#it’s been a while since I complained about my perpetual loneliness

[i-could-be-so-much-more]

The truest sign of a good fanfiction is me going and fruitlessly updating my Hinge dating profile because I am reminded that though I might be comfortable being single, I do really miss intimacy 🤪

[random-imagines-blog]

Vampire Town {Lestat de Lioncourt x Reader}

Requested by: I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find the conversation so I can’t remember. :( Wordcount: 2778 Summary: Happiness and Love can appear when least expected.

During the long span of your life, a lot of your nights had been sent in solitary. You wandered through the world, seeing the beautiful sights of history; the architecture, the music, the literature, the wars, but never had anyone to share that with. Until you came across the broken form of a blonde vampire - Lestat. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” You said, sensing the poor vampire. Broken, without a home, ready to give up on his life after his partner had left him. You sat on the stoop of a burned down mansion beside him, tore your wrist open and forced him to drink from you. He became greedy, which you encouraged. You had just fed on three mortals, willing victims who walked away just as safe as they had come, just a little anemic. You put your hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head back, letting the blood pour down his throat. You squeezed a few more drops, and he let you go, hanging his head upon your shoulder like a hungover human.

You took him to the abode you were staying in. Nothing so gothic as what Lestat may have been living in, but a home nonetheless. A three-story brownstone with a basement that concealed your coffin. You put Lestat into it before the dawn arrived, and looked down at him with a tilt of your head. He was a very handsome vampire, and would only look better with more blood flowing through his veins. He would need a trough-full, however. You would need to wake early to prepare that for him.

Your long fingers stroked his face, turning it towards the candlelight to get a better look. His skin was pale, his hair flaxen. He had been through a lot of pain - even his sleeping face showed that. It may take a dozen nights, perhaps, to get him to peak performance. But you did love a challenge, and were a sucker for a disaster of a person. Loneliness had grown old along side of you - why not try something new for once.

It took some time for the vampire, whom you learned to be named Lestat, to look alive again. Or, perhaps, a little less dead. He was far too beautiful to ever be considered a human being. Those dull creatures, though you were one of them once, bored you with their generic looks. You enticed a few of them towards the house, let Lestat feed. You found out one thing about him instantly - he was absolutely vicious when it came to feeding. Not at all as elegant as his demeanor might make it seem. And you allowed him to finish victims to nearly the point of death, then disposed of the bodies yourself.

“You seem to be feeling much better,” You said, joining him in your parlor. It was just you and he, as you knew no one else in New Orleans. You had only stopped here because it was where the first boat you came across was going. “How could you give up on your life like that?”

Another thing you learned about Lestat; he was very convinced of his own righteousness.

“It is my right to give up my life if I so wish,” He hissed, despite the blood dripping from his mouth. You did not say anything to contrary, just licked your thumb and plucked the droplet from his face. You let it rest on the tip of your tongue, savoring the flavor. “Who are you to try to bring me back?”

“You may call me y/n,” You said with a soft smile, ignoring his harsh tone. “I am noticing that you are alone, but you are well versed in talking to people. Were you a social one, Lestat?”

He was quiet for a little while after that, in some sort of reflection. He stared at nothing, and you left him to that, sleeping in a box rather than your coffin for you still allowed him to take over yours. That was the most intimate gesture that you had ever given to someone. You had shared your clothes with him, even, until you had gotten him some of his own. He looked as pretty as a painting in your white blouses, in your long dark skirts. In this world, for the first time, you had someone to share everything with.

His perpetually bad mood never bothered you. Nor did his dramatic nature. Because you knew that one day, he would either open up to you, or he would leave. You would prefer the first. But would have to quietly accept the second.

But after two years, a blink of an eye for someone like you, he opened up. He told you all about Louis, about Claudio, about Armand. About the reporter whom he had turned who was who-knows-where. About Marius, even, and how he had turned which was further back than you had expected him to go. And so in return, you told him about your loneliness, about how you had traveled from town to town and only run into a few like you. You did not know your maker. You didn’t remember him, or her. You didn’t even remember where it was that you were changed, only that you were high up in the mountains. Why you were there, you could not recall either. But you did not dwell on the mysteries of the past; only your present time.

And on Lestat, because for the present, and forseeable future, you were stuck with him. Lead a stray dog to a home and you have a pet, as you’ve heard someone say.

-

Half of the candles in the parlor remained unlit, for neither of you needed much light in order to see in the dark. Lestat had one of your hands in his as he lead you in a waltz around the room. You could not stop smiling - a facial expression that you hadn’t used too often over the years. A dance! You’ve never danced before, hence why Lestat was currently giving you a lesson. You were even wearing a gown that he had gifted to you - custom made in one of the best shops. He still had his connections in the city of New Orleans. A real vampire’s town, as you had discovered.

“You are a natural!” He praised with a smile of his own, showing off his glinting, sharp, white teeth. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“I’ve never had a partner. I haven’t met many of our kind before and dancing with a human just seems so...” You struggled to find the words. “Slow.”

“Very slow indeed,” Lestat agreed. He had picked a roses from the garden, and had them in a vase to add something living to the house. He now took one of them, and stuck it into his mouth, the thorns cutting at his lips but he did not have a care about that. You laughed at that - what a silly vampire you had ended up with.

“How is the pain, my darling?” You asked, licking your lips at the sight of that little bit of blood.

“Agonizing,” He droned, swinging you around into a spin, then returned you into his strong arms. The blouse that he wore, another thing custom made, was of a silk fabric, and felt soft upon your cheek. You suddenly remembered what it was like to cry, just from that light touch. Agonizing - you recalled what that felt like. It had been well over a century.

“The same as when you were betrayed by your love, Louis?” You questioned. Lestat cut the dance short, but he still held you.

“I don’t wish to talk about him any further,” He said, harshly. “There are more important things in my life now! I am free of him and his ... whining. I am being treated in the way that I deserve. And you - you are finally being treated as you deserve.”

Lestat wielded compliments as a weapon. He used them to distract you from asking further questions. And it worked, every time. You sighed contently as  he kissed your hand, then went up your arm towards your shoulder, then all the way back down. You could feel his cold lips through the fabric of your sleeves. It made you feel like a flower bulb in Spring, sprouting up for the first time from the damp dirt into the beautiful world above.

“You flatter me deeply, Lestat. You are better than I deserve.”

He spun you around once more, and you continued to spin in the middle of the room, arms outstretched as he watched you. Thanks to being a vampire, you did not feel dizziness like the humans did, and could outdance them all if you so wished. Lestat was a grand teacher. He then caught you, then dipped you low to the ground, so much so you could smell the dust of the floor.

“No, that is what you are to me.” His fangs were exposed as he smiled down at you, a fearsome image for anyone else, but not for you. You smiled back at him, and held him tightly as he brought you back up to your feet, humming along with the song.

“I should get cleaning this place, Lestat. It takes more than dancing to make a house a home.” You let go of him to go and grab a broom, but the blonde vampire grabbed you again. Ever since he had opened up to you, he loved to be in your presence. And it wasn’t something that you were going to complain about after being alone for so long.

“Don’t tease,” He said, holding onto your hands with his long fingers. “I’ll hire us a thousand maids, so you don’t have to get these wonderful hands dirty.” You let out a child-like laugh of glee at his amazing words. You were a sucker for them, mind the pun. “And a thousand more dresses for if you get a speck of dust on this one.”

“I don’t need a thousand dresses, Lestat. I could live in rags as long as I still had you.”

-

Five years later, you and Lestat still resided in New Orleans. It was a town of pleasure, of magic, of long nights - and plenty of swampland in order to hide bodies if you went too far with any victims. You did your best not to, but sometimes temptations swept in and you nearly drank to the point of death. But apart from that, you were living in a near-domestic bliss.

“Now, why are you doing this when you don’t get cold?” Lestat asked, walking in from the outside world with coins in his pocket and a well-fed look on his face. You were holding knitting needles in your hand, working on a shawl pattern that you had seen a woman working on last time you were out shopping. He kissed the top of your head and placed a bag on your lap before you could even answer him.

“I like to keep busy - it keeps eternity interesting,” You insisted. You set aside the knitting and started to examine the shopping bag that was on your lap. “What is this?”

“Why don’t you open it and see?” Lestat asked, with a cocky smile. You looked at him with amusement, then delicately opened up the bag. Inside was something ... something fabric. You pulled it out then stood with it in front of you. A long black gown - the color that you always wore, and which Lestat said you wore so well - and it was made of the softest velvet that you had ever felt. He looked pleased as you brought a sleeve to your face to feel the fabric even better. “Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, Lestat, thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“It is the anniversary of the day that you found me. The day that everything changed,” He held his hands up in the air as if he were an actor on a stage, something that you always found entertaining. You loved encouraging the odder aspects of his personality, just as he did the same for you, even when he could not understand.

“What a cheerful gown, I’ll wear it on our next night out.” You exclaimed, twirling with it. Though you would never be able to see yourself wearing it in a mirror, you thought that you would feel beautiful in it. And Lestat would tell you that you were. He was growing predictable in the most wonderful way.

“Why not today?” He questioned, approaching you and held it onto your body to emphasize how lovely you would look in it. “Wear it to bed with me. I want to feel it upon my cheek while I sleep.”

“I wouldn’t want it to get wrinkled... oh, alright,” You said, seeing his earnest expression. He helped you out of the simple dress that you were wearing, one that you had picked yourself. He was much more into the luxurious fashion of the day, favorite bright colors that made him stand out. You were not so flamboyant, and preferred to let him be the center of attention rather than yourself. It worked out well, though you did get occasional glances from other ladies, wondering how someone such as yourself had managed to gain the love of such a charmer.

You wondered the same thing yourself.

As his fingers tickled at your spine, as his hair swept against your face, you questioned how you could have grown so lucky. Were the years of isolation just a pre-payment for the years of happiness that you were having now?

You stepped into the new gown, and he pulled it up, over your thighs, your waist, your bust, your shoulders, and smoothed everything down so it draped you perfectly. He must have came home just in time, for a flash of lightning came through the windows, and the rumble of thunder. The sound of rain upon the roof and on the sidewalk. “Music to my ears,” You said, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“A most marvelous lullaby,” Lestat said, unable to stop feeling the fabric. The seamstress must have put a lot of work into this gown, for it fit you perfectly, emphasizing your waist and bust in a way you haven’t seen before without a corset, and fell to the ground without pooling at your feet. “May I take you to bed, beautiful?”

“Oh, you divine charmer,” You said, pressing your hand upon his cheek. He whisked you away, down to the basement where your coffin lay.

A while back, you had traded in your usual sarcophagus bed for something much better. It was Lestat’s idea initially, complaining about the long, cold days alone inside of a tomb. It had been an unexpected surprise when he actually did something about it, instead of expecting you to do so. When you came home from a feeding and a walk, he presented to you the double coffin. It was exactly as it sounded - two built into one, with room for both of you, and no inner wall to keep you apart.

He held your hand to help you climb inside, then followed you right in. Velvet dress on velvet interior; it felt both warm and rather sexual. With the lid closed, and the two of you in complete darkness, you felt confident, wrapping your arms around your blonde lover and pulled him close.

It took you some time to realize that this was the love that you deserved. That you were worthy of affection and love, despite all of the years that you had gone without it. And you were just lucky enough to find it with another vampire, so the only limit that you had was not time, but imagination.

As for Lestat, you had truly saved him from the misery that he had put himself through after Louis. He was ready to lock himself up for a hundred years or more, just to avoid the pain. To take the sleep of the immortal ones and awake in a brand new age. But this one still had a lot to offer, that much was clear with you. He never thought of that; only that he would remain in a state of purgatory, rather than a life of shooting stars and velvet gowns.

He was glad he stayed in this Vampire Town.

[gh0stiegirlie]

synopsis: all it took was one glance at the hotheaded boy at the U.A. exam, and you were smitten. for deku, it was a single act of kindness that instigated his immediate attraction to uraraka. several months into school, best friends y/n and deku are left heartbroken when. uraraka and bakugou start a relationship. when you and deku find yourselves confiding in each other, a question arises; is this love, or loneliness? are you two better just as friends?

length: 4k words

a/n: i editted this shit to the gods, man. i hope you all enjoy! also, i can describe this chapter in one word: angst, angst, and more angst.

<- pt. 1                                                                                                 pt.3 ->

Across the campus, Bakugou and Uraraka experience a similar feeling.

It’s their first night together, and they’re spending it cuddling in Urarakas room. As much as Bakugou enjoys her physical praises, from the way she gently traces her fingers along the curves of his biceps to how she nuzzles against his chest for his warmth; her soft, delicate form feels foreign in his arms. 

Most girls love the protection of their boyfriends’ embrace, but Uraraka feels suffocated. Yet here she is, wrapped up like the perfect little present in Bakugou’s arms.

With the weeks that pass, the couples irritations and questions only grow.

You and Izuku hold hands, loosely. You only hold hands for the experience of touching another, and to perpetuate the class consciences that you are the “most wholesome couple in all U.A.”

Although your thoughts are far from 'wholesome'. You feel guilty of a heinous crime, though you're roaming free. Because here you are, hugging, cuddling, kissing Izuku, but thinking about Bakugou. And here’s Izuku buying you lunch, dropping you off at class and occasionally carrying your books around campus, wishing you were Uraraka.

Uraraka experiences persistent headaches because of Bakugous yelling. All he does is talk about being a hero, or complain about Deku. Everything is fucking Deku Deku Deku. In her head, Izuku clouds Bakugou. Her thoughts of Deku encompass her mind even when she’s with Bakugou. Every time she passes you and Izuku tenderly holding hands in the hall, her heart tightens. While Bakugou tugs her around like a dog on a leash, Deku grasps you with all the pride in the world, a radiant smile on his face. Two things about Bakugou; He never discloses his emotions, and he's never gentle.

Bakugou spends all his days avoiding landmines. Uraraka is so fragile, he's afraid one day he’ll squeeze her hand so tight she’ll shatter. Anything and everything he does either offends, hurts, embarrasses, or irritates her. He’s going crazy with all the rules and expectations Uraraka forces him to meet. He’s like putty in her hands, and she’s trying to mold him into a different person.

Uraraka only enjoys being with Bakugou when they’re taking out their frustrations through make-out sessions.

Y/n only enjoys being with Deku when they’re using eachothers lips as a way to escape their isolation.

For a while, their bonds remain relatively stable. But as time goes on, the weak foundations their relationships were built on begin to crumble.

You and Izuku arrive at the common area after an intense sparring match, which you lost against Kirishima. You courteously accepted your defeat, though Izuku remains pissy about it. 

“I just-- I can’t believe you lost!” he expresses, refusing to accept your failure.

“I know! I work so hard, and I’ve never lost a match before! I don’t understand… ” You fix your gaze on the floor, not wanting to meet Izuku’s disappointed eyes. "I guess it’s good I lost today, because now I know exactly what I need to work on! I had no idea my mind can't pierce solid surfaces." It's honestly cool Kirishima's hardening quirk kept your thoughts from breaking into his mind. Now you know to practice sending your thoughts to another person through a wall. "I guess if I never lost, I would end up an egotistical maniac… Like Bakugou!” you joke with a soft chuckle.

“Yeah! You just have to work harder!” Izuku agrees. 

You appreciate his positivity. While his attitude is always upbeat with others, his comments to you are always nasty.

“Maybe you haven’t been working hard enough, but I know you can do better! Everyone does! " he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. "So when you lose, it’s embarrassing...” 

You rip your hand away from Deku. “What? Who’s it embarrassing for? You?” you question accusingly.

“Y-Yuh-Yes!” he sputters, “When you lose, it makes others think I'm a loser too! And if I want to be the number one hero, I can't have people thinking that!”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you think. He considers you to be this bright and shiny object he can brag about at show and tell. Now, you’re losing your polish. You’re collecting a little bit of dust and a few scrapes, and he's losing interest. Already, Deku wants to move on to the next object that catches his eye. 

Not only that, but he craves whatever looks good on headlines. He desires magazine covers to display "number one hero marries highschool sweetheart!" He wants "unbeatable hero couple foil supervillain 100!". Apparently "Deku is never going to be the top hero because his girlfriend lost one fight her freshman year at U.A.!" is the article he's currently imagining. 

“I’m not just some gold medal you can show off to others, Izuku. And I'm especially not some perfect little prize you can wrap up in a cute little bow. I’m human. That means sometimes I win, and sometimes I fuck up.” you retort calmly, trying to keep your cool. 

“We’re called the golden girl and boy for a reason. We’re supposed to grow up being the perfect, powerful couple,” he reaches for your hand, but you flinch away. 

“It doesn’t really seem like we are, does it?! Our whole ‘golden couple’ label is complete bullshit!” you bicker. “We, as people, aren’t perfect. We never will be. No one ever will be!" You laugh humorlessly. "And our relationship sure as hell isn’t.” 

Deku closes his eyes with a sigh. “We--We just have to try. I’m doing my part to work as hard as I can to get better. I’m not going to suffer because I'm carrying your losses on my back. I'm not letting you get in the way of my dream to be the number one hero.” 

You get it. Because he's praised for his powerful physical quirk, he thinks he's better than you. Because he's physical quirk always leaves him battered, he thinks he's suffered more than you. Because he can go to the gym every day, get ripped and show off his muscular calves with every kick, he thinks he works harder than you.

After months of petty arguments, Izuku has finally found a way to make you snap.“Oh shut up, Izuku! You know I've worked my entire fucking life for where I am now! I've told you stories from my past I've never so much as mentioned to others! How I went home crying from middle school every damn day because of migraines! How everyone there considered me some kind of--of alien, some freak because I'm able to get inside people's heads! How I was bullied for practicing my power because kids considered it a quirk more suited for a villain! It was hard, but I managed to ignore all that crap and kept working! And I still work hard. Every. Single. Fucking. Day." You take a ragged breath, unphased by Izuku's shocked expression. Good. He should be shocked. He should feel bad. Because he's crossed a fucking line. "And how come it’s only bad when I lose when you’ve lost plenty of times, Izuku?! ” You pointedly stick your finger at him and poke his chest with it. “Remember how you practically failed the entrance exam?! How about when Todorki beat the crap out of you at the Sports Festival!” you yell. With every point, you shove your finger into Izuku's chest. Eventually, you push him against a wall. “Don’t try and act like you’re above me because you have a powerful external quirk.” You shut your eyes and when you open them, they’re glowing e/c. “Because my mental quirk can fuck someone up just as bad as any of your stupid punches.” You warn, before whirling around. “I’m going to my room, Izuku. Come with me if you want.” 

Of course, he follows you like a lost puppy.

Every pitbull is an adorable, loveable puppy before it grows up into a vicious hound. You thought you could fall in love Deku, you really did. But you were capable of loving the Deku whom Izuku pretended to be. The innocent Deku you approached on the first day of school, after noticing he was acting as flustered as you felt. The thoughtful Deku who wanted nothing more than a friend to run to the vending machine with between classes. The friendly Deku who you invited over to movie night, who buried his head into his blanket in embarrassment every time two characters did it on screen, and cried every time someone died. 

You could've fallen in love with your best friend.

Either he's changed, or since you're his girlfriend, he can’t hide who he truly is anymore. You know how he will do anything to have the public opinion in his favor. You know he will sacrifice anything during his climb to Number One Hero, even if it’s crushing you. 

You wordlessly walk side by side to your dorm, but as you near the dorm hallway, some bitch interrupts your silence.

“Why do you always have to yell, Bakugou!?” Uraraka yells from inside Bakugou’s room, which is coincidentally a few dorms down the hall from yours. You and Izuku turn into the hallway in time to witness Uraraka barge out of Bakugous room. She rubs her temples in frustration. When she notices the two of you outside your room, she eases her body language and lowers her voice to sweetly ask, “Can you just calm down, babe?”

“Don’t order me around! I’m being perfectly calm and rational!!” Bakugou shouts in response. “You’re the one who needs to calm down! You’re worked up over nothing! This is how I am, and I’m not going to change for some shitty woman!” he storms over to Uraraka, oblivious to the fact you and Izuku are watching this play out. That, or he just doesn’t give a shit.

Uraraka gasps. “I’m your girlfriend, you can’t call me that!” she chides. “This is exactly what I don’t like about you! You’re so aggressive all the time!” She fusses, like a child having a tantrum. Her bangs dance around her head as she stomps away from Bakugou, but he grabs her wrist to keep her in place. "Let me go! Being around you gives me headaches.”

“We should probably go~” Izuku whispers, attempting to open your door.

You slap his hand away. “I wanna see what happens,” you whisper back.

