on the glass covered by blinds. For a second, Shuichi doesn't understand what he was doing there. It became obvious very quickly when the blinds were lifted, you were the one sitting on the cold metal table this time. He doesn't even have enough time to even mourn, fall to the floor, or even scream.

He's suddenly back in an empty bed being woke up by his cellphone. The noise is reverberating in his head, causing him a nasty headache that thankfully stops the moment he picks up.

"Hello?"

"Boss has a new case for us."

"Where?"

"...... ........."

He couldn't hear what they were saying at this part, how he knew where the body was regardless was strange enough. He doesn't question it, he's been doing this for too long.

"Alright I'm coming."

=

His car parked at the edge of an alley entrance. He has a really bad feeling wafting over him that he can't seem to shake. Something's wrong here. He didn't even remember getting into the car in the first place. Was he sleepwalking? He pinches himself to make sure he was awake.

"Ow!..."

Well, he knew he was awake, awake enough to work at least. With a heavy sigh, Shuichi gets out and walks over to the now crowded scene.

"Alright, what we got?"

"Mid-twenties, caucasian female, no purse or ID. Victim was found by some passersbys, your partner interviewed them shortly before you arrived. Obvious sign of a struggle,......"

=

The coroner's voice began to drift to the point where he could only notice his mouth moving. There was no sound coming from him, by Shuichi still nods and turns to the body. They were already covered, whoever they are, urr well, were. Over to the side he spots Kirigi with a heavy expression, and moves to see what's actually going on. Was it someone they both knew?

"Kirgiri-san..."

"Shuichi...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"....Sorry for what?"

"......You haven't seen them yet...."

"Seen who?"

"I'm... I'm going to have to take you off the case due to your personal involvement with the victim."

"What? Kirigiri, what's going on?"

"It's Y/N, Shuichi. They're dead."

"No...no there must be some kind of mistake..... I just saw them yesterday... Please tell me this is just some sick joke of yours..."

"I'm sorry. I assure you that the perp will be persecuted with the fullest extent of the law when we catch them. I promise."

"This isn't funny..."

"Shuichi, she's not joking."

=

Turning around, Shuichi is faced with the most of unlikely of faces. He knew it well enough to twist into agony.

"Hey sidekick, it's just me. No need to make such a scary face man."

He reached out to touch Shuichi only to have his hand slapped away.

"Get the hell away from me!"

"Kaito, it's best not to get involved right now, the game isn't a happy thing for him to think about right now."

"Game? WHAT GAME?! I don't understand anything that's happening right now!"

"The...kiiling game. Don't you remember?"

"The only thing I remember is you kicking my head in, over and over in high school you prick."

"Kaito, it's best to just leave. Something's wrong."

=

Shuichi began to yank at his own hair as Kirigiri had the paramedic rushed over to him. It was too hard to hear. To see. To breathe.

Nothing was making any sense. He didn't join the game! You talked him out of it before he could submit his entry.

There was no way you could be dead.

With a scream, everything stopped in place.

Then world went white.

=

Shuichi woke up in a cold sweat. The room was dark, but he could tell there was someone next to him. He turned the lamp on his bed-stand on. The bedroom lamp brought a painful contrast of color to the once dark room. It didn't seem to bother your slumber though. The thoughts of his nightmare had him shaking.

"Thank god...It was just a dream...."

Shuichi placed a hand on your shoulder and gently shook you.

"Mmmm five more minutes...."

You turned, but that didn't stop him. He continued to shake you.

"Y/N... Angel... Please wake up..."

"I'm up...I'm up!"

=

You sit up in bed rubbing your eyes before you check the alarm clock sitting on your stand.

"4 am...."

You let out a yawn before turning to look at Shuichi, who's shakiness you noticed almost immediately. Another nightmare.

"Bad dream again?"

"Y-yeah..."

"You want to talk about it?"

".....Not right now..."

"Alright. Come here."

His grip was tight as he buried his head into the crook of your neck.

"I think I know what it was about."

"....."

"I'm still here hon, I'm not going anywhere. Everything's ok. I'll always be here for you Shuichi..."

With a shaky laugh, Shuichi said something that you never expected out of him.

"I need to get a better job..

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 6

So we’re slowly but surely getting into the Hannigram shit I promised.

Someone with murderous intent finds y/n just as she thinks her life is beginning to improve. Little does she know, it will. 

@deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovadokren here you go homies

Trigger warnings: Suicide bombing, graphic descriptions of violence, gun violence, death, cults, cult manipulation

You waited until he had left the restaurant to read that all-important scrap of paper. For some reason, you felt the need to hide in the bathroom to read it. It was probably just a name and phone number, but your brain was anticipating some kind of love letter. 

You carefully unfolded the receipt like it was your most treasured possession. Inside, it simply read ‘Hannibal Lecter’ followed by a phone number. 

You hugged the paper against your chest and a huge smile overtook your face. You couldn’t attach any rhyme or reason to why you suddenly felt so alive, other than you were completely and utterly infatuated. You felt like you could break into song. 

“Hey, [F/N]!” Charissa said, banging on the stall door. “Not to interrupt whatever this is, but could you take out the trash please?” 

“Oh.” You answered, your voice cracking. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.” 

Charissa trailed close behind you as you collected the bags from each can around the restaurant. She was uncharacteristically quiet, probably waiting for you to start spilling every detail of your night. The joke was on her, because you could let the silence go on forever. She wasn’t getting a word out of you. 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” She sounded deeply offended. 

“What’s to tell?” You said, hoisting a very full garbage bag over your shoulder. “Nothing happened.” 

“He sunk his teeth into you, didn’t he?” Charissa asked. At this point, you weren’t sure if she meant it metaphorically or literally. “That’s why you’re acting all, y’know, not downright miserable?” 

“Is that how I act usually?” You began to make your way to the back.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but,” She prefaced. “You basically have two moods. Depressed and customer-service happy, which is just depressed with a facelift. And whatever is happening here doesn’t fit into either of those categories. So something happened.” 

“Detective Charissa Rodriquez does it again.” You rolled your eyes and put one hand on the back door. “Some things just have to stay between a bartender and her... possible love interest.”

You punctuated the last sentence with a wink, sending your friend into a righteous fury. 

“Holy shit, [F/N]!” She exclaimed, smacking her hands together. “Come on, [F/N], I’m your best friend. You’ve got to let me in.” 

“I’m still trying to process what happened myself.” You said in earnest. “Believe me, if I’m telling anyone, it’s you.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Charissa wagged her finger. 

You tightened your grip on the garbage bag and lugged it outside. The night had fallen, and the orchestra of cicadas and crickets was in full swing. The warm pre-summer air welcomed you. As much as you resented her for bringing it up, Charissa was right. You hadn’t been truly happy in a very long time. And, as terrifying as the thought may have seemed, in a way, you owed it to Chase Mulvaney. 

You hauled the garbage bag into the dumpster and slammed it shut. The crash echoed and you turned back towards the door. 

Someone grabbed your arm. Your immediate thought was that it was just Charissa playing a cruel joke, but then they twisted it back and shoved you against the wall. You felt the cold blade of a knife against your neck and you froze up. 

“You didn’t repent.” A manic voice hissed into your ear. You could feel your heartbeat against the cold brick wall. The hands that bound you were soft and the voice was much more female. This was noticeably not Chase. 

You sputtered as you tried to articulate any of your thousands of questions. “Who the fuck are you?!” 

“Silence, she-devil!” The girl slammed you against the wall. “Keep your forked tongue between your teeth or I’ll cut it out!”

Her voice and hands shook and she enunciated as if she were reading off a script with a gun to her head. The adrenaline turned to genuine fear when you felt something hard strapped to her midriff. You knew in that moment that she wasn’t going to use the knife. 

"I thought Chase wanted to kill me himself." You muttered.

“Did you really think vanguard would be stupid enough to come back here?!” She forced a laugh but her voice was broken with fear. 

“Yes.” You said back, resigning to at least die with honor. “And, why is Chase the one in charge?!” 

She tightened her grip on your arm and smashed your head against the wall. “Don’t you dare talk about vanguard that way!”

He ripped off his cult leader title from fucking NXIVM? You thought, fully aware that it could easily be your last thought ever. 

“No, but seriously, think about it!” You implored her, hoping that if you got her talking, she wouldn’t hit the detonator. If there was one thing you knew about evangelicals, it was that they loved to hear themselves talk. “Chas- er, vanguard attacked me in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. You’re smarter than he is! You came after me when I was alone in the dark!” 

“Everything he does, he does for a reason.” She shouted. "It's not the unwoman's place to question vanguard!"

“Oh god, now he’s ripping off Handmaid’s Tale?” You said out loud this time.

“Vanguard told me that you would try to fill my head with lies!” She growled. “So long as you are alive, you stand in the way of god’s work! You spread only falsehoods about our savior!” 

“Is this about the TattleCrime article?” You ask. “Because I didn’t say anything about god, I only talked about--” 

Then it hit you, again. “Oh, so this is a cult cult.”

"It's not a cult!" The girl screamed. This was the first time you'd sensed any genuine emotion behind her words. "Vanguard takes good care of us. And he can take care of you, too [F/N] [L/N]."

"By sending someone to kill me?" You spat.

"No!" The girl exclaimed. "No, no, no, no, no! Silly! I'm here to save you. If you repent now, and let Jesus Christ into your heart, your earthly shackles will be broken!"

"And what's in it for you, huh?" You struggled against her grip. "The privilege of blowing yourself up for Chase Mulvaney?"

"I was a sinful being like you, once." She said. "My grand reward is to give my life to save another."

You heard the click of a gun behind you. “Put the knife down and take off the vest!” 

The girl grabbed you by the neck and turned you to face this approaching foe. She held the knife to your throat. “If you shoot, she’s dead.” 

You couldn’t make out the details of his face, because he was backlit by headlights. You could, however, see the face of your captor. She was completely emaciated with bones protruding from her skin. Her head was sloppily shaved and whatever instrument she used to shave it left deep cuts on her scalp. 

She reached a shaky hand into her pocket and pulled out a detonator. Tears streaming down her face, she began to chant. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

The man let off a shot, sending a bullet into her leg. She fell backwards, dropping the detonator and the knife and giving you an opportunity to run. The man gestured for you to get behind him and you obliged. He then let off a second shot, this bullet hitting her right through the skull. The girl collapsed backwards, her brain matter painting the side of the building. 

The man dropped his gun, mumbled something about a bomb squad into his phone, then turned to you. Finally, you could get a good look at his face. Immediately, you noticed his rich brown curls and a smattering of scruff around his jaw. His features were soft, comforting even. But a long enough examination of his face told you that he was just as deeply haunted as you were. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, weakly.

“You...” You said over desperate gasps for air. “You saved me.”

Soon enough, the first responders joined you. But for a few minutes, it was just you, the man and some unspoken mutual understanding words couldn't articulate.

[sketchguk]

lover to lean on; pjm

➳ pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other. 

➳ warnings: explicit language, pining, unrequited love 🤔, accidental voyeurism, unhealthy eating/sleeping habits, praise kink, body worship, nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjobs, penetration, fluffy sex

➳ a/n: oops, I uploaded this later than I expected because the word count really got me. anyways, this fic is inspired by the song call me by keshi x rainlord. go give it a listen! 

Wake up and smell the roses.

That would be a great philosophy for life if you didn’t have to wake up to the sound of sex at 2 in the goddamn morning. 

Perhaps it’s your fault for not checking on the thickness of the drywall prior to moving in, but it wasn’t exactly the first concern that came to mind when touring the flat. Now, it’s more of a personal problem than anything: you being bitter about not having sex while your neighbor and his girlfriend are going at it like rabbits 5 feet away from you. It’s not a very valid complaint to bring up to your landlord. He’d probably tell you to suck it up and get laid. 

And he’s right. 

Besides, it’s not so bad most days. You hardly even notice the sound of running water through the rusty pipelines every morning or the whizzing of the ancient radiator on cold nights. In fact, you welcome it. It’s become part of the rustic building’s old-school, pre-historic charm. 

That, you can get behind. 

But one thing is for sure. You’re never going to learn to appreciate the strangled garble of a morning blowjob in the steamy showers or the banging of the bedpost against the paper thin walls when you’re in desperate need of some beauty sleep, well deep in a state of REM. 

It’s anything but charming. 

The 3 inch thick divider between you and your not-so-considerate neighbor does absolutely nothing to drown out the soft moans and hard grunts. You can hear them loud and clear through the dead of night as if they’re right beside you. 

“My god,” you sigh, rolling around your bed restlessly. Your hand blindly palms at the sheets in search of the pillow that rests beside you, placing it over your face and sandwiching yourself between the cushions. If you can’t kill your neighbor, you might as well suffocate yourself first to avoid incrimination, shamefully persecuted for third degree murder. 

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, but it’s stifled against the buffer. The banging stops almost immediately. 

“Shit,” you hear from the other side. 

Did he come? Is it over? 

You pray, hold your breath, and lie still as if you’re the one caught red-handed. But you’re not a voyeur. At least not on purpose. 

It isn’t your fault for being a light sleeper because the only thing to blame is the flimsy partition your landlord dare considers a wall. If you could have it any other way, you would. This is far from ideal granted that you didn’t even ask for any of this, but it’s far too late to get a refund. 

Lately, you’ve been spending your nights muting out vulgar dirty talk, the occasional squelches, and the obscene skin slapping on skin. Over time, you’ve come to know your neighbor on a much more intimate level than you would have liked despite never seeing him around. Like the fact that he thrives off of edge play and praise kinks. Yeah, it’s probably for the best that his identity is kept a secret otherwise you wouldn’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again with the knowledge that you have stowed away in the crevasses of your brainー knowledge you would prefer to forget. You don’t even know his name, but you’re long past the point of being acquainted with one another, so it would pretty be awkward to ask for it now. All you know is that he’s stuck in his own bubble, too blinded by love and lust to even consider his poor neighbor. 

Most nights, you even make the effort to stumble through your cluttered, moonlit studio apartment in search of your cheap headphones that usually dangle precariously over the edge of your desk. You’ve made a mental note to invest in some earplugs and a more effective set of headphones too. 

Truly, you’re not the type to invade one’s privacy. You have nothing to be sorry about because you respect your neighbor, his girlfriend, and their sexy time. If anything, they should be the ones apologizing for keeping you awake for three consecutive nights. No less on a Tuesday. 

But perhaps the act is already done and you can let bygones be bygones. Maybe he’s already come, and as unfortunate as that may be for his girlfriend, the chances are he's low on stamina tonight. The vivace metronomic thuds against your shared wall would suggest he was going pretty hard at it too. Not that it’s any of your business. You’re happy that your neighbor is so in love, and that he can have sex all day, all night and fall into the comfort of his lover’s arms, unlike you. You’re not bitter. 

Not at all. 

You don’t mean to get invested in his relationship, but it’s just that tonight, he finished rather early as opposed to the hour it usually takes him to climaxー foreplay and edge play and all. You don’t keep track of the time per se. That’d be a little creepy, but it’s hard not to do so when you’re losing out on a precious hour of sleep each night. Especially when you’re stuck in your own overactive imagination, wondering how good his stroke game is and what type of lingerie he’s intoー

“Sorry!”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Then the realization hits you momentarily. 

He’s talking to you. 

They must have heard you groaning through the stupid, thin walls, and therefore, you’re responsible for this very awkward exchange. 

Your grip on the pillow loosens as you lift it over your head. 

“It’s okay!” Your voice cracks with a heightened tone, “Just make sure you use protection!” The cringe settles into the pit of your stomach as soon as you respond. You squeeze your eyes shut and mentally facepalm yourself. You should have left it alone, but your cursed mouth moves way faster than your thoughts. 

The couple whispers to one another, but it’s hushed and hurried. Faint and hard to decipher. Angry, even. The wall must be really selective on what it chooses to mute out which is absolutely perfect when you actually want to know what’s happening on the other side. 

However, moments after, you can still hear the rustle of sheets and the patter of footstepsー two pairs. Even the harsh close of the door and the soft turning of the deadbolt, a resounding click that could be heard if you were to listen close enough. 

Once again, there’s a shuffle of feet that skid across the hardwoodー one pair. A few creaks echo from the aged floorboards. And then there’s a squeak from the bed slat, a heavy mass pressing on the mattress. 

You sit in silence with eyes wide open as you trap air into your lungs in fear of breathing out. Correction, in fear of your neighbor making comments on your rude interruption. If you could pretend that you’re asleep, maybe the problem will disappear into the night. 

But it doesn’t because it never works that way. 

Moonlight filters through the pane glass windows, right between the cracks of your curtain. It illuminates your face and keeps you awake longer than you need to be. You manage to let out the breath you’ve been holding when something else breaks the silence. 

You can hear it faintly. The soft hum of an unfamiliar tune before the soft outbreak of vocals. The song is bitter, but the voice is sweet.

Your neighbor has gotten into the habit of singing whether it be at dawn or dusk, yet you can never complain given his velvety voice. Sometimes it’s accompanied by the strum of an acoustic guitar or the tap of an electronic keyboard. But one thing that never changes is his love for the same old bubble gum pop music that’s rinsed and repeated on the radio. Nothing but love on the brain. Mushy lyrics that bear no meaning to you, and frankly, to anyone who’s painfully single and/or heartbroken. 

You would have expected nothing less from this man though. His taste in music is a given. Most days, you can physically feel his warmth and kindness based on the dulcet timbre of his voice. Although you’ll never care to admit it to him, it helps you fall asleep on nights when you’re drained from work. They’re comforting songs that warm your heart, especially because he’s singing such sincere lyrics about his girlfriend. 

His love for her is pure, and it’s disgustingly cute. 

No matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you’re happy for the lovely couple while internally cringing during their late night endeavors, you’re wondering if you’re subconsciously longing for a relationship just like theirs. 

But you’d be crazy not to dream about that kind of love story. One in which the guy cooks a meal for you at the end of every night, served alongside a hot cup of peppermint tea to help you sleep better. In which he runs a bath for you, flower petals, candles, soap suds, and the whole shebang, only to hop right in behind you. Someone to keep you company while giving you a back massage, working on the hard-to-reach knots that line your shoulder blade after a hard work day. Of course at his own volition, never having to be asked to do so. 

Perhaps you’re more invested in your neighbor’s picture perfect relationship than you thought, knowing all these little, intimate details no one else should know. But once again, the thin wall is to blame. You’re not an eavesdropper. You’re just a hopelessly hopeless romantic who needs to wake up and smell the damn roses. 

Because apparently, not every relationship is as perfect as it seems. 

“Everything okay?” You don’t know why you open your mouth, but you do, and you can’t take it back. He’s long since stopped singing, but the residual silence is louder than the gentle voice that once filled the space. 

He sighs deeply. The frustration is unmistakable, and you regret ever saying anything. 

“Yeah… Just trouble in paradise.” He chuckles dryly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to it. 

The room is quiet again. You debate with yourself, wondering if you should hash it out with him or go to fucking bed knowing that you have a 7 am shift tomorrow. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The kindness of your heart outweighs all else, but you cross your fingers and secretly hope that his answer is no just so you can finally get some shut-eye. 

“Uhm… I wouldn’t want to bother you.” His voice wavers. He sounds tired, but maybe it’s the exhaustion from navigating the rocky waters of a relationship. You’ve been there before. 

Everyone’s been there before. 

Your eyes are closed, and just when you think you can go back to bed, your mind and heart betray you. 

“I wouldn’t be bothered,” you tell him, “I’m already awake too.” 

His chest rumbles with a true chuckle this time. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m probably gonna invest in some ear plugs tomorrow,” you quip, waving it off. 

“You really don’t have to,” he deadpans. There’s a pregnant pause, and you’re left confused. He continues with a shaky breath, “I’m not sure we’ll be back together after this.” 

Now you’re even more confused. Were they not just ravaging one another moments ago? 

“Valentine's Day is coming up next Friday…” you muse. “You could still win her back, you know?” 

The radiator whirs in the background. It’s silent. 

“Do you love her?” You query, thumbing the pilled edges of your blanket. 

“That’s a loaded question.” 

Now it’s your turn to stay silent. 

“I think I do,” he starts. His voice is rough. “Love her— I mean.” He falters in uncertainty. “Sorry, I’ve never admitted it to myself before.” 

“That’s okay.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but the situation is totally out of your hands. You don’t even know the full picture, yet it somehow feels like you’re on the other side of the breakup even though you’re just sitting in the audience, watching, or rather hearing, the drama unfold. 

Your fingers interlock with one another, resting over your chest as you lie flat on your back. The heavy weight of your heart sinks lower into your stomach. Maybe love isn’t real, or maybe it’s not meant for people like you and him. Or is it just some misconstrued concept jumbled up in your brain? Some romanticized notion you’ve only ever dreamed about or seen in movies and read in fanfiction?

You gulp, pondering over how things could possibly go wrong in their seemingly perfect relationship. Well, there are millions of reasons, but maybe you’ve only ever heard the good times roll. Days when they’re frolicking in a meadow of sunshine and nights when they’re singing and dancing and laughing, head over heels in love, and everything is just peachy perfect. Maybe the bad and the dirty have yet to expose itself to you, still hidden behind an extra layer of stucco drywall and eggshell paint coatings. No matter how many times you bitch about them, the innermost part of you is still rooting for the couple you’ve had the displeasure of listening to have sex every night. But it’s always worth it, or so you think, for the sake of them being in a good place. To be undoubtedly quote unquote in love—

“Have you ever been in love?” It surprises you that he’s the one asking instead of the other way around. 

You stare blankly at the ceiling with a racing heart. Biting your lip, you speculate whether or not you should reveal such intimate details about your life to a total stranger.

“Nope,” you shake your head. He can’t see you, but you hope that your response is convincing enough. 

“Would you want to?” 

You can’t help but scoff. “Yeah, what kind of question is that?” 

“You’re right, it was stupid.” He chuckles. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you warn him, “You don’t have to.” 

“Sorr—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll personally come over and flick you on the forehead,” you say, reprimanding him. 

His laughter is even sweeter than his voice. “Harsh. But nice? I guess?”

That’s the perfect description for someone who works in the service industry, which unfortunately, you do. 

“It’s for your own good,” you suggest, nodding your head in self indulgent pleasure. Kind of like how avoiding love is for your own good.

The silence quickly settles in, as does the existential dread. Your eyes shift around to the empty apartment before you, and you soon realize that you’re painfully alone.

The radiator goes off again and the clock ticks perpetually. The moment escapes you. 

His voice fills up the room. “Can I ask how you’re doing?” 

The corner of your lips curl up in a fond smile. You exhale a deep sigh, one of contemplation. “I’m okay… Just... learning how to deal with unrequited love.” 

“Harsh,” he echoes back.

“Yeah.” You curl up on your side, sighing and reaching for a pillow to spoon. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

You gnaw on your lip. It’s a bad habit to have. “There’s not much to talk about. It’s just some guy who always walks in at work. We make small talk, flirt a little bit, and then he leaves until the next day.” A highlight reel flashes before you, and you tug on your blanket, nuzzling into the warm fabric that offers you some semblance of comfort against the outside world as you dig your nose into the soft linen. 

“How do you know he doesn’t like you?” 

You shrug to yourself. “It’s just a feeling.”

You think the conversation is over at this point. Moments go by until your ears perk up at the faint sound of his voice. “You should ask him out.”

Your neighbor surely seems to enjoy making a fool out of you. It’s a nice thought to have though. To think that you have the confidence to ask a guy out. The guy you’re crushing on, no less. 

You satiate your neighbor anyways just to entertain the idea a little longer and give him a little push towards his own love story. “Only if you make amends with your girlfriend though.” 

“Girlfriend? Oh— no, she’s not my girlfriend,” he says in defense. 

You’re perplexed. “Wh-? She’s not?”

“No... uh, just friends with benefits,” he confesses with a cough. 

