#just look at the sheer amount of people who smoke or drink or do other drugs and tell me if we as a species are okay? no we ain't!

[alinedreams]

I'm a major supporter of the theory that people suffering from mental disorders aren't a minority in the slightest, it's just that people who can afford being diagnosed are.

Honestly, why would we think the majority of people are doing just fine in a world where over half the population can't even afford basic necessities such as food and clean water, let alone mental health diagnoses?

Not all countries have free healthcare and those that do are usually filled to the brim with mental health patients and people waiting for vacancies to open. Public health (in countries that have it) is entirely too understaffed and underfunded to deal with a mass influx of mentally ill people! But being unable to access healthcare doesn't mean you aren't ill, it just means you're neglected.

So, when someone says "there can't be so many people suffering from mental disorders out there", all I can hear is "I don't understand smack about how the world works and how inaccurate estimates can be and as such I'll parrot the very beliefs that lead to diagnostic biases and medical neglect of the poor like it's gospel"

Moreover, add the whole stigma mental illnesses and therapies still have amongst the general population and you'll have underdiagnoses even among those who actually can afford to get their mental health checked, which doesn't contribute to the stats in the slightest.

[tenderleavesbob]

Hi I love your writing so much, and I have something you could use for one of your mini fix if you want. What if warriors smokes. So I’m not in the military, but I have a lot of family members who are and if there’s some thing I’ve learned about the military, is it will give you three addictions, alcohol, nicotine and adrenaline. I understand that kind of thing makes some people uncomfortable. But I would love to see what you would do with this idea if you wanted to use it.

Hi! Thank you! Let's see what I can do...

Warriors picked it up during the war. Mask and Tune loved telling him that it was a dirty habit, but he thought that the scent of blood was stronger than the scent of smoke. A sword to the gut would kill him quicker than the cigarettes did.

He didn't do it often. During the war, he made a point of only doing it away from Mask and Tune. Both of them did it at least once in mimicry of him, and it was one of the few times he raised his voice to them. He never saw them do it again, and he usually only did it when he was with his other soldiers.

Or when a battle went terribly. Mask and Tune said nothing on those nights when the Captain found somewhere quiet and smoked, staring at the sky. No amount of smoke from his cigarettes compared to the smoke rising from the battlefield, after all.

After the war, his smoking briefly increased. Mask and Tune weren't there to scold him and it didn't leave him with a hangover like whiskey did. It helped when no amount of words from Zelda or Impa did.

By the time he met with the rest of the chain and began his first real adventure, Warriors barely smoked at all anymore. The occasional smoke when the noise in his head was too loud and when shadows filled his vision more than living people.

Tonight was one of those nights. He sat outside the inn and exhaled a plume of smoke. Flimsy gray filled his vision, blocking out the dark sky. Warriors stared at it. His chest hurt and he wished he could blame the cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoked," Sky said quietly, sitting beside him.

"I usually don't." Warriors switched hands so the cigarette was farther from Sky. "I picked some up from the apothecary. I'll be back inside soon."

It was a polite dismissal. The last thing Sky needed was to breathe in the smoke. Sky, being a Link, ignored the cue.

"Are you all right?"

Warriors stared into the darkness and put his cigarette back to his mouth. It scraped against his dry lips. The burn was like an old friend. He tried to blow out a smoke ring, but he wasn't good at it. "Of course. Is everyone sleeping?"

"Even Time," Sky confirmed. "You should be sleeping, too. You've had a long couple days."

"After I'm done." The gray dissipated in the night air. His cigarette was burning low. The tips of his fingers looked dark, but that could have just been the dim light.

"Twilight is going to be fine," Sky said. His words were soft but still struck Warriors like a blow. "He's sleeping well now and will be ready to move out in the morning. You heard Hyrule."

But it would have been so easy for it to end otherwise. Warriors expected it toward the end. He had already been planning his funeral.

During the war, Warriors had to learn everyone's funeral preferences. Too often, he couldn't find out in time or couldn't respect them due to the sheer amount of deaths. Only during this mess did Warriors realize that he didn't know Ordonian funeral customs.