Izuku nervously glances between you and the arguing couple. “You’re so nosy! Come on, we’re leaving.” he decides, but you try to stay put. He then simply uses his quirk to overpower you and drag you inside, though even through four sets of rooms and a closed door, you can hear their argument.

“Being around you gives me headaches! All you do is nag about that nerds shitty girlfriend, and how shitty I am!” Bakugou explains. His insult doesn’t hurt you as much as you expect it to, because you can hear it. To someone who hasn’t listened intently to his screams and threats for the past few months, his voice appears as crass as always. But you hear the desperation in his voice. All he wants is for Uraraka to read between the lines and hear what he truly is saying, but no matter how hard he tries, she doesn’t. And it’s hurting him. He’s frustrated and in pain, because all she wants is for him to change every aspect of himself. Can she not see that? “Getting a girlfriend isn’t a part of being a hero, and it’s not something I need to pick up on my way to the top. I’m doing this because I can stand you. But I don’t need a damn girlfriend, especially when all mine does is make me feel like crap.” He’s describing his feelings in his own Bakugou way, but she doesn’t understand his language. And by the way he worded this last sentence, it sounds like he’s starting to give up. 

“If you don’t need me, then why are we dating!”

At this point, you’re sick of hearing their bullshit. You leave your room to yell at the couple and hopefully get them to shut the fuck up.

Izuku tries to hold you back. “Leave it alone!” he hisses, but you leave anyway.

“Uraraka, can you shut the hell up?” you jeer. This is the third time this week she’s made your fucking ears bleed with her screeching. Bakugou leans on the all and snickers, convinced someone has taken his side. But oh, if the boy who broke your heart thinks he’s safe from your candor, he’s wrong. You jut your chin at him. “And Bakugou, go find a wall to punch.” You turn towards your door. “Go work this shit out in couples counseling or something. 'Cuz you guys need fuckin therapy.” 

Bakugou snorts, enraging Uraraka. First, you steal Deku, and now Bakugou’s laughing at your jokes? Not happening.

“Leave us alone, Y/n!” she huffs, her pink cheeks now red with irritation. You flip her off before slamming your door shut. Bakugou’s eyes gawk at your closed door, unsure if he loves you or hates you. Either way, your remarks emit a small, impressed ‘huh’ from him. 

From that point on, Bakogous thoughts of you revolve around one question; Who knew the golden girl was such a badass?

After months of sleepless nights (due to overthinking Izuku's daily insults and listening to Bakugou and Uraraka’s endless arguments), your first year of U.A. nears its end. On one hand, you’re excited to take some time for your mental health. On the other, you’re going to miss kicking ass in weekly training (especially Izukus), and then following those brawls with Class 1-A movie night (which Izuku always spent touching you as minimally as possible, either because you ‘barely won’ or because you defeated him). Bakugou can't wait to get the hell away from Uraraka and her endless spew of horseshit. She doesn't know how to do anything but make crap float and talk shit about him or Izuku’s girl. She always goes on and on about how exhausting his yelling is, but listening to her nonstop yabbering makes spending summer locked away, either in a gym or in his kitchen, sound like heaven on earth. 

With only a month of school left, Izuku waits outside your dorm for you to finish getting ready for the day, growing anxious as the minutes’ tick closer to the first bell.

A few doors down, Uraraka impatiently taps her shoe on the ground as she waits for Bakugou.

If there’s one thing you and Bakugou have in common, it’s your impunctuality. 

“Hey! Sorry that took so long! I kept fucking up my eyeliner,” You exit your room and blow a stray piece of bangs out of your eye to check out your wings on your phone screen. “Nice,” You shove your phone into your bag, satisfied.

“Babe, you don’t need to spend so much time on makeup!” Izuku cups your cheeks with his hands, but focuses on your eyeliner instead of your eyes with a slight grimace on his face. “You’re beautiful without it,” 

He says it politely, but you know this a backhanded compliment. He hates that you wear makeup, even though its the barebones that simply consists of mascara, eyebrows, and eyeliner. He prefers ‘natural’ girls, even though there is no way Urarakas cheeks are naturally that pink. You push his hands off your face. “I know Zuzu, thank you. But I like it.” You hold his hands tightly before dropping them.

Uraraka cringes as the sight of her boyfriend. “Katsuki!” she whines. Even though the whole point of the uniform is to signify everyone's equality, Bakugou loves wearing it in a way that screams “I’m the main character and better than you!” 

His baggy pants sag to expose his shitty job of tucking in his shirt, and ball around the combat boots he refuses to take off. Per usual, he leaves his buttons undone and doesn’t bother wearing the staple red tie.

“How come you’re late but still look like a mess?” Uraraka complains. She reaches out her hand to arrange his askew vest, but he pulls away from her. 

“I’m fine.” he aggressively grabs her hand and begins to pull her towards class. “Let’s go,”

Uraraka spots Izuku watching and stops Bakugou dead in his tracks. 

By planting a giant kiss on his face. 

“Eugh. Get a room!” You grouse, rolling your eyes at the repulsive sight. But Uraraka keeps it going by practically shoving him against the wall. “You might as well pull down his pants and suck him off while you’re at it!”

Bakugou pulls away from Uraraka to snicker at your comment. 

Hearing Bakugou snigger at a joke you made… It gives your heart a reason to beat for the first time in months. You proudly slip your fingers into Deku’s and glide away, Bakugous eyes following you entire time.

The halls are nearly empty, only a few irresponsible students straggling to class or hovering around their lockers.

“So, do you want to be partners for the Aizawa project?” Izuku questions, like either of you have any other friends to partner up with. He hauls you along as he speedwalks to class.

“Yeah! I wonder what it is.” You move at a steady pace, knowing there's plenty of time to enjoy a pleasant walk to class together before the bell rings. 

“I don’t know! Mirio and the other third years wouldn’t tell me!” Deku whines, tugging at your hand to bring you up to speed. “Y/n, hurry upppp! We’re going to be late!” 

“Dude, you’re gonna rip my arm off!" you moan, rubbing your forearm.

“Shhh,” he hushes. 

Although you expect this attitude by now, it still pisses you off. If Deku expects you to deal with him treating you like garbage, he's wrong.

"You'll be sorry the next time you do that," you mumble, but he pretends not to hear, instead using his quirk to squeeze your hand in reply. Hard.

You barely wince.

“Now let’s go into class!” Izuku intertwines your fingers, straightens himself up, and tells you to put on a smile. He doesn’t do this because wants to hold your hand or genuinely cares about you, but because he enjoys the dramatic chorus of cheers you two always receive as you enter the classroom. If there’s anything Deku likes about your relationship, it’s how he gets to show you off like a trophy. His trophy. 

You enter class, and Mina immediately screams about how cute and perfect you two are together.

The golden boy and golden girl are dating. Honestly, who wouldn’t love that?

Bakugou doesn’t. He scoffs and turns away while everyone else encourages your shit show. Uraraka claps stiffly.

The corners of your mouth sink the instant the class’s attention shifts to some dumb pun Kaminari made. Bakugou is the only one to notice your smile fall when you reach your desk. He notices how you lean your head against the palm of your hand to stare out the window instead of at your boyfriend. You look… Tired. Like you’re tired of this act while Izuku relishes in the praise. Currently, he’s making a show to Uraraka of all the cute dates he’s taken you on while you create a show inside your head. A show where you and Bakugou are the ones going on cute days. Izuku uses his conversation with Uraraka as a way to silently convince her he’s better than Bakugou (and she’s falling for it), while you are just silent.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the eerie feeling of someone watching you sending your mind racing. When you turn to discover Bakugou is the one studying you, your face turns dark red and you immediately look away. The blush only fades once Aizawa starts talking.

“Class, today I will assign your partners for the quirk assessment.”

“Assign?!” The whole class screams in unison horror.

“Why are you assigning partners?!” Mina cries out, dramatically fainting across her desk. 

“Yeah! That’s not fair!” Kaminari adds on furiously.

“Nuh-no it’s not!” Mineta defends Aizawa’s decision, but internally drools over the idea of being paired with a girl.

“Settle down,” Aizawa silences the class with a single wave of his hand. “I understand you want to choose your partners, but in this assessment we want you to study the quirk of another person. Most likely, you all already know about your closest friends quirks. I want to pair you with someone new so you have to learn about a quirk you know nothing about.” he explains, to which the class to a reluctant conscientious that it's a good idea.

He clears his throat. “So, Mineta and Hagakure”

Mineta shrugs as if to say “good enough”, while Hagakure groans in disgust. 

You tune out the list, only listening for Izuku and Bakugou. As more names leave Aizawa’s lips and Izuku is already paired with Kirishima and Uraraka with Momo, you start to wonder who your partner will be. Who else hasn’t been mentioned? Damn, if only you had paid attention.

Finally, Aizawa reaches the last set of names. That’s when it hits you.

Aizawa hasn’t said Bakugou’s name.

“And…”

There’s no way.  This can’t be possible—

“Y/n and Bakugou.” Aizawa sighs. “You will have a presentation due on each other’s quirks next week. Get to work” he explains before zipping himself into his sleeping bag and flopping to the floor. 

You remain glued to your seat, completely frozen in shock. 

You already have a feeling this project isn’t going to end well. 

“Hey! Y/n!” Uraraka calls out from across the class, before squeezing through people to get to you. She pushes out her lip, clasps her hands together, and widens her eyes till the twinkle. “Do you think I can be with Bakugou, please? We’re kinda dating!” she exclaims as if it wasn’t obvious by how they were literally making out in front of you this morning. 

Without a second thought, you reply. “No.” You walk over to Bakugou and sit on his desk. “Sorry. I don’t want to bother Aizawa” you shrug nonchalantly, angering Uraraka to no end. But you know she’s too kind to say anything, and merely smiles to distract you from the steam spewing from her ears. 

“Okay! That’s fine!” she skips over to Bakugou and kisses his cheek. “Have fun babe,” she whispers before walking away with clenched fists. 

You think it’s interesting Bakugou didn’t say a single thing during the whole interaction. 

Does he want to be partners with you?

Or are you just the better option compared to his girlfriend?

Either answer is a good one, you suppose.

“Tch. Follow me, extra. We’re going outside.” Bakugou leaves his seat and shoves his hands deep into his pockets before lumbering away, leaving you to catch up. 

“Hey-- Wait up!” You call out. Bakugou huffs and leans against the doorframe. “Why are we going outside?”

Bakugou quirks an eyebrow at you with a smirk, igniting explosions from his palm. “It’ll be easier to learn about your quirk if I’m trying to blast you to hell.” 

“What?! No! I’m not fighting you!” you retaliate, stepping back into the classroom. You’re not in the mood to get your ass kicked by Bakugou, as hot as that sounds. 

“No wonder you’re dating Deku, you’re a coward too!” Bakugou taunts, his outburst washing a wave of silence across the classroom. You manage to keep your body relaxed and expression unperturbed, though fury rages within you. You will not let his intimidation frighten you. You refuse to be the reason he wears his sneer of satisfaction, that sickening smile that appears every time he successfully threatens or demolishes an opponent. 

You stare at the ground as dozens of eyes burn into your back, eagerly awaiting your response. 

Then, you do something you never thought was possible.

You raise one of your fists and punch Bakugou’s pretty face. 

“It’s on, Bakugou.” You spit. Before he reacts, you sprint down the hall towards the training grounds. 

[daesungfmd]

𝒊 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔, 𝒊 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔.

solo 4  /  wc: 1070

january 2021. his knees ache on cold days.

the morning frost used to be a sign that he should stay inside, but he’s long-since learned that the cold always finds a way to creep in, even when he’s hidden under covers. so, he might as well get out  ―  maybe he can’t run from his frostbitten bones, but he can run from his loneliness. he seeks solace in muffled 80′s-rock played over speakers that should’ve been replaced a decade ago, small talk with the same cashier who’s here every time he comes, the smell of cheap incense burning in the backroom.

(”what’s that smell?” he’d asked once, back in 2007, maybe. too young to know any better, the cashier―the same man behind the counter now―had laughed, told him it’s supposed to be sandalwood but it smells a lot more like burning hair, doesn’t it? now, daesung wonders why he still hasn’t switched to another brand. the comfort of familiarity, probably; same reason why he still comes here instead of shopping in gangnam. maybe they’re more alike than they seem.)

“have you ever...” he starts, fully prepared to inquire about the incense. but when he looks over at the cashier and their eyes meet, he freezes. he’s aged, daesung realizes. of course he has. so has he, anyway  ―  he might still be a clumsy kid mentally, but he knows he looks different. wrinkles and gray hair shouldn’t catch him off-guard, but they do. suddenly, he feels embarrassed about remembering a conversation from so, so long ago. an uncomfortable silence cuts his sentence in half, but he finally forces out a rushed second half. “... tried rosemary for inflammation? my knees have been aching like hell this winter.”

it draws a laugh. daesung hadn’t been trying to make him laugh, but he smiles anyway; cheeky as he’s ever been. up to no good. (except, not really.)

“what? are you asking me that ‘cause i’m old?” the man asks, full of humor. that’s what daesung likes about him  ―  how easy-going he is. every once in a while, daesung’s struck by the similarities the man has with his late father. maybe that’s really why he keeps coming on back to this place, no matter how much time goes by. “you’re a little young to be having issues with your bones already, aren’t you?”

(should his knees hurt like this at twenty-four?) (yeah, he thinks. that’s what you get for becoming a dancer.) (dancer? can he be considered a dancer?) (idol.)

“... well, it can’t be helped. i don’t know about rosemary, but try cooking with turmeric. it helps with inflammation.” daesung nods and says he’ll try it, but he doubts he will. he’ll probably forget by the time he gets home and, if he doesn’t, he just won’t want to. it’s too much hassle to go out of his way to cook with spices when he hardly cooks at all.

the short-lived conversation ends naturally and daesung creeps closer to the backroom, nose crinkling as the smell grows stronger. once he steps through the wide doorway, he immediately sees the smoke rising from what appears to be a fresh stick, going nowhere in particular. that’s the issue  ―  there are no windows open.

not that daesung can rightfully complain. the sunlight transforms into glass-amplified warmth when it comes through the windows and gives the impression that the temperature’s finally rising outside, but the dirty-white snow in the parking lot breaks the illusion. to open even a single window in this place would be asking for a cold.

the smell loses its punch after the first few minutes, as it always does, and comfort envelops daesung as he browses through crates of half-priced records and stares at the same dust-covered acoustic guitars that always hang on the walls when he visits, haunted by perpetual disinterest.

suddenly, he tunes in to the song playing dully over the speakers, more muted than it is in the main room  ―  stevie nicks, the edge of seventeen.

well, i went searchin’ for an answer up the stairs and down the hall and not to find an answer, just to hear the call of a nightbird singing, come away, come away, come away.

he sees himself as a bird, further materialized by the way his friends always praise his free-spirited personality and the way his managers always scold his spontaneity. but when it comes down to it, he shares more similarities with a parakeet than the needletail he thinks he is  ―  put on display, bound to a cage of suffocating rules and expectations. the mountains he thinks he soars above are nothing but anthills.

(is a bird with clipped wings still free?) (how high is he now? how high can he get?) (would he touch the clouds if he’d taken a different path?)

he sighs, realizes he’s still looking at the same three-quarters acoustic. it’s the last thing he needs, anyway  ―  he already has more guitars than he knows what to do with, filling his home-studio and lining the walls of his apartment in what appears to be a decorative decision, but it’s really just a desperate attempt to keep them out of the way. friends tell him he ought to sell―or, better yet, donate―some of them, and he always agrees. but that’s another thing that he has no intention of doing, for whatever reason.

by now, he’s learned that hoarding guitars isn’t going to make him any more free. it’s not going to change the fact that a gold star entertainment practice room is where he belongs, dancing on sore limbs, chasing a level of perfection that shouldn’t be expected, can’t be attained. still, he reaches out, running his index finger along the bridge. flicks the dust that he’s collected onto the floor, then takes the instrument from the rack and brings it to the front counter. even throws in a few 12-count pick packs and bronze guitar strings for good measure, even though he already has more of those than he knows what to do with, too.

the cashier gives him a half-curious, half-incredulous look and daesung knows what he’s thinking without having to hear it. “... this is a gift,” he lies, somehow embarrassed and shameless at the same time. the man nods, but he sees right through daesung. he always has.

on his way out, he hears the cashier’s voice calling out a reminder to try turmeric for his knees.

[thimbleswrites]

with the lights out, it’s less dangerous | the last time

Pairing: Frankie Dalton x Original Female Character

Genre: Angst / Drama

Word count: 4k

Warnings: love/hate relationship, implied smut, suicidal thoughts

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3884773/chapters/8685547

Author’s note: I wrote this a long time ago but I’m posting all my fics on my writing blog. I explain more about the Blood Donors concept in the a/n on A03 if anyone’s interested, click the link above.

Summary:

Anita, a human that Edward has been harboring in his house for years, struggles with the isolation of living as a fugitive in a world full of vampires. With the threat of being reduced to nothing but a Blood Donor looming just outside the walls of Edward's house, she must decide whether it is time to end it all or find a way to deal with the desolation.

But is the dangerous game she finds herself playing with Frankie Dalton, Edward's human-hunting brother, the best solution to her loneliness?

Set pre-Daybreakers.

Next: honesty hour

"Goddamn it, Frankie, I have until sundown to get some sleep before a shit load of work tomorrow – I'm not having this conversation again; it's done!"

A beat of silence follows the words as the dismissal rings heavy in the air and a resounding snarl tears through the tension. Anita grimaces at the sound of footsteps up the stairs and tries to press herself back against the hinged door, into nonexistence – a thin hand clawing at the threshold as she waits with bated breath.

No matter how many arguments she heedfully witnesses, how many times Edward tells her that she is safe after Frankie blows in and out of their lives over and over again, how many times she manages to make it just one more day without being caught and forced as a Blood Donor: the dread that makes her stomach clench in an almost paralyzing sort of fear is a constant reminder that she is never safe.

The comfort of safety is not a luxury she can afford – not anymore.

The years spent hiding with a decreasing amount of fellow human who had refused vampirism had not been wasted with pointless dreams of a secure future. Those days were harsh, dirty, and cruel – but in each other there was at least a small repose of normalcy. Humans living (well surviving, because what they had been doing was not actually living) with other humans.

A human living with one (sometimes two, she remembers with a tingle up her spine) vampires, though.

She wants to laugh at the thought of such an illusion as safety for someone in her position, but seeing as it's the one thing standing between her and becoming a daily juice box, she refrains. That is if she could remember how to laugh; the muscles surrounding her mouth are usually only ever exercised into a frown and she imagines that the act of straining them upwards might be foreign and difficult.

Her attempt at becoming a chameleon is at once deemed futile under the fierce gaze of Frankie Dalton as he passes in the hall. He's only just gotten back from his most recent tour of duty and as per usual he is staying at Edward's during his break, unable to afford an apartment he would scarcely ever use.

The first few days of his return are always the worst; Edward almost never remembers the day of Frankie's arrival and the latter's mood turns sour the moment he comes home to see his welcome party consists of one: a somewhat interested (and punctual; she doesn't have much to look forward to these days and even his return on the calendar is something) Anita holding a propped open book in one hand and the world's tiniest banner reading Welcome home, asshole! in her other as she lounges comfortably on a sofa in the office room, ready to leap to her crawl space at a moment's notice.

Just as she thinks that maybe, just maybe this time he will continue to his seldom-occupied bedroom and ignore her, he stops walking and looks her down as if she is a lower species; a turkey attending the Thanksgiving dinner. There is distaste clear in his eyes, rage too, and something even darker that she recognizes somewhere in the back of her mind but does not want to dwell upon.

Anita glowers bitterly up at him, willing him to feel her disgust at him, too, for him to know that this isn't exactly the ideal living situation for her either. A small part of her feels ashamed for those sort of thoughts – the last thing she wants Edward to think she is is ungrateful. She owes him her life, however useless it may be now.

Once, a couple years back, when on a supply raid with her group she had been wounded by a lone poor, starving vampire who had found them and attacked. Her party had left her there, assuming her to be dead, so it was not abandonment – not really, she would have done the same.

Self-hatred burns her insides with the knowledge that this new world – one with the rule of vampires and the hunt of humans like livestock – has charred her soul black to the core, a sense of meaningless survival (what is the point to her life?) taking control on instinct so that she has to fight every day to remember what humanity truly means.

But with an abundance of luck and patience on Edward's part, he had found her bleeding out (thankfully not infected; she'd rather die) and managed to get them both back to his place to nurse her back to health. Her constant attempts at his life or escaping had slowed things down considerably, but she eventually healed and came to the hard realization that her pack was gone. She knew by then they would be cities away and that she was alone. It was with little hesitance that Anita had accepted Edward's offer of shelter and food. Protection, too, but that was taken lightly.