Flashbacks start to go off in your head as you try to connect the dots like some mathematical formula. Is love actually an illusion? Maybe love knows no labels, but a small part of you still wants to believe that they’re wholeheartedly in love and on the verge of marriage or something. But that delusion instantaneously bursts into dust and ashes, confirmed by none other. 

“Hey, I’m kind of tired, so I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’ll make it right with her so long you talk to the guy.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t let him miss out on a good thing because of the what ifs.” 

Comfort washes over you at the sound of his advice. In a way, he’s right. Maybe it’s time that you put yourself out there in spite of the possibilities. Even if it’s utterly terrifying. 

“Goodnight,” you mumble back, wrapping your arms securely around the pillow. 

He hears you loud and clear, “Goodnight. Thanks for the talk.” 

He knocks out soon after that, but it’s hard for you to sleep when you’ve got nothing but love on the brain. 

Waking up is hell, especially when you’re running on nothing but 0 hours of sleep and a single cup of black coffee. The only thing that makes the fatigue worth it is the peaceful lull at sunrise and the absence of your noisy neighbor’s daily blowjob. It’s as if some higher power read your mind and decided that you’re worth the divine intervention just for that one fleeting moment of jubilation. 

But just like the law of gravity, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, and your contract with the universe calls for some cosmic karma. It’s like you’re being punished because you can never seem to catch a break. 

Work is unusually hectic, but with Valentine’s Day around the corner, it’s expected. If Black Friday is the worst nightmare for every retail worker, one can imagine a florist’s week leading up to Single’s Awareness Day, or much less commonly referred to as ��A Shallow, Capitalistic Attempt to Buy Affection Day.” 

Despite owning a flower shop, you still stand firmly against Valentine’s Day and all that it represents. Maybe you’re spiteful because you’re pitifully single and surrounded by lovey dovey mush at every single corner. But as of right now, it has more to do with the extra workload that lies at your feet. 

Not only do you have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to open shop and prepare for the deliveries, but you also have to cut and process flowers, organize dozens of overnight orders, and arrange bouquets for the day’s purchases, all before 9am. The to-do list is endless, and not to mention, the number of calls you’ve picked up in the last hour alone has already backed you up on a number of orders. It’s stressful and incredibly time consuming to say the least. 

By 10am, you’re ready to call it quits, but you constantly remind yourself that this job is your only source of income, and therefore, you have to barrel through with a bright and shining customer service smile on your face. 

At this point, you really wish you did smother yourself with your pillow last night. 

But the only thing that keeps your sanity in tact after the morning rush is the chance to make arrangements for the front display. It’s therapeutic to pick and choose foliage, sprucing them into beautiful pieces of art for passersby to enjoy. You’re grateful for the scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath which is remedial to your burgeoning headache. Even the sight of your favorite carnation is enough to ease the pounding pain against your skull. 

However, making arrangements isn’t all sunshine and flowers despite popular belief. The worst part about it is the heavy lifting. It’s labor intensive to pick up large plants like the full sized leatherleaf fern in the back room, which is now carefully lodged into a concoction of gardening soil, compost, mulch, and active charcoal. But if nobody else is going to do it, you’re going to have to do it alone. 

Lifting the hefty plant isn’t difficult to begin with, but it progressively becomes taxing when you have to carry it to the front of the store. As you emerge from the back door, the bell of the entrance chimes, signifying a customer’s presence.  

You can hear him before you can even see him. 

“Good morning!”

You nearly jolt at the sound of his chipper voice. Of course Jimin had to walk in at the peak moment of you struggling, looking like a disheveled mess with soil accumulated in your hair like a burrowed nest. You just hope and pray that it’s not smeared across your forehead like Simba.

Out of pure embarrassment, you hold the pot higher to hide your burning cheeks behind the plant despite your arms giving out. Would all of your problems disappear if you act like you’re not there? Once again, of course not, because he spots you in an instant, and you’re just not fated to have the good things in life. 

He calls out your name before stopping to place his things down at the table and rushing over to you, “Here, let me help you with that.” 

You have an ironclad grip on that ceramic pot, holding on to it as if it’s life or death. “No, it’s okay, I got it,” you say out of pure, frantic determination. 

“Don’t be silly, let me.” He reaches for the bottom of the earthenware. His hand grazes over yours before you can pull away, shifting the responsibility onto him. 

You offer him a grateful smile that extends your eyes, and he sends one back your way. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks. You can’t even get a word in before he turns on his heels and makes space for you through the narrow aisle. 

Leading the way, you show him the spot you’ve marked for the fern to hopefully reside for the next 24 hours. “Here’s good,” you tell him, pointing to the empty tile. 

Jimin bends down and gently places the plant into its new home. Then he reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a packet of tissues before gravitating towards the spray bottle.

“I’m a big girl, you know? I could do it myself,” you whine with a slight pout. 

He grips on your right shoulder, and you’re locked in place. “I know, but I want to help,” he says with the utmost care, “And you can ask me for help whenever you need it, you know?” Jimin smiles at you, and his eyes lower into crescent moon shapes, the corners slightly creasing. Before you know it, there’s a cool sensation on your forehead. The tissue in his hand is thoroughly saturated and now damp against your skin. You recoil on contact and reach for Jimin’s wrist, ready to yell at him for the lack of warning. 

“Hey!”

“Stay still, you have soil on you,” he alerts with sharp eyes. 

You let go of his wrist and give in to his kind gesture, murmuring out a “fine”. 

While he concentrates on cleaning you up, you can’t help but look up and lock your eyes on his. You swear you could spontaneously combust and astral project from the intensity of his stare. His close proximity makes you heat up, so you’re forced to avert your eyes elsewhere out of pure intimidation. Your line of sight meets his lips, and you’re stuck in place, staring at them. They’re so pink and plush, and his tongue even pokes out a little like a sleepy kitten with slack jaw. Most of all, they’re right there in front of you, and if you could just lean in a little more, you’d be this closeー

“All clean!” He says with cheer, tapping your shoulder.

He turns around in search of the dustbin, and you shake yourself out of your own daydream before he can catch sight of you. 

You laugh it off and offer him a toothy smile, “If you really want to help, you could have gotten me a cup of coffee.”

“You’re making demands now, huh?” He asks.

“It’s more like a suggestion than anything,” you teasingly yell from the back room, grabbing the remaining flowers for the display. Meanwhile, Jimin lingers behind in the main room, admiring the freshly cut flowers laid out on the counter ready to be made into floral arrangements.

You manage to recompose yourself from that one moment of weakness by taking a glance over at the cute doodles of artwork that line your office wall. They’re little bits of happiness that keep you calm and remind you that there’s light in your life, and he’s standing in the other room waiting for you to pop a very important question. 

Upon grabbing the necessary items, you make your way back into the store. You stop immediately in your tracks, nearly colliding into a solid figure at the sharp turn of the doorway. Your heart almost stops, but you shudder away before you could tip yourself over. 

Jimin stands in front of you with his hand extended out, clenching onto a steaming, white paper cup. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me and coffee now,” he laughs, reaching out once again, “Only one of us bites.” 

“That’s for me?” You ask incredulously. 

He nods his head, “Yeah, of course, silly.” 

You take the drink from his hands, and before you can thank him, he chimes in. “It’s just how you like it. Black and full of caffeine.” 

You press your lips up against the cup, taking a sip and humming in satisfaction at the drops of heaven. “Thanks, but why? And how’d you know my coffee order? Don’t get me wrong, this is really nice, but…” 

“I saw how dead you looked yesterday,” he justifies cutting you off before you can ramble on. Honest, but harsh. 

You put the cup back on the counter and continue with your task at hand, and he trails behind you. 

“Thanks, that’s what every girl wants to hear,” you banter with all the sarcasm you can muster, pulling at the flower stems despite them already being placed exactly where you want them. 

“Girls like it when guys pay attention to the little details, don’t they?” He asks with a gleam in his irises. 

You look up at him briefly before averting his eyes and wiping clean the leaves on a near fiddle leaf tree, spraying food soil at its roots. 

“Love it,” you gulp wryly. 

Jimin takes note of how seemingly busy you are, so he walks around the shop, examining the new inventory of flowers. After making your round through the store, watering all the plants that need to be watered, you return to the disembodied zinnia on the counter, waiting to be arranged. 

The silence is refreshing until it isn’t. 

“Is the coffee good?” He queries. 

“Huh?” You stop what you’re doing to casually glance his way. His back is turned to you, but he seems overly invested in the rose display. 

“The coffee,” he repeats, back still turned.  

You look at the untouched cup at the edge of the table and smile to yourself. You didn’t notice it before, but there’s a red doodle that contrasts against the white paper cup, no doubt customized by Jimin himself. It’s hard to pick out what it is exactly, but you’d recognize the flowers of God any day. The ruffled petals and thin, straight stem are simply unmistakable. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s good,” you answer politely. 

“What’s your favorite kind of flower?” He asks curiously as if he’s playing a game of 21 questions. It’s a question you’ve answered numerous times before, but facts like these can easily slip through someone’s mind. 

“Easy, carnations,” you respond without any hesitation, pointing at the display in the right corner of the store when he turns around to look at you. He makes his way to the stand, eyeing the flowers. 

“They’re pretty,” he comments, pulling out one of the bouquets to examine as if he didn’t already know. 

You hum, and maybe the exhaustion is evident in your voice and your oddly scarce exchange of pleasantries. 

Jimin carries on with the small talk anyways. “You’ve been sleeping okay?” 

You snip away at the hard, green stems, tossing them into the trash beside you. Shrugging, you mindlessly answer. “Yeah, as much as a florist can during Valentine’s week.” You snicker with good spirit. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t rest well,” he scolds you all in good faith, eyes now scanning the small assortment of cards. You hum in affirmation. 

If anything, he should be telling that to your noisy neighbor who refuses to let you get a wink of sleep. 

A creak rings through the air as Jimin rotates the card stand, thumbing through the variety. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day by the way?” 

You can feel your hands clam up as they stop fiddling with the lemon leaves. Your heartbeat picks up, and you’re left winded by the question. You hide behind the hesitation, nervous as to where this may lead. How could you possibly play it cool when your crush asks you whether or not you’re busy on arguably the most romantic holiday of the year? 

Play it cool because remember, you loathe Valentine’s Day. 

Your hands fumble as you pick up the lemon leaves again, snipping at the branches nonchalantly. “Uh, no, not really, you?” you gulp. Your eyes are distracted, too fixed on the greenery. 

But you look up the moment Jimin approaches the counter with flowers in one hand and a card in another. 

“Oh, who are these for?” you feign innocence in your voice as you reach for the brown kraft paper and the roll of red ribbon. 

Jimin scratches the back of his neck, hesitating. “My girlfriend,” he mumbles, but it’s loud and clear, audible enough for you to apprehend like an echo in you ear.

“I don’t have much planned yet, but we’re probably going to grab dinner on Friday,” he shrugs with hands burrowed in his pockets. He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, eyes focused on the gray specks of the ceramic tiles beneath him. “Something casual. I’m not really huge on the whole Valentine’s Day thing.” 

It seems like every man in your life paints you like a giant fool destined for humiliation. Of course the hopelessly hopeless romantic within you deluded yourself into believing that some Prince Charming would visit your flower shop in anticipation of seeing you. Of course the flowers that he buys everyday has to go somewhere, you just never expected that each and every morning at the crack of dawn, the flowers you carefully hand-pick and wrap with unconditional love would be sent off to his girlfriend. 

Of course you’re a huge idiot who isn’t destined for love. 

It almost hurts to plaster the tight lipped smile on your face when your heart is prickled with thorns like the roses in your hands. 

You lick your lips and painfully gulp the spit down your dry throat before you open your mouth again.

“Jimin?” 

“Yeah?” 

You pause. “You can’t give these to your girlfriend” 

His eyebrows furrow and his hands run through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“They’re white roses.” 

“So? She likes white flowers.” He doesn’t seem to get the point. 

You almost chuckle in his face, and you would have if your heart didn’t hurt so damn much. So you refrain. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that white flowers are meant for funerals?” 

His cheeks are dusted with a pink blush. He shakes his head no. “Uh, what do you suggest I give her then?” 

You sigh, looking at the hopeless man in front of you. “Do you love her?” Not even a second goes by before you ramble, not very eager to hear the answer. “You could uh- give her that fern you helped me carry earlier.” You walk back to the front display, keeping a safe distance to hide your woe, extending your arms out like a game show host revealing what’s hidden behind door #1. (Hint: it’s your heart). 

“Call it your love fern?” you shrug, laughing it off. 

“I think a bouquet is fine.” Jimin staggers behind you, checking out the other flower displays, opting for door #2. “How about the carnations you mentioned?” He pulls out a bouquet of variegated carnations painted with pink and red tips. “These are nice, don’t you think?” He looks at you curiously with doe eyes in await of your approval. 

Your mouth opens to interject, ready to digress into another lesson on the history of variegated carnations, but you bite your tongue back. 

Jimin spots your reluctance, but quickly puts it to rest. “Look, I don’t think she really cares about the meaning behind the flowers. You said these are your favorite, and you’re the expert right?”

You nod, unable to trust your voice. “Mhmm.” Even your hum cracks. “But uh, maybe the deep red ones would be more appropriate?” You cock your head to the side and quirk your eyebrow. 

“It’s fine, I swear” he reassures you, placing the bouquet on the counter before putting the white roses back in its stand. 

Your feet refuse to move as if they’re cemented to the ground, but Jimin stands there in front of you with rosy eyes, awaiting for you to wrap up the object of his affection in a pretty red bow. So how could you refuse?

You walk past the carnation display on the way to the counter, and pick up another bouquet. Pink and red variegated. “Here, these are a little more fresh. The buds are tighter, so in a few days, you’ll see them nice and big.” You smile, closed lipped. “Just in time for Valentine’s Day.” 

Jimin’s jaw loosens and his lips part. He knits his brow in a frown. “Uh, these aren’t actually meant for Valentine’s Day,” he says, running his hand through his perfectly imperfect raven hair. “She’s kind of mad at me right now,” he gives a mirthless chuckle while playing with his hands, “so I’m hoping I can make it up to her with this.” 

Ah, your favorite flowers are reduced to nothing but a gift of pity.

“She’d be crazy not to accept your apology,” you say in a soft voice, gritting your teeth behind your tense jaw, eyes fixated on the little nursling in your hold. With a soft hand, you unravel the kraft paper and delicately wrap it around the bouquet. The very one you picked up this morning and arranged the hour prior, wondering if you’ll be able to send it off to a loving home. 

Now you know for a fact that it’ll be in good hands. 

“Do you think she’d like it?” Jimin chirps in. 

It feels like your heart is on the threshold of bleeding out as he sends another prickle to the soft organ. Your concentration doesn’t even falter as you snip the ribbon. 

“I know she will.”

You tie the fabric into the prettiest bow you can muster and slide the gift of love across the glass counter. Jimin looks down at the beautifully wrapped flowers with an ear to ear smile on his face. “Thank you so much for the help, I really appreciate it.” 

“Just doing my job,” you remind him with a counterfeit smile, scanning the barcode at the back of the card. It’s a really cute card too. Sometimes I wonder how you put up with me then I remember I put up with you. So we’re even ❤️ 

You hate yourself for the fond smile you almost crack, masked behind the pained one you send his way. 

Jimin passes you a $20 bill and grabs his merchandise from the table. 

“She’s really lucky to have you,” you lament honestly with glistening eyes as he walks out the front door. 

He doesn’t catch a word you say, but he manages to shout back a “thank you!” and a “see you tomorrow!” before speeding out, setting off the bell at the top of the door without ever looking back at your dejected figured. 

You’re left alone to finish the rest of the work day, surrounded by none other than the sickly, sweet scent of seeded eucalyptus and baby’s breath, all while taking in the putrid sight of variegated carnations. 

They say that you are your worst enemy, and they are 110% correct on the matter. You don’t know why you would think that you’d have a good day on the basis of your neighbor having a crummy one. It’s not like there’s some kind of transfer of energy. It’s been proven to you time and time again that divine intervention and karmic justice just aren’t real, and apparently, neither is science. Otherwise, by that logic, you’d have a superb day. 

You would have slept through last night and woken up to a pretty pink sunrise painted across the sky— nothing but peace. To the chirping of birds in the distance and to the passing of cars on an empty street. You would have had enough time to prepare a proper breakfast— pancakes, eggs, bacon, and maybe even a nice cup of hot chocolate. Not a measly cup of black coffee to keep you awake for the rest of the busy day. You would have had a nice chat with Jimin at the flower shop about the capitalistic corruption of Valentine’s Day while he’d try to convince you otherwise. He’d prove you wrong, and you would have walked home with a blooming garden in your heart. 

But science is bullshit and the transfer of energy is a complete lie— photosynthesis being the only exception. The only thing you got out of today was a huge migraine and a withering blossom in your chest. 

So just when you think that the day could not get any worse, it absolutely does. 

You can probably blame the poor mindset you boxed yourself in— having a cynical outlook on love and life because of the dreaded upcoming holiday. Maybe it was because your crush just stomped all over your garden and plucked the flowers to give to some other girl. Or, you can put the blame on past you, the big freaking idiot who previously stripped off her bed sheets at 6:30 in the morning in hopes of being productive by doing weeks of piled up laundry. At this point, all you want to do is curl up in a warm bed, too exhausted by the trials and tribulations of life, but you can’t even give yourself the satisfaction of that because you thought you were some kind of changed woman who could manage her stupid laundry.

Newsflash, you’re not. 

The naked mattress in the corner of your apartment mocks you, so grudgingly, you take your laundry basket down to the laundry room for your most hated chore. With heavy steps, you trudge through the cold, cement basement. It’s dark and dingy down there. A little scary too, given the flickering lightbulb at the end of the hallway. Nevertheless, you march through the doors and into the rumbling alcove. 

What you find in there is startling, yet you can’t say that you’re surprised seeing that this occurrence is far from rare. You almost consider walking back upstairs and knocking on your floormate’s door, asking him if he’d be willing to do your laundry in exchange for $5 just so you don’t have to sit there, listening to some couple make out in the back corner.

Apparently, everyone in the world is foolishly in love except for you. 

You crank up the volume a little louder so your cheap headphones can drown out the sound of them locking lips with one another, but the poor quality does absolutely nothing for your abused ears. The boisterous public display of affection is deafening over the sound of your “Wallowing in Self Pity” playlist. 

You’re only capable of catching a brief glance in their direction before gagging and veering off. She’s sitting atop of the washing machine as he stands between her parted legs. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t even notice your presence. 

Out of respect for yourself and the horny couple, you choose to occupy a washing machine at the opposite corner of the laundry room. But perhaps you can save yourself the irritation as well as the $5 in your wallet because you can hear their hushed whispers. They’ve separated themselves long enough for the guy to convince her to move to a more private location. Although she still leeches herself onto his neck, he’s attentive enough to know that they aren’t alone. He picks her up and drags her out of the laundry room with her legs wrapped around his waist, unwilling to part from him as if holding his hand simply isn’t enough. 

You roll your eyes, thankful for the quietude and the money you’ve saved yourself, but as you sit alone in the drafty basement, doing the chore you hate the most, you can’t help but think how much better it would be to do it with someone else at your side. 

Somehow you’re convinced that crossing paths with Jeongguk in the hallway is fated after thinking about him moments prior. Because it’s very uncommon for that boy to leave his apartment, cooping up all day long with his video games, only to catch a breath of fresh air for his nightly gym sessions. When you see him locking up his apartment door, you offer him $5 anyways just out of the kindness of your heart. He could probably use the money more than you anyways. 

Although you didn’t have any intention of doing a good deed today, karma still finds a way to punish you. As always, it’s bullshit. 

Upon entering your empty apartment, the space is already filled with the sonorous sounds of orchestral music. Violins, violas, cellos, flutes, oboes, and harps all performing in perfect harmony. It’s played through the walls, coming from none other than the speakers of your beloved neighbor. You wouldn’t mind the soothing classical melodies to cure your migraine so long it’s accompanied by white noise. But your neighbor’s laughter rings above the music as you can hear him count “1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3” in a triple metre. 

You know that he’s not alone because there’s also another voice laughing alongside him. The same one you’ve grown accustomed to over the months. Her high pitched squeals are unmistakable as they greatly resemble other sounds you’ve heard come from her mouth on many unfortunate nights. So you can safely assume that your neighbor and his not-girlfriend made up with one another already—

“Look at me, not at your feet!” 

“I don’t know where to put them!” 

“You’re stepping on my toes!”

“Sorry!” 

“Oh yeah, you’ll be sorry!” 

It’s hard to picture what’s happening behind the wall when you don’t have faces to match with the voices. But you don’t really need it when their bed slat creaks beneath their weight and their headboard slams against your shared wall. Not when her yelps erupt as a result of the tickle fest they’re currently immersed in. The sounds are vivid enough for you to know much more than you need to know. It almost feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment that’s not meant for your eyes, let alone your ears. 

Meanwhile, as you struggle to tuck the fitted sheets beneath the four corners of your mattress, you wonder whether it’s worth it to leave the apartment again after such a hard day. Of course for the sole purpose of avoiding a home made porn video being filmed in the process. 

Maybe it’s not too late, and you can still catch up to Jeongguk. You could head to the gym and snatch back the $5 you generously handed him because the more you think about it, the more you believe that someone owes you for your miserable time spent in this apartment complex. But you can’t take your anger out on the poor boy from down the hall when he doesn’t deserve it. 

The sanctuary of your bed calls your name like a siren, so instead, you do what you’re forced to always do— plug in your cheap headphones, blare out some music, and move on with your day. 

And it works for the most part. 

You’re able to successfully put on your bed sheets after struggling to play a big game of tug of war with your mattress. Despite the internal push and pull, you also will yourself to do adult things like tidying up the studio, making the space somewhat habitable for humans. By 9pm, you can finally sit down and enjoy a nice, hot meal. However, you’re forced to keep your headphones on because your neighbor’s not-girlfriend decided that she couldn’t go a single day without her not-boyfriend’s dick in her mouth. 

You swear you’re going to ask him tonight why he hasn’t made it official because it’s clear as day that they’re in love with one another. You know that you definitely would be if someone offered you oral every single day. Unfortunately, nobody’s offering. Thus, you’re forced to live vicariously. 

So as midnight approaches, and the moon reaches its apex, you settle into bed with a book in hand, ready to suffer through the night. It’s difficult to concentrate on the text when your music is blasting, but you suppose it’s better to listen to lo-fi hip hop beats as opposed to the scream of “daddy” over and over and over… 

Although you applaud her for her shamelessness, you would still prefer if she could keep to herself.

Thankfully, these moments are only temporary. 

With your eyes squeezed shut, you let out a lethargic yawn. Looking over at your nightstand, you spot your ticking alarm clock. It’s nearing 1 in the morning, and you decide that you’re exhausted. Well, you’ve decided that long ago, but going to bed before midnight is admitting defeat against your own body. Nevertheless, no matter how tired you are, you know in the back of your mind that there’s no way you could have dozed off with your neighbors going on a Netflix binge with speakers fully blaring audio from The Office. It’s as if they don’t know what headphones are. 

But after “one more episode” and a disgustingly long makeout session, you can hear the shuffle of feet across the floor boards and the turning of the lock. 

It’s nearly 2 am, and the radiator hisses. It’s quiet. 

But then that’s when you hear it like clockwork. The delicate hum before the pleasant tune. Tonight, it’s not a song you’re familiar with. Something about the universe moving and happiness that’s meant to be. Mentions of penicillium and a calico cat? There’s lots of talk about letting someone love you, and that’s when it really hits you in the gut. You’re not so sure about the song, but as always, it sounds pretty. It’s not typical to call a guy’s voice beautiful, but it is what it is. It’s serene, and it’s the promise of tomorrow. It’s something you wish that would never stop. 

But of course all good things come to an end. 

There’s a purposeful knock against the wall which startles you. “Hey, I know you’re up. How’d your day go?” Your neighbor asks, breaking the silence and dragging your attention towards his voice once again. 