"I know," Warriors said. "I'll be inside soon."

The cigarette smoke was drifting toward Sky. Warriors never understood why that happened. When Sky didn't move or even flinch when the smoke brushed against his face like a morbid caress, Warriors knew it was time to wrap up.

He took one last drag. The rush it provided wasn't as comforting as he hoped.

If they had cremated Twilight, Warriors wouldn't have smoked then. It was a silent agreement among soldiers. The smoking and drinking came after, the only form of grieving available during wartime.

Warriors could practically hear Mask scolding him, but it was just Sky and Warriors right then. Mask was sleeping, absolutely exhausted after the terror of almost losing his descendant. After hours of watching Twilight fade away while Warriors couldn't do a damned thing to help.

"Let's go," Warriors said. He dropped the cigarette under his foot. He crushed the soft burn with his boot heel. "Make sure you wash up before you go to sleep. Smoke lingers."

Terrible things always did.

Sky didn't argue his words, so Warriors didn't argue when Sky took his arm and led him back inside. The scent trailed behind them. Gray wisps slowly faded to nothing.

[celandeline]

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (23)

If there’s one thing you can say about the Cattons, it’s that they know how to throw a party. 

The extravagance is overwhelming - hundreds of people are scattered about the grounds and in the house, all dressed to the nines in midsummer night’s fashion. Glitter seems to float in the air from how the strobe lights flash pinks and blues into the night, catching on every slightly reflective surface and amplifying tenfold. Though it's been hours since the sun disappeared behind the maze, the heat of the day still lingers, trapped between all the sweaty bodies. On the lake, lotus shaped lights drift with the breeze. 

Music blasts through the grounds, and Venetia hasn’t let go of my hand since the crowds first started rolling in. It feels like Cambridge again - the dancing, the drinking, the way that it’s just us in a sea of people, laughing and smiling and shouting at each other over the music. It’s a high on it’s own - though there’s copious amounts of coke if I wanted any.

A man bumps into Venetia and sends her stumbling into me, gripping onto my shoulders for dear life. Still dancing, she turns as the man leans down to apologize, picking up my arms and wrapping them around her middle. I rest my head on her shoulder as the man retreats, and our dance renews, swaying and grinding to the beat. 

We simply dance for a while, until Venetia tips her head back to speak into my ear. “I need another drink!”

I press a wet kiss to her cheek before letting go. “I’ll catch you later?” 

“Always.” She says, winking at me before sauntering off towards the house, her spiderweb dress like a string of prisms in the night. 

I reach down to adjust my own dress - a strapless sheer thing peppered with strategically placed peaseblossoms to cover all my bits. Left alone, the craving for a cigarette hits me, and I wander off the dancefloor in search of something to smoke. 

Even off the dancefloor, the crowds are thick. I wish Venetia had chosen something a little more substantial for me to wear - something, preferably, with a place for me to store a pack of cigs and a lighter - but I can’t pretend that my dress isn’t simultaneously the sexiest and prettiest thing I’ve ever worn. And, this quest for a cig will be a chance to meet some new people that I’ll likely never see again - a favorite pastime of mine. 

The squeeze past a gaggle of girls all dressed as fairies, following the scent of smoke. I spot the burn of a cherry in the throng, and cut through the crowd until I’m standing in front of a guy that I don’t know on the edge of the crowd. In the distance, a fire flickers on the lawn, a pig slowly rotating over the flames. 

His eyes sweep over me, and he grins around his cigarette. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I return, putting out a hand to shake. “I’m Evelyn.”

He takes my hand, and shakes it twice. “James.” He says. “What can I do for you Evelyn?”

“I was looking for someone willing to give a pretty girl a cigarette.” I say, batting my eyelashes at him. “Are you my guy?”

He laughs. “I’d be willing, for a price.”

“What kind of price?” I ask. There’s no world in which I have sex with this man for a cigarette, but I’m curious to see where this goes.

“I’ll give you a cigarette,” He steps closer, narrowing the distance between us and pulling his cigarette out of his mouth. “If you give me a kiss.”