She's never been one to depend on others; she likes to pull her own weight, and her current title of hidden house guest makes her restless. When she had first began living with Edward, she had offered him her blood – not straight from her veins, obviously, but with the proper equipment she would have given him enough, regularly but not nearly as much as she'd have to if she became a Blood Donor, to cushion the blow of his blood-bill. But he had refused; said he didn't drink human, and it would have been a lie to say she was too disappointed. The same offer was never given to Frankie – probably because she knows now, and knew then, that he would not have refused.

"Well, if it isn't the root of the problem." Frankie grinds out, his jaw clenched as he takes a step towards her. "Tell me – do you think Ed sees your face on the humans at his company or just dollar signs?"

She blinks indifferently, keeping her silence. They've danced to this song before, and honestly, she's grown too phlegmatic to be baited so easily.

"Probably not the money." He adds, his voice hard. "He pities you humans too much for his own good. And you in particular, doesn't he?" He chuckles darkly and points at her with his index finger. "No, you're his favorite little stray kitten – here to stay."

At his sneering words she looks back at the small opening across the small office that leads to the crawl space she spends her time in when the sun falls and darkness resumes – a pathetic excuse for living quarters but she is none the wiser, having been in worse conditions while on the streets. At least she has the sleeping bag to herself now.

She is allowed out during the day or when Edward is home and does not have company, but rarely downstairs and always, always she must be quiet (so quiet it is like she is not even there) in case the neighbors can hear. He cooks her food mostly (something she wishes she could do for herself; Edward is an appallingly bad chef) and she is permitted to have a shower every few days even though she has to use his toiletries. She does not mind much, though – things like that have not been a problem for her in a good long while.

It is not that Edward wants to keep her on a short leash so much as he is very meticulous in ensuring that she remains hidden, for his sake and hers. Every single thing is planned and routine; if he is to buy too much extra food or household necessities or if his guest notice that he seems to be housing three occupants, it might raise unwanted suspicion that would be better to avoid entirely. Paranoid, maybe, but it works. And although she will never dare to complain, living in such circumstances is taking the wear and tear out of her.

While food comes easier now than what she has been used to (having been malnourished since she was barely a teen) she is still unhealthy; her skin too pale from the lack of sunlight and the natural growth of her body stinted by the crawl space, making her appear pinched, and so much smaller than she should, too emaciated and frail to the point where she wants to avoid mirrors at all cost on some days. The perpetual dark rims under her grey eyes from many sleepless nights give her the appearance of a ghost, and her hair is almost always in a wild tangle of mousy blonde strands, but sometimes on her more vain days, she manages to run her fingers through it enough to tame the mess. Throughout every thing that has been lost to the war of vampires against humans, vanity seems to trail behind her in a race to catch up; not quite there but never too far behind either.

She looks hollow, dead in the eyes, and it's only fitting, really – she feels the same way.

Anita wishes that she could take pride in her quiet strength – she yearns to think of herself as one of the heroines from the books she reads to assuage her boredom (Edward has books everywhere, scattered in piles in all the nooks and crannies of the house and then some), biding her time before she can join the Revolution with her fellow humans, but honestly, the fear and cowardice that is still present, hidden beneath the bitter sorrow and ferocious contempt, only makes her feel weak. Weak from the tears that wet her pillow at night when she is by herself in the crawl space, holding her arms around her middle as if it will help the sickness, left with nothing but thoughts of death and blood and the unfairness of life.

She misses her family more than she ever thought she would, and it's unbearable because it leaves a gaping, festering hole in her chest that makes her want to lie still until she just stops breathing. At those times, more than usual, it stumps her how anybody could want to live forever. It's a consuming, mindless sort of grief that leaves her breathless and exhausted, hating herself for dwelling on the past when her current standing in the food chain demands all the focus she has.

Anita hates weakness.

And Frankie makes her feel weak.

Especially when he is this close to her, his head tilted down so he can meet her wide eyes, and his body so near her that she can feel the coolness of him. She hates the terror it instills in her at the thought that he can infect her with a smile on his face and her flesh in his teeth if he so desires. And he does desire it – he's told her so, after the two brother's verbal throw down matches over Edward's aiding and abetting a human criminal in his own house, a house that Frankie inhabits ("By knowing and not saying anything it makes me an accomplice, Ed!"). Edward thinks his threats of turning them in are empty ("He won't say anything . . . he owes me." Ed told her once when she had voiced her concerns) and he hasn't yet, however, Anita wouldn't put it past him. She can't turn a corner in a house that Frankie's in without having a threat to turn her thrown in her face.

Even more than that, though, she absolutely despises the other feelings he sparks in her too. The ones that make her flush with heat in her veins and an ache between her thighs from the longing to be close to someone again. Anita despises him for being a selfish monster and she despises him even more when he's not. She despises the salacious want he infixes in her when he glances up with sharp, trained eyes from whatever he is doing to watch her walk back to the office after a shower when she is in only a towel. But more than anything, anything else she despises herself for having allowed him to toy with those feelings periodically over the last four months.

As Frankie stares at her, something akin to understanding glints in his eyes and he takes a quick step in her direction, making her fall back two. After a moment she has enough sense to worry he might have recognized the look in her eyes as more than offense at his words. There is a familiar sort of triumph in his voice as he sneers, "Something bothering you, pet?"

The sound of the taunting sobriquet he had long ago christened her coming from his lips is far too palatable for her to handle so she imagines what the screams of the humans he has hunted and forced into the Blood Revenue Agents hands would sound like instead, so loud and terrible that it can banish those bad, bad feelings that surround her off to another place where things that are wrong go to.

For the moment, it works.

"Yes – you are standing too close," Anita finally murmurs, and something frightening in her roars at the covetous flash in his eyes as they narrow at her, but she silences it by biting her tongue, unable to resist the opportunity to wipe the smirk off of his face. "And I can still smell the blood of my people marring your precious honor, sir."

The corners of his mouth twist down at her mockery and he raises his chin, trying to intimidate her with his authority, but the vampire soldier card no longer makes her shrink in fear as it once did. She has had quite a bit of time in the weeks of Frankie's absence to prepare herself for his overwhelming presence that has always had a different effect on her than Edward's. She will no longer permit herself to be a distraction for him to amuse himself with whenever he likes purely because he can. She is more than his filthy little secret, and certainly better than him.

Her lips thin and she brings herself to full height, which is only a wee few inches shorter than him, but still her neck cranes up slightly to meet his gaze. She has pushed off from the door and he moves backwards to avoid physical contact. The fact that he is the one who falls back weighs heavy on him and his frown deepens in anger.

His relentless harassment over the years has been all too entertaining for him because of the easy prey she has always presented him with. His ability to read her like an open book is almost congenital – Frankie knows Anita to her very core; her thoughts, her fears, her dreams, he knows exactly what to do to provoke her. He can send her into a furious rage with a few casual words or tear her apart by a single deliberate look. But now the game has changed. She has surprised him with this sign of defiance; this charge of offensive play, and he does not know how to react to it.

A small thrill shoots through her from his falter, and the courage it gives her comes out in the smooth words she spits into his face, "Something bothering you, Frankie?"

She can almost taste victory in her mouth when his ochroid eyes flash and he quickly leans into her, a smirk curling onto his face, making her stumble back away from him and warily glance at the protruding fangs that press into his pale lower lip. He smiles widely to show her his teeth more clearly; a wolf's grin, and watches her clenched jaw tremble beneath the unspoken threat, eyes dancing and alight with the prospect of a challenge.

"Careful now, pet, wouldn't want to cross lines you can't come back from, would you?" He cautions.

The air feels weighted with the tension, as if electricity is crackling against her skin, sending sparks through her nervous system but she holds her ground and straightens. The warning is obvious in his voice; he wants her to know that he is in control. She hates that.

He is so close she can feel his breath fanning her face, and although it makes hers come in faster than she would care to admit, Anita resists the urge to swivel her head to the side. "Fuck your lines."

The curse word feels strange on her tongue, although she is pleasantly surprised at the evenness of her tone, and she enjoys his confounded look at her having taken a page from his book – he frequently uses the crude terms, and at least one adolescent innocent tendency has always made her wince when he casually refers to them – but it had sounded sharp and primitive and she is impressed by herself. She instantly realizes that she likes how fierce it makes her feel.

"Ooh, such language, Nita. Wouldn't expect it from you." He grins at her, his tongue grazing briefly over one fang, so quickly that she barely notices it with a sweeping sensation sent straight to her toes, and continues, "And while I appreciate that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, maybe you should mind your manners for now. After all, pets who misbehave must be . . . castigated."

Her knees quake, nearly giving out at his tone: almost a teasing threat, and that realization makes her stomach flutter in equal parts fright and excitement. She inhales deeply, pulling down the frayed sleeves of her sweater past her fingers.

Frankie's smile fades as his mouth contorts into a thoughtful expression and his eyes size her up. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, but she is not sure if it is because of the dread in her stomach or the heat that flames in her cheeks and along her ears when he steps forward with his arms extended out on either side of her head, efficiently trapping her between the door and his body. He pushes a strand of hair from her darting eyes with a gentle motion; a mocked sign of affection, and lets the tip of his finger rest on her temple.

He is pushing her, stretching their interaction like a rubber band, testing to see how far he can go before she breaks. He doesn't have to push far this time – a simple movement; he bites gently and deliberately into his lower lip and his eyes drop to her mouth – and then she is shoving his arms away scathingly, hitting him with her fist as she turns to her crawl space.

Frankie catches her readily around her waist and flings her back against a wall, grabbing her wrists in his hands when she tries to struggle and pinning them above her head. His face is close enough to hers that she can clearly see the smile lines in his right cheek when the corner of his lip quirks up in that crooked grin that makes her loathe these moments with him as much as she secretly looks forward to them, although, she will never admit the hold he has on her; a strong fist around her rotting heart, forcing it to pulsate when the beats begin to degenerate.

Sometimes she wishes he would just let her die.

He thrusts a knee between her legs, pressing his body onto hers, and she can't breathe – she can't even muster the energy to ignore the way her body responds to the familiar feeling of him against her; the way her hips cant upwards into him, all but unwillingly.

And sometimes she wants nothing more than this.

"Fuck you." Anita seethes, because he looks so smug, like such a smug bastard that her blood practically boils and she feels alive.

"Hm, fuck me?" Frankie muses. "You're being rather straightforward today."

"Well, you know what they say." She returns with a sharp grin on her face that she saves just for him. "Bold is beautif – oh!"

He had ducked down into her neck, his mouth opened wide, and for only a moment she considers that he is finally making good on his threat to tear into her jugular vein, but it's not his teeth. It's his tongue, and she thinks that might be worse. He's kissing the base of her throat, ravaging the skin there (because Anita will shit a brick if she ever sees Frankie being tentative in his actions), and it almost hurts; she knows there will be a bruise there in a few hours.

There always is.

"Wait." She protests wearily, her heart beating a tattoo of his name onto her rib cage. "You said it was the last time. We agreed – we agreed the last time was it."

"I changed my mind." He says easily, his mouth trailing up to her jaw. "God, you're so fucking warm."

And the low, guttural sound of his voice makes her knees actually give out this time. He only tightens his fingers around her wrists, though, and his thigh between her legs keeps her upright, but oh – his thigh between her legs. She trembles.

Her eyes fall closed with a pleased, drawn out sigh and he lets out a breathy laugh.

"You want this just as much as I do, don't you, pet?" He taunts, scraping his fangs lightly over her skin.

Anita growls but before she can retort he presses his lips to hers and kisses her in a way that only he's ever done; hard, deep, angry. He releases her right hand and she presses her palm to the nape of his neck, holding him in place as she responds to his jabbing remark by nipping at his bottom lip. She makes a noise at the back of her throat when his tongue invades her mouth.

He's cold – all vampires are. But Anita doesn't see it like they do in the old YA novels about the then-mythical vampire, it is not just some side effect of being a dashing creature of the night like the young heroines think it is; it's one of the things she hates the most when she's with Frankie like this, because it reminds her that he is dead. He has no pulse, no heartbeat. Frankie is cold like a corpse, a walking disease.

This thought gives her resolve a burst of renewed strength and she tugs her other hand free from his grasp, holding tightly to his shirt as she pants, "We can't keep doing this." But even as the words leave her, she allows her hand to drift down towards his stomach, feeling the taut muscles of his abdomen beneath her exploring fingers.

Jesus, help me, Anita thinks desperately, he's my Kryptonite.

He's undeterred – his mouth hovering over hers, golden eyes watching her intently as his hands go to her hips and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her pants. "Why not?" He asks, softly, the words drifting over her lips.

She pauses, distracted by the way his fingers stroke circles onto her skin.

He smiles at her hesitancy, touching his lips lightly to hers.

The tenderness throws her into momentary surprise, but he suddenly grips the back of her thighs and lifts her up, propping her against the wall as her legs lock instinctively around his waist, and there's nothing tender about what's digging into the inside of her thigh. She gasps when his hands slide up her sweater, one at the small of her back and the other on her breast.

She kisses him fervidly, nearly slicing open her tongue on his fang, and cradles his jaw in her hands – he grins into her mouth, apparently satisfied by her response, and her body screams this is the last time, just once more.

"I'm not into necrophilia – you son of a bitch," Anita murmurs, short of breath, but even she hears the fond way the words are spoken.

"Shut up," Frankie groans as his mouth goes to her collarbone, his hand tugging one of her legs higher over his hip while his groin steadily rocks into the apex of her thighs as if to prove his next words, "D'you think I want to want this? I've taken playing with my food to an all new level."

And she doesn't even try to stop the morbid laugh that leaves her as he carries her to his bedroom.

It's the last time, after all.

-

[all-i-need-is-food-and-fanfics]

What do you want? (1)

words: 2200(ish)

triggers/warning: mention of death, graphic violence, blood(nothing too graphic or explicit yet), curses(because it’s Bakugo).

summary:

Katsuki works alone, he hasn’t need anyone’s help before, why would he need it now?

Well it wasn’t really an option anymore.

Or a Buddy Cop AU

a/n: Okay so this is completely based and inspire by @soyunpochoclin hcs, because i’m weak and it was a great idea. I hope I made it justice. I did it while I was traveling on my notes for the most part, which is why it’s kinda short...i’ll make the rest of them longer(i’ll try).

Anyway sorry if there are any mistakes, I tried correcting any but English is not my first language, and thanks for reading :D.

2nd part-->

***

"I don't fucking need a partner.'" Katsuki sneered, his face deepening into disgust, "Never have before, and don’t need it now." He turned around, walking into the door, hands deep in his pockets.

"I wasn't asking Bakugo," Aizawa declared just before Katsuki could kick the door open, "I was only telling you." In one leg Katsuki turned his right hand out and already twitching. "It's not a suggestion, it's an order."

"Huh?" He lets his right hand fall into the dark wood of the desk, disturbing the empty cups of coffee and pencils around it, "An order?" His voice loud and rough, demanding.

Aizawa sighed, he tried to smooth the frown in between his own eyebrow, but it seemed to be engraved with the rest of the few wrinkles in his face. When he looked back at Bakugo, he pushed back the two pieces of his hair falling on his face.

"Bakugo, you are good at your job-"

"The hell I am!" Katsuki jumped quickly, "Which is why I don't need a damn partner!" He stood back straight, or as straight as he usually would, lifting his hand to the ceiling finally letting a few sparks from it.

"But if you can't follow an order I'm afraid I'll have to let you g-" Bakugo open his mouth to complain even before he finished until a knock cut them both.

It took less than second after Aizawa lets them in for, what Katsuki could only describe as fucking blinding, person to pull his head from behind the door. His red bright hair was slick back with a blue and white bandana to match with his uniform eyes lined and twinkling, big and bright, surprisingly sharp, smile. Too fucking bright.

“Good afternoon!” He bowed to both of them, “I'm looking for Bakugo Katsuki?" He asked, once back standing, scratching the back of his head with the hand free of a folder.

Katsuki sneered and put his hand back in his pocket to stare back at Aizawa. "Is this really what I'm being paired with?" He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes, “Tsk.”

"Bakugo." Aizawa spat a warning, "Play nice."

Immediately the guy turned to Katsuki, not even reacting or minding Katsuki’s comment. “My name is Kirishima Ejirou, nice to meet you.” Bakugo only looked down to him and sneered.

“I work alone, I don’t need a partner.” Bakugo insisted one last time, talking one step to the desk, leaving Kirishima behind and without an answer.

This time Kirishima did notice, did mind; he frowned at Bakugo. It was clear to Ejirou that this guy didn’t care at all. By the untamed nature of his hair, the lack of order on his uniform, his shoulders down and relax and general slouch way of standing in a way that probably would gain Ejirou a hit in the back of his neck from his mother, it was easy to tell. Why was he assigned a case this important to someone like him?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kirishima-san.” Aizawa finally stood, bowing just slightly to Kirishima, “Inspector Aizawa Shouta.”

“A pleasure, sir.” Kirishima caught up next Bakugo.

“Now,” Aizawa turned back to Bakugo, “It isn’t a request Bakugo, you’ll have to work together or you are fired,” Bakugo looked away, clenching his teeth, “Understood?”

“Aja aja” He agreed finally turning away, tucking his hands back to his pockets.

Aizawa sigh, sitting back down, “He is a good cup, you just have to be patient, he is just…just hard to work with”

“Yeah…I can see that…” Kirishima stared as Bakugo walked away. It took him a few seconds to react and finally go after Bakugo.

As the door close behind him, Aizawa could only pray nothing went too wrong. It had been too long since Bakugo last had a partner. Not since…not that it was that different back then, from today. He had never interested on working with other people, or interested in other people for that matter. The difference now is that his loneliness isn’t only based on the indifference on people but something else rooted on him, that’s what Aizawa feared.

***

Bakugo didn’t stop until he was on his desk, even though he could hear the guy calling him behind. Instead, he sat down and turned to organize the papers on the desk until Kirishima finally caught up. He looked down to Bakugo’s annoyed face. As he laid the papers down, Ejirou noticed how neat the rest of the desk was.

He shook his head, focusing back on what he had to say. “Are you familiar with the case?”

“What the fuck makes you think that?” Ejirou took a deep breath in.

“Well, please do, there’s a lead I need us to check out tonight but you need to be familiar with the case,” Kirishima rested his body on Katsuki’s desks, his hips falling just next to Katsuki’s face, “It shouldn’t be so hard, there’s no a lot to go on.”

Katsuki stood up, avoiding Ejirou’s face, a turning to the exit. “Then you’ll have to give me a summary.” He sneers walking down the door.

Ejirou doesn’t like this dynamic of chasing him whenever he exits a room.

***

When the case was first given to Ejirou, he was shock rather than anything else, even though he was warned before entering the storage unit. There were nothing but bodies in every state, from cut and deform to completely untouched but a number of holes from a syringe, but what worried Ejirou more were the dry patches of blood with no source or the ones with only ashes on top. Even more, though, there was nothing aside from the bodies. No trace left to follow after, no trace of who was there before and what was going there.

The storage unit had been abandon by a close factory a couple years ago, which only meant that the activity was recent, also confirmed by the states of the bodies found on the factory. Although that didn’t really give any trace or the perpetuators.

“Tsk, so there are basically no leads then?” Katsuki pushed the door, with a ring following them.

“Well…” Ejirou is almost ashamed to say so, not with Bakugo looking at him as if it was his fault, “There’s an eye witness of a girl walking outside the storage unit, and well I thought on searching on the cameras from stores around here, maybe…”

Bakugo clicked his tongue and walked directly to the casher, “Oi!” He hit the table, calling for their attention. The person on the cashier jumped to the sound, and then again when they saw Bakugo.  Bakugo let his hand sparkle on the table, smiling(almost too much in Ejirou’s opinion) asking for the footage. He presents himself probably not necessary, the person looks so scare they just might have give it to him without Bakugo identifying himself.

The person walked to a corner, behind the large counter at the end of the store, to a small computer; relieve of leaving Bakugo on the other side.

“So have you seen anything strange or out of place around here?” Kirishima finally talked, turning around, leaning into the counter.

“The other day, there were a lot of cups around the old fabric, but I’m guessing that’s why you are here…” They laughed, just slightly, nervous.

Ejirou hummed in affirmation, looking around. The store was small, with only one costumer at the moment. Only four shelves, two each side leaving the entrance directly in front of the cashier, the fridge on the left wall for vegetables or frozen foods, and empty on the other side.

“How about a…” Ejirou opens his notepad, and tried to read his own scribbles, “…a blond, a small girl, school uniform?”