You tug your headphones off and walk to the other side of the apartment to lay your book down on the desk, gracefully avoiding anything in your wake because your apartment is finally clean.

“You know, sometimes I wish you would catch me on my good days so I wouldn’t have to tell you such sad stories.” A wary smile surfaces your lips. 

“Why, what happened today?” He asks with concern laced in every syllable. “Did you take my advice?” 

You climb back into bed, pulling your covers over your torso. Sometimes you feel bad about how many silent complaints you have about your neighbor when he’s actually a really nice guy. He just lacks the proper etiquette knowing that the walls are paper thin.

“IIIIIII tried to.” You drag out the vowel, hesitant to recall the embarrassing story. 

“Yeah, and how’d it go?” 

“He doesn’t like me back,” you say plainly after a moment’s reflection. 

Your neighbor scoffs. “He’s an idiot then.” 

You try to fight back the smile because as untrue as it is, Jimin is anything but an idiot. But it’s comforting to know that someone has your back, defending you in all your honor. 

This time, you genuinely chuckle. “It’s not that.... He uh, actually has a girlfriend.” It hurts to admit it out loud. “And I’m sure she’s lovely if he likes her that much.” 

“Like I said, he’s an idiot for losing out on the best thing in his life.” 

It’s impossible for you to fight back this bashful smile because it makes your heart flutter. This may be the first time you’ve felt good about yourself this whole day. 

“Thanks, but I don’t know about that though—” 

He interrupts you, “Come on, don’t say that. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, “You’ve never even met me, and you don’t even know what I look like.” You roll your eyes, but a chuckle unintentionally falls from your lips. 

“It’s not about what’s on the outside, okay? I already know you’re beautiful because that’s what you are on the inside.” 

“Shut up, that’s so cheesy.” You flip over on your bed and dig your face into the pillow, flustered by his kind words. There’s absolutely no way people this nice exist in this world. “I could be a troll or a vampire or something for all you know.” 

“Vampires are kinda hot. Haven’t you seen Twilight?” He banters. “And I’m sure this guy isn’t even all that great. Like, tell me something you hate about him.” 

Your hands cover your mouth, stifling a laugh. “I’m not gonna hate on him because he doesn’t like me back. It’s just the reality of it. Besides, he’s perfect.” You roll your eyes, annoyed by how flawless Jimin is in your eyes. 

Your neighbor prods at you. “I reaaallly doubt that. There has to be something. Not even a pet peeve? Maybe he’s chronically late to everything? Sings out loud in a quiet place? Has a super annoying laugh?” 

“Yes, yes, and no.” You flip your pillow over to the cold side and settle in to lie in a more comfortable position, slipping your hand beneath the cushion. “I can excuse the lateness,” you lick your chapped lips. “He also sings like an angel, and his laugh is really endearing. He does this thing where he laughs with his whole body, and he falls over every time. I like it because I know he’s at his happiest then,” you remember zealously.

“Damn, I guess I’m just projecting my own flaws now, huh?” You can hear him snort from laughter, rolling his neck and cracking the joints in his body, and then the click of his knuckles, 10 of them, one after another. 

“Ugh,” you scrunch your nose, “Don’t do that. He does it too, and I guess that’s the only thing he does that really gets to me.” 

Your neighbor cracks another joint somewhere on his body just to annoy you, and you cringe. “See, now we’re talking.” 

“I was gonna tell you that you sing well too and that I like your laugh, but maybe I’ll have to reconsider,” you taunt. “But still, you shouldn’t put yourself down for the things that show off your happiness.” 

The bed creaks from the other side. He must have switched positions for that to happen. “Thanks,” he offers. His voice is muffled, face most likely pressed up against his own pillow. “How about you tell me about the things you like about him?” 

“What? Are you trying to wound me?” You ask, slightly hurt. 

He scoffs, “No, I’m trying to prove a point here. So, tell me.” He implores like this is some kind of couple’s therapy session. Apparently, without your other half. 

As moonlight filters through your curtains and the cars whiz by on the empty street below you, you consider all the things you love and appreciate about Jimin. 

“I love how selfless he is. He’s caring and attentive... He’ll know when I’m tired and he’ll offer me coffee. He also scolds me for sleeping late and he lifts my burdens for me, even when I don’t ask him to.” You close your eyes in retrospect of Jimin and all the good things in life that he embodies. “It’s not even the things that he does for me that make me like him.” 

Your neighbor hums, letting you continue. 

“I guess it’s the principle that’s important.” You play with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, pulling on the edges to give yourself some comfort. “There are people in this world who aren’t… the nicest? I guess. And… he’s one of the purest people I know. It’s like he goes the extra mile to make sure I’m happy… and healthy.” You take a deep sigh before your mind wanders to the darker parts of your brain. “But I also know he treats everyone else like that too. Because he’s that nice. So... I guess I should have seen it coming that I wasn’t so special anyways,” you recall with tears welling up in the brim of your eyes and a knot tightening in your throat. 

“Don’t say that, you’re one of a kind,” he assures you sternly, “What’s his name? I’ll go beat him up right now.” 

You give a bitter laugh, wiping away at your eyes with the back of your hands. 

“My point is that there are other guys out there who are just as caring. And they should make you feel special because you are, and it’s what you deserve. So if the next guy who comes along doesn’t treat you that way, I will beat his ass, okay?” He says in the most nonthreatening voice ever.

You chortle, “Okay, yeah, sure.” You’re not totally convinced of that. 

“You’re probably right, I don’t want to fight and embarrass myself after promising you that,” he giggles. 

“I appreciate the sentiment though.” Earnestly, you do. You don’t know many guys who are this nice, Jimin being the exception. “How ‘bout you though? It sounds like you made up with your not-girlfriend? I hope that wasn’t you in the laundry room earlier,” you tease, deflecting the attention away from you with a raised voice. 

He gladly takes the bait. “Oh shit, that was you? I’m so sorry.” He rolls around the bed in a fit of sweet laughter, and the slat creaks. “And yeah, we did,” he breathes out with a shallow huff after regaining composure. He sounds nonchalant about it. 

“You don’t sound very happy?” 

“No, I am,” he deadpans. 

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Can you tell me what it is that you like about her?” You ask. 

He doesn’t answer immediately like you’d expect, but he’s dwelling on the answer. 

“I love how kind hearted she is,” he thinks out loud. “She’s a natural nurturer.” 

You can hear the smile in his voice, and you can’t help but reciprocate because of how pure that is. 

“Like... she’s always so bright, and…” he stops. “I just don’t know how to explain it. You’d have to meet her to know what I mean.” 

“Yeah you should invite me over so I can meet her.” You both chuckle knowing that you should meet one another before meeting his fuck buddy. 

“I think you’d like her actually. She has this beautiful soul… I- I don’t even know. She just sees the best in everyone. I know that she probably has her own struggles, but I don’t think she’ll ever let anyone know about them,” he mulls over, going on a tangent. 

“Why’s that?” You curl up on your side, hugging your pillow like you do during every conversation with him. It’s as if he’s recalling a bedtime story for you. You let out another yawn, and although you’re on the verge of falling asleep, you stay up a little longer just to hear him talk. 

“I’m not so sure why… I guess I love her and hate her for this...” He reflects. 

You hum, acknowledging him while urging him to continue his train of thought. 

“I don’t know... but she’s the type to suffer in silence for the sake of seeing other people around her smile. And… I don’t think she’ll ever admit when she’s hurt or when she needs help. She puts others before herself. Like, she’s so hellbent on putting on a happy face so that others can be happy too.” 

You nod to yourself, understanding what he means with every word. 

“And It’s not like she fakes her happiness or anything,” he continues as if clarification is needed. “She’s just… such a joy to be around. She makes everyone feel welcomed… and comfortable… And when she’s really happy, like genuinely happy, it feels like everything is right in the world.” 

You can tell he has a big, doting smile on his face. One simply cannot talk about a love like this and not smile. 

“I only wish that she’d be vulnerable with me so I can make her world a little brighter too.” 

“That’s really sweet, and also, I lowkey feel attacked right now,” you let out a dry chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But I think that’s why you two would get along well.” 

“Set up a date, and I’ll come over,” you joke with raised brows. 

“Hmm… I’ll have to think about it,” he teases. “Oh, but uhm... if we’re still on the conversation of what I like about her, physically, I love her smile. I swear to God I stopped in my tracks the first time I saw her… and it still happens every time.” 

“That’s cute,” you smile fondly. 

“When she looks at me, I think the whole world stops for a second because I can actually feel myself get vertigo,” he giggles innocently. “And she’s also got this super adorable snort-laugh that never fails to bring out the best in me. God, it’s beyond cute, you don’t even know.” 

“It sounds like you’re in love,” you suggest, curling up tighter into a ball, squeezing at your pillow. “I don’t see why you haven’t made it official yet.” 

The pause is filled by the whirring of the radiator and the ticking of the clock. 

“Yeah… I don’t know either.” 

Waking up, you find out that going to bed with a broken heart is a little easier than going to bed with a hopeful one. Perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion that puts you to rest, but it doesn’t mean you’re any less fatigued. All your efforts are put into your work, and in a way, tending to flowers has served as a distraction from the wilting ones that reside in your chest. 

When in reality, you should find a way to revive those instead. 

But as Jimin stands before you, you can’t resist the shriveled petals that land in the pit of your stomach like cherry blossoms in the midst of spring. You really don’t know how you manage to bear discourse about Valentine’s Day when he’s unknowingly sitting there with wide eyes, listening to you talk about unreciprocated love that’s so obviously directed towards him. 

“You mean to tell me that you read romance novels and watch rom-coms, but you hate the most romantic holiday of the year?” 

“Exactly,” you nod as if it’s indisputable. 

He gives you a questioning look with a crease on his forehead and lips pressed together in a straight line. “Make it make sense,” he challenges.

You finish chewing on the forkful of salad you popped into your mouth before answering. “Can I rant about it?” 

Jimin gives you the go ahead and you continue, “I don’t think you understand how much of a die-hard hopeless romantic I am.” 

“Actually, I think I do,” he scoffs and raises his shoulders confidently with eyes closed as if it’s a matter of fact. “That doesn’t prove your point though,” he counters. 

You put your hand up, motioning him to stop interrupting, “Let me finish.” 

Jimin shrugs and grins from across the counter, allowing you to proceed. 

“When I love something, I put my heart and soul into it. I believe in passion, chivalry, and true love.” He hums in agreement as you count down each item with your fingers as if it’s an unofficial list of all the things that encompass a hopeless romantic. “And for me, Valentine’s Day is a poor excuse to spend money and show off all the things you’ve received from your significant other.” 

“That’s valid,” Jimin nods, agreeing while munching on his fries. 

“Like, why spoil someone on this particular day? What happens during the other 364 days?” You spew. 

Jimin mouths “365,” correcting you on the technicalities of a leap year. 

You click your tongue, moving on to the point. “Are they not cherished for the rest of the year? I would hope that my boyfriend makes me feel special for more than a single night.” Your forehead creases, too livid at this point to even realize how sadly single you sound. 

You’re too busy ranting, accidentally speaking over Jimin to hear him reassure you that you are special. “Also there’s just so much pressure to make the night special, as if they have to plan something, otherwise they’re not the ‘perfect couple’ or the ‘perfect man.’” You emphasize with air quotes. 

“I felt that one,” he chuckles, shaking his head. 

“You see my point now?” You acknowledge him sullenly. There’s a tug on your heartstrings at the mention of his girlfriend, but you drive your point forward in hopes of changing the direction of topics. You don’t even want to think about whether or not he’s made plans with his girlfriend yet. 

“And what’s the deal with chocolates?” You yell, completely frustrated, throwing your arms up. “They’re totally overpriced. And cards? Cheesy and terrible. My Instagram feed? Flooded with PDA, and it's a big stab at singles like me.” You enunciate angrily, driving your fork harshly into your salad once again. 

He laughs and nearly falls off the stool he’s sat on top of before swiftly catching himself. You snicker at his unadulterated cuteness. 

“How ‘bout flowers?” He questions with ketchup lingering on the corner of his mouth. 

Picking up a napkin from the edge of the counter, you mindlessly reach across to wipe at his lips, still in the process of ranting. “Don’t get me started on flowers,” you shake your head, folding up the napkin on the table. Jimin smiles at you as your eyes train on the fork that digs through your salad, stabbing into the poor vegetables. “Florists overcharge for them, and I hate it because I didn’t get into this business for the purpose of cheating people out of their money.” At this point, you’re rolling your eyes, seething at the thought of Valentine’s Day. 

“Why’d you get into the business then?” He asks, silently offering his fries to you, the ones you’ve been eyeing ever since he revealed his lunch. 

“Because I love flowers,” you say plain as day, reaching to grab a fry. “Because they make me happy, and when I send them off to someone, I know it’ll make their day a little brighter too.”

You wave the fry around in the air before sticking it in your mouth. Capping off your empty bowl of salad, you don’t seem to notice how Jimin looks at you and the understated beauty you exude. 

“It’s cheesy, I know! You don’t have to look at me like I’m crazy,” you whine, briefly looking up at him with round eyes, turning around to toss your garbage. 

Jimin flashes you a big, toothy smile, “No, you’re not crazy. You’re just... exactly what I thought you were.” His voice is low, almost as if he’s thinking to himself. As if they’re words you’re not meant to hear. 

“Thanks? I think,” you giggle, unsure what he means. “Are you saying I’m predictable?” You inquire.

“I meant refreshing.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes form as he grins. “I’m just trying to figure out why you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day.” 

“First of all, I don’t need a date,” you say in defense, teasingly offended. 

“I know that, and you know what I mean. But you deserve to be treated like you’re speー” 

“Second of all, I do have one.” 

“Oh. You do?” He asks, creasing his brows and biting his plush lips. 

“Yeah, with myself,” you jest with a smile, elbows resting on the counter with hands cupping your face. 

Jimin’s chest deflates with an exhale, finally letting out the breath he’s been holding. “What, are you gonna watch The Notebook until you cry?” He pokes at your shoulder like a tease. 

“I’m not that predictable,” you eye him with a gleam in your iris, fully knowing that it is the case. “But maybe,” you affirm with a sly smirk, “after I close up the shop at midnight though.” 

“Knew it,” he scoffs. “But why are you closing so late? You should go home early so you can cry and watch The Notebook.”

“Mmm.” You hum, standing up from your stool and turning to hide the downturn of your lips. Running a rag underneath the faucet, you turn to wipe down the counter free of any crumbs. Jimin lifts his elbow up as you glide the cloth across the glass until it’s squeaky clean. “Let’s not forget that it’s Valentine’s Day, and I run a flower shop, Jimin. People are going to come by for a bouquet until the last second.” You exasperate, shaking your head in disapproval of all the last minute shoppers. 

“You can’t get anyone else to lock up?” He suggests. 

“They’ll hate me forever if I force them to work until midnight,” you reason, “Besides, it’s not like they’re single, so it’s fine. I can do it myself.” 

“I really think you should be resting though. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, right?” He asks with concern in his intonation. 

“I can take care of myself, I promise. I’m gonna treat myself after work anyways.” You do a little dance that consists of shimmying your shoulders and bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet. 

He smiles at you endearingly with wide eyes, “I don’t think crying to The Notebook is a form of treating yourself.” He repeats as if the joke will never die. 

You shake your head and click your tongue exclaiming, “If you must know, I’m gonna bake cookies.” 

“Are you gonna share with me?” He pleads. 

Your tongue pokes at your inner cheek as if you’re thinking about it. “Hmm, I don’t know. I might eat them all in one night.” Your lips purse in a taunt. 

His mouth forms a pout, and you’re forced to give in to him and his bright puppy dog eyes. 

“Ugh, fine, but only because you asked so nicely, I guess I can make some extras,” you groan, pressing your lips together straight like an arrow. You nudge his shoulder with your own despite the squeeze at your heart and the softening of your eyes, “For you and your girlfriend.” 

It’s not like you had to mention it. But it’s been on your mind since yesterday, and you’re sure that the only way to fix a broken heart is to learn to accept it. Even if it means plucking out the thorns that are lodged in your heart until it feels numb. Empty and devoid of life. 

“Girlfrie- oh, right, right. That’d be nice,” he sputters out, body stiffening, “Butー”

“Maybe I can bake them Thursday night?” You offer. “So you can pick them up on Friday if you buy flowers for her?” Your eyes blink in a failed attempt to wink. 

Jimin stifles a laugh at your pitiful endeavor. It’s really pathetic how hard you try, pretending that you’re not hurt right in front of the guy who stormed into your garden. 

But you suppose flowers can’t grow without a little bit of downpour. 

He licks his lips, and his smile falters. “Riiight, but it’s okay, you should enjoy your cookies on Friday night because I’m not sure I’ll be around to buy flowers that day anyways.” 

“What do you mean?” You ask, perplexed, head cocked to the side. 

“Uh, don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, brushing it off before taking a look at his watch. “I have to head back to work though, my break is almost ending.” You watch him carefully with narrowing eyes as he collects his belongings, scrambling to head out the door. With the exit half opened, he turns around to bid you goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” 

The bell chimes and he’s out of sight. 

You can’t even process his words because you’re too busy staring at the exit trying to figure out what the hell just happened. 

Adulthood is just an endless cycle of sleeping and working, but it seems like you’re lacking in the former activity seeing that all you do is work. In the final stretch of Valentine’s Day, with a few more days to go, you’re just about ready to crash and burn. 

Upon entering your quiet apartment tonight, you fail to do anything productive. You nose dive into bed and curl up into a cocoon at the strike of 10 pm. Somehow, you don’t even care enough to tug off your jeans or remove your smudged makeup. You’re ready to accept the consequences of bad skin and a stained pillowcase because the only thing that matters is that you knock out the moment your head hits the soft linen. There’s no time to replay the events of today or plan for tomorrow when your eyelids weigh you down into a deep slumber. 

There’s not a single thing that can spur you. Not even the shining of the moonlight over your profile or the rhythmic whizzing of cars on the empty street beneath you. Even when there’s a police siren ringing in the distance or a rumble from a descending airplane in the atmosphere above you, you don’t bat an eye. You can’t even hear the hum of the rusty pipelines when your neighbor hops into the shower at the breach of dawn. Even the whirring radiator and the ticking clock blurs into nothing but white noise. 

They’re all there to keep you company as you lie down in a bed of withered roses. To offer you comfort in your barren Renaissance garden. 

You can’t seem to put your finger on it, but you wake up feeling like it’s the best night of rest you’ve gotten in the last week despite it being a short lived slumber. It’s definitely the most consistent night of sleep you’ve had in a while. And even though you went to bed without dinner, it didn’t hinder your sleep whatsoever. It only means that you can eat a full breakfast to power through the day. 

And powering through is what you do best. 

Apparently, the world is up against you because you can’t remember the last time you even got to sit down. You’re constantly on your feet, attending to customers and fulfilling orders. There’s no time to breathe even when you’re literally enclosed in a greenhouse. There’s always something to do, and stopping to take a break means slowing down the process. It’s not an option you want to take. 

At the end of each day, you’re wobbling back home with sore muscles and blurred vision. Your ability to function is beyond your own imagination. Your definition of “functioning” has diminished to standing on your own two feet although that still bears a challenge for you. 

The sustenance in your body is nearly nonexistent, especially because you’ve been neglecting your self-care. Typically, you don’t think about eating on the job. It’s honestly not on your mind because there are only two things that occupy your brain space: (1) Work and (2) Jimin. 

Somehow, Jimin takes better care of you than you do yourself. And without him around, you’re a walking corpse. He’s always providing you with lunch and snacks, leaving you sticky notes with reminders to hydrate yourself. You didn’t realize that you needed him this much to remind you of the simple tasks like drinking or eating or… smiling.

Sometimes he draws cute flowers or scribbles plant puns on the post-it notes, sticking them onto obscure places that are hard for you to find. Your favorite one being the time he wrote “I love it when you call me big poppy.” 

He claims that the notes are designed to make you laugh, even for the few that are not very funny. They definitely do brighten your day, especially when you have the ephemeral chance to glance at them hanging up above your desk in the back office. Smiling at the itty-bitty illustrations has become second nature to you. When you’re going through a rough day, aka everyday, and you’re in need of a breather, you wander into the back room to pace around, only to come face to face with a kaleidoscope of doodled butterflies spanned across a string of rainbow post it notes.

He once drew a sunflower and said something cheesy about how your laughter is the embodiment of sunshine— how it would be a crime against the flora population if you were to go a day without laughter. 

It was corny and far from being right, but it was so perfectly Jimin. 

When he does stupid shit like that, it makes you feel like the biggest lovesick idiot in the world. In your naive past, you thought that the smiles he sent your way were ones reserved for you and only you. You were convinced that the shameless flirting was a silent mechanism used to express his inclination towards you. You assumed that the daily visits to your flower shop were formidable attempts to get to know you better. A little part of you hoped that the songs he shared with you equated to sharing a piece of his heart. 

You absolutely were sharing. You just didn’t realize that you’d be sharing with someone else. 

So when Jimin consigns adorable puns that melt your heart, and he stops by with a cup of coffee, just know that they’re acts of friendship. When he spends his lunch breaks at the flower shop and sings songs that remind him of you, he’s coming from a place of kindness, not attraction. 

It is true that Jimin’s your sunshine, but it’s also a fundamental principle to botanists that too much of something is bad enough, and too much of nothing is just as tough. And deceiving yourself into believing that he was all that you needed had scorched up all the flowers in your garden. 

The drought he put you in didn’t prepare you enough for the brewing storm. 

It pains you to say that you need him more than he needs you because even if he isn’t romantically interested in you, you would have hoped that he’d stick around as a friend. His waning presence leads you to believe that he’s simply not interested. 

Maybe you were too invested in what could have been between the two of you, you failed to see what was right there in plain sight. 

Somehow, you still wonder if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. And it’s pathetic granted you’re incredibly busy with work and your own crippling health. Yet thoughts of him still pop up throughout the day more than you would like. No matter how much you want to forget about your infatuation, you simply can’t will him away because of how often his beautiful face flashes before your eyes. You want to push him to the back of your mind, but whether you’re in need of a breather during your hectic schedule, admiring his stupid puns and butterfly mosaics, or you’re in need of some company in your eerily quiet apartment, doing laundry or having a meal all to yourself, you still can’t get the sound of his sweet laughter out of your head. 

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you manage to close up shop long before midnight. It’s a blessing and a curse because you are absolutely wiped out. Not only are you mentally checked out, but ironically, your flower shop is destitute of flowers, completely sold out from the holiday. As you clean up the barren space, you can’t help but feel as if a big weight has been lifted off your shoulders. The stress of Valentine’s Day is over, and you can finally go home, lie in bed with a tray of cookies, and enjoy the beauty that is Ryan Gosling. 

You even consider closing the store all of tomorrow because you need the day off to recharge. So as you print out and paste your notice on the glass door, you’re dumbfounded to come across a sliver of paper that’s already attached on the other side. Opening up the door and letting in a gust of cold air breeze by you, you remove the sticky note that’s been unknowingly attached to your entrance. 

Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think of you.

The smile that tugs on your lips grapples against the ache in your heart. Quickly, the fond smile melts into one of hurt and disappointment. Your left hand balls into a tight fist, marring crescent moon shapes into your palms. Meanwhile, your right hand delicately fiddles with the tiny square between your fingers, debating whether or not you should crumple up the paper and toss it away to be long forgotten. You’ve never been so confused about your feelings until Park Jimin came into your life, but you tuck the little daisy doodle into the pocket of your coat with a sigh. 

With every passing year, Valentine’s Day becomes a little more bearable than the previous. Tonight feels like any other night, but better. You’ve come to accept that if there isn’t someone who can make you feel special, you might as well do it yourself. 