I grin. “Sure.” 

Tilting my head slightly upwards, I plant a kiss on his waiting lips. It’s too wet, and he slips his tongue in too early, and it makes me miss Farleigh. Farleigh knew how to kiss. 

James pulls back, and digs a cigarette out of his pocket, handing it to me. I press the end to his to light it, and tuck it between my lips, sucking greedily. 

“So.” James says. “You wouldn’t happen to know who’s birthday it is, would you?”

“Oliver.” I say. “Little guy, about my height, big blue eyes. I’m sure you’ll see him around at some point.”

“Oliver.” James rolls the name over his tongue. “I don’t know him.”

“He’s a friend of Felix’s.” I say. “From Oxford.”

James hums, placing his cigarette back between his lips. “I used to go to school with Felix, when we were both in secondary school.”

I nod along, my eyes drifting away from him and back towards the flickering fire in the distance. Two silhouettes stand in front of the flames, one with antlers coming out of his head - Oliver - and the other, tall with a halo of curls…

I watch the taller silhouette bend down, getting in Oliver’s face. It can’t be anyone else. It can’t. 

I turn back to James. “I’m really sorry, I just saw someone-”

His gaze flicks over to the fire, and then back to me. “It’s fine.” He cuts me off. “You’re not really my type anyway. I don’t make a habit of fucking Americans.”

I only acknowledge the comment by flipping him off as I slip away, making a beeline for Farleigh. The walk to the open fire isn’t long, and it’s made even shorter by the speed at which I dash over. He stands up from Oliver, and I catch the sour look on Oliver’s face as he stalks away, back towards the house. I breeze past him.

“Farleigh.” 

He turns, his face splitting into a grin when he sees me. “Eves.” He drops the head of his costume in favor of sweeping me up into a hug. He squeezes me for a moment before he realizes what he’s doing and sets me back down. “Sorry.” He says, sheepish. “I just- sorry.”

I can’t help but giggle. “No, it’s okay. It’s so good to see you. It’s been so boring without you here, I missed you.”

He smiles. “You make a girl blush, Eves.” 

“So did you sneak in, or..?” I prompt, raising my eyebrows. 

“Believe it or not, I was actually invited.” He says. “They just can’t resist my boyish charm.” 

“Is that what it’s called?” I tease. 

“That’s what I call it.” He says, dipping two fingers into his sleeve and pulling out a little baggy of white powder. He reaches down, grabbing one of my hands and shaking a line of powder onto the back before running his nose along the skin and hoovering it up. I watch, wide eyed, as he licks up the excess, never breaking eye contact with me. 

Letting go of my hand, he wipes his nose, and jiggles the little baggy. “You want some? It’s pure - I made sure.” 

“Why not?” I say, taking the baggy from him. He holds out his hand, and I do what he just did, shaking a line across the back of his palm and snorting it up. Only, instead of running my tongue over his hand, I simply look at him. “Go on. Lick.”

Pupils blown wide - from the coke or my words, I don’t know - he licks the back of his hand, swallowing the rest of the powder. 

“Where's Venetia?” He asks. 

I glance behind me, back towards the manor house. “Dunno. She went to go get a drink a while ago. Probably throwing herself at Ollie by now.” I look back at him. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just wondering if she was going to tug on your leash anytime soon.” He says. 

“Farleigh.” I give him a look.

Undeterred, he continues. “Since she’s left you, how about hanging out with me?”

I grin, stepping closer to him. “I’d like nothing more.”

< previous part | next part >

[kinsurou]

Hello guys! This is my first contribution to the Haikyuu HQ Server Collabs! It's so exciting to be part of this project alongside so many wonderful creators! We were asked to create a fic/art with the following prompt: "I wonder what he'd do if he knew you were with me right now." (Pronouns may vary).

I want to thank everyone in the HQHQ Server who helped me out with this fic. You guys are such amazing friends and I love every single one of you!

Click here to check out the Collab Masterlist!