“Oh yeah!” They answer immediately, pulling the memory up fast, “She usually comes once a week, buys food for at least…7 people maybe…” They hesitated, once Kirishima asked for more information, “She’s kind of hard to forget…she has wide smile as if it belonged permanently in her face…” They stopped using the computer to use their hand to mimic a big smile with their hands, as if pulling the ends of their thin lips, “…but not like happy, it’s like she’s mocking you…”

Kirishima turned to the door as soon as it rang. It’s more than a second after when he calls her, “Miss, excuse me!” And half of second before she stars running. Less than that Kirishima it’s already behind her, “Bakugo, it’s her!” He announced only when he was pushing the door.

“Shitty hair, what the fuck?!” He heard Bakugo running behind him.

Ejirou locked his eyes on the girl running only a couple people in front of them. Quickly she was three people up front, then four. Bakugo had caught up to him, firing explosions to the sky, possibly to keep away people out of their way, which honestly Ejirou thanked. It was clear why she had chosen this hour if she planned to run away. Even with Bakugo yelling, it’s still hard running with those just standing.

They only caught up go her when she reached a street with cars running too fast for her to cross. This leaves her trapped in a circle of shocked people.

Kirishima turned to Bakugo for a second, his eyes locked on the girl, determined. Hands tense and ready to blow her up. The girl also notices and laughs. Like she’s mocking, Ejirou remembers.

“Stop!” Kirishima ordered, but she only laughed covering her mouth. Her yellow eyes resembled those of a cat in the street, unaligned and wild. Small hands and long nails reached for something in her back. “We just want to talk!”

He heard Bakugo sneer, “As if.”

The girl throws a syringe in Bakugos direction, he is quick to avoid it, let it fall to the ground and lift his hand, tense and itching. “Bakugo, no!” He turns to the warning and Kirishima signals the people.

“Huh? You don’t want to play?” Her voice was high pitched, sickeningly sweet, as she threw another 2 syringes to Bakugo.

He jumped with a small explosion to the floor, before they hit him. He hit the wall of the building next to him. “What are you doing?” Katsuki turned to the people next to him, “Run!” The line of people against the building started running away, some using their quirks, others as fast their legs let them to do so. Bakugo run to start of it, to change directions of any syringe that were to hit any civilian.

“You go for her! I’ll take it.” He hears the guy’s voice next to him. When he turned, Bakugo found the soft curves of his face had been replaced with sharp edges. He doesn’t have to tell Bakugo twice, by then he was already flying with his hands stretched behind his back.

Katsuki smiled, finally a way free way.  He impulsed himself forward, avoiding the syringes that managed to make his way to him. Just as he was about to reach her the cars stop. She started running again. She turned into an alleyway. Even if the power distributes when he uses both of his hands, it’s enough to impulse him in a few seconds to the other side of the street, with a explosion from his right he turns, straight to the entrance. He stops. The victorious smile falls. He turned and there was no one that even resembles the girl running just moments before.

It took Ejirou a minute to catch up to Bakugo. He finds Bakugo standing of a bleeding man, on the floor. Noticeably angry. He sprints to kneel next to the man. Still breathing.

He sighs. “Bakugo, he nee-”

“On their way shitty hair.” He answered in between his teeth, still looking around.

“How did she manage to get away?” It wasn’t meant to be answered but he swore he could hear Bakugos clenching his teeth even harder at the question.

“I don’t know.” He mutters as if the words were forced of his throat.

Kirishima looked back to the man in silence.

So…

***

“…we are back to cero!” Bakugo yelled, clenching all the notes of the case in his hand, standing up from his desk.

“We know the syringes are the ones that cause the holes in several of the bodies, she is related to the case.” Kirishima reminded from the borrowed chair they had moved next to Bakugo’s desk.

Bakugo turned, clenching the papers even more. Red eyes fired up. “That would’ve been useful if we would've caught her idiot!”

“Hey, dude, calm down we just need to-” His eyes fall down to his notepad. The notes. “You don’t buy groceries from a neighborhood you just moved.” He takes the notebook.

“What the fuck are you mumbling hairs for brai-?”

“The cashier said she usually bought groceries there, and she came back today.” Bakugo stared confused as Kirishima stood up, “You are not going to buy groceries from a neighborhood you don’t live in, besides she was walking there, not driving...That means…”

“They haven’t left the area.” Bakugo finished with him, “That’s fucking genius Kirishima!”

[ezilyamuzed]

Everyone Needs A Sam - Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Summary: Two Sam’s in the Winchester family is better than one. 

Reader is Named Sam, or sometimes called Red, a nicknamed given by Dean.

Warnings: Language. Some fluff. Some Angst. Mentions of Menstruation (you know because some people get grossed out).  

A/N: Sam Winchester is often now referred to as Sammy, it was just easier. While the confusion in two Sam’s is funny, it can be tough to write. There is a lot here, but it is leading up to some interesting development to say the least. Obviously women aren't typically this psycho when about to hit their period but when you live with the Winchesters and kill monsters for a living your rational is bound to be a little messed up. Also Charlie is in the mix because I love and miss her. Killing her off was one of the biggest mistake the writers ever did!  Ends in Dean’s POV.

As always comments and feedback are welcomed (GIVE ME LOVE). Any errors are completely my own because I am human. If you want a tag in this or anything pop into the ASK box. Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

“Hey Sam it’s time to…whoa,” Sammy stumbled on his words as he pushed your slightly ajar door open. 

Laying there in a spooning position while soundly sleeping was his brother with his long legs and arms wrapped around you tightly like he was a dog with his favorite playmate. He chuckled to himself as he took out his phone to take a picture of the sight, possible blackmail for later. Whatever had happened last night between the two of you was interesting to say the least, but not of importance at this moment. Daylight was burning and there was a job to do.

Sammy pulled the door slowly into a closed position, waiting a few seconds from the moment he had heard the soft click of the lock meet the frame before pounding on the door hard to pretend like he had just gotten there.

“Rise and shine Sam,” he yelled while listening to an audible groan from the other side. “Time to hit the road. I’m packing the car, you go wake up Dean.”

Hearing Sammy’s beaming voice at 5:30 in the morning was not your favorite thing. If you didn’t like him as a person so much, you might have shot him after the first time he did it. He knew that you would reluctantly wake up though because in a few moments if there was no trace of you slowly becoming a functional human for the day, he would be back to it again often growing only louder and more persistent.

Something heavy weighing you down where you laid as you tried to focus your vision to your surroundings. You shifted under whatever it was only to meet something hard pressing itself agianst the lower half of your backside. Your eyes shot open, your vision now clear as you looked to see that it was Dean wrapped around you, holding you down in your place. You swiftly glanced down at yourself and sighed in relief that you were still clothed since you couldn’t even remember anything past the second sex scene in the movie. All you could really remember was laying your head down on Dean’s shoulder while he laid his arm around your shoulder, the simplest touch that made you feel relaxed and at home after feeling pretty crappy all day yesterday. 

You tried to shift yourself slowly from his sleeping grasp, not wanting to wake him and have the awkward conversation that would be bound to happen. Almost to the edge of the bed was when you felt him unconsciously shift forward, making you feel the hard press in your backside once again. Was that his…shit. The shock of what was happening while you steadied yourself on the edge was enough to push you fully over, tumbling hard onto the floor.

“Ow. Shit!”

Dean popped up immediately from his slumber to the sounds of your body hitting the floor and your cries, both wide-eyed and ready for an attack. He looked down to you now rubbing your butt, wincing in pain caused by the hard fall.

“What’cha doin down there Red?” he smirked while wagging his eyebrows.

“Yoga,” you hissed while turning up your nose in annoyance. “What does it look like?”

He laughed at your sarcasm while looking over to the clock that sat on the small table by your bed.

 “Why are we up this damn early?” he moaned while flopping himself down on your bed again.

“Because your brother is ready to go and I sure as hell am not going to let him walk in here on us…”

“On us what? Sleeping?” Dean interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

“I just…,” you mumbled while pushing yourself up to your feet. “I just don’t want him thinking something is going on.”

You watched his face turn into a scowl like you had been talking about a crazily impossible concept. It wasn’t though, you were both human with functioning parts. Well, his you could only assume were by what you had just felt when you woke up. You bite your lip trying not to think about how strong it had felt against you. If your hormones hadn’t already been out of whack, they sure as hell were now.

Dean shifted up from the bed and stretched out his arms above his head, making his shirt rise up just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his strong muscular torso, which was surprisingly tanned although you never saw him out in the sun without at least one layer of clothing on. Along the bottom on his sides where the top of his jeans began, his hips had a strong ‘V’ pattern that was created by the bulging muscles in his abdomen leading your eyes down directly to where it pointed to…

“Ahem,” you heard him clear his throat aloud. You turned quickly on your heels as you could feel your face becoming flushed from being caught in the act of looking a little…too hard. A low chuckle behind you came from him as you could hear the bed squeak as he lifted his weight from it. “I’m going to go take a quick shower.”

When he left the room you fell down on your back hard against your bed while staring at the ceiling. Why on earth did you have to look there? Why did you have to feel it pressed against you? Why the hell couldn’t you stop yourself now from thinking about it? Was this just Mother Nature playing a cruel joke on you, getting you all hot and bothered by the feeling and the glimpse? Were you actually allowing yourself to think of Dean in that way? He was unbelievably mesmerizing in every way but honestly…so was his brother. They both had something different and unique about them that you absolutely loved to be around. You would never want to risk what you had by becoming a “girlfriend” to one and straining a relationship with the other Winchester. 

Pretending that they were unavailable and untouchable to you was the only way you found yourself able to push down any thoughts that would often come through your mind. It was definitely not easy with the random winks and suggestive comments that would come out of their mouths… especially from Dean’s. He was the worst, but after a while you just assumed that it was his own coping mechanism with dealing with the perpetual loneliness that the job entailed. Sam on the other hand was just more…sweet, for lack of a better word. Letting you play with his hair and carefully listening to you when you would complain about whatever was bothering you. Last night though, you remembered how Dean showed his sweet side which was not very often. He actually went out of his way to bring you your favorites and some necessities that you were definitely going to need in a couple days when Aunt Flow would stroll into town. Jesus, why did they both have to be so damn handsome and loving?

“Sam! Come on! It’s time to get your stubborn ass out of bed!” Sammy yelled loudly through your door.

You got up while groaning again, hating that you couldn’t just go back to sleep and forget your ‘wake-up’ call from Dean, however going on a hunt was just what you needed to distract yourself. Moving to the door, you swung it open wide to Sammy still standing there with a shit eating grin sprawled on his face. 

“I’m up,” you scowled giving him a stern look while rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Didn’t know if you were too tired out from last night,” he smirked.

“Excuse me?” you snapped back, wondering if he had known if something had happened between you and Dean.

“You were fuming mad last night,” he stated calmly with a little shrug. “I figured you were hiding out in here awake all night probably thinking of 100 ways that you could kill us in our sleep.”

“Yeah,” you snorted. “More like 104 Sammy.”

“Dean is getting done in the shower,” his voice trailing off as he started to move away from your door towards his own. “Be ready in 10?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved him off. “You are making coffee though!”

“Already done!” he boomed back while still making his way down the long hall to double check if he had forgotten anything that they might need. He stopped in front of Dean’s door that was slightly ajar. His brother was already dressed and moving the clothing he would need into his green duffel, nodding his head rhythmically to a tune that was playing in his head.

“You seem chipper this morning,” Sammy commented with a sly smirk. “Have a good nights sleep?”

“One of the best I’ve had in a long time,” he replied while tossing his red flannel shirt on top of the others. “Why?”

The sly smirk grew wider across Sammy’s face as he gave a little shrug and replied innocently “nothing.” 

It was kind of obvious to Sammy that Dean had started to become attracted to you, but there was no way that he was your type. No, you probably liked guys that didn’t hide away their emotions who listened to you whole heartedly and allowed you to live your life fully, not stepping in the way of it. Sam only had assumed that what you had meant by being tired of pretending was about how you had to act like what his brother was doing didn’t bother you. He knew it was. Hell, it bothered him every time Dean would step up to the older brother role and tell him what to do. Dean was almost as bad if not worse than his father sometimes. 

No, the guy for you was not his brother. He agree that the two of you barely had anything in common other than bad T.V. shows and movies melting their brains. He had more in common with you than that, besides the obvious of being both Sam’s. You were incredibly intelligent, almost completely fluent in Latin and Enochian. You also had this light inside of you, often making him feel that no matter what things were going to be okay. And damn did he think you were beautiful. All the scars from previous jobs, the little way you would crinkled your nose up when something was off, and how your eyes held so much passion in them. 

Sammy long ago had already realized how drawn to you he was, finding blissful pleasure in in their late nights together, even when you were surrounded by books in complete silence. He didn’t exactly have the best track record with relationships though. Something always happened to them that was out of his control, so he himself pretended not to notice your loving stare and full body smile that lit up the room. It was better that way for everyone. 

He had almost told you the other night as you cuddled into his arms, nestling yourself into his grip while tearful. You were way too drunk though. Nothing you said would have been real and honestly he wasn’t sure if you would even remember it at that point as he had noticed the once filled to the brim decanter now more than halfway gone. Letting you fall asleep in his arms while watching your face as you dreamt was a memory that he was going to hold onto for long time. 

“Who drank all my creamer?” you shouted while burying your face in the fridge in search of the sweet cream that was explicitly yours, but somehow would suspiciously deplete a little more than usual everyday. 

“Definitely not me, Red,” Dean commented while pouring the straight black coffee into his thermos, leaving just enough for you. “Maybe we have a ghost around.”

“Maybe it’s the moose,” you pondered out loud while opting to just go ahead and drink it black, maybe the bitterness of the beans would help to wake you up more. 

“So are we good from yesterday?” Dean coaxed nervously, hoping that the bipolarness of your hormones had finally calmed down. 

“Yeah, we are good,” you laughed while pouring the remnants of the coffee into your cup. “You still owe me a new bra though.”

Dean chuckled out loud and nodded in agreement while you scrunched up your nose to the bitterness of the black coffee you had just tasted. 

“Ready to go?” Sammy questioned as he entered the room.

You both nodded your heads to answer him, moving towards the garage where Baby slept comfortably. For the next 4 hours you laid sprawled out in her backseat, while the boys and you came up with a game plan as soon as you got to the town. After checking in two rooms at a tiny motel, you all separated to cover more ground. Sam was taking the preacher, Dean was taking the women’s clinic (of course) and you got the sheriff’s department about the missing people. 

Honestly, you had the easier job because you had become so used to flirting your way with the donut loving bunch, that they often didn’t even question your fraudulent credentials. Thank goodness Dean wasn’t there because he would have probably punched the poor deputy that was drooling all over himself and made the sexist comment about how a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be working a case alone, which he was more than happy offer his services to. Giving him your best bitch face you gently reminded him you were a federal agent, a complete lie but he didn’t know that. 

The missing people you had come to find out all had two things in common. One, they were complete assholes. Imagine the worst people to have at a BBQ, and that would be them. Racist, narcissistic, sexist, disgusting, greedy pigs. Almost the complete box set for Dante’s seven deadly sins. Second, they all disappeared without any trace while leaving valuable possessions and people behind.

Walking out of the station you wanted to scream as the heels pinched deep into your feet, making walking easily almost impossible as you limped a little to ease the pain. 

“Hey bitch! Need a ride?” 

You turned your head quickly to see who the hell would have called you a bitch only to be met with the smiling firecracker that you had come to know and love through the Winchesters.

“Charlie, I almost shot you,” you smiled as you approached her little yellow car’s driver window. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking out a case,” she retorted. “Guessing you are doing the same.”

“Yeah, so far not a lot to go on,” you rolled your eyes to the sheriff’s department. 

“Well get on in. We can share what we know so far!”

Inviting Charlie to bunk down with you only made sense in your mind, it was nice having another girl around that understood somewhat how much of a pain in the ass boys could be. Dean and Sam had been surprised but thrilled at her appearance when she was the one to open up the door and let them in as you changed out of the tight pencil skirt and opting for your worn out jeans and t-shirt to relax in for the rest of the day. 

“So you are going to join us then,” Dean stated while not allowing for any room for argument to the decision.

“Yeah, I have to hang out with my favorite Sam,” she smirked while giving a side eye to Sammy that was proudly smiling. “Not you, ya big lug. The other Sam. Us girls have to stick together around you two.”

You giggled to yourself in appreciation of the loving but silly nature of Charlie, she was a breath of fresh air when you started to feel like things were going crazy with no way out. Both boys gave a growl as they pretended to be hurt by her words, but they knew she was right. Dean had suggested that you all that you hit up the little tavern down the road for food and drinks since it was already now past a normal persons dinner time and the most that any of you had eaten was a power bar with lots of coffee to drink. Catching up together over a drink with something fattening that would most likely clog your arties sounded like the perfect plan. 

It was rather busy when you all arrived but you found a small booth in the back. Dean and Charlie sat on one side, while you and Sammy sat on the other. After about a 20 minute wait for someone to come by and take your order, you were starting to get more than hungry, you were now hangry. Excusing yourself to find someone capable of taking your orders, you left the three of them to talk amongst themselves.

“I think Red is going to murder someone soon if she doesn’t get fed,” Charlie observed as she watched you scowling at the gossiping staff by the bar. 

“Yeah, this is the wrong time of month to piss her off,” Dean snickered. Charlie raised her eyebrow to him, while mouthing ‘what’. 

“Female thing,” Sammy chimed in. Charlie pushed up her lips and nodded her head, knowing very well what that all entailed. She quietly watched the two boys that she has come to love like brothers watch you to ensure that you had a handle on what was going on, and didn’t need back up. Both of their eyes followed your every move and gesture as you tried so hard not to make the young waitress cry out of nervousness towards your obvious annoyance. 

“So…” Charlie popped her tongue off the roof of her mouth. “Which one of you has tried sleeping with her yet?”

Dean and Sammy shot their heads directly towards her, wide-eyed and frozen like they were deer spotted by headlights. Caught unexpectedly without knowing what to say or do. 

“That’s what I thought,” she snickered. 

You were now walking back with the terrified waitress trailing behind you, right on your heels. She promptly asked everyone what they wanted to eat and drink before running with haste towards the kitchen.

“I guess there is one benefit to the whole monthly visitor thing, you are scary as hell,” Dean chuckled. 

Sammy tilted his head at his brother mouthing “really dude.” Dean just shrugged it off and leaned back into his seat seeing you clearing looking annoyed with Charlie giving him a disapproving look on his side.

“So what do you have on the case so far Charlie?” he spoke up trying to shift the attention away from him. 

Charlie had about the same as all of you, basically everything just occurred overnight with no rhyme, reason, or connection to each other. The boys had checked for sulfur, EMF, and even hex bags at the locations they visited but came up with nothing. It was a perplexing case and you were now more than glad to have the extra pair of eyes on board. 

“Maybe a trickster?” you suggested while finishing off your burger that had come out in a rush. Guess Dean was right, being scary did have its benefits. 

“Does fit the ‘just desserts’ scheme,” Charlie agreed. 

“If it was him, he would have already been messing with us by now…and not in any type of fun way,” Sammy commented nervously while flashbacks of being turned into a car, having his balls crushed, and campaigning an ad for genital herpes ran through his mind. The whole ordeal still haunting him nightly.

“Yeah,” Dean smirked. “By now I’m sure that Red here would be turned into an animated princess with one of us coming to save the day.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, giving him a stern look. 

“You know the typical damsel in distress,” he shrugged.

“Is…is that how you see me?” you stammered.

Ever since the boys had found you knocked out by the Demon you had felt like you had to prove to them that you weren’t helpless. That you could take care of yourself. So many times you had noticed that when things started to get real, they would put themselves in between you and the danger like you couldn’t handle it. You could. You weren’t one of those helpless women that they had to save. You were a hunter just like them. You had pretended that you didn’t notice that they had been treating you definitely than anyone else and you were getting tired of pretending that it didn’t bother you. Now Dean’s words proved what you had suspected, they thought you were just another girl who they needed to saved. 

Dean looked at you in confusion as he noticed that your eyes began to welt up. He looked to his brother and Charlie that were equally as perplexed to your reaction.

“No, Red, not at all. It’s just that he likes to... mess with people’s... weaknesses,” he suggested, which only made the tears you were holding back now come flowing down your face.

“So because I’m a girl I’m weak? I can’t take care of myself?” you snapped while getting up from your seat, making all the patrons now turn towards the four of you. “You know what Dean, I can take care of myself and I will.”

You walked right out of the tavern before even giving him a chance to say anything else, the cool night air hitting your hot skin felt wonderful as you took it all in. As you made your way through the parking lot you heard a female voice speak up amongst the parked cars. 