Making a meal for you that doesn’t consist of ramen or 5 minute rice while dimming the lights and sparking up some candles is undeniably part of the healing process. And that’s what tonight mainly consists of. It’s all about love and self-care. 

With your laptop perched on top of your dinner table and your Netflix queue lined up, you mindlessly mix at your wet and dry ingredients with a wooden spoon. Nothing has made you feel more at ease than the comfort of watching your favorite movie on repeat and the sweet taste of raw cookie dough on your tongue. Sometimes it’s the simple things in life that can put a smile on your face. 

As you wait for your cookies to bake, you settle into bed with your legs crossed and back pressed against the headboard. Laughter from the speakers of your laptop fill the space, and you can’t help but laugh along with the characters, disrupting the peaceful ambiance of your apartment complex. The rumble of your laughter subsides, and the movie rolls on from scene to scene. 

Your ears perk up like Pavlov’s dog when the oven goes off. You turn your head so quickly you nearly get whiplash, but it’s all worth it for the love of chocolate chip cookies. The aroma of sugar is enough to will yourself out of bed and conveniently press pause on Ryan Gosling’s charming face. 

Pulling on your oven mitts to retrieve the hot platter, your body begins to sway around to the sudden echo of music. The soft guitar strums reverberate through the walls and against the vacant space of your studio. Your body stops moving to the acoustics when you realize where the noise is coming from. Looking up, your eyes bore into the eggshell walls as if you can see through it. But you soon space out, focusing on the vibrations of the nylon strings instead. 

The song fades out and the quietude breaks you out of your reverie. You blink in confusion, trying to remember the last time you heard from your neighbor. Although you haven’t spent much time in your apartment in the past week, you miss the late night chats with him. Lately, you’ve been knocking out as soon as your head hits the pillow for some much needed rest. You haven’t heard his voice in forever, and especially not his angelic singing voice. Even tonight he refrains from singing in place of just practicing his guitar. 

It’s a bit out of the ordinary. 

His side of the wall is surprisingly quiet tonight. You would have expected him to be out and about with his girlfriend, but at this point of the night, they would have been jumping at each other's bones. Yet the gentle patter of footsteps and the lack of banging would suggest that he’s flying solo tonight. 

Despite your curiosity, you’re not sure whether or not you’d want to bring it up in case it reopens some wounds. You think it’s best to leave it alone for the time being until he’s ready to come to you instead. 

So as you proceed with bingeing your movies, there’s something in the back of your mind that still distracts you. It’s literally a crime that you’ve sat through 2 hours of The Notebook, yet you haven’t shed a single tear because you’re not even focused on the film in front of you. Rather, you’re thinking long and hard about the last time you heard your neighbor laugh in sincerity. 

You really couldn’t care any less about the end credits that roll in front of you. Rather, with your chin propped up in the palm of your hands, you listen intently to what’s happening on the other side of the wall. It’s bizarrely quiet, aside from the sad symphony of string instruments that ring in the background of the ending credits. 

When your screen turns black, you shut off your laptop and stow it away, knowing in your heart that you’re no longer in the mood for a romantic movie marathon. You make your way into your kitchen and reach for the cookies that have cooled off by now. But somehow, it feels wrong to sit here in enjoyment of your own company. Yet at the same time, this batch of cookies was the only thing you were looking forward to all week. 

Nothing seems to satisfy you. 

The only desire that creeps upon you is the desire to spend the night with someone else by your side. Frankly, it’s stupid because you know that you don’t need a man, and even the whole world knows that you don’t need one. Especially not on Valentine’s Day because you’ve made it abundantly clear that you hate February 14th with every fibre of your being.

However, the idea of having a friend at your side doesn’t seem so bad at this point. 

You transfer all the cookies from the tray onto a smaller plate, arranging the delectable morsels into a presentable fashion. 

With your slippers on, you make your way out of your apartment, letting the door close softly behind you. Standing in front of your neighbor’s abode, you nervously shift your weight on the heels of your feet. Midnight is approaching, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt his night like this, but it just feels right to knock on his door and offer your company. Just to check up on him because perhaps he’s in need of some companionship just like you. And who wouldn’t want some chocolate chip cookies? Baked with 80% sugar and 100% love. 

Mustering up all the courage in your body, your hand comes up in a tight fist, knocking at the wooden door. You wait a moment, but to your dismay, there’s no evidence of movement on the other side of the partition. You would have heard his footsteps by now, and perhaps the turning of the deadbolt, but it’s dead silent. 

Perhaps he didn’t hear you, so you knock a little harder this time.

Nothing. 

As you stand outside, lost in naivety, you wonder whether you should try to make a fool of yourself and knock again. It’s been a good 5 minutes of you debating between speaking up to get his attention or giving up and retreating to your studio in embarrassment. Then you mentally facepalm yourself remembering that it’s incredibly rude of you to drop by without any kind of warning. 

But still, you had his best interests in mind. 

You think that the third time’s the charm, so in a last attempt, you knock with full force. 

“Uhh, hey!” Your voice shakes and cracks. Blame it on the nerves. “I made some cookies, and I thought I’d share some!” You semi-yell in hopes of catching his attention. 

“One second!” Oh, thank God. You can hear the bed frame creak on the other side and the skid of footsteps across the floor boards. 

Your heartbeat weirdly picks up because of the fact that this is quite literally the first time you’ve come face to face with your neighbor. The late night chats with him have always made you feel comfortable, but there’s a certain nuance to meeting him that shakes your nerves. 

You brace yourself as you hear the lock turn, eyes casting down towards the plate in front of you. 

“I didn’t know that today’d be the day we meet like thiー” He says as the door swings open. 

You look up expecting to greet him with a smile, but the one you had prepared falters from your lips. 

“What’re youー” 

“Y- You liveー” 

You stutter over one another, lost in confusion. Staring into the very familiar set of brown eyes in front of you, you’re confounded by your new discovery. 

Jimin stands before you, running his hand through his black locks as he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let you through. 

“Hey, neighbor?” He sounds disoriented, untrusting of his voice. 

You’re stood frozen at the foot of the entrance, unsure as to how you could possibly process all of this. 

“I heard you made cookies?” He asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Here, come in.” He gently tugs on your sleeve, coddling you because of the state of shock you’re in. 

You nod your head, barely cognizant of what’s being said. But your feet still shuffle through the entryway, and you slide off your slippers at the front door. 

“This is so crazy,” he says, taking the plate of cookies off your hands. You’re both surprised that you have yet to drop them. He places the plate onto his coffee table, and his back is turned to you as you stand to the side, playing with the sleeves of your sweater. 

How much weirder can this situation possibly get? 

“You mean to tell me that we’ve been neighbors all this time and we didn’t even know?” You ask, sucking your lips inward, cocking your head to the side. Your words are a jumbled mess, but Jimin has become a master at deciphering your incoherent words through the thin walls many nights in a row. 

“I’m just as surprised as you! I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots?” He exclaims in dismay, patting the seat beside him on the couch as an invitation to you. 

Your brain feels as if it’s lost all of its cells because you have so many questions, yet you can’t seem to articulate them. As you sit down, you close your eyes and rub at your temples, praying that you’d wake up from this odd dream. 

“There’s no way I could have connected the dots,” you sputter in collection of your thoughts, completely exasperated. “I just don’t understand.” 

You fiddle with your fingers, and Jimin takes your hand in his. His touch is soft, and as much as you want to pull away, you give into him because there’s no way you’d ever deny him, especially not when he looks at you with those big round eyes. 

“I have so many questions,” you admit, rubbing at your eyelids. 

“Shoot.” 

“Uhm,” your head shakes wildly. “I don’t even know where to begin?” Your eyes widen, shocked by how nonchalant he’s acting. As if he didn’t just lead you on and ghost you days on end, pretending that everything’s okay now. 

“Take your time,” he chuckles reassuringly, offering you a calming smile. 

“Uhm… How are you? I guess? Th- that’s kind of the first thing I wanted to ask you before… I- you know.” 

Your heart gallops because he’s looking at you, biting his lip. And you, you are completely weak for the man who holds all of your affection in the palm of his hands, yet you can’t handle his smoldering stare, so you avert your eyes elsewhere. This is downright cruel and unusual punishment. 

You continue, “Because I haven’t spoken to you much lately, you know?” 

“You wanted to check up on me?” 

You blink away, eyes now focused on the vase of wilting flowers on the coffee table. Pink and red variegated carnations. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself and regulate your breath. Your body stiffens and your shoulders tense. Even your jaw tightens, but you manage to nod your head. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits sullenly. 

Your hand lets go of his, pulling back to seek comfort at your side. It just doesn’t feel right to hold his hand so intimately when he’s made a mess of your head and your heart. You just can’t do it to yourself, and you can’t do it to him or his girlfriend. Especially not when his heart belongs to her. 

You open your mouth as if you have another question to ask, but none of them are coherent enough to utter. There’s plenty of noise ringing in your head, but it’s all nonsense. 

Jimin gently rests his hand on the ball of your knee, almost like a graze, but his touch is hot, and you brush him off with the recoil of your leg. 

His shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. His hands retract to his lap, respecting your wishes. He gulps, and noticeably the lump in his throat goes down in a swallow. 

“Hey, it’s just me, okay? You don’t need to be scared.” He displays his palms out to you as a peace offering. A symbol of vulnerability. The tension in the air is palpable, but you still manage to keep your guard down in front of him. 

Because this is Jimin. The guy you’ve come to know and unfortunately love. But it’s just that you’ve never seen Jimin like this.

“Yeah and that’s kind of the problem,” you breathe out. Your brows knit into a frown, and he looks at you in bewilderment, with wide eyes, parted lips, and stress tousled hair. “I- I don’t know if you’re Jimin the mysterious neighbor who’s been nothing but nice to me, or Jimin the guy from the flower shop who pretty much made it loud and clear he doesn’t want to see me,” you scoff. 

“B- butー What do you mean? We’re the same person.” His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head subtly trying to convince you. He fiddles with his fingers, cracking his knuckles out of bad habit.  Shifting his body so his knees are pointed towards yours, nearly in contact, he refrains from the much needed skinship. The heat radiating from his body is something you’re familiar with, and although it once brought you comfort, you can only feel resentment. 

“Of course I want to see you? Iー I?” He’s a stuttering mess, shaking his head from side to side as if you’ve got it all wrong, but you interject because you have so much to say, yet you haven’t expressed yourself to your liking just yet. 

“I don’t know about that!” Your hands clench up at your sides until your knuckles turn sharp. “Because neighbor Jimin is telling me he has a fuck buddy he thinks he’s in love with, and flower shop Jimin has a girlfriend he doesn’t want to talk about. So what is it? I’m hearing a lot about mixed feelings for this one person, and… if you’re involved with someone, I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” you spit out more harshly than expected, inching further and further away to the edge of the couch with your arms crossed over your chest. You gulp down a thick glob of spit in hopes of washing down the acidic sting in your throat, but it’s like bile just sits there on your tongue. 

“Let me explain, okay?” He begs of you. 

You sit there in sullen silence, staring at the carnations in your peripherals, ready to have him break your heart all over again. You nod, but you don’t even bother turning to face him, unsure whether or not you’d be able to hear him talk about how he’s in some complicated relationship with someone else. 

“Please, look at me?” he pleads with a sniffle, “I need to know if you’re okay.” His voice cracks, and you finally look his way. You’re far from okay, but seeing him with glossy eyes, you also know that he isn’t either. 

He licks his lips, and his hand comes up in desperate need of tucking the stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face. But he decides against it in fear of rejection, and he rests his hand on the ball of his knee instead. Your line of sight falls to his shaking leg. You hesitantly reach across to close your hand softly around his in comfort. His movement stops instantly as he lets out a huff. 

Licking your lips, your eyes gaze towards your hands, and you can’t help but imagine how they’d slot into one another so perfectlyー 

“_____?” Your eyes shift to lock with his and there are tears that brim at his corners, but they’re kept at bay, refusing to fall. 

“I-” He exhales. 

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, and you don’t know if it’s more for yourself or for him, but it gives him the strength to continue on. 

“Look, that girl and I? We weren’t in a relationship. I promise you. I told you that we were friends with benefits because that’s what we were.” He insists, hoping the message gets across to you, but your heart drops lower into your stomach at his admission. You don’t even want to picture him with some other girl, yet you know way more about their relationship than you would have ever wanted. 

Hell, you were even convinced that they were in love. A highlight reel of the last few months spent in your apartment flashes before your eyes, and your grip on his hand loosens. You think back to the days when Jimin was just some faceless guy, dancing around with his supposed girlfriend, having pillow fights, running warm baths, making out beneath the stars, and fucking around with her like they were in love. 

But he continues in hopes that you’d understand his point of view. “It was easier to tell you the truth because you didn’t know who I was, and you wouldn’t have judged me for it. So I was an idiot, and at the flower shop, I told you she was my girlfriend because it would have been easier to explain this complicated mess.” A single tear cascades down his cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his elbow. 

“I mean, she wanted it to be serious, but there was just something pulling me back. And do you know what that was?” 

You shake your head no and pull away, unsure how much more of this you can take. 

He looks you dead in the eyes, but you can’t even look at him for another second because the wilting carnations are sitting there, mocking you. 

“_____, you asked me the other day what I liked about her, and I was wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer... It wasn’t easy because you were the only person I thought about.”

A sudden tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, unbelieving, but you compel yourself to look back at his visage, checking for any tells of a lie. He doesn’t even falter. 

“She and I? We fought so much because she was convinced I had feelings for someone else. And you know?” He shakes his head,  “…It’s true. I couldn’t think about the things I liked about her, but then when I thought of you. My god, it was just so much easier to talk about the things I loved about you because you’re the one I like. I didn’t know how to express that, okay? The songs that I wrote? The ones you hear me sing day and night? Fuck…” He rubs at his eyes, and they’re evidently red from all the tears welled up. “They’re all about you, and you didn’t even know,” he sobs out. The first drop of tears came out steadily, but as you examine his face in total shock, the tears begin to cascade down his face. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, now understanding where he’s coming from. It’s all a little more clear to you, and there’s no need to continue on if he’s in hysteria like this. His arms instinctively squeeze around your waist, holding on tight, too afraid that he’d lose you if he were to let go. 

“I didn’t have my feelings sorted out because I was comfortable with where I was, but it’s not like it made me happy,” he confesses. You hush him, running your fingers through his hair and caressing his slumped back. Sitting in silence, you can only hear the sound of your breathing falling into sync with his. Occasionally, the radiator would go off and a car would drive by on the street beneath you. 

You tell him that it’s all okay and that all is forgiven, but he still continues in justification of himself. “And I was convinced that you’d think I was a horrible person for liking someone else when I’ve got a complicated relationship going on, okay? Because that’s how I felt about myself, and I swear we broke it off, but I was too embarrassed to come to you because I didn’t know how to explain the mess I got myself into. It’s all my fault, and I’m so so so sorry, you have no idea.” 

He’s wracked with sobs, but you hum, listening intently to his every word. They’re coherent enough for you to realize that you’ve both made mistakes because of a huge misunderstanding. 

The Jimin that you know and love is right here in your arms, and there’s nothing you can do but forgive and forget. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he cries out with a hiccup. “I promise you that you’re the only person I care about.” 

You whisper sweet nothings into his ear, hoping that he calms down because there’s really nothing to apologize for. “What did I say? You don’t have to be sorry, okay?” You remind him. 

He lets out a breathy exhale, “I messed up,” he hiccups, “I don’t deserve this. You.” 

Your hands rest on his shoulder, gently pulling back from him, but he clings on tighter to your waist. Looking down at the sweet man beneath you, you smile to yourself. 

“Jimin,” you murmur.

“Hm?” 

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” You shake your head, and a soft chuckle vibrates through your chest. Still, you keep him in your embrace because although it may seem like Jimin is the one in need of a hug, you need it just as much as he does. 

“Can I tell you a story?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, tickling the skin at your sternum. 

“I think I caught feelings for you the first time we met. Do you remember that?” He hums as you reminisce on the memory. “It was some random Sunday, and you walked in looking for a bouquet for your mom, but you realized you didn’t have enough cash on youー” 

Jimin laughs beneath you, and it’s the way that he laughs that makes you realize you need that in your life. A cheshire grin spreads across your lips, and that’s when you know you can’t go a single day without hearing his laugh again. 

“You didn’t have enough cash, so you pulled out a post it note and scribbled an IOU.” You can barely get the sentence out without chuckling to yourself. Jimin has stopped sobbing at this point, being reduced to a few sniffles here and there. You deem it as the right moment to pull back from his embrace so you can look him in the eyes. 

“You drew a little daisy for me and that’s when I knew you were really something else.” 

You cup his cheeks, and a grin tugs on his lips, matching the one on your face. His eyes shine in the dim light, just like how the sun radiates in the day time. A single tear trickles down his plush cheeks, and you wipe it away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Look, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember, and I have to admit that it hurt me when you said you had a girlfriend, but it really hurt me when you left without saying anything.” 

His eyes cast downwards as if he’s ashamed, but you place your hand beneath his chin, bringing his attention back up. 

“Know that I’d never judge you for the decisions you make and for the relationships you have, okay? And I don’t think you’re horribleー” 

“You don’t?” He cuts you off with his big pleading eyes. 

“No, far from it,” you beam, “I still think you’re the most selfless person I know.” 

Jimin’s face drops at your confession, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you’re not special, because to me, you’re the most extraordinary person in this world.” 

He cups your face, noticing that your eyes are starting to well. Drops of tears roll down your face, and Jimin’s quick to dry them away, pressing his lips against your cheeks to collect the drops of salt water. As you smile, another stream of tears pour from your ducts. Soft pecks are trailed against your skin, and you think you’ve successfully washed away all the pain. 

You can feel the flowers in your heart slowly starting to bloom in preparation for spring. 

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, opening up your eyes. He’s merely a few inches away from you, stuck in a daze. 

His eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the gleam in your irises or at the curvature of your lips, flickering between the two. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Your whimper is hardly loud enough for your own ears, but he hears you loud and clear. 

His hands rest at the sides of your neck as his thumbs run over your cheeks, grazing over the flesh of your lips. “Can I show you how special you are to me?” 

You nod your head, and Jimin is overcome with the urge to kiss you, inching closer with puckered lips. They’re soft against your own, plush and pillowy. You melt into his touch as if he’s the light of your life. You think you could cry again from the sheer amount of euphoria built up in your little heart. Having him in your arms is all you could ever ask for. 

He pulls back slightly in need of a breath, and you take the opportunity to climb into his lap, with knees settled on either side of his taut thighs. 

“Missed you,” you whimper against the column of his neck, nosing at the sensitive skin. 

Jimin’s breath hitches as he bites back a moan, “Missed you more.” 

“Not possible,” you trail gentle kisses against his collarbones, pulling back on the cotton of his t-shirt to expose more of his neck. 

His hands rest on your outer thighs thighs, squeezing tight on the muscles. You reach behind you to grab at his forearms, urging him to move his hands higher onto your body. He takes the hint immediately and experimentally squeezes at your ass. Your lips part from his neck, and Jimin takes the opportunity to latch his mouth back onto yours. 

His lips are gentle in contrast to the firm grip he has on you. But with your weight resting on top of him, core pressed up against his crotch, you can feel how hard he is beneath you. In need of some release, you start to move your hips back and forth, grinding over his hard on. 

Jimin gives you a lingering kiss on your lips, pulling back with a harsh groan. You offer a teasing smile, and he leans forward. He supports your weight at the bottom of your ass as your legs wrap around his waist. You nearly yelp when he stands, holding you up in his arms. 

“I got you,” he reassures, pressing his lips firmly against yours, walking towards his unmade bed space. He lays you down gently on top of the messy covers, climbing between your legs. You whine upon the release of his lips, but his mouth leaves hot kisses down the column of your throat, causing you to gasp.

“Is it okay if we take this off?” He asks, thumbing at the hem of your sweater. 

You nod sitting up, and he tugs the material off for you, tossing it to the edge of the bed. Upon sight of your bare chest, he molds into you, lips suctioning around your pebbled nipple. His other hand massages at your unattended breast, squeezing at the supple flesh.

“You’re beautiful,” he hums against your body.

You’re easily affected by his words as your back arches and your legs hook around his torso. Canting your hips upward, you signal to Jimin with a whine that you’re desperate for his touch. 

“There’s no need to rush, baby, we have the whole night,” he warns you, leaving a kiss between the valley of your breasts. 

You cry out in frustration, but it soon subsides when he satiates your needs. You relax when his hand lowers into your sweatpants, cupping at your heat. His middle finger traces at your entrance, running it up and down your panty clad slit. Your hips lurch once again, but Jimin presses your hips down, flush against the mattress. 

As his tongue circles around your sensitive nipple, his fingers decide to dip into your underwear. The obscene sound of your juices squelching can be heard when he presses his finger into your tight hole. Inserting a finger in, you can feel your walls stretch around him. A cry falls from your lips as he begins to rub at your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

Jimin inserts another finger, and your cunt feels so hot with the amount of friction. Pumping two fingers in and out, there’s a pleasurable burn that ripples throughout your body. Beads of sweat form on your hairline, and you wipe them away with the back of your hand. You can practically feel your heart beating out of your chest. 

“Tell me how it feels, okay?” He asks, switching over to your other breast.

“You feel so good,” you mewl. He hums against your nipple in affirmation, biting lightly at the perky bud. 

“Jimin?” You call out for him. 

He parts from your chest to look into your eyes, fingers still pumping in and out of you with flexing biceps. 

“I think it’d feel better if you’d fuck me,” you admit, no filter needed. 

“Shit,” he groans, slowing down the pace. “I want to eat you out first though.” 

He retracts his hand, and you feel empty without him inside. Your sweatpants and panties are tugged off in one swift motion, casted to the side along with your sweatshirt. Looking up with stars in your eyes, you can see that Jimin is still fully dressed. You open your mouth to tell him about your wishes, but he must have read your mind because he pulls off his t-shirt and throws it with no regard. 

Beneath his clothing, he reveals to you his robust body. You’re dripping with lust, and it must be so obvious from the way you stare at his abdominals. Everything about him is so well-built, and you curse the talented dancer in front of you. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, winking at you as he descends down your body. 

“Love it,” you moan. 

His breath is hot against your wet pussy. With juices dripping down your ass, you ruin the linen sheets beneath you. His fingers play with your core, spreading your swollen lips to reveal your flower, admiring how pretty your cunt is. 

Sitting up with elbows propped, you look down in frustration between your bent legs to see Jimin licking his lips, staring at your heat like he’s ready to devour you. He kisses at the long, dark lines of stretch marks that reside on your inner thighs before his tongue presses softly against your wet clit, kitten licking at the bud. Reaching out, your hand balls around the white comforter to anchor yourself down. As you spread your legs wider, Jimin’s hands hook around your limbs to rest at your thighs. He presses them down, restricting your movement. 

His tongue laps at your heat with no mercy, licking a stripe up your sex and tracing letters onto your clit, sending your nerves aflame. Your breaths are shallow as you pant, melding yourself to the mattress. He flicks his tongue, prodding it against your hole and delving in and out. He massages your tight walls as it clenches around his tongue. 

There’s a knot in your stomach that forms embarrassingly fast, but you can’t help it when his plush lips give your cunt so much attention, sucking harshly on your clitoris. He looks over at your features, taking notice of your reactions, licking over and over the parts that make you squirm the most. 

Your face scrunches in pleasure, nearly toppling over the edge. But you’re not ready to come. Not yet at least. Not without having Jimin’s hard cock inside of you. 

Jimin is relentless against your pussy, but he doesn’t even let up when you call his name out. Your grip around the comforter loosens in favor of digging your fingers into Jimin’s luscious black locks. 

“Jimiiiin,” you whine, tugging lightly at his roots. “I need you, please, please,” you beg. 

He leaves a kiss at your bud, and you shudder in response. Jimin climbs up your body, and you shiver at the loss of contact. 