Word Count: 5.1K

Pairings: Suna Rintarou x Reader

Beta Reader: @kuroos-babygirl

Warnings: Smut (+18), Dubcon (Reader doesn't give verbal consent.) Coercion, Toxic Parental Figures, Use of weed, Alcohol, Unprotected sex, Corruption.

A sharp, unfaltering gaze followed your every move all the way back from the other side of the room. From the small fidgeting whenever anyone looked in your direction, to the way you would sip awkwardly at the red cup clasped between your hands, and the scrunch of distaste adorning your features because of the strong, bitter flavor of the drink.

But what else could you do when you’re surrounded by literal strangers, and the only person that can be considered your only friend was currently too busy straddling a guy’s lap, making out to her heart’s content and grinding against his lap...while they’re both sitting in front of you.

It was so awkward...and yet it was nearly impossible to look away from the two of them. The way her hips rocked against his lap as she pulled on his gray locks, or his veiny hands taking a firm hold of her hips. Watching her going at it with this guy was too much to handle.

Why did you let her drag you into this party to begin with? If your parents find out you snuck out of the house, they’ll kill you.

...Your parents.

That thought is quickly forgotten. Right now you just want to have another drink and drown the worries away. Standing up from the cushion, you quickly begin walking towards the kitchen, leaving behind the security of the couch as well as your occupied friend. 

To your relief, the kitchen isn’t as crowded as the rest of the house, where other people were just talking, some of them doing keg stands or playing drinking games. There’s even some of them laying around the floor or leaning against the walls, completely knocked out by the amount of alcohol they consumed.

Finally, you come across a mess of beer bottles and red cups all over the countertop, some of them thrown around carelessly, others are full with the alcohol you were desperately looking for. Rather than going back to your seat, you stay in the empty room, leaning back against the marble and taking a swig of a new cup, once again drinking in silence while swaying slightly to the beat of the music. Too distracted to realize someone else just walked in until their footsteps come relatively closer, stopping less than a few feet away from you.

“Isn’t it past midnight already, Cinderella?” 

You jolt in surprise, nearly crushing the cup with a tight grip until you recognize that voice and that cursed nickname. There’s only one person on campus who calls you that face to face. Frowning slightly as you look at the culprit, you come face to face with a pair of nonchalant, dark yellow eyes that are always looking out for other’ weak spots despite their absent facade.

“Stop calling me that, Suna.” You turn away from him, hoping that he’ll get the hint and walk away, but that heavy, piercing gaze never leaves your body. Instead, he just walked closer before stopping in front of you. He starts leaning forwards, that bored look on his face doesn’t change in the slightest while he traps you between the marble countertop and his broad torso. “G-Go away…”

But he just continues staring at you, not another word comes out of his lips before his face approaches yours. Cheeks brushing past each other’s so faintly that the touch almost goes unnoticed. When his warm breath brushes against the uncovered skin of your shoulders, you finally realize just how close he’s standing. But either he doesn’t notice or he just doesn’t care about the proximity, or the effects it has on your body. Such as the clenching between your thighs or the small hitch in your breathing.

It only lasted for a minute, and yet it feels like an eternity when he finally takes a step back, holding one of those familiar cups in hand. Both relief and disappointment radiate off your body when he finally takes a step back, but judging from the way he looks at you with a small glint in his eyes, Suna is perfectly aware of what he’s provoking.

“Disappointed much?” God, you wanted to smack that smirk off his face so badly. This is exactly why you try to avoid him in college as much as possible.

...As well as other reasons.

“You’re so easy to read that it’s not even a challenge.” The eye contact is never broken as he leans back against the sink, taking a sip of his own cup so nonchalantly. It was like he didn’t corner you in the first place. But you know better that Suna Rintarou never does anything by mere coincidence. “What are you doing here in the first place? I thought Cinderella wasn’t allowed to go to the party.”

“Yeah, well…” You don’t look at him as you answer. The less eye contact you could make with him, the better “She still attended, didn’t she?”

He chuckled quietly from his spot. It was such a low noise, barely audible despite standing so close to him. And yet something about it was just so captivating. You’ve never heard his laughter before, so this was definitely something new.