“Men can be such pigs huh? Wouldn’t you love it if they could only see what it was like for once?”

You let out a little laugh and said “yeah” before continuing to the hotel alone. Hopefully a good night’s sleep would calm you down. Maybe even tomorrow you would actually allow yourself to have a real conversation with them about why you had basically acted like a child throwing a tantrum in public. They really didn’t deserve that, but it had been growing on you for so long it was bound to snap out at some point. You now felt guilty for your actions as you slid into the musty bed sheets of the dark hotel room all alone while pondering what on earth you were going to do in the morning.

 __________________________________________________ 

“What the hell was that?” Dean stammered as he watched Samantha leave in a hurry with tears falling down her eyes. Charlie punched him in the arm hard.

“Dude! Super insensitive!” she replied giving him a hard look.

“What?!?” 

“Seriously? Do you two not get it?” she probed while shifting her eyes between them. “Oh my… Okay, let me break this down for you. Sam is a hunter. Sam is also a girl. Girls for fucking ever have been told that they are weak and have to be saved by a big strong man and what do you do? Basically just tell her that her being a girl is a weakness!” 

“Charlie has a point Dean,” Sammy chimed in.

“You are fucking right I do!”

“It’s not like we exactly… treat her equally sometimes,” Sam offered in embarrassment as he realized that more often than not there would be arguments on who would be taking point, them usually against her. 

“Yeah but she likes all that girl stuff too,” Dean added.

“You can want to be a Queen, kick some ass, and save the day too Dean,” Charlie commented.

 Dean and Sam both sat quietly back knowing she was right. 

“Whatever, I need a stronger drink,” Dean grumbled. 

He walked up to the bar and leaned on it while rubbing the scruff on his face in frustration over how the hell he was going to fix everything with Samantha now. A young girl moved next to him while flashing him a flirtatious smile. She was cute, but he wasn’t interested. She moved her face now closer to his, making him raise his eyebrow to her. 

“Hey, there sexy. I’m Sam.”

He tried to hold back the laughter but failed as he turned to walk away. “Sorry darling. Two Sam’s are enough.”

The next morning Dean woke up from his restless night’s sleep before the sun had fully risen. He could hear snores in the bed next to him as he stumbled towards the bathroom to get dressed so he could go and grab coffee, along with Samantha’s favorite creamer. He rubbed his unusually smooth face while he yawned and entered into the ceramic tiled room. His bladder was ready to explode so he positioned himself in front of the toilet to pee while reaching and felt the unexpected. Instead of finding his penis, his hand reached into the slick wet folds of a vagina. In a quick motion he moved to the mirror in front of the sink and his stare met the eyes looking back at him. They were Samantha’s eyes. Holy shit, he was in Samantha’s body! How did this happen? Where was she? He reached up and felt his chest, realizing that it was her soft, yet firm bosom. They were just like he had imagined, but he never imagined that he would be feeling them on himself like this! Crap! He heard movement of a bed in the other room like someone was waking up, he ran to the doorway, using the frame to steady his balance while staring wide-eyed at a waking up Charlie.

“Charlie! I have tits!”

Bitch, Gimmie (You asked for it):  @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @curly-haired-disaster @waywardnerd67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @jaylarkson @ladywinchester1967 @hobby27 

[dragonshost]

Back To The Start

Chapter 3: Complications And Missing Places

Pairing: Acnologia x Lucy

On FFN:

On AO3:

Summary:  Lucy has lost everything she ever cared for, all thanks to the black dragon of the apocalypse. So, with the help of two old journals belonging to her ancestor Anna and a dragon slayer 400 years dead, she will find out the secret to Acnologia’s defeat. No matter the personal cost.

Chapter 3 of the giveaway fic for @momocheww

Sorry this took so long to get out!  I finished it a while ago, but I only just got around to editing it.  Also, I cried while writing this chapter.  A lot.  Lucy’s still got some growing to do in this fic, but she’ll get there eventually.

Contrary to her initial hopes, it took Lucy the better part of the day to merely map out the layout of the Tower’s first floor.  It was best to know where things were, she had decided.  That way she wouldn’t have to keep calling on Crux every time she wanted to know where something was.  He had a life of his own in the Celestial World, after all.  It would be the height of rudeness to send him home only to drag him right back.  Now that she knew how the time flowed differently between the worlds thanks to the party her spirits had thrown her, she understood just how disruptive calling upon them could be for their daily lives.  Aquarius’s irritation at her childhood habit of constantly summoning her made a lot more sense now.

It was better for both her and Crux to just keep him summoned while they figured out where everything was, and then she could send him home once she had a grasp on the books’ organization.  She just hadn’t expected it to take as long as it did before she could do so.  Even the bottom floor of the place was massive. Furthermore, it was a veritable labyrinth that didn’t follow any convention of organization that she could readily recognize.  Whatever ancient correlation it had, it was beyond Lucy’s ability to intuit.  Which forced her to plot everything out in her journal as she went.

Then there was issue of the fact that Lucy couldn’t read half the languages that the books were written in.  It had been a depressing realization, to open up half a dozen books only to find herself incapable of discerning their contents.

She missed Levy intensely in that moment.  The blue-haired woman would know exactly what these books said, no matter the language. Loneliness welled up inside of her. The absence of her friends and teammates ached like a missing limb – a large chunk of her soul cut out and gone with them.

It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t find any information in the library without Levy’s help, she knew.  Several of the tomes were bound to have translated versions somewhere in the building.  And Fiore’s national language was one that had existed for at least four hundred years without too much deviation.  The question was whether she’d be able to find the books written or translated to it, and if their contents held what she needed within them.

She wasn’t placing much hope in her infamous luck to help her out in that department.  Besides which, it felt lately that her luck had long since run out.  Tenrou Island, the Neo Oracion Seis attempting to sacrifice her to a clock, getting the crap beaten out of her at the Grand Magic Games and being thrown into jail, a dragon invasion, and then… Tartaros.

Yeah… her luck had run out a long, long time ago.

Perhaps it had all been used up in meeting Natsu, and in joining Fairy Tail.

By the time she had to call it a day, Lucy had come to the crushing realization that even if the library held all the information that she needed, it was going to take her a lot of time to comb through it all.  Let alone discern what information was actually helpful for her cause.  Lucy highly doubted a book existed that would be so fortuitously titled: How To Defeat A Dragon King.

The bright spot in all of it was that while he’d helped her, Crux had also provided enough information for Lucy to write a preliminary article on the place for Jason to look over. She would organize her notes once she got home for the night, though, and then write it.  Skipping lunch while working in the archives had been a poor idea, and her stomach was complaining so loudly that it would have gotten her kicked out of a normal library.

“Is it alright if I summon you again tomorrow?” Lucy asked him, just before dismissing him for the day. “I think I’m going to need more help figuring out where everything is.  But if not, then I can work with what I’ve already got.”  She refused to be an imposition to him.  Not like she had been to Aquarius.

The spirit considered it. “I’m afraid that I’m unavailable tomorrow,” he said slowly.  “My apologies, Miss Lucy.  I would love to continue to assist you, but it will have to wait two of your days, at least.”

Crestfallen, Lucy nodded. “That’s alright.  You have your own life to live.  It would be selfish of me to take up too much of your time.”

A kind, if sorrowful, smile spread across Crux’s face.  “Miss Lucy, you aren’t an imposition to us.  I fear that Aquarius’s lack of patience is to blame, here.  Hardly any time passes in our world while we’re in yours. Our lives are not disrupted by any great account in being a part of yours.  We all knew what being bound to gate keys would entail when we agreed to be so. Truthfully, our lives are enriched for the experience – time moves so slowly in our world that it’s easy to become stagnant, to fall out of touch with what is happening on Earthland.  We take great joy being your spirits, and a part of your life and adventures, Miss Lucy.  Please take heart in that.”

Hot tears gathered in Lucy’s eyes at his words, and her cheeks and ears burned.  Shakily, she nodded her head.  “Okay,” she breathed out.  She furiously wiped her eyes with her arm and gave Crux a tremulous smile. “I’ll try to remember that.”

She’d keep his words in her heart, always.

“Miss Lucy,” Crux continued, his wizened face relaxing at Lucy’s response, “I am not the only one of your spirits that you can call upon to help you.  Most of your spirits will know at least one of the languages in these tomes.  Although they aren’t quite my advanced age, they’ve been around a long time, and served many summoners in the past.  Call upon whoever you wish, and they’ll keep you company for as long as you need them. And, I suspect, if you should want them longer than that, they’ll happily remain then, too.”

Lucy hiccupped, trying to force back a sob.  These were the things she’d needed to hear, she realized.  She hadn’t known that she’d needed them until they were already said, and yet they slid so easily into an empty place in her heart.  “I will!” she told Crux, her voice heavy with emotion. Lucy needed her spirits, and they needed her, too.  She would face them once more, and this time she would try to do it with love in her heart instead of sorrow.  “I promise.”

The library, true to Crux’s warning, did attempt to keep Lucy’s notes that night.  It took her the better part of a half hour to escape with her notebook intact, though Lucy couldn’t quite explain how the library was doing it in the first place.  One moment, the book was in her hand, and the next it was back at the table she’d been working at.  It played tricks on her mind – she couldn’t actually say for sure that she hadn’t left it there herself.  Multiple times.  But she knew enough of magic to know when it was trying to bamboozle her.

It was a minor blessing that it kept returning to the same table, all told.  Lucy wasn’t sure she’d be able to find the damn thing again if the library were to shelve it somewhere else in the building.

The whole ordeal rendered Erza’s previous success with removing the clock piece somewhat incredible to Lucy.

Early the next morning, an inability to sleep, despite how tired she was, drove Lucy from her bed long before she had intended to.  It seemed as if these days she was perpetually exhausted; on the verge of dropping off to sleep at any moment.  And other days, insomnia plagued her instead.  Her sleep schedule had gone completely off the charts in terms of predictability.  The odd hours she worked with Jason were also not conducive to a consistent night’s rest.

Lacking ought else to do, she found herself at the Library of Sorcery.  The world was still covered in blue, the morning songs of the birds just starting their first notes.

Maybe the early start would help her make more progress than the day before, or so she reasoned.  The stone edifice of the Tower was hard to pick out, somehow, in the predawn.  Like her eyes just… slid right past it.  Given the intricacies of the spells within the building, it wouldn’t be too surprising if there were spells on the outside of it, too.

In fact, that might be a large part of the reason it was still standing after four hundred years. Lucy knew from her childhood obsession with the ruins spoken of in Key Of The Starry Skies that very few buildings of that age remained intact around Fiore.  She wasn’t sure about Ishgar as a whole, but for Fiore it was definitely true.  Not even Cardia Cathedral came close to that age, and it was easily the oldest building in Magnolia.  Objectively, Lucy knew that countless wars and the early days of magic experimentation had a lot to do with that.  She couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss, however.  How many libraries had disappeared over the past four hundred years?  Or libraries even older than that?  Lacking the extensive, mind-boggling protections that this building possessed, how much knowledge had vanished altogether?

This was the sort of thing that she would have liked to talk to Levy about.  Or maybe even Freed.  Warren knew a lot about this sort of thing too, surprisingly enough.  If he was there, he’d probably regale her with tales of other magical places he’d come across in his extensive traveling.  Freed would be over the moon in dissecting the spellwork that comprised the Library, and Levy… it would have been her dream come to life to read the ancient books stored here.

Stars above, she missed them.  More than she had words for.

She wondered where they were, at that moment.  Her friends were scattered all over the place, so it was hard to find them. There was a map, in her apartment; studded thick with pins and articles tracking individual guild members as they settled into new lives for themselves.  Originally Lucy had just been planning to write to them, to check on how they were doing.  A way to feel connected, despite the distance.  And maybe, if she had the time, she could drop in on them for a visit.

But the reality of her own busy schedule had come crashing down on her hard.  It was probably no different for them.  They had new lives and new concerns to deal with.  She’d just be intruding.

She kept adding to the board anyway, though.  It would be too painful to take it down now.  That would be like she was admitting that they would never be a family again.  Not like they were before.

Lucy swallowed thickly, her hands curling into fists at her sides.  With an abrupt turn on her heels, she strode away from the towering library. Lead sorrow sat in her gut, heavy in her chest.

She couldn’t do this today. She’d try again tomorrow.

When she returned home, she fell into bed, and immediately dropped off into a thankfully dreamless slumber.

Jason was more than pleased by how fast Lucy had gotten the first draft finished, nearly blowing out her eardrums over the phone with his excited shouting.

“This is fantastic! Super cool of you!” he crowed, as Lucy held the receiver at arm’s length away.  Much as she enjoyed working with the man, he was putting her hearing at serious risk.  He was capable of indoor voice, she knew that from experience.  But when he got excited it was as if someone had cranked his volume up to the max, and then broken off the dial.

“Thank you!  I’m glad you liked it,” Lucy told him, smiling broadly at the praise and flushing with happiness.  This was the best she’d felt in a while.  The past few days of research on her personal project, and the work she’d put in towards the article on the Library of Sorcery, had beaten her spirit into the ground, honestly.  Three days straight of painful quiet, with only Crux and Capricorn to occasionally break the monotony.  Three days where she failed to produce the results she wanted.  Three days of fighting with the building to let her keep her notes.  She was exhausted.

“Liked it?!  I loved it!  I think we can get this one into the next issue, for sure.”

Lucy’s eyes gleamed; Jason’s excitement was downright contagious, for all its volume.  “Thank you!” she said again, so overwhelmed that she couldn’t formulate anything more articulate.  “Thank you so much!”

“So on another note,” Jason said, his voice returning to a normal decibel, “I think I’ve gotten a pretty good lead on a possible interview for the magazine.  Something that would catch a lot of people’s attention.  Since you did so well on this piece, I was thinking you might be able to handle it.  Aside from which, the subject requested you personally.  Can you come into the office tomorrow, so I can give you all the details?”

‘The real world intrudes,’ Lucy thought morosely.  ‘Again.’

It wasn’t as if she’d been making much headway at the Library, though.  As much as she still thought it would contain the solutions she sought, they were proving difficult to locate.   Extremely difficult.  Capricorn and Crux had been a great help, of course. The two spirits had done everything in their abilities to assist her in her search.  The old goat had even left off comments about her weight and diet, which was nice.  Keeping them in Earthland for as long as she had was improving her magic by leaps and bounds as well, but it was probably high time she took a break.  The day she’d gone home and fallen asleep hadn’t really been much of a real rest.

“Lucy?” Jason voice came through the receiver, his clear concern shattering her thoughts.  “You still there?”

“Yeah,” she responded with a shake of her head that he thankfully couldn’t see.  “What time do you want me in?”

“Seven, please.”

“Got it.  See you tomorrow, boss!”

When she hung up, Lucy stared blankly at the wall for a long minute.  “I wonder who it could be?” she said aloud.  Shooting a glance at the map, bright with pins and cluttered with cut out articles, she let out a self-deprecating little laugh.  “Probably not.”  Lucy shook her head at her whimsy.  For all that she wanted to see them so badly, it was pretty clear at this point that the feeling was not reciprocated on their end.  They would have reached out, otherwise.

Calling it an early night, Lucy put herself to bed before the sun had even fully set.  She would need the extra rest, after all.

For once, her dreams were peaceful.

[plumoh]

[TodoBaku] in your memories

Word count: 3575

Summary: This is just another story, and yet it is not. / Gang!AU

Note: AO3 link. Gang!Todoroki, bartender!Bakugou. Inspired by this fanart.

Day 4 - AU: in your memories

The bar is never noisy. This is a peculiarity that Shouto has never found an answer to, but he won't complain; he appreciates much more quiet places than places that make his ears buzz and his head spin. The windows are always clean, giving a perfect view of what's inside, and Shouto can easily distinguish what kind of atmosphere is floating just from looking. He adjusts the tie around his neck, tugs on his black gloves, and pushes the door open. The tingling of the small bell announces his presence, and immediately the bartender shoots him the most deadpan expression he's ever worn since their first meeting. (Their first meeting goes way back, five or six years before.)

“Look who's late,” he says.

“Look who didn't give me a precise time,” Shouto replies easily, striding towards the counter.

The tables are almost all occupied, ranging from families taking a short break, to couples stealing time to themselves, to people who came alone to seek some peace. The bar is situated in a back street that is more frequented by stray cats than by normal people. Shouto thinks it's better that way, considering the temper of the owner and the services that are provided in the establishment, not necessarily of poor quality, but presenting a rather dangerous edge that normal people wouldn't want to come across.

He takes a seat by the counter (the only seat available, right in the middle, in front of the bartender), and casually folds his hands on it. He doesn't say anything, just stares at red eyes that are gauging him, as if it will magically dissipate the tension between them. Shouto has rarely seen such a vivid and beautiful color; many people compliment his blue eye, and go as far as saying that his scar makes it even more alluring, which of course Shouto doesn't take too kindly.

“Around nine pm means around nine pm, it's fucking ten,” the bartender growls.

“Well, I did have some business to attend to before coming here, you're not the only busy one,” Shouto almost drawls.

Katsuki snorts and gives him the finger, totally unnecessary and uncalled for, but Shouto doesn't care. The man sitting next to him glances curiously at them, but he quickly gazes back down at his beverage when Shouto looks back at him. People possess indecent curiosity.

Katsuki puts a glass of whiskey on the counter. Shouto didn't order anything—this sort of became his default drink, since whenever he comes, Katsuki serves him the same. He nods at him, and takes his first sip. The icicles clink against the glass, a satisfying sound that never fails to make Shouto smile, strangely enough.

“And it never crossed your mind you could, I don't know, send a fucking text?”

Shouto puts down the glass, and his smile is still stretching his lips, amused, serene.

“I didn't peg you for the worrying one.”

“Fuck off, Shouto.”

Shouto simply hums, observing with delight Katsuki's growing red face. It has always been easy to rile him up, a small comment could set him off like an explosive and nobody could do anything about it. To be honest, Katsuki was the first one to initiate the snipping, and over the years, Shouto's indifference grew into a playful interest.

Look at where it landed him.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks, sobering up.

Katsuki regains composure. His whole body squares up, his eyes focus on Shouto's face and his hands casually slide into his pants' pockets (Shouto wants to tell him he should appear more professional, but he knows it'd fall on deaf ears).

“There was a rise.”

Someone is calling for Katsuki in the room, so he goes to attend to them. Shouto gazes into the amber of his whiskey, diluted by the icicles, and takes another sip.

***

They exit the bar way past midnight, after the last customer leaves with a generous tip. Katsuki turns the key into the lock, lowers the shutter, and they set off. They walk silently, side by side, shoulders brushing but never making the contact last, eerily quiet in the streets that hold secrets they don't want to disturb. Shouto dislikes wearing his suit, but it's a look that blends into the crowd; somehow it's enough to put past questions about his ugly scar.

When they round a corner, Katsuki comes to an abrupt stop and slams into Shouto. Were it anyone else Shouto would have cut their fingers without a second of hesitation, but Katsuki's weight is a familiar one, pressed against his chest, arms snaking around his waist and lips hungry for sensations Shouto is more than happy to provide. Ironically, for all the times they threw poisoned remarks at each other, they don't need words in the heat of this moment. Shouto probably wouldn't recognize it, but the both of them are way more similar than they think they are, and it took four years for him to realize that the thick aura enveloping Katsuki is made of a loneliness that Shouto can assimilate all too well. They resonate, maybe unwillingly, but this drew them together in the first place, despite their obvious outward differences shaping their life.

Shouto grabs Katsuki's shoulders, steadying himself and leaning forward, applying more pressure on his lips, while Katsuki makes a vague noise of protest, maybe because he still doesn't like feeling he's being interrupted in something, even though it shouldn't be the case in that situation. For a moment it's only the sound of their lips moving and taking what they find, hands traveling up and down any parts of their bodies like they are searching for a treasure, not delicate but not rough either, rustling of clothes betraying the impatience that escalates with every passing minute. Heat is growing inside his stomach and shivers run down his spine, and Shouto has to remember that, empty street or not, he's not going to let himself get carried away.

Apparently Katsuki has the same thought despite his initial fervor, as he pulls back, resting his forehead on Shouto's shoulder, heavy panting from them both replacing all previous sounds.

“It's getting dangerous,” Katsuki whispers.

“It was dangerous right from the beginning,” Shouto answers on the same tone.

Katsuki doesn't say anything else. Instead, he takes Shouto's hand, and leads the way.

***

Shouto can't stay in the morning. He gets up, picks up his clothes piece by piece, careful in his movements and not to be noisy, and he leaves the apartment. Activities are often perpetuated at night, but he believes that sending an early warning can't hurt anyone in the vicinity.