“You need me, huh?” He teases, “You want to come?” You nod your head ardently when he presses his red, swollen lips against yours. He grapples with your mouth in a bruising, passionate kiss. With clicking teeth and suckling tongues, you can taste yourself off of his plush lips, completely drenched in your arousal. 

Trailing your hand down Jimin’s sturdy body, you can’t resist running your hands over his perfectly sculpted abs. But on your descent, you pull on the strings of his heather gray sweatpants, loosening the elastic around his waist. 

Your palm slides beneath the band, tucking beneath his boxer briefs. His eyebrows scrunch, and he gasps against your mouth when you wrap your hand around his hot, veiny cock, stroking at his erection. His cheeks flush as you swipe your thumb over the head, collecting beads of precum on your fingers. 

He shudders at your touch. “Oh my God, I might die if you keep doing that,” he nearly cries. 

You smile against the skin of his neck, sucking at his pulse point. Meanwhile, Jimin reaches over to his nightstand, pulling out a condom. He nearly falls off the bed, losing balance on his knee when you stroke his cock a little faster. 

As Jimin sits up, trying to open up the packaging, you careen forward to pull off his sweats. You can hardly pull it down below his thick ass given the position he’s sitting in. But it’s enough for you to pull his dick out and wrap your hand around his girth in all its glory. 

While waiting for Jimin to take out the condom, you decide to tease him like he deserves. Switching positions, you lie down on your stomach in front of him. With a glob of saliva built up in your mouth, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching it drip down the shaft and onto his balls. You glide your hand up and down to spread the saliva, making sure he’s nice and wet. His balls tighten the moment you suckle your lips around his slit. 

You look up at Jimin with wide eyes in hope of some praise. 

His eyes stare into yours, but he quickly throws his head back. “Fuck, fuck, fuck I’m not gonna last, please, I know your mouth is like heaven, but I want to be inside you,” he rambles. 

He tucks your hair behind your ears and rests his hand beneath your chin, tilting it upwards. His lips meet your forehead in a sweet kiss before you lie back down on the bed, spreading your legs wide open as an invitation. 

Jimin ungracefully pulls off his pants down the rest of his legs. He pumps his thick cock in his hands before sliding on the condom and lining himself up at your entrance. You groan, reaching out for his wrists as he glides his length up and down your folds, making sure you're nice and wet for him, fully prepped. 

The callous on his thumb is rough against your clit as he rubs down on it, easing the discomfort of penetration. Your velvety walls stretch around his member as he sinks into you inch by inch. 

You’re gasping for air as he sheaths himself inside you, but you remain calm because Jimin peppers kisses all across your face. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. 

“Mhmm,” you hum, “Might need a second.” 

His nose nudges at your cheek, “Take all the time you need, baby.” 

Moments go by until you’re comfortable with the stretch. You don’t know how Jimin has so much patience with you when you can literally feel his dick twitch inside your pussy, impossibly harder than he was moments prior. But like the angel he is, he still waits for your go-ahead. 

“Jimin, you can move,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and offering a butterfly kiss. 

His mouth finds his way to yours, and he kisses you with so much fervor. You’re too distracted by the kiss to notice him slide out of you. 

But your lips part slightly, letting out a gasp when he drives his dick back into you, setting a moderate pace. Your hands reach for the skin of his back, latching your nails onto the smooth surface. The slap of skin on skin is obscene as his hips meet yours, pumping himself inside of you. The delicious burn has you digging your nails into his shoulder blades, scratching at his taut muscles. 

You weren’t wrong to say that you can’t go another day without hearing Jimin’s laughter, but at the time, you were not privileged enough to hear his moans against the shell of your ear. That is the one thing you don’t want to ever live without, too spoiled by the sensual man above you. 

Jimin fucks into you deeply, changing his angle as he shifts his weight onto his knees. His calculated thrusts to your g-spot sends you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes focus on your pussy, watching his dick disappear inside of you like an addiction. With a firm grasp on your hips, he lifts you higher to help you reach your orgasm. 

“Jimin, I’m gonna come,” you gasp, gripping your walls tightly around his length. 

“I know, baby, you can come.” He lowers himself onto his elbows so he can come face to face with you. His hands reach down between your bodies, and he rubs harsh figure eights on your swollen clit. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body trembles beneath him, moaning his name like a vice. 

Jimin rides out your high, pumping into your tight hole until your legs nearly give out. He doesn’t dare pull away, continuing to circle your clit until you’ve nearly reached your limits. Your walls pulse around his cock, squeezing around his shaft until he’s nearly at his edge. His hair is matted to his forehead, slicked by sweat. You brush away the loose strands with the tips of your fingers. 

“Are you close?” You breathe out, hush and quiet, cupping his jaw with the palm of your hands. 

“Mhmm,” he gulps, rutting into you, pumping your cum in and out as it sheaths his shaft. 

His pace falters as he approaches his orgasm, hips stuttering against yours. Jimin nearly collapses on top of you as he spills himself into the condom, moaning into the cusp of your ear. His chest presses up against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

You trace soothing circles onto his back as he basks in the afterglow of post orgasmic sex. 

His breathing soon evens out, and it’s comfortably quiet, that is with the exception of the radiator hissing in the corner of the studio. 

“Wow.” He kisses your temple before pulling out, letting the remains of your cum flow out of you. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“So on a scale of 1-10, how special would you say you feel right about now?” A smug smirk tugs on his lips, and you playfully smack his pecks. 

“Does this answer your question?” You ask, peppering 10 kisses onto his lips. 

“Mmm, no, I didn’t quite hear your answer” he says, leaning in for another kiss, “Tell me one more time?” 

And as Jimin kisses you goodnight, you know in your heart that the heartache and the loss of $5 are all worth it in the end if it means you get to wake up and smell the roses with Jimin at your bedside. 

[bamfdaddio]

Giant-Size X-Men Abridged: 1975

The X-Men, those all-new, all-different mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Giant-Size X-Men #1) - by Len Wein and Dave Cockrum.

“Okay, Dave, we want the new guys to look infinitely cooler than the old guys. Especially Beast. Fuck Beast.”

“Say no more.”

If you were Charles Xavier and you accidentally misplaced your team of misfit mutants (except for Beast, who has graduated to Avengerdom and isn’t even in this book), would you:

Call in a favor with the Avengers or the Fantastic Four to help you out?

Call your ex and ask him and his magnetic powers to come to your rescue?

Cut your losses and move on?

Travel the world to replace your boring wonderbread team with a bunch of spicier, kickassier mutants and forever rock the world?

The answer is obviously D. I am hyperventilating. At the end of this, I have to pick the best new character and I cannot. CANNOT.

See, we have so many options!

Option 1: A creepy adorable blue fuzzball who is hunted and persecuted for the way he looks. He also nearly gets straight up staked by an angry European mob, showing that this new iteration of the X-Men is a few shades darker than the last one. (I also feel that angry mobs happen a lot less in Europe than Marvel think they do, but hey.)

Kurt, baby? You know you can teleport yourself out of becoming a human shishkebab, right?

Option 2: A woman who is too good for you. And for me. For anyone, tbh. She can control the weather and step on me. She starts out as a goddess and it’s the accuratest.

Ororo Munroe is my religion.

Option 3: A Russian tin can man with a sweet, sweet heart. Soft boi in a hard shell.

Also featured as a very early cameo: llyana Rasputin in dashing Soviet fashion.

Option 4: An angry Canadian who has authority issues and claws.

Did you know? Wolverine was originally envisioned as an actual wolverine who was turned into a human being. I think we can all agree that this was the better option.

Option 5: An angry Native American who has authority issues and a very uninspiring power set. (Look, if your ‘super powers’ can feasibly be achieved by plenty of cardio and bringing along a well-trained labradoodle, I’m just not here for it.)

John Proudstar does tell Xavier to go suck a cactus. Ten points to Gryffindor!

This cast is rounded out by some returning faces:

An angry Japanese guy who has authority issues and fire powers.

An Irish ex-thief/also ex-cop with sonic powers.

Why is this group instantly more interesting than the OG5? Well, instead of five vaguely generic teenagers coming from sort of similar backgrounds (upstate New York, wealthy, white), we have a couple of older characters coming with wildly varying histories. Some of them even provide a proper through line for the ways mutants fit into society: Nightcrawler is hated and feared, Storm is revered, Wolverine has been recruited by the government and Colossus lives among humans, presumably hiding his powers.

But why has Charles X gathered all these mutants? Because the X-Men have vanished on this mysterious tropical island! All except for an amnesia-riddled Cyclops, who returned to the mansion to go get help! Even though he’s not sure how he escaped, exactly.

The new X-Men travel off, and in between their introductions and embarking on the plane, Sunfire threatens to leave the team about three times.

Sunfire, my man, you could've just stayed in Japan.

Important to note is that none of these mutants mesh well yet and, when they approach the island, Cyclops decides to pull a Fred and he splits up the team - precisely among the fault lines. Interestingly, none of these duos really get along: Sunfire, Wolverine and Thunderbird all have grumpy loner personalities, meaning they don’t play well with others. Sunfire manages to aggravate Kurt, who is possibly the easiest to get along with out of them all, and Wolverine, hilariously, has a really hard time with Bashee’s sonic shouting when Sean flies him down. But even Colossus and Storm, who will later end up one of the more powerful X-friendships, are unfamiliar, ill at ease in each other’s presence.

Anyway, odd shit keeps happening. The Blackbird Strato-Jet vanishes. Cyclops and Thunderbird deal with some stringly-strangly vines; Wolverine and Banshee fight with a giant crab, Colossus and Storm are threatened by a living avalanche and Sunfire and Nightcrawler get swarmed by ferocious birds. After these various altercations, each duo notices this huge temple (which wasn’t there before), almost as if some unseen force is leading them towards it.

At the temple, the new team reunites and there, they find the lost X-Men! And Angel promptly berates them for falling into this trap, because…

Who's been messing up everything? It was Krakoa all along!

Krakoa is a mutant island that feeds off of mutant energies and it released Cyclops because it thought it would bring back more mutant snacks. (Which evidently worked, seeing how Scott brought back Kurt and Piotr.)

The X-Men release the X-Men and together, they band together in awesome (and sometimes confusing) artwork to fight Krakoa.

Look, Angel's doing his best, okay?

In the end, mostly thanks to powerhouse Lorna, they launch the island INTO SPACE. And in the aftermath, Warren asks an important question:

Split into two teams/books and become instantly iconic? No? Not for another twenty years?

Best new character: Don’t make me do this.

Fine.

Okay. So, I don´t think I can judge these characters without taking into account what will happen to them in the future, so I won´t even try. While I love Wolverine and Colossus, two of my ever-favorites are Storm and Nightcrawler. Nightcrawler, because he represents the best of humanity: even though it would be so easy for him to hate mankind because of their prejudice and their hatred, he always chooses kindness, faith and optimism. Storm, because she is a queen and will become one of the most complex and well-written comic book superheroes: a goddess, a thief, a leader and one of the best female power fantasies ever.

I choose her. I always choose her.

Ugliest costume: None. I do want to note just how well the costumes are designed here: Storm’s tiara-and-cloak outfit is still iconic and Nightcrawler’s and Colossus’ looks are so good that they are still being used, decades later. Hats off to Cockrum.

What to read: This. It’s just good. The new team is leagues better than the old one and the twist that the villain is Krakoa holds up. Sure, it’s all still a little wordy and nobody ever bothers explaining what’s up with Sunfire wanting to leave every second, but it’s an excellent reboot and a milestone issue.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The Beauty Underneath

Phillip Carlyle x Reader

Words: 2980

Summary: A new and mysterious performer joins Barnum’s crew. Phillip falls for her, but she keeps herself distant, afraid to open herself up after a life of cruelty and rejection. As protesters become more violent and the bond between them grows, the reader must learn to accept herself, mask and all.  

Notes: Bad summary, but oh well. This definitely is a reference to Love Never Dies, with the title and the mask and I had a blast writing it. Be on the lookout for more Zac Efron and more Phillip. (And as always, reviews mean the world!)

-

The sparks circled you as the batons spun through the air above you. You cartwheeled across the ground and caught the flaming batons with flare, one in each hand. It was a simple performance, but the crowd was getting smaller every week and people hardly gave you a cent.  You bowed and a few passer byes dropped coins into your jar. As you went to collect your earnings, one man lingered. 

Barnum had watched the performer with absolute awe. The dance was mesmerizing, but it was the crude fabric mask that truly peaked his interest. It completely covered the left side of her face. The mystery alone would be enough to draw crowds. 

A paper fell in front of your face. Barnum’s Circus. You looked up at the man who placed it there. Of course you recognized him. Every street performer was dying to be part of his show. P.T. Barnum. 

“You’re pretty good at that.” He nodded towards your batons as you extinguished the flames in a bucket of water. “Really good.”

“You’re too kind.” You replied, trying not to sound so nervous. 

“What is the mask for, may I ask?”

“If I told you, my act would be ruined.” You shrugged. “My secret helps me tame the flames.” It also kept you safe. Safe from the cruelty of your present as well as the haunted memory of your past. Barnum just chuckled. 

“Right you are.” He flashed you a smile. “How would you feel about performing in my show? I’d need to introduce you to everyone of course, but I think you’d make a spectacular edition.”

“Mr. Barnum, I-” You were at a complete loss for words. “I’d be honored.” P.T. looked down at your jar and meek earnings. 

“You’ll have to discuss pay with Carlyle. He takes care of all that.” 

“When would you like me to start?” You couldn’t remember the last time you had a steady income. You could afford a real mask. P.T. laughed. 

“I was hoping you’d accompany me now.” He held out his arm and you took it, feeling dazed. That little voice in your head spoke, telling you to keep your guard up. Circus or not, you had to prepare yourself for the stares and the jeers. It was an instinct you were forced to develop after years of persecution. You had to expect the worst out of people. It was how you survived. 

-

Phillip had spent most of the afternoon looking over finances until he decided he needed a drink. Ticket sales were steady enough, but it was difficult to keep up with P.T.’s ambition. He had just poured himself a glass when Barnum burst into the room and snatched the drink up for himself. Phillip just gave him a perturbed glare. 

“You seem suspiciously excited about something.”

“I need new posters made.” Barnum beamed. “Masked Mistress of Fire.” He held up his hands, envisioning the red lettering engulfed in drawn flames. Phillip paused. 

“You hired another performer?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you ever going to consult me before you do these things?”

“Will you just meet her before you start lecturing me?” He ushered Phillip downstairs to the backstage area where the woman was waiting. She was fixing her skirts so they would only see the masked side of her face. “Miss Y/L/N, allow me to introduce Phillip Carlyle, my apprentice.” 

“Junior Partner.” Phillip corrected. His look of irritation quickly faded into one of awe. Your eyes met and it felt like something inside both of you ignited. Barnum’s eyes darted between the two of you and he said something about checking on the elephants before vanishing. 

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Carlyle.” Your voice sounded much more frightened than you had intended. He bowed to kiss your hand.

“Please, call me Phillip.” He smiled and you could feel yourself melt into his blue eyes. Until he sees what you really look like. And just like that; guard up, spark stomped out. 

“I should find out where he wants my things.” You concluded bluntly, hurrying away before you could change your mind. 

Phillip’s gaze lingered after you and he was only able to conjure one clear thought. He wanted to know the woman behind the mask. 

“What do you think?” Barnum’s voice interrupted his trance and Phillip scowled at P.T.’s suggestive smirk. Philip just shook his head with annoyance and walked away, hearing P.T. laugh behind him. “Once again, Carlyle, I was right!”

-

You performed your usual routine for Barnum so he could give you notes and so they could design your costume. Luckily, another performer named Anne would be in charge of that. You also noticed that Mr. Carlyle was there- but of course he would be. He was Barnum’s right hand man. Still, you could feel his eyes on you as you worked with the fire. Those eyes. You didn’t know anything could be so blue. The distraction was enough to make you falter and you had to quickly catch one of the batons before the flames hit the dirt. 

“Brava!” Barnum exclaimed, everyone giving you a round of applause. P.T. pat Phillip on the back. “What did I tell you? Magnificent.”

“It was spectacular.” Phillip agreed, his smile making your heart flutter. You were sure he wouldn’t smile like that if he could really see you. Somehow, the thought pained you more than you cared to admit. The feeling increased as he approached you. 

“I’m pleased you enjoyed my act, Mr. Carlyle.” You said, cold and professional. His smile never faltered. 

“I realized that you know my name, but I do not know yours.” His voice was kinder than any man had ever been towards you. His curiosity was genuine, not based on lust or mockery. 

“Y/N.” You squeaked. “My name is Y/N.” there you go again, melting into those eyes. 

“I wanted to ask,” Phillip gulped. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman made him this nervous. “I was hoping you’d join me for dinner? To welcome you to the circus, of course.”

“I’m sure Mr. Barnum will want me to settle in.” You both looked over at him and he shrugged. 

“Not really. Go enjoy yourself.” He said with a wink. Without an excuse, you had to accept the invitation.

“If you’ll excuse me to change into something more suitable.” You curtsied, trying to hide your nerves. No one had ever asked you to dinner before. 

You cleaned off your nicer dress and borrowed a shawl from Anne. You looked somewhat presentable. Looking in the mirror, your face reflected back at you with an expression of disdain. 

“Here.” Anne handed you a thin paper mache mask. “P.T. will get one for your act, but this will work better than your fabric.” Her smile was so sincere and encouraging, you felt tears welling in your eyes. 

“Thank you.” 

Phillip was waiting patiently outside having put on his evening jacket. He didn’t appreciate the smirk P.T. was giving him so he distracted himself with his scarf. He just wanted to make sure you felt welcome. He knew how intimidating and hectic it all was at first. He just also happened to be quite taken with you. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything finer.’ You sighed as you walked down the steps. Phillip offered you his arm. 

“You look lovely.” 

“I, um-” You paused. You convinced yourself he was just being polite. “Thank you.” He opened the door of the carriage for you and helped you up before climbing in himself. The restaurant was nice, but Phillip wasn’t one for highbrow establishments anymore. It was comfortable, yet respectable. It felt like somewhere you would have gone as a child. 

After a glass of wine, you felt yourself loosen up a bit. And considering it was the first good meal you had had in several years, it was difficult to maintain your usually hard exterior. Phillip noticed that you seemed more relaxed and couldn’t help but fall in love with the sound of your laugh. 

“So how does a wealthy playwright come to leave his inheritance and join the circus?” You inquired. Phillip chuckled and took another sip of wine. 

“P.T. approached me about a year ago with the off of a new, exciting life. I, of course, thought he was crazy.” there was that incredible laugh again. “But the more he convinced me, the more I realized that I wasn’t happy where I was. I was trapped. Now I’ve lived more in the past year than I would have in a hundred.”

“How inspiring.” You mused.

“What about you? What brings you to us?” Phillip watched your smile fall. Your gaze clouded, like you were remembering a bad dream. “I’m so sorry, I’ve overstepped.”

“No, it’s fair of you to be curious.” You took a particularly large gulp of wine for courage. “My parents died when I was young. It’s just that-”

“Mr. Carlyle, running around with the riff-raff again, are we?” A man approached the table with a mocking smile. He took a closer look at you and his smile changed to one you were quite familiar with. “My apologies, miss. I mistook you for another circus freak.”

“Miss Y/L/N, this is Stefan Carter.” Phillip smiled with gritted teeth. “We knew each other as children.”

“Come now, Phillip we were as thick as thieves until you joined the freak show.” Stefan’s laugh wasn’t anything like Phillip’s. It was cruel and held little real humor. He turned back to you. “I’m dying to know what you’ve got underneath…” Phillip’s fist clenched around his napkin. “I mean your mask, of course.” 

You stood, looking him in the eye with all of the venom you could muster. 

“One of the freaks.” You couldn’t bear to look at Phillip’s reaction so you kept your eyes fixed on Mr. Carter. “Thank you for dinner, Mr Carlyle. Please excuse me.” You brushed passed a smirking Mr. Carter and didn’t stop until you vanished into the night, Phillip unable to catch you in time.

-

Your first performance was hit. The Masked Mistress of Fire. A routine that might have caught the attention of a person passing in the street earned you a standing ovation. The applause thundered in your ears and P.T. beamed at you from the side. Beside him, Philip clapped, but his smile was a sad one, longing to undue that terrible end to a wonderful night. You had fiercely put your guard back up. Still, you wished that you could run to him, to kiss him, and for once in your life feel loved. But you knew better. Phillip could never love you. 

Show after show passed and you were sure to keep your distance. Every time he seemed to approach you, you’d scurry away to talk to Anne or Lettie. 

“Why do you always hide from him?” Anne asked once. 

“I’m not what he thinks he wants.” You kept your eyes anywhere but Phillip’s defeated face. 

“And how could you know that if you won’t even let him try?” She was whisked away into the air before you could respond. 

“Y/N,” P.T. bounded towards you with an enthusiastic grin. Phillip trailed beside him. “How’s the new mask fitting?” 

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Barnum.” It was the nicest thing you owned. The ceramic mold fit your face perfectly and the red and yellow flames framed the left side, hiding the skin underneath. 

“Your act is marvelous!” P.T. beamed. “The protestors have even added your masked face to their list of things to complain about, which makes you a real Barnum performer in my book.”

It was true. The awful group of ruffians and drunkards that hung around had screamed at you to show your face on many occasions, but they didn’t frighten you. You had dealt with their kind before. It was the hurt look in Phillip’s eye whenever he looked at you that you couldn’t handle. 

“I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here, Mr. Barnum.”

“The pleasure has been all ours, isn’t the right Phillip?” He roughly pat his partner on the back. 

“Your addition to the circus has been wonderful.” Phillip mimicked your professional stance. His indifferent tone hurt more than it should have. Perhaps he had finally given up. It was for the best. 

You usually went for the late night stroll after a performance, even with the protesters lingering outside. They seemed particularly unpleasant tonight. As you moved towards the exit, a hand gently grabbed yours. 

“I think you should stay in for the night.” Phillip’s previous coolness had gone, replaced by worry. 

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Carlyle, but I assure you I have learned to handle myself.”

“Y/N please.” He pleaded. “Stay here with me tonight.” The way he looked at you- those kind eyes filled with a kind of caring you haven’t felt in years- made you want to stay. But behind him, you could see your reflection. The mirror may show that beautiful mask, but you knew what was underneath. 

“I’m afraid that we fair better when we are apart, Mr. Carlyle.” You couldn’t hide the sadness in your voice, turning your head when it cracked. “Goodnight.”

“Y/N, wait!” His voice was drowned out by the roaring shouts outside the door. The light of the torches blinded you at first as your eyes tried to adjust. 

“Show your face you freak!” One man shouted. 

“I wouldn’t mind if she showed more than that.” Another sneered. A sweaty hand ran down your arms and you jerked away. You looked for a break in the crowd. 

“Where are you going? The freak show’s right here.” This time, the hand roughly grabbed your shoulder. 

“Leave her alone!” Phillip boomed, making the crowd step back slightly. 

“What’s your problem, boy?” The man who grabbed you stepped forward. 

“Let the lady pass.” He commanded. His arms tensed under his shirt and for the first time, he looked frightening. Another man stepped out from the crowd, this one far more drunk than the others. 

“Mr. Carter?” You gasped. He stalked towards you, nearly tripping over his own feet. He was hardly recognizable, but you’d know that smirk anywhere. 

“Hello again, mystery woman.” He slurred. “Why must you insist on keeping the company of such rabble? Why not spend a night with a real gentleman?” His breath reeked of whiskey and his hair was a mess. You leaned towards him. 

“Sir, if you are what they call a gentleman, I will gladly take my chances with the rabble.” You spat. 

“How dare you-” He lifted his hand, but a fist collided with his jaw before he could strike you. 

“Phillip, don't!” You cried. You reached for him, but somebody shoved you backwards. You were pushed and pulled through the crowd further and further away from Phillip. One person pushed you hard enough that you fell. The hard cobblestone sent pain shooting up your arm when you tried to catch your fall. The sound of the mask shattering was the last thing you remembered. 