“No wonder everyone’s talking about you right now.” With those words, you fell right into his trap just like a butterfly on a spiderweb. Quickly turning around to find yourself into the same position as before. Trapped between marble and his warmth. This time he stood even closer than before, so close that you could smell an all too familiar scent that saturated every fiber of his clothes.

“It was too good to be true. The principal’s daughter coming to a party? Had to see with my own eyes.” He leans forwards again. The overwhelming proximity makes your heart beat rapidly against your chest with such strength, it’s a miracle Suna hasn’t said anything about it when he presses his own chest against yours. Or maybe he did notice, if the way he looks at your cleavage is any indicator.

“You’re so nervous, it feels like I’m looking at a little rabbit.” His fingers start playing with the hem of your blouse, brushing faintly against your hips. Every inch of your skin trembles by his touch. A part of your head tells you this is a bad idea, that you need to walk away and leave right this instant. But your body says otherwise, staying firm in place.

“N-No.” Your gaze is averted, focused on anything else but the man standing in front of you. “Please, I just want to leave...”

“Do you? Or maybe you’re just afraid.” Something brushes softly against the shell of your ear, it takes you a full minute to realize that feeling belongs to his lips, nibbling teasingly while his hands make their way up your back, fiddling with the clips of your bra. But he just keeps tugging at them playfully, not really set on taking off your clothes….at least not yet.

“Afraid of what your parents would say. Think nobody knows how they treat you?” his hands finally stop, just to delve down until they’re resting over your lower back. “You’re such a good girl who never causes trouble...it’s too good to be true if you ask me.”

He pulled your hips closer towards him, slipping one leg between your trembling legs. A sly smirk grew on his face once he began grinding his knee against your core, sweet friction drew out one of the sweetest, high-pitched gasps from you. A noise so sweet, dirty and addictive that he needed to hear more of them. So when you looked at him in the eye, Suna could barely control himself. “Don’t you want to let loose for once? Do you want to be my dirty little girl?”

“Suna, I…” He didn’t wait for an answer, capturing your silky lips into a fervent kiss, swallowing every single whimper you gave whenever that knee brushed lazily against your core. Everything he did quickly overwhelmed your body, triggering a chain of breath-taking sensations. Like the fluttering at the pit of your stomach, the uncontrollable shivers prickling your skin, and the waves of heat radiating off your face. Frankly, you wanted more of it.

...But just thinking about your parent’s reactions was enough to feel terrified. The constant pressure and beliting over the smallest things. Not getting a perfect score in all the exams? Lazy and irresponsible. Wearing something they deemed inappropriate? Attention seeker. You could still remember the one time you ran into Suna while he was smoking, the smell of his cigarette had tainted your clothes that day, but neither of your parents believed the claims of innocence, calling you such horrible things that the mere reminder could be enough to make anyone suffer a meltdown.

Having one of the harshest teachers as well as the principal themselves as your parents was a nightmare nobody would wish upon their worst enemy.

You mustered enough courage to place both hands on his chest, slightly pushing him away while trying so hard not to try and feel the chiseled muscles hidden underneath the black fabric of his shirt.

“Stop. They’ll kill me if they find out.”

“They don’t have to know.”

“But I don’t want to get in trouble again.”

“You’re already in trouble just being here, Cinderella.”

It was true. And you hated how true that statement was, sooner or later your father would find out and it would be chaos...but that didn’t do much to soothe that painful sensation at the pit of your stomach, slowly feeding off the sheer horror you felt at the idea of their constant beliting.

The trembling of your body didn’t go unnoticed by the guy standing between your legs. 

“Hey, you’re already in trouble...So let me help you relax, what do you say, Cinderella?” He kissed your jaw softly, lingering in place as he inhaled the soft scent of perfume. “Don’t you want to feel good for once? I know you’ll enjoy it.”