(He trusts Katsuki, so he didn't bother hiding his weapons in a special hideout; he just needed to grab them from the kitchen counter, where he left them last night.)

The city is already bustling with life. People are following their routine, and so is Shouto. He steps into the district, knowing full well where he's headed, even without the many men shooting him glares and provocations. They're of no importance, and they probably don't know who they are up against, either.

Shouto marches straight into a courtyard, pulls out his gun, and fires a single bullet.

The entirety of the courtyard and the people eavesdropping from the building's windows jump on their feet, but Shouto remains calm, holding up a hand, the other one gripping his gun lowered.

“I'm not here to fight. Stay away from my territory, and consider this our farewell.”

Of course, in Shouto's ideal world, people would take a hint and do as they're asked, but since this isn't the world he lives in, a henchman lunges at him, classical boy acting on instincts regardless of his boss not having said a word yet. Shouto easily gets a hold of the boy's arm, twists it and holds it behind his back, and blocks his footing with his leg.

“I said that this is farewell.”

He locks eyes with the boss; he's a man a bit older than Shouto, more experienced with many years of mutual altercations, and though he radiates with irritation and a desire to smash Shouto's face into pieces, he knows he shouldn't talk back.

This is enough for Shouto. He releases the boy, ignores the insults hurtled at him, and walks away, just like how he walked in.

“We haven't made a move in weeks. Did you send a spy in our ranks?”

He doesn't need a spy when he has the biggest mine of information as a resident pain in the heart.

***

If his gun feels too impersonal, he uses his knife; blood trickling down the blade, splattering on the ground and on his clothes, smearing his face with more red than he already has, provides an incredible sensation of having accomplished something. Shouto has killed, killed and killed as far back as he can remember, blade in hand or orders at his lips, and he surrounds himself with that veil of hardened numbness to fight off what happens around him. Dead bodies don't have any reasons to affect him anymore. His subordinates often tell him that the newcomers are always afraid of him because of his scary presence, much like a king's to whom bowing is instinctive. It doesn't matter, he isn't the leader of the most powerful gang to be friends with its members.

(Is befriending someone outside of the gang any better?)

He can escape guilt whenever the current situation springs on him.

“I literally came yesterday in your territory to warn you. How come you are here today?”

“You only caught me today, I've been here for weeks,” the intruder spits.

“Interesting. Tell me more about your reasons for spying on us. Wait,” Shouto holds up a hand, nods to one of his henchman. The latter pulls out a knife and puts it near the man's neck. “I think you are smart enough to guess what is going to happen to you.”

For the first time in a long time, Shouto sees someone at death's gates smiling at his fate.

“Gonna die either way.”

He breaks free of the hold the people had on him, and without even sparing a glance at anyone he cuts his own throat. His body falls on the floor in the most deafening silence. Blood is pooling beneath him, bright and familiar.

Shouto sighs.

“A courageous man. Dispose of the body, I have someone to interrogate.”

It is weird that nobody, even himself, didn't notice the intruder, if what he says is true. Shouto appointed a trusted man to make sure that everyone in the base is a familiar face, and that every newcomer is accompanied by a veteran. How did this pass under his radar?

He easily finds him; they have specific tasks every day, and it would have been even more suspicious if he wasn't in his usual place. Denki turns around in his chair, removing his headphone, and Shouto looks at the multiple screens displaying different parts of the base. Nothing seems wrong.

“What's up, boss?”

He wears his usual smile, an expression that doesn't match the job he's doing. But not everyone has to look like it's their last day on earth to be part of this underground world, and Shouto would be lying if he said that he'd prefer seeing Denki acting like a cold-blooded schemer.

“Didn't you notice someone infiltrated our base?” he quietly asks, gazing directly into Denki's eyes.

Denki has the unfortunate tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve. He is too good to be involved in shady affairs, which is why Shouto assigned him to internal work.

But even in internal work, he managed to be influenced. Shouto tries not to be disappointed when Denki's gaze drops to his knees. Would it have been less suspicious if he laughed it off?

“No, I didn't notice...” Denki trails off, gesturing to the screens.

“Denki, we don't know what kind of information he delivered to our rival group. It can trigger our downfall.”

“I know...”

Shouto doesn't quite tower over Denki, but the way Denki shrinks on himself, almost like he's just a small kid caught stealing a cookie, gives the advantage to Shouto. Denki probably knows that his boss won't like his answer.

“You're not fired, and I'm not going to get angry,” Shouto says, on the same tone, not pushing too much.

“Uh, I think you're going to get angry,” Denki retorts, which makes Shouto raise an eyebrow. “I hid stuff and it's not pretty.”

“Just tell me everything.”

And finally, Denki lifts his gaze, not steel hard, but not mellow either, as if he was feeling sorry not for himself but for Shouto.

“I got a bargain. Let a spy in the base, and they'd give me money and weapons. They also threatened my best friend, but. Well. Sorry, boss.”

“Who came to you?” Shouto can't remember anyone willingly walking into their territory to speak to the head of his men. Denki's look of pure desolation strikes him head-on.

“Have you heard of Explosive Drink's?”

***

Shouto waits until it's dark. Waits at the door past midnight, watching the last customer leave the building, and he steps inside. The tables are clean, the chairs turned over, and the glasses put away. Water is running. Shouto feels it safe to assume it was a busy day.

He walks towards the counter, but he doesn't sit. Instead, he gets around it, slowly, and stands a few steps away from him. Katsuki raises his head, hands still scrubbing at the last plate.

“What?” he says, as agreeable as ever.

“Do all your customers have some kind of importance?” Shouto asks, unperturbed.

“If by importance you mean they get high on exchanging smokes, drugs, sharp toys and all that stuff, then yeah.”

Katsuki closes the tap, dries the plate with a rug, and puts it in the cupboard. He flings the cloth over his shoulder, then narrows his eyes at Shouto.

“What's up with you?”

Shouto is always wearing his suit when he goes out; white shirt, black jacket, black pants, black tie, black gloves, just the typical clothes. Katsuki has seen him countless times dressing and undressing, he knows where he keeps his belongings, he knows which pocket holds what.

Shouto slides his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, and just as fast, Katsuki makes a move to slap his hands away but Shouto is quicker. He turns to the side to protect himself and he slams Katsuki into the counter, one hand gripping Katsuki's collar and the other pointing the gun to his head, and if Katsuki's eyes weren't constantly fire ablaze, they'd be burning right now.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” he yells, fists clenched at his sides.

“How long have you been playing for both sides?” Shouto's voice is tight.

The question only channels further fury into Katsuki.

“'Both sides'? Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not on anyone's side, fucker.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well don't fucking believe me, be naive in your sorry corner of a territory.”

Katsuki attempts to move but Shouto presses the gun harder on his temple. He doesn't feel it through his gloves.

“Katsuki. Answer me.”

“You're delusional, Shouto.”

Katsuki's hands are uncharacteristically slow whenever he touches Shouto's body, and no matter how many times Shouto told him he wasn't made of glass, Katsuki never stopped. This time isn't any different; fingers are running around his waist, reach the small satchel on his belt, and retrieve a pocket-knife. Shouto lets him. The tip of the pocket-knife faces his chest. Katsuki doesn't look enraged anymore though some traces remain on his features, but his eyes are still red defiance.

“I never made an allegiance or whatever to you,” he explains, barely any emotions coloring his words.

Barely doesn't mean none. Surprise isn't one of them; it's more of resignation, Shouto doesn't dare think it's regret.

“I don't want to kill you,” Shouto whispers.

“What, you're going to let me kill you instead? Don't be an idiot,” Katsuki snorts. “I can stab you to death.”

“I'd fire the second you plunge that knife into me.”

“You said you don't want to.”

“It doesn't mean I won't.”

“Stop fucking playing with words, bastard.”

“Who is the one playing here?”

Katsuki scowls. With the hand not holding the knife, he pushes the gun away, slowly, always slow with his hands, not breaking eye contact with Shouto. So much can happen in these seconds, so much can turn wrong or right. The choice is theirs.

“What do you want?” The words are much more alive, crimson determination.

“I don't know.”

So typical, pathetically cliché. Shouto thought he could avoid this sort of dilemma. He's a fool for covering his eyes with the feeling of yearning and comfort.

He takes a step back, Katsuki straightens, their hands still linked by the gun, one atop the other. The pocket-knife is dropped on the floor. Katsuki grabs Shouto's shoulder, squeezes, pouring his entire heart in that single powerful gesture.

“I never made an allegiance,” he repeats, firm. “I gave information to you. I gave information to everyone. That's my fucking job, I don't care whose money it is. I'm not gonna be picky and get my ass killed.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Shouto replies softly.

“Put the damn thing away before you shoot yourself in the foot like the dumbass you are. I'm not armed.”

“You are a close-combat fighter, Katsuki.”

Katsuki shrugs. Shouto shakes his head, and does as he's told. The gloves are thick, neither the cold of the metal nor the warmth of Katsuki's hand is palpable, but he knows they are here, mingling in his own warmth. Gloves won't protect himself from what's bursting inside.

He picks up the knife and puts it away, too. All the while Katsuki remains silent, following every movement of Shouto. All their cards have been revealed, left open and unattended—what should they do, now?

(Some part of Shouto cracks, another welcomes the relief.)

“You led a spy into my ranks,” he says.

“Yeah. Good deal for me and that Kaminari guy.”

“How many were your doing?”

“For the past five years? Dunno. I don't count.”

The nonchalance is almost vexing, cutting deep into Shouto's skin, but he should have been expecting it; Katsuki isn't like Denki, he doesn't rely on his emotions to think and act. It doesn't ease the pain.

“I don't know what I should do,” Shouto admits with a barely audible sigh.

“You expect me to give an answer? Fat chance,” Katsuki chuckles, but there is no mirth.

He's once again slid his hands into his pockets. Shouto doesn't mind, this time. He wouldn't know what to do with his hands either were he Katsuki.

“Trust was never the matter, I suppose,” Shouto continues. “I trusted you. Still do, I think. It just puts everything into new perspectives.”

“Look, nobody is chaining you here, if you wanna go and disappear then be my guest. I'm not gonna beg you or some shit.”

In a movie, Katsuki would have taken out a cigarette and smoked, dragging a long grey trail, emphasizing how many fucks he gave to the situation. Can't be helped, Shouto guesses, that the one selfish decision he makes stabs him in the back. His head is a mess of what-ifs and shoulds, of memories and subsequent regrets, and honestly he just wants to wake up to the reality he's been living in until today. It's a fucking joke.

“I was serious when I said I didn't want to kill you. You... I... I became attached.”

Shouto doesn't meet Katsuki's gaze.

“Pretty stupid of me, I'd say. Becoming attached to someone with my kind of job? It was a direct way to send me to my downfall.”

“Shouto, listen the fuck to me.”

Katsuki's voice is dripping with so much harshness, a command from the mouth of someone manipulating words and meanings, that Shouto is irrevocably drawn to him.

“Do whatever the fuck you want. I know I'm not the best person to be around. We were fucking, not dating.”

Five or six years, Shouto can't remember, but that many years can't result in nothing. He narrows his eyes. “I wouldn't call our relationship just fuck buddies.”

“I do, so stop overthinking that shit.”

Katsuki drops his shoulders, scowl stretching his features, and he walks past Shouto. He bumps into his arm, and suddenly Shouto jolts awake, flashes of all the sensations he's felt ever since he met him, brewing like a storm waiting to clap. He whirls around.

“Katsuki, I still believe in you,” he declares, hating how his voice threatens to crack. “I'm being stupid right now. I know you're not as emotionless as you try to be.”

Katsuki stops in his tracks, though his back still faces Shouto. He's listening.

“I don't want to lose you.”

The hardest words he's afraid of saying and hearing, tumble out of his mouth, from desperation maybe, from sheer confusion, and here he is, clenching his fists and wishing, hoping, searching.

Katsuki finally turns his head, just like how he would on the busy days, when Shouto approaches the counter and would stare at the back of his head until he notices.

“See ya later, Shouto.”

One final smile, and he's gone.

Shouto closes his eyes, and looks into the future.

[cantskank]

LET’S WRITE A FUCKING POST

i’m just feeling just VERY bad about things, mostly about one thing in particular

and maybe i would think about bringing it to spaces where i could vent with the people i have been spending time with online

BUT some people there are doing the things i am complaining about and i don’t think i can get the subtleties of my frustration across and it would come across as complaining about them

and i think the thing with this issue is that people are supposed to be quietly ignoring it if they disagree because to bring up and argue for this point comes across as anti behavior!  and like i would like to be able to trust that i could bring this up in a good-faith discussion but i just don’t think that’s possible with the climate of this discussion/topic.

SO.  let’s talk about aspec identities and aspec rep.

AS AN ARO ACE, there are just a lot of ways in which the world is not built for me.  which is fine!  sex and relationships are a big deal for a lot of people so to some degree i can accept that they are just always a thing that are going to be something i have to deal with.

however, my identity is still really important to me.  realizing that i was ace (then aro) was a HUGE fucking deal to me.  all of a sudden i realized there were these ways in which i was alienated- these things which were just assumed to be so foundational and human were things i didn’t experience.  because of that i dove into online community with other aces.  i spent just so much time on aven- i wasn’t like a huge poster on there (or at least it didn’t feel like i was) but i was always on.  i still think of that as a huge part of my identity and a huge part of my online participation.   however, after the 2016 election i was in just a horrible headspace and kinda pulled back anyway.  there was kinda just a general leaving of aven around then anyway- a couple of the really super active people left in the winter of 2017.  then there were just like a few really active, really vocal conservative members??  who were around??  and i just stopped going on there entirely which was the right move for me!

all this is to say, i basically had this space for me to share and understand my identity and now i do not.  i have been back on recently and it’s just not the same- the conservative voices have pretty much left but there are still just some people and ways of thinking i just can’t get behind and i haven’t been on since i tried rejoining in the spring.  the other communities online are not really my thing- mostly tumblr, right?  and tumblr is NOT a community space, it’s a ‘say whatever the fuck you want and defend your fucking point and call other people out and be generally aggressive and self-righteous’ space, right??  and i don’t want to say this per se (because it’s fucking mean) but i will- tumblr ace activism is WAYYYY more about conforming to the norm than aven ever was.

like aven, when i was on, was a space where you could acknowledge your identity as different and explore what that meant and how that affected you.  ace tumblr?  is mostly ‘i’m an ace and i want a partner, can i have sex and still be ace?’ (and the response being ‘yes you can be ace and still have sex’) and it’s like!! WHAT THE FUCK!

i think my issue with this comes from a few things.

first, i HAVE to acknowledge that i have some small internal prejudice against aces who want to have sex.  i respect and appreciate those who do and would never call them invalid (and the people on aven who do are the reason i didn’t stick around when i came back in the spring) but there is a small part of me which thinks that it is a bit harder to call yourself ace and still have interest in sex.  such a big huge factor in my feelings of alienation and the solace i’ve found in identifying as asexual is my disinterest in sex.  i personally think about aces who are okay with having sex and i wonder what the big deal is about identifying as asexual in that case because you are conforming to the norm.  something which must be a huge focus of asexual activism in my mind is normalizing lack of interest in sex.  i personally think that having the message ‘okay respect asexuals who don’t want sex but some of us will have sex with you’ is just a lot and makes it harder to be sex-repulsed. (this will come up later as well i think)  anyway i MUST acknowledge that because it DOES inform my feelings about this and it is not a fair way to feel about things, i completely agree.  i will not be disingenuous about it.

okay second, i am just NOT a fan of telling someone whether or not they ‘can’ be asexual.  i think this comes from aven but!  your identity is your own!  and telling someone ‘oh you can still be asexual’ is making it seem like the choice to identify hinges on someone else’s approval.  when it really, really doesn’t.  if you want to have sex and you are asexual, then decide that is the case and just fuckin live your best life!  don’t go to some big-name asexuality tumblr blog and make THEM the arbiter of your identity.  have some self-insight and self-awareness, if you can’t do that then you.....honestly probably will have a harder time overall identifying as asexual.  aspec identities are just the hardest to hear about, the hardest to relate to.  it takes effort to find out about and do the work to decide/realize you are asexual.  relying on someone else to tell you that you ‘can’ identify as asexual?  you’re ignoring the work and imo your self-identification is ultimately built on unstable ground.  have some insight!!  do your own work!

okay so that’s my feelings on ace communities since.  i just ultimately haven’t found a good fit for ace community since and i think my overall feelings and understanding of my identity has suffered for it.  i don’t have outlets for thinking about it so i push it to the side.  and getting older has made me feel worse about things, i’m on a slow march to progressive loneliness.  i absolutely go through periods of feeling like shit about my identity and periods where i feel okay.  

and recently (well, during quarantine) i have decided to seek out more representation in media.  which brought me to magnus archives and then to rqg.  and these are the reason i’m feeling like shit today.

basically, there are people who want to write asexual characters having sex.  and that’s fine!!  fucking do it!!  do whatever you want!!

the problem is that there are people who don’t want to read that, and i am one of them.

and i feel weird about it, right, because the people who are vocally against it more often than not are antis.  so while i would never argue that it shouldn’t be written i at least theoretically agree that i don’t like seeing that dynamic.

and like the people who write it who are asexual i get because like, if that’s you and you want some rep, go for it!  if that’s not you but you’re still interested in exploring an ace person who has sex as an asexual, then go for it!  things are complicated and shit sucks!  i still won’t read it but you do you!

i do have a problem with allos writing sex-affirmative ace characters though.  and not necessarily when done in a respectful way but like.   all i want is for their asexuality to not be handwaved off like it’s not a big deal because it CAN be a big deal.  the number of people i’ve seen in ace spaces who are like ‘do i tell my partner i’m ace?’ ‘should i have sex with my boyfriend?’ ‘when should i tell them i’m not interested in having sex except maybe under the right circumstances?’

for some it’s not a big deal, sure!!  but for many it IS a big deal and i just can’t deal with people who don’t understand it (by virtue of never having experienced it) acting like it’s a simple 30-second conversation of ‘yes i’ll have sex with you because i love you’ it’s FUCKING BULLSHIT

and like this might be absolutely anti reasoning but i can’t help thinking that this is perpetuating misconceptions about asexuality (i’m referring specifically to asexuality because both characters in question are biro ace).  and misrepresenting asexuality to asexuals

and honestly here’s my big gripe with the situation: YOU HAVE LITERALLY THOUSANDS OF CHARACTERS YOU CAN WRITE SEX SCENES WITH.  I HAVE BASICALLY NEVER HAD A CHARACTER WHO CAN REPRESENT MY ASEXUALITY AND I HAVE LITERALLY NEVER HAD A CHARACTER IN A FANDOM WHO HAS FULLY REPRESENTED MY IDENTITY

(as an aro ace person.  jughead from archie comics is literally the only one i’m aware of and they FUCKING REMOVED THAT from riverdale (which is a steaming pile of shit anyway))

i just am very sensitive about compulsory sexuality and i ABSOLUTELY think that ‘i’ll have sex with you because you’re my partner’ is compulsory sexuality and while people are ultimately able to make that decision i am just worried that not being aware of what compulsory sexuality is and how it works (because i legit NEVER see it discussed in asexual spaces apart from having seen it a lot on aven, like i think it’s a term that has limited recognition outside of that space) means that there are a lot of asexuals out there who think it is expected and reasonable to have sex for their partner and that there is no such thing as a system where you’re effectively brainwashed into thinking that having sex MUST be fucking prioritized over not having sex (and that sex is a signifier of ultimate love, blah blah blah, all that shit).

all of that is to say.  if i’m being completely honest with myself, i’m realizing more and more how traumatized i have been by just existing in the world as someone who is not interested in sex or romance, to the point that i’m honestly constantly feeling at a breaking point and references to sex and/or romance can be just too much.  and especially shipping, and especially fiction where an asexual person has sex.

and i really really should not have read an argument in the discourse channel of this stupid 18+ fandom discord that i’m technically on but have muted.  because they were discussing with an anti basically how they are ‘allowed’ to write whatever pairing and whatever explicit scenes they would like to write.  and they’re right!!  write whatever.  i just wish that there was a way other than on here that i could share my frustrations with ace characters written as having sex without 1) seeming like i’m attacking people who have posted explicit material with that character in that server (:/) and 2) seeming like a fucking anti when i literally disagree with everything else

this was supposed to make me feel better and it really didn’t but i’m done with it and just posting it anyway.  FUCK THIS!  FUCK THIS!  FUCK THIS!

okay done thanks

[quarantingz]

seven things i’ve learned so far in quarantine

wednesday, 29 april on my longer-than-what-i’m-usually-allowed lunch break

This entry stemmed from a prompt I had written on one of my contemplative yet meditative roadside walks a while back. Looking up at the trees and unabashedly into the windows of houses I’d pass, jotting down in messy prose what I see and describing it in detail in my Notes app. Revisiting places in my community that both look and feel familiar and observing them closely as if I’m getting to know them again for the first time has been a new-found hobby of mine as of late.