You were awakened by a gentle hand on your cheek. Your left cheek. You scrambled backwards, nearly falling out of your bed. You desperately tried to cover your face with your hand, your injured wrist screaming in protest. It was no use. He had already seen you. 

“It’s alright.” Phillip hushed, his hand still holding the bloody piece of cloth. “When you fell, you seemed to have sprained your wrist. The mask broke and a few of the shards cut your cheek and jaw. Luckily, the pieces missed your eye.” The way he looked at you now was the same way he had looked when you first met. He wasn’t repulsed or frightened. His eyes held only… was it love?

“How can you look at me?” You sobbed, your hand pressing against your wounds. Phillip took your hand in his and slowly lowered it, bringing it to his lips. 

A large burn-scar stretched up from your jaw and covered almost the entire left half of your face. While the skin was now jagged and discolored, to him, it didn’t obscure your beauty. Seeing you, the real you, was the most stunning thing he’d ever laid eyes upon. Phillip placed a light kiss on your palm. 

“This face,” He dabbed the cloth to one of the cuts and this time, you didn’t feel any pain, “is the same face that possesses a smile that has rendered me speechless for weeks. It is the same face that holds the eyes that I have lost myself in more often than I care to admit. And it is the face of the woman that I have fallen irrevocably in love with.”

You weren’t quite sure what made you cry- having pushed him away all this time or knowing that he meant his words more than anything he’d ever said before. But sure enough, tears began to fall before you could stop them. In all your years of solitude and living as an outcast, hearing his love out poured to you cracked the mask around your heart wide open. 

Your bodies drew closer and closer until the soft touch of his lips grazed yours. The spark you had been trying to ignore ignited a fire. You loved him. More than anything you ever had before. You loved him. 

You spent the rest of the night in his embrace. You told him the story of the fire that killed your family and gave you your scars. He held you tighter when you cried and kissed your lips to remind you that you were safe and loved. It was more than you could have ever hoped for. And for the first time, you felt beautiful.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

[doflamingadonquixote]

An Almost Perfect Life - 4/?

Summary: You are a young career woman at one of the bank in London and, at the same time, attending a PhD in Statistics. Your life was perfect until your apartment was invaded by two demons.

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Fem!Reader x Claude Faustus

Previous Chap: Page 1 , Page 2 , Page 3

IV. Sharing Demons

The days had now reached a monotony that you didn't think possible. At work you were controlled by Sebastian but more than control he seemed to really develop a duty as an intern, helping you in the compilation of the documents and in the interviews that you used to carry out with customers who required your experience.

You never thought that kind of cohabitation would reach that level of fake tranquility. At one point, having breakfast and dinner almost became a pleasure.

Claude had become less intrusive, leaving you the space you needed during the study and no longer dared to approach your wardrobe after warning him that if he did it again you would have entered into a contract with Sebastian just out of spite.

You were sure the demon knew you had told a lie but still respected your will.

The last day before the week of your parents' visit, the golden-eyed demon even made you a preparer for a Statistics exam after studying with you and explaining some more delicate reasoning.

However, that feeling of continuous hunting didn’t seem to disappear. The two were and still seemed obsessed with entering into a contract.

Misunderstandings and attacks had happened at least a dozen times and it seemed that the two demons didn’t know how to be in company with each other. One day the house was haunted by Sebastian, the other by Claude.

It seemed as if they disappeared into thin air and when you asked about them or wanted to understand their nature, they seemed to evade your questions, leaving you with a huge question mark.

So much so that day they seemed tremendously irritated by the presence of their fellow man.

“So, my family is coming. I don't want oddities of any kind.” You explained clearly and concisely to the two demons who stood in front of the door.

You asked them politely if they could wear something more normal, like a pair of jeans and a shirt. Needless to say, they had dressed exactly the same way, so it was a matter of debate.

So you decided to offer Sebastian something that diverted attention from ordinary clothing and opted for a long black scarf.

You would have complained about that too, but you preferred to fly over.

You pointed your finger at Sebastian. “I've already explained the situation a hundred times.” And you turned your attention to Claude. “It's nothing too difficult.”

The door rang and almost made you jump on the spot.

“And absolutely no fights.”

Then with a sigh you opened the door and, first of all, you were invaded by the warm embrace of your mother. One arm closed on you while the other held up a bundle of fur. It was in extreme contact with your chest and you felt it shake a little before the woman left.

“It's nice to see you again, mom” you sighed, happy with a friendly face at last. The woman passed you and before paying attention to your father, you observed the reactions of the two demons.

When she settled in front of Sebastian, you watched him widen his eyes as a bright complexion went to cover his cheeks.

“Nice to meet you, I'm the mother of (Y / N), (Y / M / N).”

“Cat.” He said only, as he laid his red eyes on the white beast in your mother's arms.

You whitened. That particular attention on the animal made your blood rise to the brain. Did demons also eat cats?

Before the embarrassing moment could hit everyone, Claude reached out to cover your mother's, appearing in Sebastian's place.

“It's been a while” your father's voice came clear to your ears, forcing you to give your full attention to him.

At the door, with his usual bearing, he looked at you with a softened expression accompanied by a rare smile.

“Yes, it's been a while,” you agreed, letting the detachment disappear as you closed your arms around his body. You definitely missed your father.

He had always been there in difficult times and in your complicated choice of university. You would never have found the right way to thank them for all their commitment and love.

“They are Sebastian, my colleague at work ...” and you pointed to the raven who was playing with the legs of your mother's cat. “… And Claude, Sebastian's cousin. He teaches math and is helping me in the Master.”

The less distracted of the two made a slight bow and wondered where the hell it came from. A simple handshake was enough.

Your father's gaze turned from peaceful to extremely confused.

You quickly approached Claude, placing a hand behind his back and giving him a small pinch with your fingers to make him go straight.

“Well, what if we have lunch, I'm hungry.” you laughed forcedly as the demon watched you in silence.

Your mother, after playing enough with Sebastian and having had her dose of high discomfort, placed the cat in his arms and turned to face you.

“What? Already? But it's only 12 o'clock.” she returned to give her attention to the man to whom she had entrusted her creature and smiled cordially. “After all, I'm curious to know.”

Michaelis gently placed the cat on the ground and finally decided to get out of that embarrassing situation.

“Of course, I promised you after all, madame.”

Your mother laughed at the appellation and asked him to call her only by her name while escorting her to the living room, followed closely by your father who had suddenly become morbid and jealous.

“Are you allright, miss?” asked the second devil, just turning to look at you.

“I hope.” You moaned. “I really hope so.”

 “Are you serious?” chuckled (Y / M / N) as she let herself fall against the sofa.

“It was just like that. I would have expected everything but never to be mistaken for a thief.” Sebastian again confirmed as he was still pouring some tea into your mother's cup.

The two of them had secluded on the sofa closest to the window and on the other side of the table your father was starting a close conversation with Claude who seemed to respond monotonously.

For your part, you had been completely ignored during the whole aperitif, leaving you to deal with your phone.

And you couldn't have had better luck.

With the two distracted demons, you could have investigated more deeply into their nature. You had tried as much as possible to find out about how any contracts entered into worked and how the devil was able to circumvent them.

But nothing specified of devils who deliberately put themselves at the service of a human being without a lavish reward. Yours seemed to be an isolated case, not studied and not treated anywhere.

You excluded the most famous sites, certain that if something had been deliberately ousted you would never have been able to find it there and you aimed at those small anonymous sites with a macabre air.

Many spoke of how to recall a devil but few of how to expel that entity.

What you learned, however, was that the devil could only walk in the human world if close to a contractor. So if that was the case, why were those two still able to walk around like normal people?

And in history, even if they were just mythologies, nobody seemed to have been smart enough to deceive a devil.

Just when you were about to forfeit, an important word jumped into your eyes.

-Demon Slayer-

You thought that by clicking on it you would discover some mysterious coven of fanatics but only a cartoon from Japan happened to you.

Although it had been a waste of time, a vague probability of a demon hunter existence tickled your interest. But they could be anywhere.

The church certainly could have given you the answer you were looking for. Using correct and delicate words, they couldn’t have believed you mad but only persecuted.

There was only one problem.

You raised your eyes to the demons who, with their all too human faces, deceived your family with false and kind words.

Being able to leave the house without being observed by both wouldn’t have been an easy task.

Just as those thoughts invaded your head, Sebastian's eyes looked up at you and you could observe a curious frown. Faster than light, you closed the application and smiled fake.

“Well, how about sitting all at the table now? You must know that Sebastian is also an excellent cook. ”

 “It was a beautiful hour, (Y / N). We would have passed more often if there had also been such welcome companies.”

You avoided gnashing your mother's words as she warmly greeted the two demons near the door.

If only they had known...

“Don't get too used to it, I will get rid of them as soon as possible.” You wanted it to sound like a joke but it came out too much like a truth.

Sebastian turned to you, his usual innocent smile that graced his all too perfect face. “Now, now, it's not a nice thing to say.”

“Have a good return trip.” You recommended to your father, ignoring the offended comment of the red-eyed demon.

You watched them go out and walk along the avenue of your district from the window and when they disappeared from your sight you managed to breathe a sigh of relief.

The demons had done well, after all, and you never expected all that cooperativity.

Closing the light white curtains, you turned suddenly and jumped on the spot when your vision was completely obscured by a figure a few centimeters from you.

You sighed, putting a hand on your heart. “You have to stop showing up behind people...”

The golden eyes narrowed as if he were amused by your reaction, although nothing in his stoic expression seemed to show it. “I apologize. I forget how sensitive you are to heart attacks.”

“It seems like you're waiting for it to happen...” you laughed a little, trying to break that heavy feeling of blockage.

With a sigh, you let your eyes drop on the glass cup he held in his hands. Inside it still shone the dark brown liquid that your mother sipped during the aperitif. Maybe you forgot it in the living room.

“Oh, thanks.” You reached out to grab the object but when you came into contact with the demon's skin, his fingers opened letting the glass fall down.

You tried to reach it straight away, as if by an involuntary reaction, but the wrist was tightened in a painful grip that made you suddenly withdraw.

The thud and the sound of crystals dispersing on the parquet floor filled the silence inside the small room.

You could feel Claude's nails delicately tracing the inside of your wrist, caressing your flesh as if in a silent threat.

You tried to pressure yourself, as if to get back what was yours but it didn't work. The arm remained stretched to the side of the demon while his body seemed to dominate you. It wasn't too close to be annoying, but not too far away to allow you to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Claude, what's going on?”

When you found the courage to take your eyes off the floor and the grip, your eyes focused on his and you held your breath.

Behind the transparent lenses of the glasses, the unmistakable fire that had replaced the passive and detached yellow eyes shone.

You wanted to try again to say something that could make you understand the reason for his gesture but the grip that surrounded your flesh intensified suddenly letting you escape a sore groan.

Without your noticing his figure had bent over you and when his dark hair came to pinch your nose, you instinctively closed your eyes.

The unmistakable blow of a magazine on a hard object sounded a few centimeters from you, blocking the advance of the demon.

“Get a hold of yourself, Claude. You're scaring the young lady.”

You raised your head, which you had involuntarily lowered in fear, on the newcomer who was waving an old newspaper just above the spider demon's head, a sarcastic smile that graced his lips.

The demonic eyes had vanished again returning to the unmistakable gold and although they seemed to show a sort of surprise, that lasted a few moments.

Your hand was free again and you raised it in front of your chest, massaging the bruised skin. A bruise would probably come out the next day.

"I apologize." He only said, in his usual flat voice. He seemed to apologize very much that day.

Sebastian lowered his red eyes on you, holding out a hand as if to give you a rope to escape from that uncomfortable corner. You didn't know why but you relied on the second demon without thinking twice as he approached you.

“Maybe we should keep our appetite under control, don't you think?”

“I hate to admit it, but maybe you're right.”

You didn’t fully understand the allusion that the two demons had exchanged but you were sure of one thing. Claude was going to hurt you very much.

Your cell phone alarm clock rang at that moment, warning everyone that it was time to go back to work. Sebastian would follow you, as usual while Claude would stay home. Or so you thought.

Just before leaving, you turned around, confused by the sudden absence.

“Where's Claude?”

Michaelis put a finger to his lips as if to hide an all too obvious smile.

“Who knows, maybe sudden commitments.”

Unfortunately, at that time, you couldn’t understand the meaning of that phrase. But soon you would have.

[kallypsowrites]

Ruin and Rising Chapter 10

Hey y’all. How’s everyone doing after that trailer? Personally, I am deceased and writing to you as a ghost. But I must complete my liveblogs so, here we go.

There are a few highlights from this chapter: Baghra backstory and Nikolai x Alina stuff. I’ll start with the Nikolai x Alina stuff even though it comes later cause I’ve got one bone to pick with the Baghra backstory (or at least Alina’s reaction to it).

Nikolai and Alina is cute. I love him immediately hearing about the Darkling connection and strategizing. That was great. But then also his conversation with Alina watching the meteor shower (romantic). I know she doesn’t feel the same flash of feelings for him as she does for the Darkling or for Mal. But there is a genuine friendship and affection between them. They talk very easily. They could be happy together. Maybe I’m just a sucker for the political marriage grows into something more trope.

Then the almost kiss with the “when you’re ready” attached to it. CONSENT! Sexiest thing a man can do. And what character growth. I love Nikolai very much.

Loved getting backstory about Baghra and her being the daughter of Morozova. Brutal that she just...murdered her sister with shadows and then her father brought her back to life and they were drowned (but maybe not).

And then there’s the bits of young Aleksander we get.

“I’ll tell you a story--one I used to tell a little boy with dark hair, a silent boy who rarely laughed, who listened more closely than I realized. A boy who had a name and not a title.”

Bby Darkling!!! A child!!

Seriously, the explanation of Baghra teaching him to embrace his powers and that he had no equal makes a lot of sense given her background. She wanted him to have what she didn’t and then it all very much went to his head. That and all the years he’s been alive. She had good intentions wanting him to harden his heart because of experience but that had its own pit falls.

Now, can we talk about the CONCLUSIONS that Alina jumps to? She leaves the story with Baghra...and this is her thought process--what if her sister didn’t die and DID have powers and THOSE powers were LIGHT powers instead of SHADOW powers but she hadn’t SHOWN them yet but she did show them LATER and then SHE had children and that eventually led to ME, several generations beyond???

First of all. That’s a slippery slope if I’ve ever seen one, and nothing in Baghra’s story really hints at that. And Second of all, the conclusion she takes away from it? Like ‘could the Darkling and I be COUSINS????’

And the answer is no. You couldn’t be. Because like...ten generations have passed. Ten generations of more genetic material getting mixed in. You’re like...seventh cousins five times removed at worst. That’s really not a problem. 

It feels like Leigh is just trying to add onto the ‘reasons not to date the Darkling’ pile and I’m like......You don’t need to do that. he’s done plenty of other things to make Alina hesitate to date him. Like the murder and torture. Hell, even the age gap. We don’t need to add in an incest scare. Especially when its not even a real incest scare (we know this is a red herring for a later reveal). Besides, I just came off the Game of Thrones fandom so if you thought this was going to squick me out, you are sorely mistaken.

I also have more of a...genre bone to pick with this book. And I say genre bone because Leigh is not the only one in a fantasy series who has done this so I’m not just calling her out here. But it’s the ‘villain is a leader of an oppressed group who was trying to make a space for said oppressed group trope’.

Baghra confirms (as does the short story from the Darkling’s POV) that his goal was to make a space for Grisha who were deeply persecuted at the time--murdered for gifts they were born with and could not control. And then eventually his power hunger took over and he ‘wanted too much’ and his ‘methods are bad’.

That’s the theme with a lot of novels like this. Like, yes, the oppressed group is trying to get rights. But like...too many rights. Look at their methods. Their methods are bad. Their leader is eeeevil.

This creates a sort of mixed message in the narrative. One) it lends credence to the people who are oppressing them. Like yeah, the other countries murder them/perform horrible experiments on them/drink their blood, but the Grisha are kinda scary too you guys. Look at their leader!!

It’s not that one can’t investigate the moral grey areas of this trope. I think there are a lot of X men stories for instance that do a really good job with Magneto and not just casting him off as an irredeemable villain (some do not but it depends on the writer). But this book seems to mostly lean on the Darkling being irredeemable, so I can’t say the same for him.

I think there was a lot more potential to dive into this. To the Darkling’s motives and goals. To the importance of his cause even if his methods sometimes cross the line. But I don’t think that’s dissected enough (nor is the plight of the Grisha dissected enough) so it kind of leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.

It’s not made any better by the insistence that too much power makes Grisha baaaad. The idea that if Alina has all the amplifiers, she will turn power hungry and evil, not because of a choice but because that’s just what power does to Grisha I guess. What if her non-grisha companions have REASON to fear her???

Anyway, I don’t want to go two deep on this YA book. But it’s just a genre problem I see in which they want to make an oppressed group but then make the leader of the oppressed group just straight up evil. I think that trope can do with a lot of reworking.

See you guys in the next chapter!

[theunvanquishedzims]

Where is my fic of Steve Rogers, Matt Murdoch, and Kurt Wagner bonding over being bi Catholic superhero drama queens. Where do they talk about their personal struggles with sexuality and faith growing up in the 1940s, a Catholic orphanage, and a German circus run by witches. (Were they witches? I remember magic and a giant demon lady and it turned out to be his adopted mother and sister, who he was also dating because they weren’t THAT kind of brother and sister.)

I want Steve to run into Matt shortly after being defrosted, maybe at the gym Matt boxes at. Boxing was a national pastime and now it’s fallen by the wayside in favor of more glamorous fighting styles. It’s nice to just get in a ring and punch someone, and they’re surprisingly compatible fighters, both slightly too fast and hitting too hard, coming out the other side grinning bloody teeth at each other. Matt smoothly lying (telling the truth) about his blindness forcing him to focus on his opponent until he can almost predict their movements. Steve fumbling with the cover story SHIELD gave him about being a soldier recently returned from war, being slightly too honest about feeling out of touch and like he wouldn’t fit in normal life with everything he’s seen and done in the war.

I want Matt to show up at SHIELD next Sunday morning to pick Steve up for church completely unasked, Steve fumbling into the nicest clothes he owns that isn’t a dress uniform, Matt loaning him a tie and whisking him across the city to Hell’s Kitchen. Matt whispering cues through the service, remembering John Mulaney at the last minute and hissing the correct words so Steve doesn’t say AND ALSO WITH YOU. Pointing out the priest he confesses to that can handle the mention of beating up bad guys without running screaming. Going out to lunch and discussing how Matt’s church is different from Steve’s old one, going back to Foggy’s to watch that John Mulaney show because he’s the only one they know with a tv, Foggy groaning over there being TWO of them.

Months or years later, running into Kurt at the Tower because Tony’s the one who developed the image inducer technology. Steve’s heightened vision being able to pick out the micro nuances where the hologram doesn’t quite keep up, most people would be able to shrug it off with a vague sense of unease, but they stand out to him like glowing red flags. Matt just feeling the buzzing and prickle of electricity all over his--skin? Fur? This man is very hairy and also has a tail. Why is no one saying anything about the tail. Steve almost citizen/Avenger-arrests him but Tony comes to vouch for him and they have their little Mutants Among Us revelation in the private upper floors. Steve apologizes very sincerely and they chat about Germany and circuses, another nearly-bygone relic that Steve misses. Matt is feeling left out, but jumps in when Kurt mentions being Catholic.

After that they’ve got weekly mass and lunches, and hey friendship is weird but wonderful. They give each other fashion tips! Kurt is European and flamboyant, Steve is solidly insisting that the only improvement on slacks and a button-up is a leather jacket, and Matt is literally blind. They get by. Matt introduces them to his tailor, after some private talks Kurt brings all his pants in and gets proper tail holes incorporated. Steve gets sticker shock every time he goes to a department store, but being able to buy at thrift stores and get them fitted is much more in line with his upbringing. Matt’s wardrobe gets some splashes of color that Kurt meticulously coordinates and bans him from freestyling with.

Weirdly enough it takes a really long time for the superhero thing to come up. Like a reeeeaaaaaally long time. Like shading into identity porn amounts of time. Not on purpose. Steve Rogers is a popular name in the US and doubly so in military families, nobody connects Steve the Army vet with Captain America unless they’re majorly into WWII military history, and the kind of guy who’s majorly into WWII military history is the kind of guy Steve tends to avoid outside of bar fights and university lectures. Everyone thinks the new Captain America guy is an Army recruitment stunt anyway.

Matt is blind, has had several high-profile cases against mob families, and lives in a dangerous part of town, nobody is surprised when he shows up places looking a little roughed up and growling about the darkness in mankind’s souls. Concerned, yes, ready to take on the mob, yes, surprised, no. He likes punching things though, so they leave it when he says he’s got it handled. A lot of debate stems from Matt’s growling, they all have strong opinions about morality and crime and institutional oppression. They have varying degrees of optimism/pessimism about God’s judgement and forgiveness, and wildly different ideas about the criminal justice system. (Again: 1940s soldier, US lawyer, and minority immigrant whose typical response to legal authorities is: *smashes a 40 on the ground* SCATTER!)

Tony introduced Kurt and told them he was engineering him the image inducer, but neglected to mention that it was part of his deal with the X-Men to field test his tech*. Nobody knows what he does for a living. Performer? Translator? Model? Escort? He knows a lot of rich people, like the Starks and Worthingtons and Frosts. He travels pretty frequently and brings them back souvenirs. Foggy is just happy that there is someone cheerful and level-headed in Matt and Steve’s Fight Club of a friendship, until Kurt backflips into the boxing ring with a fencing sword and shouts HAVE AT THEE, and oh no there’s THREE of them now.

(Tony is one of the silent investors in the X-Men. It started as just donating an old mansion the Stark family had to house at-risk “genetic minority” youth, then he wanted to help with the renovations to make it suitable for young mutants to practice controlling their powers, and then everyone got a little carried away and suddenly there were some extra basement floors. A few super computers. Something called a Danger Room, which is a misnomer because it’s totally safe, Tony promises. Possibly a donated jet or two, though they shot down his idea of painting it school bus yellow and claiming it as a school fleet vehicle on their taxes. He thinks the whole “X-MEN” thing the media came up with is hilarious, they’re just a bunch of persecuted minorities trying to rescue and educate kids, occasionally scuffling with another group doing the same thing on the other side of the moral line. He stays in his lane and looks forward to their tech challenges as a fun side project. “Full-body hologram” was a winner, even if it took a few tries to get the tail right.)

Just. More interaction between people who can conceivably interact on the regular, not just meet once in a big showdown based on mistaken identity, realizing We’re All Good Guys Here, shaking hands and then never seeing each other until the big world-ending team-up episode. Give me that sweet sweet bonding. We’re fanficcers, we don’t have to worry about coordinating between movies and shows and who’s going to space in their comic this week. We can just say “hey these guys have a lot in common, how about they get lunch sometime.”