But he was only met with silence, neither were you looking at him again, instead your eyes stayed focused on the sink overflowing with empty bottles of liquor. Suna just huffed, pulling his hands back before he began stepping back, ready to go back to the living room with a sour mood, but that quickly vanished when he felt the tight clutch at the corner of his shirt.

With an eyebrow raised, he turned back to see you grabbing on his shirt, still avoiding his gaze as much as possible. But he could see it, the way your body said the contrary. You wanted this as much as he did, maybe even more. But the fear clouding your thoughts was making it hard to say anything.

And that gave Suna an idea.

“If you want this so bad, then I can give you a hand. What do you say Cinderella?” His fingers once again brushed against the uncovered skin of your shoulder. And when you made no move to stop his approaches, Suna knew he had won. “Good girl.”

He grabbed you softly by the wrist, determined to take things somewhere more private. Nobody seemed to pay attention anymore as you both walked across the halls. When he crossed the living room, Suna made eye contact with his silver haired friend, who was ever so busy with the girl sitting on his lap as she attacked his neck fervently. Both males just looked at each other and nodded silently before getting back to business. Osamu went back to making out with the girl, and Suna brought you along to one of the empty rooms.

The sound of a door being closed snapped you out of it. apart from the soft glow of the moonlight, the room was completely dark, but it was still possible to see the outline of some furniture placed around the room, the outline of a desk at the corner, some shelves and even a small couch near the window. It had to be some sort of study. Whose house was this in the first place…?

Out of nowhere, a strong smell began coming from your side, slowly making its presence well-known across the room. A strong smell that could come from one thing only.

And that was from the joint held between Suna’s fingers, the tip burned brightly in the darkness of the room, giving his sharp features this captivating, gentle glow akin to that from a fireplace in those fairytales you always used to read when you were but a small little girl, still full of nothing but hope and dreams for a brighter future.

Suna noticed the way your eyes lingered on the speck of light, following the smoky trail as it danced across the small breeze inside the room before dissipating, like it never existed in the first place.

“Here.” He put the joint in front of your face, not even blinking by the shocked expression on your face. Eyes wide open as you looked at it with sheer horror and panic. “This will help you relax, little rabbit.”

“...I thought I was Cinderella?”

“I thought you hated that nickname?”

He sighed in irritation, knowing exactly where this was going. You changed the subjects on purpose, trying to delay this for a bit longer. “Come on, it’s not like it’s gonna bite you.”

Slowly, you grabbed the joint from his hand. Carefully bringing it closer to your mouth and letting its weight rest over your lips for a moment, before inhaling deeply. Something you quickly regretted before coughing rapidly, suffocating on the smoke burning at the back of your throat. The room was filled with coughing and a laughing fit coming from the male sitting on the couch. When in the world did he sit down?

“How...ack!...How do you enjoy this crap?!” You wheezed painfully, glaring at Suna while he held the sides of his stomach, his body was shaking tremendously from his laughter that he nearly slid off the couch. Asshole…

Once he regained his breath, he got up from his seat and approached you again, taking the blunt away before you could throw it away, after all it had been expensive.

“Seriously Cinderella. You’re supposed to go slowly.” He pulled you along one more time. Sitting back on his previous spot as he helped position your legs to his sides so you straddled his lap just nicely enough for him to admire the sight in front of him. “I suppose you could use some help, mmm?”

You looked at him in both embarrassment and confusion. Watching him smoke that cursed thing so easily, no coughing fits, no choking on the smoke, nada. How long had he been doing this? All your attention was on the embers coming to life with his breathing, too focused on that precious light to notice the hand making its way around your back, casually tracing circles on your upper back.

That same hand pulled you again, this time with such care that it was impossible to resist the contact, not even when he pulled the blunt away before reaching out for your face, holding you close by the cheeks as your lips brushed against each others. You focused every bit of attention on that feather like touch, that was shortly followed by a fain gust of smoke. It felt so intimate being like this, being held so closely by someone you’ve known since high school, and being able to catch up after all this time wasn’t such a bad experience after all…

Then something in the air took a sharp turn when he closed the distance between your lips, once again capturing them with his own. But this time that weight on your shoulders was absent. That fear that always haunted your every action, every decision, every single thought, it was all gone.