So I present to you, an elaborate list of seven things I’ve learned so far and everything in between, whilst in quarantine: 

Accepting, learning to be okay with and I’d even go as far as saying dancing with loneliness. This is a funny one. I realised after my breakup that I was taken for majority of my adolescence. At least the years where I was still learning how to be an adolescent. This meant that I based a lot of my decisions and sometimes even my happiness on the person I was with. Being the fragile, reserved and passive teenager I was, there were instances where I let people step all over me and take advantage of me. I can say this without feeling an ounce of bitterness now because they’ve already happened. I’ve already borne them. I got out of that labyrinth essentially. I think it’s important to look back on our past selves (and I’ve noticed my peers do the same which is amazing) as we tend to look over our growth and forget to give ourselves credit for overcoming hurdles that at the time seemed insurmountable but in hindsight (to quote Alyssa hehe) now seem trivial. I guess the challenges we go through get harder as we grow up. Like in a video game where the quests increase in difficulty the closer you get to finishing it. Anyway, I digress, so my point is that I got used to having someone to vent to when something particularly exciting or devastating happened to me. While I do think it’s important to open up to someone and not be shy about seeking comfort from them, we can only really rely on ourselves at the end of the day. It’s during these moments of solitude that we’re not influenced by anyone or anything. Perfect for self-reflection.

Doing things “while I remember” them. I thought to myself every now and then that if I had a memoir the title of it would be “While I Remember.” I think I can speak for both myself and Alyssa that we operate on to-do lists on top of to-do lists. To me personally, it was all a matter of quantity over quality. If I didn’t write something down the moment I thought of it, it’ll leave me entirely. As an easily-side tracked procrastinator, I loved putting things off in pursuit of something else that seemed more immediate. But for the last 2 weeks, I found myself taking the initiative to just do something while I remember and while I can. Like if an opportunity to do my laundry when it’s sunny out arises, then just take it. I guess this links to intuition as well. Relying more on intuition when I do things on a daily basis rather than thoroughly thought-out to-do lists has made me feel good recently. 

Active listening, being more attentive and sensitive to people and things. At a time where everything seems to demand our attention, I thought I’d never be able to focus on one thing ever again, whether that’s an episode of a TV show, a podcast or a video. Whenever I get some down time I’d put a film on, deceiving myself that I’ll watch the damn thing when I know I’ll just go on my phone anyway. About two weeks ago though, to my surprise, I managed to watch BlacKkKlansman without getting distracted which is worth scoffing at as it shouldn’t even be considered a feat lol. ANYWAY, let me ineffectively segue into mindfulness – something I’m still trying to get better at each waking day but find myself adopting more in daily activities, whether mundane or taxing. Like when I’m working out or stretching, I try to really focus on the physical sensations I’m feeling as I bend and manoeuvre my body in different forms and motions. Being mindful of my breathing, in for 8 seconds, hold, then out for 8 seconds or so, while doing a child’s pose or that yoga pose that I don’t quite know the name of where you place one bent leg on the other, kind of squatting back and putting your hands together as though you’re praying. Back straight, chest out and finding one spot in front of you to focus on as to maintain balance. Or when I’m running and my breathing starts to increase in tempo – inoutinoutinout, but surprise myself that I somehow haven’t fainted and collapsed on the ground 4 kilometres in. Which brings me to my next bulletpoint:

I learned that I can do almost anything so long as I put my mind to it. Like the fact that I and you too can make any edible substance from scratch, be it a tortilla, challah (Jewish braided bread) or buttermilk. Or even something inedible like a shelf. Although I don’t have the willpower to cross that one off my list yet. Going back to my observation of mindful running, I’ve also been describing my fitness progress to a few people as “running becoming second nature that it almost feels like walking.” I think that’s beautiful. How our bodies can quickly adapt to strenuous movement with training. That being said I also learned the importance of:

Rest (I’m looking at you Alyssa! Haha jk). It’s so easy to get into the rhythm of things and forget to take a breather. I’ve had my fair share of these “poor practices” in the last few years. Like doing uni work for 5 hours straight without drinking water, eating or even doing as little as getting up or looking at something that isn’t forcing blue light into my eyes for a couple of minutes, slumped over my laptop and later complaining about having a perpetually sore back. Also to bring it back to running again, insisting to my sister but more to myself that I can keep running even though my shins are practically crying out for rest. I know it’s hard to pause and take a break when you’re on a roll but resting proactively, rather than as a last resort after we’ve crashed, is integral to the function of our bodies. This book called Why We Sleep highlights that if sleep wasn’t so important then why has it evolved up to this point where we still need at least 7 hours of it for optimal physical and mental health as well as daily performance? Alyssa and I have tackled hustle culture a few times on this blog but it’s so important that we keep coming back to it. Then again we’re so hypocritical because we always seem to remind our loved ones to rest but we hardly ever do ourselves hehe. We’re getting there! No pressure.

Resourcefulness and/or as I like to call it “working with what you have.” I have been very adamant about cooking using ingredients we already have on hand as opposed to finding a recipe and flocking to the supermarket to get all the ingredients on the list. Hell, I sometimes even draw mind maps of meal ideas that share as many components with each other to make sure I get the most out of my money. I think I really did age 20 years since not being with my parents for 3 months, speaking of which, I think this turned out to be a blessing as it made me more intuitive and understanding of the struggle my mum used to, not really complain about but she sure wanted us to hear, that it’s hard to think of what to cook for dependants sometimes [most of the time]. Hats off to all mums out there doing the leg work for us!

Lastly, and I think this point actually ties everything I said together into a neat bow, I learned that life is indeed what you make of it. Emphasis on the doing word “make” as we often tend to be lived by external events and our thoughts when in reality, although these can attack us from different directions, we can choose whether we’ll let them affect us. I recently learned more about the Greek philosophy of stoicism which is living by the fact that “we don’t control and cannot rely on external events, only ourselves and our responses.” Again I think that’s beautiful. Hard to practice but beautiful nonetheless.

I’ll end this one with a line by Ottessa Moshfegh which I think encapsulates how I view and treat this quarantine period (or at least try to): 

“Here is how I spend my days now. I live in a beautiful place. I sleep in a beautiful bed. I eat beautiful food. I go for walks through beautiful places. I care for people deeply. At night my bed is full of love, because I am alone in it. I cry easily, from pain and pleasure, and I don’t apologise for that. In the mornings, I step outside and I’m thankful for another day. It took me many years to arrive at such a life.”

- p

[wonfairywoo]

Little Do You Know (Pt.3)

WONWOO SCENARIO #2

Request: A Wonwoo marriage angst au! The title is inspired by the song by Alex and Sierra! Check it out~

Genre/s: Romance, Drama, Angst

Warning/s: Cursing

A/N: I KNOW it’s been like a month since I promised you PART 3 but HERE IT FINALLY IS! PLEASE DON”T BE ANGRY!

“Hey.”

He remembered a time when their mornings were filled with laughter, chatter, happiness. But now here he sat with her in silence, the sound of utensils scraping against ceramic the only sound filling the room.

He waited for her to look up from her breakfast, feeling his lips twitch when she did, chopsticks still in her mouth and her eyes bleary. He continued staring at her, taking note that she had lost weight again.

The dark bruises underneath her eyes seemed more prominent which made him frown. He leant forward and placed a hand on her pale cheek, surprised to find how cold she was to his touch. “Are you sick?”

She shook her head, leaning away from him and his touch. He quickly hid away his startled hurt, but internally lamented over how she shied away from his touch. She never did before. He let his hand fall back onto the table. Letting the silence take over as they returned to their morning meal.

“I get off work early today.” She nodded at his words, never looking up at him much to his displeasure. “I’ll come home early tonight.”

She paused in her actions, slowly lowering the chopsticks. When she turned her eyes to him, his heart began to hurt when he saw the ill-concealed hope that lit her eyes, no matter how small that light was.

He had not noticed they had dulled down these past few months but now they were starting to grow as bright as the day they had first met. In that little corner of the bookshop no one seemed to approach.

He made a promise to himself and silently to her, to make her eyes light up more in the future.

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight.” He watched as her lips slowly raised into a smile and was hit with emotion, realizing how much he had missed it. She rarely smiled these days, he remembered.

But now she was smiling once more. Because of such a simple thing he said.

He felt warm throughout the day, just remembering that smile of hers. His wife.

When he came home early that afternoon, her smile was wider and her eyes were brighter. Her cheeks were flushed and he was reminded of what had drawn him to her that day in the bookshop.

The memories were what had moved him to make love to her that night.

But back in the present, he moved to embrace her, marveling at how their bodies seemed to relax simultaneously at the contact.

“I’m home.” He murmured in her ear, dropping a quick kiss onto her shoulder before resting his chin on it.

“Welcome home.” Was her answering whisper.

He held her a bit tighter, probably enough that it was a bit hard to breathe. But he never did hear her protest.

Explaining to Eunha that her Mama’s friend was actually her long lost father was the easiest part.

The girl had opened her arms to Wonwoo with such innocence and unbridled affection that it had reduced him to tears when she had allowed him to pull her into his arms for a much-needed hug.

“I’ve always wanted a Papa!” His little girl had said, cheek pressed against his shoulders. “And now you’re here so we can be a family now!”

Their daughter was an intelligent little girl. It made him proud yet sad, knowing that he missed how she had grown to become one. But now he had the rest of his life to make it up to her and continue to watch her life.

Explaining it to the ones closest to their hearts was harder.

His family, while welcoming Eunha whole-heartedly had been wary of Y/N, and understandably so. Y/N could only sigh and smile weakly when they first visited, trying her hardest to ignore the heated glares her once father-in-law sent her way and the concealed scathing remarks his mother had made.

But after a few weeks of this he had sat them down, telling them what had really happened and how it wasn’t entirely Y/N’s fault as he had a large part in it too. The anger had lessened after that, but it was still there. Softened only when Eunha was present.

Surprisingly, his little brother was the most understanding. His brother did his best to diverge their parents’ attention back to Eunha when it was leaning back towards Y/N a little too much. She had thrown him grateful looks to which he had winked back in return.

She bore it like a warrior. A mother who would do anything for her child, would take any rock thrown her way if this was how she could give her Eunha a better future with a family that loved her. Wonwoo’s family needed time and maybe eventually they’d learn to trust her again. But she could never fault them if they never did.

Her family was a bit easier to deal with. Only her mother was left, after all. But now she had Eunha, and quite possibly Wonwoo, or he hoped he was considered.

Y/N’s mother was understanding, so much so that Wonwoo found himself perpetually ashamed in her presence. Even knowing how much he had hurt her only daughter, the one she had raised and supported on her own when both her husband and son perished in an accident early in Y/N’s life. Yet despite his sins, she welcomed him like he was her own son. As if the past 5 years had never happened. It made him want to cry because he felt he did not deserve it.

“What happened between you and my daughter is something that is only for the two of you.” She told him one day, when he had confessed to her of his guilt. “It is not a parent’s place to interfere into a married couple’s affairs.”

“But I still am sorry.” He spoke quietly, watching from the park bench they were at as Eunha ran around chasing the birds away, Y/N running after her. Both of them were laughing, looking so picture perfect.

“You make the girls happy.” At his incredulous look, she could only laugh, patting his knee gently. “You make my daughter happy too even if she doesn’t show it. I don’t think she’s ever looked at anyone the way she’s looked at you and I believe she never will. Have hope son. Love takes time after all.”

Love. Was there still such a thing for them?

He watched them from afar, smiling when Y/N caught their daughter in their arms and twirled around, she caught his eyes and offered him a small but warm smile.

As long as he had hope, then maybe, just maybe there was a chance.

Eunha adored her adopted uncles. And they all adored her, spoiling the little girl like she was their own, much to her mother’s exasperation.

But when they had all met for the first time, she immediately ran up to Vernon, screaming “Uncle Hansol!” As she leapt into his arms.

“What.” Wonwoo deadpanned, eyes darting from the flustered younger man, to Y/N, and then to Eunha.

Vernon gave his hyung a sheepish smile, scratching at his cheek. “Uh- How do I start to explain?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, taking pity on him as he cowered under the death glare, placed a placating hand on Wonwoo’s arm. “We live near his parents and he saw me one day when I was coming home from picking up Eunha from daycare.”

Wonwoo’s glare never faltered. “And you didn’t think to tell me earlier?” He demanded, frown growing deeper as the other boys stood nervously around them.

“I did want to tell you alright?” Vernon protested, frowning as he smoothed down Eunha’s hair as she cuddled up to him. “But Y/N-noona begged me not to tell you and I was threatened with castration as well.”

Y/N sighed, as she pulled him away so Eunha could interact with her uncles who were now cooing over her, taking turns carrying her.

“I forgot to tell you about that.” She muttered, sitting down in one of the restaurant’s booths. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

His heavy gaze fell on her face, taking in her rosy cheeks and how she bit her lip, a nervous habit he had tried and failed to help stop. Then his gaze turned to the hand on his arm, smirking when she pulled away quickly.

“Please do keep touching me.” He teased, moving to sit beside her, effectively trapping her into the booth. “We have 5 years to make up for after all.”

She huffed, turning away to look at the menu, blush still in place. He was satisfied that he still had an effect on her, just as she seemed to have an effect on him, bringing out his more playful side.

They were progressing too slow for his taste, but he could wait if it meant that the end game was them together once again.

On the days that Y/N had late night meetings in the law firm she was working for, he picked up their daughter from school and drove her home to the house in Hongdae, making sure to shield his little girl away from the prying eyes of reporters and photographers. He’d wait there for Y/N to come home, and sometimes when it was late in the night she’d offer him the guest room.

“Eunha will be happy to see you in the morning.” She told him as she fitted the queen-sized bed with new sheets. “She’s at that age where she questions everything and she keeps asking me why you don’t live with us.”

He moved behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her so her back was against his chest. “I’d be happy to see her in the morning. Both of you in fact.” He murmured into her ear, grinning when he felt her shiver. Pressing a kiss to the back of her head, he let her go and sat down on the bed. “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” She had replied, feeling flustered as she rushed back to her own room.

That was the first time he had stayed the night, but not the last. His overnight visits became more frequent and Y/N would always say it was for Eunha, but they both knew that wasn’t entirely true. Wonwoo wasn’t complaining. He preferred the warmth of this home to the cold loneliness of the empty condominium that waited for him.

Gradually, some of his things made their way into what Eunha now dubbed as his room. Clothes began filling the drawers and cabinets. His toiletries found their way in the bathroom beside Y/N’s and Eunha’s.

“You should just move in.” She said one day as she set a bowl of cereal in front Eunha, pressing a kiss on top of her messy morning hair. “Eunha would like that, wouldn’t you sweetheart?”

“Yeah!” Their daughter grinned, waving her cereal spoon in the air excitedly. “Eunha wants to see Papa every day!”

Wonwoo chuckled, nodding as he raised a hand to poke his daughter’s cheek. “If it makes Eunha happy them it makes Papa happy too.”

“Mama too.” He felt a hand settle on his head, combing his hair down. “Now I remember where Eunha got her hair from.”

He stared up at her, not being able to help the heat spreading across his face at the sudden affection. When she pulled away, satisfied that she had his hair finally tamed, she gave him a smile reminiscent of their younger years. His eyes never left her form as she went back to the stove to prepare their own breakfast. This was all so domestic. He could definitely get used to this.

That morning after dropping Eunha off in school he called up his estate agent about selling off his condominium.

He was moving in.

Days, weeks, months passed. Things weren’t always easy or happy, especially between them.

There were days when old hurts would be dug up, there would be arguments. Sometimes they would be reduced to shouting at each other, those fights always ended in one or both of them in tears. But never did they fight in front of their daughter, that was not something they wanted her to witness.

Everything else in their lives seemed to be fixed except for themselves.

They had come to a standstill. They weren’t friends, they were always past that line. Being married to each other once did that. They weren’t lovers, it wasn’t time for that yet, there were still wounds left in their beings that remained to be healed and even then, there would be scars.

As the seasons changed, so had they. They weren’t the same as they once were and it took time to learn about each other again.

One night after a particularly grueling and long day at work for Y/N, she stepped into the house to be greeted by a frowning Wonwoo, arms crossed over his chest. She was not in the mood to get into any fight. All she wanted was to hug her daughter and fall into bed.

“Who was that?” He jerked his chin towards the door. “Who dropped you off?”

“He was a co-worker.” She sighed, balancing on one foot as she moved to take off her shoes. “Our boss made us do overtime and you know my car is being fixed so he offered to drop me off. Where’s Eunha?”

“She’s staying over at your mom’s house. Mom picked her up earlier.” He blocked her way as she moved to walk past him. “Are you sure you were at work? It’s what? Nearing midnight?”

She tilted her head up to look at him, narrowing her eyes. “What are you implying?”

“Was that really a co-worker?” He was almost sneering, and she hated that. “Or was it a boyfriend?”

“You’re an asshole!” She hissed, pushing against his chest as she stalked towards the kitchen pulling open the fridge and grabbing a bottle of wine that she drank on occasion. This day was such an occasion. As she moved to pour some into a glass, a hand wrapped around her wrist. “What do you want now?” She sighed, glaring up at Wonwoo who was looming over her, frown still in place.

“Tell me the truth.” He said through gritted teeth. “Was that a boyfriend? A date? A fuck buddy?” He ignored the indignant gasp that left her lips, his words fueled by frustration and jealousy. Frustration at the stagnant state of their relationship. Blind jealousy towards a man he did not even know. “Is that why you’re so late? You didn’t even get to see Eunha off!”

Words were always a powerful weapon of his. It could heal wounds and it could make them. For how many times he healed he would break. This was how they had always been before. His tongue was sharp in his anger. But she was not having this.

She shook off his hand, slamming the bottle of wine down onto the table. “What the hell is your problem?!” She shouted, having had enough of his words. “I told you I had to do overtime! How dare you imply that-”

“You’ve been unfaithful?”

She could only gape at his audacity, the anger boiling quickly in her veins and spilling over. Anger to match his. “We’re not even together!” Her voice grew in volume, and now she was glad Eunha wasn’t around for this. “I cannot be unfaithful if we’re not together! It’s none even any of your business even if I was screwing around, which I’m not!”

“The hell it’s not!” He shouted back, standing toe to toe with her. “We agreed, you agreed that we would give us a try again and I’ve tried and tried but you’re not. Is it because of your new boyfriend?!”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” She stomped her foot, shoving him away from her. “I haven’t been with anyone else but you!”

And with that the dam inside her chest broke. The stress of the day, coupled with the anger of the night. She crumpled to the floor at his feet, sobbing into her hands. “It’s always been you, you idiot.” She cried, trying to speak between the sobs that racked her very being. “You were my first and my last but fuck Wonwoo, after everything that’s happened between us I-” She looked up at him, dissolving into tears once more.

Wonwoo stared down at her, paralyzed with shock as he took in her words. Shaking his head once he had processed her words, he lowered himself to kneel in front of her, taking her hands into his to get a better look at her face. He felt his heart break when she refused to look at him, knowing he had done this to her. He had hurt her again.

He should have known better. He shouldn’t have let his jealousy blind him.

“I’m an idiot.” He muttered, sitting down on the floor in a way that he was facing her but she sat between his legs, ensuring that she wouldn’t run away so they could talk.

“You really are.” He heard her say with a watery giggle. “The biggest idiot I’ve ever known.”

“Okay stop rubbing it in now.” He grumbled playfully, dropping her hands so he could cup her face between his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away her tears. “I don’t-” He took a deep breath, lowering his eyes as he searched for the words to say. How to make this right.

She knew what he was doing, but she wanted to hear him say his piece. She needed to hear him say it.

“I don’t deserve you.” He drew out shakily, raising his eyes to stare into hers. “You’re beautiful, you’re wonderful, and I keep breaking you. But I love you so much and I know that’s not an excuse. I want to be with you but I’m afraid of hurting you again. I never want to hurt you but that’s all I seem to do.” He gulped away the lump that seemed to form in his throat. “What if one day you decide that this won’t really work out anymore. That we’re far too broken?”

He pressed his forehead to hers, squeezing his eyes shut causing tears to drip onto his cheeks. “You and Eunha are my world.” He whispered, his voice rough with tears. “I don’t want to lose the both of you. I don’t want to lose you. Not again. I wouldn’t survive it this time.”