[0lshadyl0]

connected /yandere Hawks x reader/ - part 2

warnings: stalking, obsessive behavior,  violence 

word count: 1537

part 1

He turned around wanting to tell you something, probably some heroic phrase already practiced to exhaustion to make it sound sincere and at the same time jovial, but when looking at where you were supposed to be, you were not there, you were a few meters more ahead, running away from him again, just like you had done the other times he saved you The last thing you did after taking a long-distance was turning to look at him for a few seconds, your eyes that looked annoying but the truth was that they were more nervous looking  The hero's eyes that looked pending, but hid a great despair of feeling betrayed again by contempt and sadness at your sudden abandonment, why were you like this? why you did not want to be near him? Did you understand that you two had a connection? Were you still scared of the meeting in the alley? Hawks did not intend for you to find out, it was not his fault, it was that pervert! It was true that he overstepped his own strength a bit, as well as an extremely beaten man, leaving the man clinging to his life while spitting blood next to his teeth, crying with difficulty because of how swollen his head was, it had not been the best image for a beautiful lady like you were to see it, but you did it, you contemplated the scene with, frankly more disgust than horror, in fact, you had vomited and you looked as if you were going to unravel, but at last you fled, leaving the hero next to your date that night

You came to your place of work and took a big breath, you clenched your fists while regulating your breathing, Hawks was getting closer to you like he was a type of spirit in a horror story that persecutes its victim slowly to the point that it was only behind them, you felt in that same situation, but now that you seemed to have unleashed his possessiveness, who would have thought that hero number two was so jealous? he didn't give the image of a jealous man, but apparently he was and a lot, not only that, you had provoked him with that stupid idea that you had days ago In a stupid attempt to feel more in control in your life, to return to your normal routine, you agreed to go on a date with a waiter from a new restaurant that you had recently met and you were dedicated to having lunch there The man looked a few years older than you, he had a nice appearance but you had a very well-founded feeling that he was not what he appeared, especially because of how he saw all the girls in the restaurant, it seemed that all of them were pieces of meat to his greenish eyes, but you did not care that his intentions were not as honest as a simple date, your intentions were not honest either, he would be your guinea pig to check how far the hero was willing to go After all, you noticed his sudden change in mood every time he noticed you near to your male companions, as well as how more than once he had sent several of his feathers to wreak havoc, either to make them fall so they end looking ridiculous in the eyes of others or hurting them, which was minimal, like cuts one might induce to be made of paper or something

But when you noticed how he made poor Steve roll down the stairs you knew you had to be more cautious as the situation was getting a bit worrisome, although what scared you the most was the fact that all the feathery ash-blonde hair man  did not bother you in itself, nor did it scare you as much as it should, but on the contrary, somehow somewhat sickly you enjoyed all this, that was worrying, you were changing, or rather, something that you had hidden in you was starting to show up and that was kind of dark, almost psychopathic about you

The night of the date, you went to the movies with the waiter and you couldn't really say that you enjoyed the departure very much, after all, he spent the whole movie trying to touch you inappropriately, in addition to making sexist comments with the female characters from the movie and a lot of misogynistic jokes, not only that, he ate the sweets that you had bought for yourself with your own money, without even saying thank you, 'damn bastard' you thought while you kept him from touching intimate areas of your body

After the bad experience of watching the movie with that idiot, the very imbecile had decided in his head to take you home and have sex with you there, but you had other plans, delaying the arrival at his house, you started looking for coffee shops to buy you a cappuccino, coffee or anything in order to spend more time getting to the destination First of all, you didn't want this man to have any idea where you lived, so going to your house wasn't an option at the time, secondly, at this point you expected Hawks or some other hero to appear to get rid of this guy, escape, get to your house and block his number because he was already too annoying, the only thing you wanted at that time was to be away from that waiter

At that moment the strange sensation once again passed through your body and the red string of your left ring finger appeared again, this only meant one thing, Hawks was close Without wasting time you let the red cord stretch out to locate the feathery ash blonde, it widened to the roof of a diagonal building where you were with your unpleasant date, you looked towards that direction and there was the feathered hero His body was hidden in the shadows so the only thing you could see was his penetrating maddened eyes, they were filled with an almost inhuman rage, for a moment you thought he was looking at you, but no, when the man that you were having your date approached you and placed his hand on your shoulder, you understood that the one Hawks was gutting with his eyes was the waiter, not you The feathery ash-blonde haired hero also looked at you with accusation in his eyes, it even seemed that he was going to cry, all you did was give him a sad smile, something that surprised him quite a lot considering that you had never smiled at him before and then you looked with annoyance to your appointment who asked for the address where your house was since it seemed that you did not want to go to his house

You just abruptly pushed him away, slightly but with the idea to make Hawks understand that you didn't enjoy being next to that man, something that left the waiter surprised and misplaced while the hero felt satisfied by your action, and you said you were going to buy yourself a coffee in the store that the two of them had next to yourselves, you also made it clear that he was waiting for you outside because you needed time to be alone As you entered the store you could hear that he was making another offensive comment like 'what's wrong with this woman? Does she have her PMS?', You let out an annoyed sigh and started lining up to buy the precious liquid It only took about ten minutes or even less, but when you came out, neither the waiter nor Hawks were in sight, for the first one you were relieved more than anything, so you decided better to look for the hero

Why you felt the need to look for him and explain that you and the waiter were not in a relationship was beyond your reasoning, but you thought it was the right thing, maybe it had been because of the look the hero gave you, maybe it was because of the connection that you shared with him or maybe it was because there was something deeper that was beginning to flourish despite how strange it was to start having feelings for the person who stalked you and hurt people of your opposite gender close to you Was that what you felt?, in some strange way you were starting to like the number two hero of Japan?, you did not understand what you thought, what you felt, the truth, when it came to the hero you understood absolutely nothing that was changing in you, but you knew that as time passed something between him and you was developing and it was thanks to that red cord that you produced And speaking of the red cord, you used it to find Hawks, but you didn't expect to find that scene in the dark alley, you couldn't do more than throw up in surprise and run away, it was a disgusting sight but it not scared you, and that was the part that really terrifies you  

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Dancing Twilight | Geralt x Fae!Reader

Summary: (Requested by anon.) You are a Fae princess, the last of your kind. Then one day, a stranger appears in your forest, and the two of you recognize the loneliness in one another. Perhaps you are not alone in this world, not anymore. 

A/N: One of the oneshots for my little oneshot request game/thing/whatever.  Thanks for reading, yada yada–kofi here, masterlist here, taglist here. Enjoy!

The forest is draped in shadowed twilight, the sun having just disappeared below the horizon, still casting barely-perceptible light through the trees. The fire before you casts everything, including the stranger sitting on the opposite end of the log you yourself are perched on, in warm light. The night is warm, but not too hot - a perfect summer evening in the north. 

Perhaps that is why you revealed yourself to him. You haven’t exactly worked out that particular question yet, but it seems as good a reason as any. You’ve been alone in the forest for so long.

Well, not really alone. You’ve had the birds, the foxes and rabbits, even the trees and plants to speak with, but they are different. They can only be spoken to in the language of the Fae - a language long-lost to the elves, humans, and all manner of other races that now roam the planet that was once yours. 

Besides, this man was... different. First, he had not simply passed through the wood as quickly as possible, as most travelers do. You’d observed him from your perch in the trees, from behind bushes, and from the opposite bank of the small river for days now. For days, it had been only himself and a mare he called Roach. Roach was the only thing he talked to. 

Despite his rounded ears and clearly human build, you’d been immediately interested by this particular fact. You heart had soared, at first, thinking that perhaps you’d finally found a creature like you; one long-forgotten by the inhabitants of the Continent. And yet, you’d been wrong. The horse, though you’d deduced that she grasped some of the his words’ meanings, did not understand him the same way she understood you when you crept close last night to speak to her yourself. 

You’d been disappointed - but only slightly. This man was still different. His eyes were like drops of amber, and he seemed quite content alone. Except, you realized, in the late hours of the evening, when he clutched at a threadbare blanket in his sleep, eventually blinking his eyes open and staring off at the millions of pinprick stars for hours at a time.

And so, this afternoon, you’d finally made your presence known. You could hide among the leaves and branches, the bushes, the stream - any natural element could conceal you forever, if you wished it. You were like the twilight; an in-between. Not quite shadow, but not quite light, either. But something had drawn you to this man, something had drawn you from your blanket of silence and shadow and made you reveal yourself to him. 

One of the ancient race of the Fae; more of a myth than a real being. He’d said as much when he studied your pointed ears and large eyes. He’d not even mistaken you for an elf, surprisingly. 

So now you sat at the edge of the fire, both of you speaking in hushed tones as you had been for nearly an hour now. 

“Do you have any idea,” you asked, “how very hard it is to be the last of your kind?”

Geralt pauses for a moment, his amber, inhuman eyes lowering to the fire in front of you. When he raises his gaze again, his eyes are liquid gold.

“I do not,” he admits. “But I do have an idea what it is like to be of a... dying breed.”

You can’t help the sadness that seeps into your eyes as you sit with a stillness only the fae can achieve—though the Witcher comes quite close—focused on him. You can see the pain in his eyes. You recognize that pain.

“A dying breed?” you ask, finding yourself nervous to speak the words for fear of upsetting him and sending him on his way.

“I’m a Witcher,” he explains, and you nod. You have had little contact with anyone over the years, but you’d learned much about the world from your hiding place in the shadows. “A mutant... made to kill monsters.” 

“You’re an Other,” you muse.

“What?

“An Other; someone not like everyone else.” It was the term the Fae had used when the Aen Sidhe first arrived, and one that was promptly turned back on them when it became clear whose numbers were larger. 

Geralt’s lips twitch upward in a sort of half-smile, “Yes, I suppose that is a good way of describing what I am.” 

 You don’t dare ask if being an Other has made him a target of persecution, of violence. You don’t ask why his race is dying. Though he is only a stranger, you do not want to dig up any old memories and create fresh wounds from them. Nevertheless, he continues on with his story and you listen, leaning slightly toward him with interest in your eyes. 

“After the Conjunction, there were a great deal of monsters; monsters that humans could not kill.” He sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. “But the Witchers were relatively successful, even if we were never well-liked. Humans used to need us.”

Catching the meaning of his glance around the nighttime forest, you nod slowly, “And now there are very few monsters, so there is little need for monster slayers.”

Geralt responds with a wry smile, taking a sip from his wineskin, “Oh, there are plenty of monsters. But humans don’t need mutants to kill other humans.”

“The only constant thing in this world,” you begin, letting your hand trail softly over the grass, “is the existence of monsters.” The wind seems to blow a bit harder at those words, an indignant huff. You smile softly and add, “That, and the forces of Nature.” 

Geralt, seemingly stunned by this small communication, is staring now. You respond with a wry smile of your own, “They really have wiped us from history, haven’t they?” This particular musing was more to yourself than to him, but he looks at you with such interest that you can’t help but continue.

“The Fae... We were here, before the Conjunction.” You chew on your lower lip, feeling the urge to wrap your arms around yourself at the memories clawing to the surface. You haven’t had anyone to speak to for so long, the words come pouring out. “And then there were the Aen Sidhe. They wanted the land, the sea, the forests... everything.”

“There was talk of peaceful negotiations, but it was a sham—a trap.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Geralt says. Normally, you’d brush off pity—you’d spent a great deal of time telling yourself that you didn’t want it. But the warmth in his voice, and in his eyes, and even the heat of his body—which seems to have somehow drawn closer without you realizing it—are actually comforting.

“This land was ours once.” As you close your eyes, you can picture it so vividly it makes your chest ache. “My father was High King of the Forest Fae, my mother was Queen, naturally, and then there was me—their only child.”

The look of shock on Geralt’s face actually makes the corners of your mouth twitch up ever so slightly. You take a shaky breath before continuing, “They came one night... took me. Told my parents they would give me back if they surrendered our land.”

“Fucking bastards,” Geralt blurts, shaking his head.

“We were more powerful, but so outnumbered. They surrendered, but they killed them anyway.” You are speaking through clenched teeth now, “They wouldn’t killed me, but they couldn’t. Not with all their fucking armies.”

“How did you? I mean...” His sentence trails off, but the meaning is clear enough.

“They called me the Princess of Dancing Twilight because I could do things that even most Fae couldn’t. A shadow, a gust of wind, whatever. Nature protects me; they couldn’t touch me.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding before turning to him, “Long story short—I am very good at hiding. They never found me. And that’s how I learned how it felt to become the last of my kind.”

Silence creeps over the two of you, and you curl in on yourself slightly, wondering if you’d said too much. But then, you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder. The two of you are now merely inches apart. 

“I am... truly sorry for your loss,” he speaks in almost a whisper.

You turn to face him, wide eyes locking with his, “No need to apologize, you don’t look like an Aen Sidhe to me.” In any case, you know most of them departed this world as well, bound for somewhere else, leaving behind the elves as their descendants. 

“Nope,” he says, “Just an Other, like you.” 

You find yourself smiling at the man, leaning into his warmth. “Yes... I suppose I am.” 

Another moment passes, the kind of silence that stretches on when you stare too long into someone’s eyes as if you are being held there by magnetic force. But finally, you bring yourself to speak. 

“Speaking of you,” you say in a tone you’ve not used in recent memory, “What have you been doing in my forest these last three days?” 

“Oh, you’ve been watching me?” he smirks. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

You could swear he moves in even closer, that his hand lightly brushes your hair as he speaks next, “Traveling. I have nowhere to be and no one to see,” he says.

For a moment, sadness washes over you again at the thought of someone else, so much like you, alone in this unfriendly world, and you whisper, “You’re all alone.”

But when you look back up at him, he appears utterly transfixed on you. “Maybe... But perhaps not anymore?”

When you lean in, mirroring his movements, and press your lips to his, you can’t help but smile.

No. Perhaps we are not alone, not anymore. 

Taglist:  @fairytale07 @geeksareunique @jesseswartzwelder @haru-ririchiyo  @unnamedmaincharacter @lazilyscentedwerewolf  @valkyriepuff @comicbeginning @alwayshave-faith @hp-hogwartsexpress @curlyhairedandconfused​  @superconfusedandreadytorumble​ @keithseabrook27​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​  @sinnamon-bunn​  @sallyp-53​  @superconfusedandreadytorumble

[alexskarsgardnet]

New Alex Interview with the NY Times + a new portrait by Aaron Richter!

There Are Worse Roles Than the Seducer. Ask Alexander Skarsgård.

The actor talks about his latest turn as a compelling sociopath in “The Kill Team” and his Emmy-winning role in “Big Little Lies.”

By Kathryn Shattuck

Alexander Skarsgård found “The Kill Team,” Dan Krauss’s 2014 documentary about American soldiers accused of murdering Afghan civilians for sport, deeply disturbing.

But when Krauss decided to transform it into a feature film, and asked Skarsgård to play Sergeant Deeks, a role based on the ringleader — Staff Sgt. Calvin Gibbs, now serving a life sentence — Skarsgård imagined something other than the war atrocities and whistle-blowing central to the narrative.

“At end of the day I saw it as a love story,” he said, recalling his character as at once fatherly and sadistic, in many ways irresistible to the impressionable infantrymen. “It’s about jealousy and how my character is able to manipulate these young soldiers and how he plays them against each other. It’s a courtship.”

The sociopath in sheep’s clothing is a role Skarsgård has come to know well; it follows his Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning turn as Perry, the suave, wife-beating rapist whose death ignites “Big Little Lies.”

And now he’s shooting “The Stand,” the CBS All Access adaptation of the Stephen King novel by the same name. He’ll play Randall Flagg, a.k.a. the Dark Man (among other aliases), an evildoer who repeatedly shows up in King’s work.

On break from the show’s Vancouver set, Skarsgård , 43, settled his towering, post-“Tarzan” frame onto a sofa in a Manhattan film office while alternating sips of water and black coffee. The city is his base, though he intends to spend more time in Sweden with his family.

Has portraying the seducer become a recurring theme? “I hope not,” Skarsgård said, laughing uncomfortably and blushing a little. “Though I could have a worse fate than getting stuck doing that,” he added.

These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

NYT/Kathryn Shattuck:  Calvin Gibbs isn’t heard from in the documentary. So how did you begin to develop his character?

Alex: It was very important to me that he was enigmatic and magnetic in a way where he would draw them to him. It’s not that he’s just a tough badass who’s been to war, because that wouldn’t be very interesting for long. It’s that feeling of “I would do anything, whatever you ask me to,” which in this case turns into something really, really dark. So in these more intimate moments I wanted it to be more of a seduction. It’s not all big muscles and testosterone.

NYT:  Because you wanted Deeks to feel like an “other” when he appeared, you didn’t prep for the film alongside Nat Wolff and Adam Long. Were they aware of what was happening?

Alex: [Laughs] I think they felt that I was trying to seduce them.

NYT:  What disturbed you most about the documentary?

Alex:  It raised a lot of questions — and a lot of questions about myself. How would I react in a situation like that? Do I have the moral courage to say when enough is enough or when something is wrong? Whistle-blowers are vital to a democracy, and I’m very troubled by the way they’re being persecuted today. Having served in the military, I’m not naïve and understand that there are things that you don’t want to go public. But when there are wrongdoings, there’s got to be a channel to address that, and they’re referred to today almost as if they’re spies. We would not have had Watergate without Deep Throat. We would not have had the Pentagon Papers without [Daniel] Ellsberg. It’s important to have people in authority be held accountable. Because if they can act with impunity, then what kind of society are we creating?

NYT:  Drawing on your own military experience in Sweden, how do you explain the dynamic between commanding officers and enlisted men that makes soldiers do things they wouldn’t ordinarily consider?

Alex:  You’re fascinated by them. When I first joined, I remember a week or two when we’re on base and the guys that had been in for a year already were out on a mission. We were sitting there in our crisp, brand-new uniforms, nice polished shoes, and we hadn’t yet earned the hat and the symbol on your shoulder and the dagger that our unit had. And when they came back after two weeks in the woods with the smell and bloody knuckles and dirt and a uniform that’s been out in the field for a year and the hats, and the daggers on their shoulders, I remember looking at those guys like they were the coolest human beings on the planet. If they ever said hi or something, we’d just melt.

NYT:  Let’s talk about that other sociopath, Perry in “Big Little Lies.” Your character was already dead in Season 2, but you frequently showed up in flashbacks. Did you film new scenes?

Alex: Yeah, all those flashbacks were shot a year later.

NYT:  How tricky were those scenes in which you hit Nicole Kidman, who played your wife?

Alex: Nicole and I slowly walked through the movements, just to feel that we were comfortable with what was happening and that we were on the same page with what we’re trying to do. But then it was like flipping a switch when the camera rolled and diving in, which was very intense and very exhausting. But I think the importance in that relationship is that you flip those switches at the same time, on and off, and Nicole and I were very much in sync. We both know we feel it and then, boom, we’re in. And then we know exactly when to stop and pull the ripcord.

NYT:  You also had a scene with Meryl Streep, who played your very scary mother. Were you at all nervous or star-struck?

Alex:  I’d never met her, but Dad [Stellan Skarsgård] has worked with her on “Mamma Mia” twice, and he adores her. She couldn’t have been more magnanimous or lovely on set but you definitely feel that you’re in the presence of greatness.

NYT:  So like the military, there’s a hierarchy on set?

Alex: I wouldn’t say it’s a hierarchy because she’s so warm and lovely and easygoing. It’s not like you’re on set and a big movie star walks on and people tense up or get uncomfortable. But that said, it’s [expletive] Meryl Streep, so to work with her was extraordinary. You don’t have to act because she gives you so much that you could just sit and absorb and receive. I felt like a spectator sometimes in those scenes. I just wanted to lean back and eat popcorn and admire her.

NYT:  And now you’re cast as Randall Flagg, another terrifying guy.

Alex:  It’s early days, so I’m still trying to shape him and figure out who he is. But he is definitely one of the most enigmatic characters I’ve ever played. He’s a trickster and seducer as well. He has an anarchistic streak, and he’s intrigued by physical destruction but also moral destruction and finds most people very pitiful and very easy to manipulate.

NYT:  Is Stephen King involved in the production?

Alex:  They’re talking about going up to Maine to do a private screening once we’re done with the first episode, and it’s exciting that he’s very much involved. He wrote the final episode himself. It’s a coda to a novel written 40 years ago where you see what happened after the novel ends, and that episode is amazing.

NYT:  Next year we’ll also see you in “Godzilla vs. Kong.” What can you say about your character?

Alex:  He’s much more likable than Perry or Randall Flagg. He’s a geologist and works closely with Kong. And what I liked about my character was he’s terrified, he’s not brave, he’s not equipped to be a leader or a hero, and he enters this adventure very reluctantly. I’d done a series of quite intimate and dark films, which I loved — “Little Drummer Girl,” about the conflict in the Middle East, and “Hold the Dark,” about a man who loses his son. So after these very intense roles I was just ready to go and have fun.

NYT:  Back to the question of being a whistle-blower yourself: What did you ultimately conclude?

Alex:  It’s easy to sit here on the couch with a coffee and say, “Yeah, I would blow the whistle, of course. I’d do the righteous thing.” I hope that I would have the courage to do that — but I’m not sure.

Sources/Thanks:  Article:  Kathryn Shattuck for The New York Times (x, x), Portrait:  Aaron Richter for The New York Times  (x, x)

[twoidiotwriters1]

Home- Chapter 2 (Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x F!Oc)

A/n: The force Awakens stuff

Words: 3,415

Warnings: None.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Chapter 2. Welcome.

Then

Chewbacca, Han and I enter the bar, where all kinds of creatures drink, eat, negotiate, laugh and fight.

"Charming," I say mockingly.

"Come on, I have a reserved table," Han says, winking at me.

We walk between tables until we reach the bottom, where an armchair with a table in the middle has two pink balloons hanging. I stop in front of the place.

"Is this a joke?" I say laughing. Han and the Wookie sit facing each other.

“It's the best I could get, sweetheart. Happy birthday,” I let out a laugh. "Come on, you have to admit that this is better than your 20th birthday”

“Anything's better than visiting Chewie's family,” We both laugh at Wookie's complaints.

I sit next to the man and take one of the balloons, laughing.

"Thank you," I say, then kiss her cheek. He smiles sideways.

“You're welcome” the waiter arrives and the three of us ask for lunch and beers.

"Well, what do you say if we go to a field and continue your shooting practice?" I look surprised.

“You sure? Last time it didn't turn out very well,” I say with a grimace.

"Come on, Chewie's wound has healed. That's why you should practice, kid." Now I look at the Wookie.

“What do you say, friend? Have you forgiven me? ”He growled, nodding.

I smile. "All right"

They bring us the food and the talk continues smoothly... for only five minutes.

"Long time no see, Solo,” says a creature, I think it is a Rodian. His reptilian eyes watch us closely, while two other Rodians are behind him.

"K’hjan, a long time," Han replies pretending tranquility. "What brings you here, friend?”

"I could smell your human essence since you entered, I saw my opportunity to collect what you owe to me,” the Rodians become defensive and I look at Han, confused.

He raises his hands, "K'hjan, calm down, there is no reason to get aggressive, we can talk like adults, but first, you must understand that we are busy," He puts his arm around my shoulders, "Today is my daughter's birthday and we only come to have a little fun,” Now I'm more confused than ever. Daughter?

The Rodian hits the table “I don't care! You, Han Solo, owe me five thousand credits-”

"According to me, there were only a thousand.”

Oh, no.

That was enough for the Rodian to get even more angry. The three creatures took out their blasters and pointed us. Chewbacca reacted on time and threw the table over them, giving us a chance to escape.

The three of us ran outside the bar towards our ship, avoiding the shots that came from behind.

"Well, what is a good birthday without being chased?" I say without stopping. Han laughs.

"That's the spirit, kid.”

Luckily, we managed to get out of that persecution unscathed.

Already in the Falcon, I sit on the couch and dedicate myself to clean my blaster. Until a small box falls in front of me, on the table. I look up and Han smiles at me. I take the box and open it slowly. I giggle when I see what's inside.

I take out a silver necklace with a two-dice pendant, a small replica of the dice that are hung on the Falcon.

"Very cute" he sits in front of me.

“The balloons weren’t your gift”

"Thanks for clarifying,” I look in detail at the dice.

"It was Chewie's idea,” Obviously, Han Solo can't have a sweet moment, he always ruins it.

"I'll talk to him later,” We both fell silent for a few minutes. I bite my lip. "Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot."

"Why did you tell the Rodian that I was your daughter?" Asked nervous.

He clears his throat and sits in his place a little uncomfortable.

"I thought that with that I could leave, you know, empathy or something like that, it clearly didn't work" I nod ignoring my disappointment.

How could I think that he could see me as his daughter? I've only been here three years... I can't wait that long, can I?