“I don’t think I would survive too.” She rasped, the tears continuing to fall from both of them. “I love you, I’ve always loved you but I’m scared too. I don’t want to be broken. I don’t want us to be broken anymore.” Their hands had somehow found themselves laced together, and she squeezed his hands, waiting for him to squeeze back. “It’s going to take us time but we’re never going to be the same Wonwoo. Too much has happened between us for that. But we can be better.”

This was a second chance. For both of them. They would either take the leap together or not at all.

“I love you.” He spoke so softly she had to strain herself to hear it. “More than my own life, I love you. I want this, I want you forever and I will never stop wanting you or needing you. But I will wait for you. For however long it will take I’ll wait.”

For the many times that he would break, he learned to heal.

This was him standing on the edge, waiting to make the jump. Waiting for her so they could take the leap together. And there she stood with two options: She could not take the fall and stay safe, without him. Her heart would remain intact, but her whole being never whole. Or she could take his hand and jump with him, risk being broken once more for a small chance at love and happiness and being whole.

Her decision was made.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, after so many years. She kissed him into stunned silence, allowing herself to smile once she pulled back. He returned her smile, laughing as he moved to kiss her once more, a kiss that left them both breathless and wanting.

Happiness was in the horizon.

She had decided to jump.

“So, you guys are really back together again?”

“Yes, Soonyoung we are.”

“Well that’s just great! Now I owe Jeonghan hyung money!” He grumbled, missing the way Wonwoo cracked his knuckles. “You couldn’t have stayed broken up for one more year?”

Wonwoo promptly smacked the back of his head.

“Hey ow! What the heck Wonwoo!” He whined, clutching onto the back of his head.

“Uncle Soonyoung is an idiot!” Eunha giggled, clapping her hands. “Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!”

“What have you been teaching your daughter?!” Y/N gasped, whirling around to face Wonwoo who immediately raised his hands in defense.

“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”

“Idiot like what Mama calls Papa!”

“………Pfft.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you sure about this son?” Are you sure about her?

“Yes. Nothing you say will change my mind.” I love her. Forever and always. “She and Eunha are my world. I’m sorry if you cannot accept it.”

“If it makes you happy we can learn to accept it.” But we will never trust her again.

“Thank you, father and mother.” I know, I don’t like it but she understands. It’s okay she says.

“You know you were always stubborn.” Her mom laughed, the both of them watching as Wonwoo chased Eunha around the playground. “You must have taken it from me.”

“I probably did.”

“Cheeky child.” Her mother slapped her leg, causing her to yelp. “Did you know, before you were born your father and I broke up? I don’t even remember what it was about anymore, it seems like lifetime ago.”

“……….”

“I’m glad you took this second chance dear. We lost your father and brother too soon but I’m sure they would approve because you seem happier than you’ve ever been before.” Her mother sighed, patting her leg. “It brings be comfort to know that I’m leaving you in safe hands.”

“…………”

“Don’t cry silly. Smile and be happy.”

“So…”

“Yeah?”

“You know how we signed those divorce papers years ago?”

“I don’t like talking about it but yes. Why?”

“Okay so I talked to my lawyer about it and it turns out there was some kind of misprint or a mistake of some kind which didn’t make it valid.”

“What?”

“So yeah technically our divorce wasn’t valid which pisses me off because goddamn it I went through early labor because of that! I’m firing my lawyer!”

“Wait so we’re still married?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh thank god does that mean I don’t have to propose anymore? The others have been badgering me to do it for weeks and I couldn’t ever seem to find the courage.”

“………..You were going to propose to me?”

“Well yeah. When I said I wanted forever with you I meant it in every sense of the word. Even on paper.”

“………..”

“Please don’t cry. I didn’t want to make you cry! I’m sorry!”

“These are happy tears you idiot! I’m happy!”

“Oh! That’s good…”

“Yeah…”

“So how about renewing our vows?”

“I could go with that. Let’s just not have one as big as the first one, can we? All those cameras were disconcerting.”

“Comes with dating an idol, love.”

“Oh what I do for love…”

“But we definitely are not having an open bar this time.”

“Didn’t Seungcheol get drunk and kept sobbing all night about how one of his boys have grown up? That he was supposed to get married first?”

“Ah memories.” He sighed wistfully. “I think Jeonghan hyung still has a video of that for blackmail.”

“I wonder if we can get a copy.”

“Remind me to ask him later.”

“Mama?”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“I want a brother. Jun Ho in school has 3 siblings and I want one too!”

“Uh well sweetie… Uh mama is-”

“Mama I want oneeeeeee.”

“Mama will talk to Papa about it. Now eat your breakfast.”

“So Eunha talked to me about something interesting when I drove her to school today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she said that you would talk to me about giving her siblings?”

She let out a nervous laugh, stepping back nervously as he started walking towards her. “Did I say that? That child I swear…”

“I think we should.” He smirked when she fell onto the bed. “She’ll need siblings. And I want more mini-me’s of us running around.”

“Pregnancy is not an easy thing Jeon Wonwoo!”

“I’ll be with you this time. Through everything.”

“I…I…”

“How about we practice for now? You used to love it when we practiced.”

“Just shut up and make love to me already.”

“Your bossiness turns me on.”

“Jeon Wonwoo I swear to g-”

“No more talking.” He whispered against her lips. “Just… feel.”

“I hate you!” She shouted at him, leaning over the toilet bowl as she heaved once more. “We are never having sex again! This will be the last baby we have!”

“I don’t even care that you’re mad. We’re having a baby!” He laughed, holding up the pregnancy test in his hands. “A baby!”

“Hyung! Hyung!”

“Hansol?”

“Why weren’t you answering your calls! Mingyu hyung had to call me!”

“I was in a meeting! Why what happened?”

“Y/N noona is in the hospital!”

“What?”

“Her water broke like an hour ago when she was shopping with Mingyu hyung and Joshua for baby stuff!”

“What?!”

“HYUNG THE BABY IS COMING WE HAVE TO GO TO THE HOSP- OHMYGOD HYUNG NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO FAINT!”

“Do I get to name her this time?”

“No! I carried her for nine months like hell will I let you name her!”

“But you named Eunha!” He whined. “I want to name this one! You owe me!”

“You can name the next one then! You owe me too!”

“Oh? I thought you said no more sex?”

“Like that has ever stopped you?”

“Can’t help it that my wife is hot.”

“Shut up I want a son too okay!”

“So if the next one is a girl do we keep trying till we get a son?”

“Don’t jinx it.”

“Hey.”

She rolled over in bed, facing him and smiling at his sleep ridden expression. It had been years since they had taken the jump and things were going wonderfully. There were still days were they fought but in the end they stayed together.

“I just remembered.” He murmured, tracing his fingers over the lines of her face.

“What did you remember?”

“When I first told you I loved you.” He moved closer to her, his lips ghosting over hers. “We were in the airport that day. I was about to leave on tour, we had just gone public with our relationship a few days before.”

She could feel her eyes water as he recited the memory. She recalled a night a lifetime ago when she had asked him this. That memory was blurry now, replaced with the happy moments of today.

“I remember looking into your face, how hard you tried not to cry. I wasn’t going to be gone for a long time but I remember that it would feel like forever. So I told you I loved you. I still do and I always will.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead, closing his eyes and relished in the feeling of having her close to him. There they laid, bathed in the light of the morning that streamed through the slits between the window blinds.

“Then I remember coming home to you.” He sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. “I remember thinking that I wanted to always come home to you.”

“And you always will now.” She replied, brushing away the tears that had fallen from her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore.”

As the seasons changed and melded into one another so did they. What was there and what could be was faced together and in everything they did to make up for those lost years was painted with love.

For two people who had broken each other learned to fix their broken shards. They were not perfect, their edges where chipped and they were cracked. But nonetheless they held together. Stronger than before.

Maybe they were foolish, maybe they were hopeless romantics. And that was okay.

Because in the end they were whole.

Oh wait, just wait I love you like I’ve never felt the pain Just wait I love you like I’ve never been afraid Just wait Our love is here and here to stay So lay your head on me.

A/N: And that is the end of this series :) It took a while to make but I hope you guys sincerely like it!

I loved writing this series despite how emotionally draining it was. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!

[lerrengwesten]

Voices From Nowhere

Probably should have paced things better and not released this so quickly after the last chapter, but why not?  It’s certainly a revealing section for those who somehow understand the ambiguities of it. And it was very fun to write as someone who knows everything :P 

While not as bad as the first interlude, there are parts that can be quite dark and troubling, closer in tone to the second one.  These voices come from multiple beings, some of which you will see many times, some of which you will never see.  All will be left anonymous, as with all interlude sections.

Voices from nowhere

“There’s an angle of stone in a dip in the earth near where the green one resides.  Those that touch it and the ground simultaneously are accepted as one of their siblings in design and worthy of leading.  Those that lay with hanging feet are inferior, too delicate and gentle to be entrusted with such a task.  Four others have touched the ground.  Only three were accepted by them.  The silver one was cast off as inferior by some other standard.  It’s a strange method, but they claim we are the most loyal to the Dragon’s intentions.  Maybe because we are most like the green one.  Besides an additional horn and visual appearance, I am virtually a twin to them.”

“The only reason I touched the ground was because my Far Spirit wanted me that way.  Easier to live with than shorter-legged creatures.  Why exactly will never be revealed, as with many things amongst the spirits.”

“There’s something terrifying about living when you only control the body a fraction of the time, yet the other controller acts exactly like you.  You can’t be frustrated by what they do.  You can’t complain about it, because it’s what you would do.  There’s nothing you can say to the controller about it besides to comment on how uncannily close it is to what you would do.  They can’t say anything to you because they feel exactly the same. That’s what happens when your body technically died a few years ago, but a piece of it lives on in a near-identical one with an identical soul.  I don’t know if it’s the best or worst fate I could have received. It’s wonderful to remain myself and be enlightened about my own behavior through watching that of the new me that usually controls it, but there’s something saddening about watching life blow by you while someone else does everything for you and you can’t experience it for yourself.”

“I was one of Dheroratera’s inner circle. Real close, you know?  Probably because I’m one of the oldest floaters and we older Fsemacea tend to think alike.  And then dumbass visiting spirits starting walking into the path of other floaters and Dheroratera flipped their shit over the deaths ruining our reputation.  Damn near everyone for a time had a rumor that they’d done it, but fortunately they forgot about it after a while.  Until mine came back up a few years ago when Dheroratera was testing me one spring.  I was feeling a bit snippy that day and they were ripping me apart for it, in that creepy, calm way they always do.  It’s an act, you know.  In the old days, they were leagues ahead of every other creature around here and let everyone know that.  Snappy as hell and more than happy to dish it out or take it, and that perpetual straight face only made it funnier.  Slapped Espythacerro of all creatures upside the head when they mocked them for their size and goofy head shape.  That was the preferred method of dealing with thing back then- just smack them if they insult you.  Visitors thought it was hysterical, though the Far Spirits didn’t like it as much.   Something changed in them after that incident with Myrise, though.  Went from being this harsh, sassy badass to droning on about the Dragons’ orders and pleasing them and instituting all sorts of rules to makes sure it happens.  A lot of us older guys still acted that way in private, but knowing how they could be and how much power they began to hold over younger Fsemacea, we didn’t dare do it anywhere conspicuous, since if they disliked you, they’d twist the rules to make you gone.  They’d been buddying up to this young flying Fsemacea and I was questioning their loyalties then, especially as they seemed to grow impatient with me and hypercritical of my faults.  The day of that test, they drilled me with the death rumors.  I wasn’t sure what they were trying to accomplish at the time, but now I know they were doing it to get me to snap at them and break the rule of neutrality they had instituted.  I grew frustrated as they kept blaming me and did as they secretly wanted.   Which is why I now stand under the burning sun of the desert.  The loneliness was horrible at first, but an old friend, one of the eternal standers, led me in the direction of the outcast colony.  It’s a horrible feeling to see passing Fsemacea silently scorn me by ignoring me, unable to show their true emotions.  To know I’ll never get to meet many of my other old friends again, including even the one who led me here.  In a strange turn of events, she came back to the fold after a truly miraculous transformation.  And knowing that the Dheroratera I was once so close to is virtually gone, sucked away by their relentless worship of the Dragons.  Green and red things bring nothing but trouble wherever they go.”

“My creators, I have come to report and lament at how the young have forsaken you.  Even at the early age of three springs, I was forced to denounce that young Floater.  Her quivering and latent resentment were simply intolerable.  Even worse was the crushing, graceless, grasp she took my hand in when I cast her off.  But when such qualities appear in creatures at so young an age, there is nothing that can be done to change them, it is in their nature to be defiant and cruel.  I know not what could be causing this growing phenomena, but know it is surely not your handiwork.   At times I think back to what occurred years ago and shiver.  As such outdated and vicious abominations are disposed of, perhaps their influence grows in the new souls formed from them.  I fear that that is why these young ones have grown so cruel and restless, why their limbs quiver as they stand, their whole bodies bounce as they run, their heads vibrate as they grow agitated.   But there is nothing I can do, I can only hope the spirits in charge of such things can find a solution and they submit to their will for the good of all.  It’s disgusting and saddening to watch for me, and must be worse for you two, being the one who spawned these degenerate beings.  I try to brush aside my feelings, but it is always disappointing to have to push out the corrupted ones, but it is necessary to avoid allowing such actions to spread to the pure and good.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.  I love you, ground.  I love you, Spirit of the Peninsula, I love you Dragons.  I love you so much for what you have done to me.”  

[datingadviceonreddit]

I've noticed so many times on the internet that people lament about being perpetually lonely, normally by people in their late teens through to the late 20s. They talk about how it's hopeless and how they will never find anyone, and how they should just accept being alone and get used to it. If you identify with this, then this post is for you. And I also want to preface this post by stating that if you're genuinely ok with being alone, then this is not for you. However, if you're on a subreddit entitled /r/dating_advice, then it probably is. I also want to state that if you have mental health problems such as depression or anxiety, you shouldn't take what I say as gospel because parts of it might come across as disparaging instead of motivating, and your answer is elsewhere (professional help). I know that in my darkest moments I wouldn't want someone offering me tough love because that would've dragged me down even further, so take care out there. Maybe you'll benefit from some parts of it, though, because I feel the self-development part is important.I would know what it feels like to post about being unlovable etc. because I am one of these people. There was always some reason why I couldn't get a date. Too ugly, my body looks like shit, too passive, too introverted, too hard to approach, too hard to meet people, not what women wanted, whatever. Whenever I read a story about someone else's romantic or sex life, I would feel depressed and jealous. I tried to make peace with being alone and pretend that it didn't bother me and it would work for a while and I'd enjoy myself, but the crushing loneliness and depression would always come back. I wanted to date and find someone, and I was settling for less because I felt I couldn't get these things. I understood that dating wasn't everything, but I sure as hell wasn't happy for disqualifying myself from it. It was either accepting being alone, or making steps to make sure I could get it, or at least put myself in a happier position. The former option was unpalatable for me because of how it would make me feel, so I've finally decided to focus on putting myself in a happier position and maybe starting to look for love. I'm not as hopeless or unattractive as I think I am, and I need to stop lying to myself about why I'm alone. I am alone because I don't try hard enough and probably have to work on myself a bit, not because I am utterly repulsive as per nature's hand. And yes, I am still alone, but I will stop making excuses for myself and be honest with myself.The brain is a funny thing. It needs to find a reason for everything that you do. It hates disharmony (this is called cognitive dissonance), and will choose to give credence to one idea over another to assuage this disharmony. It's like when you procrastinate--you know it's bad for you even though you want to do it, and your brain feels discomfort at these two conflicting ideas. You choose whether the pleasure of procrastinating is greater or weaker than the idea of getting shitty grades. It doesn't matter whether these statements you tell yourself are objectively true or false, your brain will give greater weight to what it perceives to be right or at least have the greater force of influence.Here's a normative development on cognitive dissonance: if you slack off because you reason that it's fine to do so and that having shitty grades is a potential implication, you better damn well accept those consequences and own up to them. You have no one else but yourself to hold accountable. If you don't like the result (and you probably don't, who likes getting shitty grades?), work in a way that ensures that this result is as unlikely to happen as possible. If you can't do the time don't do the crime, and don't use the idea of cognitive dissonance as an excuse for why you didn't try, either: oh, I just chose to do less because I'm ok with doing less**. Settling for less is unacceptable, but achieving less is fine if you intended to not to.** Mediocre intentions suck, mediocre outcomes don't so much.This can be applied to dating.If you want to date but give up, you are settling for less and you won't be happy. Even if you've given up and have given yourself reasons for doing so ("oh, I'm just focusing on myself, it's not that important, it's not worth the effort"), really be honest with yourself and ask if these are the reasons why you are alone. And I know I'm going to hit a nerve by saying this, but chances are that your excuses are bullshit. You're not ok with being alone, it is somewhat important to you, and you do want to date. You've spun a tale for yourself because taking the steps necessary to get what you want are too much work. You've reasoned that it's not worth it because if it was, you'd have done something about it already (using cognitive dissonance as an excuse). So why complain? But I know what you truly think because I've been there myself. "This doesn't apply to me, this guy's an asshole, how dare he tell me that I'm not capable of dating". Yep, that's what my conveyor belt of excuses looks like too. The excuses need to die. Because all you're doing right now is complaining that you're alone, but not doing anything about it despite supposedly being ok with it. You're not. You never will. I never was. It's like not brushing your teeth and wondering why your teeth are rotten. Meh, dental care is too much effort, I'll just be ok with my rotten teeth. It's not that bad. My breath is rancid and I ache all the time, but I have to be ok with this because I know I'll never get around to cleaning them.Ok, so maybe you've realised that you are settling for less. What now? Should I just be miserable until I find someone? Are you telling me that I'm not allowed to be happy until I find someone? No...that's not what I'm saying. I'm telling you to be honest with yourself and go from there. Realising is the first step, taking action is next and necessary. Maybe start with thinking about what you need to do to find someone. Am I grossly out of shape? Do I dress like a slob? Do I have interesting hobbies, am I good conversationalist? Who do I meet, and who do I ask out? And since you see average people in relationships all the time, the standards aren't that high. You don't need to be a self-improvement zealot, but you need to be fulfilled with your life. Would you date someone like you?This brings up my next point, and it is important in spite of what all I've said:You absolutely don't need a dating life to be a happy, fulfilled person.Before slaying the excuses you've set for yourself about not dating and settling for less, ask yourself what it is about dating that will make you happy. The answer seems obvious (love makes you feel fuzzy!), but ask yourself what you will get out of it. Dating and sex are an important cog in the lives of many and don't let anyone tell you otherwise if you believe them to be, but they are amongst other things. If you seek these things out to quell the perennial loneliness in your life, maybe you're doing it for the wrong reasons. If you seek these things out because they're fun and enrich your life and maybe you are transiently lonely (which is fine!), perhaps you're doing them for the right reasons. But despite this, it is not everything. There are so many places to visit, experiences to be had, people to meet, books to read, films to watch, music to listen to, games to play, hobbies to try, food and drink to supplement, and personal goals to be met. It can certainly feel like everything is meaningless if there's no one to share it with, but it really isn't. Maybe rediscovering what you love can kick you out of the slump that you've found yourself in. Maybe this will make you realise what you truly want out of dating. A lot of people think that dating will raiseThe point I'm trying to make is nuanced, but it is that people who choose to be alone because they feel inferior are settling for less, which will never make you happy. Those who are alone by choice are not settling for less because they're being true to themselves. You need to develop some integrity and be honest with yourself about why you're alone, and if it is out of your hopelessness or feelings of inadequacy, then you will never be happy. You need to stop making excuses and learn how to get out of your comfort zone and start dating if this is the case, and/or focus on yourself and pursue your passions. Excuses and settling for less are both unacceptable, because the pain of regret and not being good enough will never fade. It's not morally wrong to settle for less, but it is poisonous to your mental health.Finally, I'd like to end this article by asking you to do something. I saw this in David Wong's 6 Harsh Truths That Will Make You a Better Person, which is a very motivating article even I don't regard it as 100% true. It is to name five impressive things about yourself. You can't list character traits unless you've done something that is demonstrative of that trait (e.g. you can't call yourself hard-working if you have nothing that shows this). Name five, objective things that you've achieved--they can be anything, like building a model, lifting a certain amount of weight, winning something, etc. If you can't, maybe you should start working on yourself a bit more. You need reason to feel good about yourself, and maybe you feel inadequate because you have no reason to feel good about yourself.Thanks for reading. I'm willing to debate people on a few points if there is disagreement, and I'm willing to change my stance if I am swayed significantly. via /r/dating_advice