"Well, we should find a place for you to practice, I don't want another accident," He says getting up.

I release a sigh and put on the necklace.

A birthday present.

______________________________

Now

"Well, that was close," I say with difficulty when the ship is finally away from the planet.

I sit on the floor outside the cockpit. My breathing is agitated, I lean my back against the wall.

“The Rahtars are not so worth it when your life depends on that.”

“Come on, kid. We will have enough credits for them, ” Han replies from his chair. I let out a snort.

"They are not worth it,” I let out a groan when I move my right arm and see my wound. “Great."

Chewie approaches and helps me get up with my healthy arm. The Wookie guides me to the chair and takes out what is necessary to heal the wound.

"Thank you, buddy" he growls nodding.

"Well, in short time we will get rid of those things," Han says, sitting in front of me.

“Why did you accept this job? It was easier to catch the outlaw than a Rahtar.” I clench my teeth when Chewie sews my wound.

“More money. Will you be okay?” I nod and he laughs. I look at him confused, "It reminds me of your first mission, it's all.”

Now I laugh.

“It was not my best first day at work”

“It wasn't bad for an 18 year old girl. I've had worse, believe me.”

"Worse than finishing full of a huge worm's drool?" I feel chills from just remembering it. Han and Chewie laugh out loud.

The first day at the Millenium Falcon was a disaster for me. I didn't understand how Han could have done that for years. We had to transport a huge creature, but it was caged. I curse my curious side for wanting to see the creature as I finished full of his drool before arriving with the buyer, who also made fun of me.

“Come on, laugh, alright,” I release an embarrassed chuckle until I feel a stab in my forehead.

"What's going on?" Han asks.

"Nothing, it's just a headache…” Chewie finished the bandage and I get up, “I better sleep a little" I don’t wait for an answer and I go to my room.

The door is opened by the motion sensor and I enter. The space was not very large, but if compared to my room in the Falcon, this looks like a mansion. I sit in my bed and the pain seems to disappear for a moment, but soon enough is replaced.

Kiara

A whisper resonates in my mind. I turn and look everywhere without finding anything. My heart beats harder and the whisper returns.

Kiara

No, not again.

I bring my hands to my ears and close my eyes. Enough.

Then you are a threat.

Another voice whispers.

You'll be fine with them

"Please stop. I will not return to that tricks”

Kiara

The pain returns with more force causing my body to weaken, from one moment to another, everything turns black.

_____________________________

“Kiara, wake up,” I feel someone shake me and open my eyes with difficulty. Han is next to my bed.

“I know you don't like me entering without permission, but you should see this. You'll like it,” He adds to then leave.

I release a sigh and sit on my bed, I see around me, remembering what happened before falling.

That whisper, his voice.

No, they were two different voices.

I shake my head as if with that I could forget it, I get up and go with Han. In the window the three of us can see a rather old ship stranded in space.

My heart leaps with joy, and I can't help smiling.

"Don't tell me that is-“

"Oh, sweetheart, I can recognize my girl anywhere, but you must get ready, I don't think it's empty,” I nod and he starts to control the ship to block any reaction of the Millennium Falcon.

I run to the cargo control where Han will catch the ship, take my blaster and hook it to my belt. My hands tremble with emotion. It's been years since I was last at Falcon.

Finally the ship enters ours, Han approaches and presses the buttons so that the exit ramp opens. The three of us enter and review carefully.

"Kiara, Chewie... we’re home" I smile at the man's words. I go ahead with my blaster and check some cables, several parts are missing.

A sound of something falling interrupts us, I turn to Han and he makes a signal to Chewie, it seems to come from the bottom. The Wookie nods and takes a panel from the floor. A girl, a boy and a droid look at us surprised, the humans wear gas masks.

“Where are the others? Where is the pilot? ”Says Han pointing to them.

"I am the pilot" the girl replies.

I look at her surprised.

“You?"

Chewie growls at her.

"No, it's true, we are the only ones on board.”

"Can you understand him?"

"Do you understand that thing?" The boy and I say at the same time.

Great, so long living with Chewbacca and I hardly understand him, but this girl, who stole our ship, understands it perfectly.

"Yes and that thing can understand you, so be careful, get out of there,” I put my gun away.

"Where did you get the ship?" He asks the girl.

“In the Niima post”

“Jakku? That junk?”

“Ha! I told you, Han. We had to check the western places, but noooo,” I say mockingly,

“How could I be there? Said the hard-headed old man.

Chewie growls as he is on my side.

“Whose was it? Ducain?” He asks ignoring me.

"I stole it," says the girl "to Unkar Plutt, he stole it from the Irving, who stole it from Ducain,” Those are many names, I remember Ducain, the day we lost our ship, it was not pretty.

"The one who stole it from me”

"Well, you can tell him that Han Solo recovered the Millenium Falcon forever," He says and then walk down the aisle of the ship.

“Is this the Millenium Falcon? Are you Han Solo?” Asks the girl.

“I used to be”

"Oh, here we go, drama queen" I add when I see him disappear. The girl turns to see me.

"And you must be Kiara Lang,” I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

"How do you know my name?" This girl is younger than me, but not by much at least.

"Wait, wait," Adds the boy. "Han Solo, the general of the rebellion?"

"No, the smuggler," She replies. “Your name is also mentioned, it's really exciting to meet you” Ok, now I like her.

“Did you hear that, Chewie? I'm famous too,” He growls and gives me a little push making me laugh.

“Wasn’t a war hero?" Chewie shrugs.

“Is this the ship that crossed the Kessel Corridor in 14 parsecs?" Shouts the girl towards where Han went.

“Twelve," Han shouts at the same time as me. The girl looks at me.

“Always tells that story," I walk to the cockpit and I meet Han, admiring the panel and every detail of the ship. By reflex I grab my necklace and smile.

"You're not going to cry, are you?"

"Not this time,” He laughs, but his features change when he notices something.

"Hey!" He says, he gives me a signal and we both go back to where everyone is, "Someone put a compressor in the ignition line."

"It was Unkar Plutt, I think it was a mistake, he added a lot-"

"Load the hyperpropulsor,” say the girl and Han at the same time.

Chewie and I share a look.

"Chewie, throw them in a pod, we'll leave them on the first uninhabited planet."

"What a rude host" I joke.

"I can’t wait. We need your help,” Says the girl. We walk through the aisles of the ship.

"My help?”

"That is not a good idea."

"This droid has to go to the Resistance base as soon as possible," As soon as I hear that, my body tenses and I'm sure Han didn't expect that either.

"He has a map to locate Luke Skywalker," the boy adds. We stop And again the pain in my temple returns.

“You are the Han Solo who fought with the Rebellion,” Han turns and his gaze connects with mine.

I feel a pain in my chest and step back a few steps. I shake my head. Luckily I am behind the boys.

"You know him" Han looked away.

"Yes, I met Luke,” A blow interrupts the conversation.

"Don't tell me a Rahtar is on the loose," I complain and we all leave Falcon.

"What did she say? Rahtars?”

Han goes to the camera panel.

"Did anyone escape?"

“No, something better. They are the Lethal Guavianos. They must have tracked us from Nantoon ”

"Your best friends,” I joke.

"What is a Rahtar?" She asks.

"We must hide them before they arrive," I say, pointing to the boys.

We walk along the ship, I hear others talk about the Rahtars, but I ignore them, until we reach a compartment that overlooks the ship's tunnels.

"Stay down until I tell you and don't even think about taking the Falcon.”

"What about BB-8?" He asks pointing to the small round droid.

“He stays with us until he can get rid of them, then you can continue with your journey.”

“And the Rahtars? Where do you have them? ”Asks the boy, and in response a creature knocks on the door behind them.

“That's one.”

"What will you do?"

“What I always do. Get out of this,” I laugh at his response and Chewie growls. "Yes, I do. Always.”

“Yeah, right."

“Don’t annoy me.”

________________________

The doors open and several soldiers with red armor enter armed, then let their leader through.

"Han Solo, you're a dead man.”

"Bala-Tik, what's the matter?”

“The problem is that we lend you 500,000 credits for this job. I heard you also asked 50,000 from Kanjiklub”

"You know you can't trust those little monsters, how long have we known each other?”

Han is an expert in diverting the subject. Both continue to discuss who owes whom, until another enemy arrives from the other side and... it's basically the same.

I release a sigh, waiting for it to finally end, but something catches my attention.

"Have I ever failed you?" Han says and with that, I can see the end of this plan.

“Yes."

“Twice." Say both buyers.

"That BB unit, the First Order is looking for it,” I put my body in front of BB-8 "and two fugitives.”

“Not here," I say for the first time. In that the lights change to red and a roar is heard in the distance.

"I have a bad feeling.”

“Kill them! And get that droid,” Says one of them, I take out my blaster, but before anyone could do anything, tentacles appear behind them and the Rahtars begin their hunt. One of them comes to us.

"Han!" I took his hand and he grabs Chewie, the four of us fled from the beasts. We run until we reach the exit door.

"I got to the door, Kiara, Chewie, cover me!” While Han takes care of the door, the Wookie and I shoot at the men who survived. But one of them manages to hurt Chewbacca.

"No!" He yelled and I kept shooting until I knock him down.

"Are you all right?" We both nodded.

"What happened to the door?”

"Do you have any idea?" I let out a growl and shot towards the control, getting the door to open.

"Well done, let's go!"

They've held Chewie and we run to the Falcon. Then the two boys arrive.

"You, close the door behind us," He says to the girl. "And you, take care of Chewie." The boy now takes care of Wookie.

We got on the ship, Han goes to the cabin and I can see the girl coming forward to be his co-pilot. I don't question her decision.

"You might need a co-pilot," She says.

"I already have one, it's back there and I have a spare one, this girl.” I hear when I arrive.

"I'll ignore that. This time I'm on her side, she seems to know more about this.”

In that a Rahtar tries to break the ship, the girl and I shout at the attack.

“This day is not going as I expected.”

“It's still the funniest so far.”

“Prepare yourself! Kiara, hold on!”

"Come on, piece of scrap metal," He says.

I sit on the floor holding from where I could. I feel the force when the ship starts at light speed. After a few minutes, the ship fails again.

"I need help with this hairy giant," I get up from the ground and run to the boy.

"If you hurt Chewie, you will deal with me," Han yells. I roll my eyes.

"Hey, calm down" the boy watches me. Chewie continues to growl.

"Chewie, calm down, you know it will be worse if you keep tantrum," the Wookie complains, but stops.

"Well, help me bandage it," I say to the boy and he obeys.

 ________________________

"Rest, you did well," Han tells Chewie.

While I am sitting in a crescent armchair, I hide my face with my hands, the pain returns and disappears from time to time. I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" asks the man, I nod.

"Good job, boy," Han says, who is on the other side of the chair.

"What's your name?" I ask and he watches me. It seems a bit awkward at first.

"I'm Finn," He nods. Then the girl arrives.

"And you are?"

“Rey," She says smiling.

"Runaways?" Asks Han.

“The First Order wants the map. Finn is with the resistance, I'm just a scavenger,” My attention is focused on Rey. Apparently we have things in common.

After a little adventure, I dedicate myself to analyze her.

Her brown hair combed in three buns, her dress reminds me a bit of a Jedi apprentice: twill of different shades, her light brown eyes, there is something special about her, something that…. Don’t! Enough, it’s not true.

Then I focus on Finn, his dark skin, brown jacket and black clothes.

I wonder how they ended up in such a situation.

"Well, let's see what you have,” Han looks at me and I nod.

The fact that Leia is looking for Luke doesn’t surprise me and I suppose that neither should the fact that I got involved in all this.

I will not say who or what is responsible. Noup.

BB-8 transmits a hologram of a map around us. I get up from the armchair.

“This map is not complete, it is only part. Since Luke disappeared, they were looking for him,” I don't understand why.

I tense my body. I feel Han's gaze behind my back.

"Why did he leave?" Rey asks, Han tries to say something, but I interrupt him.

"He was training a new generation of Jedi,” Everyone's attention is focused on me, "An unbelieving child… an apprentice, turned against him, he destroyed... everything”

“Luke felt responsible. He got away from it all,” Han continued.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Asks Finn.

“Just rumors, stories. Those who knew him best thought he went to find the first Jedi Temple. ”

Rey gets up, in her eyes there is surprise and curiosity.

"Are the Jedi real?"

“I used to ask that too. I thought they were just magic tricks. A magical power uniting good and evil, the dark side and the light side. The strange thing is... that everything is true,” He says, turning to us. "The force, the Jedi. Everything is true.”

“Unfortunately," The map disappears and Rey looks at me confused.

"What do you mean?"

"I know that face," I point out, "I know what you think, but not everything is like a fairy tale”

“Kiara," Han warns. I shake my head.

Before he says anything else, an alarm sounds and Han takes care of it.

“Do you want my help? You have it, I'll take you with a friend,” They nod.

Kiara…

I have a bad feeling about this.

[mcgnto]

Have you ever noticed that ( ERIK LEHNSHERR ) from the ( MARVEL UNIVERSE ) looks a lot like ( MICHAEL FASSBENDER )? But ( HE ) also go/goes by ( MAGNETO ). Having the ability of ( MAGNETISM MANIPULATION & UNWAVERING LOYALTY TO HIS CAUSE ) sure makes them a force to be reckoned with. Rumour has it they are ( 44 ) and is working as a ( LEADER OF THE BROTHERHOOD OF MUTANTS )

hey  there,  hi  there,  ho  there  !!  i’m  c,  and  i’m  bringing  my  babies  erik  lehnsherr  &&  grant  ward  to  you  about  400  years  later.   life  snatched  me  but  here  i  am  finally.  i’m  terrible  at  remembering  to  respond  to  tumblr  messages  so  if  you’d  like  to  plot,  you  can  hit  me  up  @ serial killer of kisses#0440 

𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒?

timeline  wise,  erik  is  pulled  somewhere  post  days  of  future  past  and  early  into  apocalypse.  given  that  the  x-men  were  constantly  fucking  up  their  timelines  and  futures,  he’s  from  an  alternate  timeline.  which  one?  good  question.  we’ll  pretend  we  know  and  just  smile  and  nod.  either  way,  this  isn’t  his  timeline  and  it  definitely  isn’t  the  world  /  year  he  left  behind  so  he’s  going  to  be  culture-shocked  by  2020.   

the  last  thing  he  really  remembers  is  his  daughter’s  death  and  apocalypse  strengthening  his  powers  to  become  a  horseman.  so  suffice  to  say,  he’s  simmering  with  rage  and  is  very  broken.   he  still  hates  humans,  maybe  more-so  than  ever  before,  and  he  thinks  they’ll  always  be  a  plague  —  never  see  them  as  equals  —  and  their  extinction  is  the  only  way  to  ensure  their  kind  survives.   he’s  an  extremist  and  his  methods  are  questionable  as  hell  but  he’s  not  entirely  wrong.  

this  quote,  in  my  opinion,  sums  up  erik  to  a  t:

“  that  you're  wrong. you  think  you're  right.  and  that  makes  you  dangerous."

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

erik  lehnsherr,  also  known  as  magneto,  is  a  canon  character  from  the  x-men.  my  version  of  him  follows  the  x-men  first  class  timeline.   you  can  read  more  about  him  here  on  the  wiki  but  i’ll  give  you  a  brief  overview. 

he  was  born  in  dusseldorf, germany,  into  a  middle-class  jewish  family.  his  father  was  a  decorated  WWI  veteran  but  that  wasn’t  enough  to  save  them  from  the  struggles  of  discrimination  when  the  nazi’s  started  rising  to  power.  the  family  moved  to  poland  shortly  after  he  was  born  but  were  separated  at  the  auschwitz  concentration  camps  when  he  was  fourteen.  erik’s  powers  first  manifested  when  he  ran  towards  one  of  the  gates  —  trying  to  get  to  it  before  they  closed  as  he  was  forced  to  watch  his  parents  get  ripped  away  from  him.   the  metal  warped  and  twisted  as  the  soldiers  grabbed  him,  reports  of  which  were  made  to  dr.  schmidt.  instead  of  being  sent  out  with  the  other  children,  erik  was  taken  to  the  medical  wing.  his  powers  were  exploited  and  often  used  against  him,  dr.  schmidt  focusing  in  on  his  anger  and  using  it  to  control  his  powers.  (  his  mother died  because  he  couldn’t  move  a  simple  coin  with  his  abilities.  in  grief,  fury  washing  over  him,  he  destroyed  everything  in  the  room  and  murdered  all  of  the  guards.  )   he  was  experimented  on  for  years,  schmidt  weaponizing  his  anger,  and  when  he  was  finally  free  he  spent  years  trying  to  track  down  the  man  responsible  for  his  pain  and  suffering.

by  the  time  he  finds  shaw,  his  intentions  are  clear.  he’ll  kill  him  by  any  means  necessary,  even  if  it  means  his  own  death.  it’s  charles  xavier  that  saves  him  from  drowning  in  his  efforts  to  sink  shaw’s  submarine,  the  professor  dragging  him  up  out  of  the  water.   though  erik  never  really  trusted  the  CIA,  he  agreed  to  help  charles  with  some  of  the  other  mutants  they’d  found  —  to  help  them  hone  their  abilities,  and  give  them  a  place  they  belonged.   he  grew  to  care  about  charles  and  these  other  mutants,  respected  them  even,  but  his  ambitions  always  came  first.  he  also  feared  that  a  mutant  holocaust  was  an  inevitability  and  his  fear  kept  him  from  truly  trusting  others.    finally,  when  he  confronted  shaw,  who  shared  a  vision  of  a  world  led  by  mutants,  he  found  he  agreed  —  but  he  couldn’t  allow  the  man  to  live.  he  murdered  him  slowly,  much  to  charles’  horror.  with  the  soviet  union  and  the  united  states  teaming  up  against  mutants,  erik  was  prepared  to  kill  them  all.   so  much  for  preventing  the  cuban  missile  crisis.   as  charles  and  erik  were  fighting,  rolling  around  on  the  ground  as  both  tried  to  get  the  upper  hand,  a  CIA  agent  shot  at  erik  and  he  deflected  one  of  the  bullets.  a  stray  bullet  ricocheted  and  hit  charles’  spine,  paralyzing  him.   unable  to  comprehend  the  pain  he’d  caused  someone  he  loved  —  and  knowing  their  interests  no  longer  aligned  —  erik  and  several  of  the  other  mutants  left  to  start  the  first  incarnation  of  the  brotherhood  of  mutants.   a  family  was  divided  like  after  a  messy  divorce.  

from  there,  we  don’t  know  a  lot  about  what  happened  with  erik  until  days  of  future  past  picks  back  up.  we  know  he  was  arrested  and  detained  in  the  pentagon  by  1973.   he  allegedly  curved  a  bullet  that  killed  JFK.   they  break  him  out  of  prison  to  help  try  and  save  the  world  and  inadvertently  meet  his  timeline’s  version  of  pietro  ‘peter’  maximoff.   he’s  erik’s  son,  but  he  never  discovers  this  information.   to  this  day,  he  doesn’t  know  the  truth.  in  truth,  erik  had  been  trying  to  save  JFK  —  who  was  a  mutant  —  but  unfortunately  he  wasn’t  able  to.   trask,  who  created  the  mutant  detecting  machines  in  the  future,  had  been  killing  off  mutants  one  by  one.  many  of  their  former  students,  people  they  cared  about,  had  died  as  a  result  of  it.   tortured,  too.  so  suffice  to  say,  both  erik  and  charles  thought  the  other  had  abandoned  them  /  failed  them  and  it  was  messy.   he  agrees  to  try  and  help  them  stop  the  future  from  happening,  in  the  interest  of  saving  more  mutant  lives,  but  does  try  to  kill  mystique  when  their  plans  start  going  awry.  he  fails  and  earns  more  distrust  both  from  charles  and  the  nation.  yes,  he  went  all  evil  villain  and  did  a  monologue  on  live  tv.  he’s  that  bitch.  he  fully  intends  on  killing  trask  but  mystique,  who  changes  her  mind  thanks  to  charles’  influence,  shoots  him.  it  grazes  his  neck,  just  enough  to  garner  his  attention,  but  it’s  enough  to  give  her  the  opportunity  to  knock  the  helmet  from  his  head.   in  the  end,  after  his  abilities  are  used  by  charles  to  free  himself,  he  flees.   ya  yeet.  

at  some  point  after  this,  he  moves  to  poland  and  decides  to  live  among  the  humans.  he  meets  a  woman  named  magda  when  he’s  living  as  henryk  gurzsky  and  they  have  a  daughter  named  nina.  he’s  seemingly  happy  with  his  little  family,  working  at  the  factory,  until  an  act  of  kindness  turns  the  tides  against  him.   he  uses  his  abilities  to  save  a  co-worker  and  someone  reports  him.  police  show  up  without  any  metal  to  confront  him  outside  their  house.   nina,  terrified  and  young  much  like  erik  was  when  his  powers  manifested,  had  the  power  to  control  nature  and  had  birds  attack  the  police.  one  of  the  officers  was  trying  to  shoot  the  birds  and  an  arrow  struck  nina  and  her  mother  magda  instead.   erik,  in  his  grief,  used  the  metal  locket  around  his  daughter’s  neck  to  kill  every  single  police  officer  in  the  clearing  and  then  dropped  to  his  knees  to  mourn  the  loss  of  his  family.   

en  sabah  nur,  aka  apocalypse,  finds  erik  shortly  after  this.  he’s  at  the  factory,  about  to  murder  all  of  the  workers  who  allowed  this  tragedy  to  happen,  when  en  sabah  nur  takes  his  revenge  for  him.   the  god  then  takes  him  to  auschwitz  and  strengthens  his  mutant  abilities  to  give  him  the  power  needed  to  destroy  it.   he  agrees  to  be  a  horseman,  to  join  en  sabah  nur  in  bringing  about  the  apocalypse.   shortly  after  this  happens,  he  goes  to  sleep  and  wakes  up  in  this  timeline  in  2020.  he  doesn’t  know  who’s  done  it,  or  it  was  something  the  x-men  did  to  try  and  stop  the  apocalypse,  but  he’s  livid  and  probably  wants  to  go  home.   there’s  nothing  here  for  him  —  no  revenge,  no  purpose,  so  if  he  can’t  ...  catch  him  starting  up  the  brotherhood  again  and  waging  war  on  humankind  again.   

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

erik  carries  a  lot  of  anger  around  with  him.  it’s  the  trauma,  the  grief,  and  the  after-effects  of  years  of  abuse.   he  knows  best  how  to  function  when  he’s  angry,  feels  it  gives  him  direction,  and  thinks  that  happiness  leads  to  vulnerability.  he  thinks  now  that  if  he  cares  for  someone,  let’s  them  get  close,  there’s  a  possibility  he  will  hurt  them  or  they  will  get  hurt  because  of  them.   his  abilities  work  best  when  he’s  angry,  almost  like  he’s  been  conditioned  that  way,  so  he  finds  he’s  most  effective  when  he  gives  into  the  anger.  

at  the  end  of  the  day,  his  hatred  is  directly  linked  to  fear.   he  fears  that  mutants  will  be  persecuted  for  being  different,  for  not  living  up  to  what  humans  feel  is  normal,  and  that  they’ll  be  experimented  on  or  killed  if  discovered.   he’s  seen  firsthand  what  a  genocide  looks  like  and  because  of  that  fears  that  another  will  happen  if  they’re  not  carefull.   again,  he’s  not  wrong.  

𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖘

he’s  a  class  4  mutant  who  can  generate  and  manipulate  magnetic  fields.   you  can  read  more  about  his  abilities  on  the  wiki  here  but  i’ll  give  you  some   examples.

magnetogenesis:  the  ability  to  create  magnetic  fields. magnetokinesis:  the  ability  to  control  magnetic  fields. ferrokinesis:  the  ability  to  control  metal.  ( thanks  to  apocalypse,  he  can  now  control  metals  found  in  the  earth.  )