For once in your life, you were not afraid anymore…

Your arms me their way around his neck, deepening the kiss with an intensity Suna didn’t even know was possible for someone as meek and quiet as you. No wonder people always joke that the quietest ones are the most perverse.

“Haha...That’s the spirit, Cinderella.”

The arms around your body pulled your hips down, grinding the spot between your legs against something hard, it didn’t take a genius to know where this was heading. You just let his arms guide you through it, enjoying the grinding of his growing erection and the low grunts he gave, easily muffled by the deafening music blaring through the other side of the door.

“Enjoying yourself?” If only you could see the mischievous smirk on his face when the only reply he got was a loud whimper. If only you could see the effect those little noises had on the male humping through your clothes, eager to get a taste of your body after all this time pining after you. “Fuck, you’re really into this, huh? You dirty little girl.”

Was it his words? The blunt finally starting to kick in? Both? Whatever it was, it made waves of heat radiate off your skin, covering it with a thin layer of sweat that made your clothes suffocating. Every fiber of these borrowed tight fitting clothes kept sticking oh so painfully over your body.

It felt like a torture having to part away from Suna, but these clothes had to leave. He had to admit watching as your top left your body was a delicious show, one he really wanted to take part in as he reached out to help remove your bottoms, leaving your body displayed to him, covered in nothing but a scandalous set of lingerie.

“Not so innocent, are you?”

As soon as you got within his arm’s reach, he pulled you back into his lap again. This time however, he had you sitting down between his open legs, with your bare back leaning against his chest. Not only did Suna have a way with words that could easily rile anyone up, but he also had a way to do wonders with his hands. 

The blunt was left over the window’s edge, forgotten in favor of your lace covered chest. Which he began squeezing softly, pinching the fabric over your nipples every time you released a whimper because of his intoxicating touches.

“Do you ever play with your nipples the same way you play with your pussy?”

“N-No…!”

“You’re an awful liar, Cinderella.” He slid one hand under your bra, pinching an erect nipple between his fingers while his other hand made his way to trace small circles over your panties, enjoying the feeling of damp fabric under his fingers. “You can tell a lot about people by looking them in the eye. You’re so desperate to be fucked silly.”

The lace over your chest is pulled upwards, releasing the soft mounds from their restraints with a soft bounce before a hand quickly latched on to one of them. Squeezing in sync with the fingers making their way inside the black lingerie, one began prodding its way between sloppy folds, gathering enough of your arousal before delving deeper into your cunt.

“Mmmm!….It feels so...weird.” Your back arches with each thrust of his finger against your soft walls “Suna, please!” Rather than slowing down he pushes another finger inside, thrusting and scissoring them at a leisurely pace to prepare you for the real thing.

“Come on, I know you can do better than that.” He swiftly wraps an arm under your chest as soon as your body starts writhing, buckling against the digits buried deep inside. The calloused texture, a result of his constant games of volleyball, provide additional stimulation. “Now, hold still. Look at you, taking my fingers so well.”

If only you could wipe that smirk of his face, but your hands were currently balled up into tight fists, nails digging painfully into the skin of your palms with ferocious strength, threatening to rip through the flesh at any moment. 

“Does it feel this good when you’re touching yourself?” You began squirming again, unable to take anymore of his touch, it’s too much, your body couldn’t take it anymore. It jerked furiously as it reached an orgasm, knocking the air out of your lungs with its strength.

If only you could see the look on Suna’s face as he leaned forwards over your shoulder, observing the heave of your chest with heightened desire. The throbbing in his pants turned unbearable when your walls clenched around his hand, soaking it with your sweet release that dripped down on the couch. 

God, he wanted to be inside you so badly. He wanted to ruin that sweet little hole, wreck it and fill it with his cum until the only thing that came out of your parted lips was his name.

“Ready for the best part, you little whore?” You were still too dazed to answer him, not even when he laid you face down on the couch, pulling your hips up to hook two fingers over the waistband of those soaked panties, pulling them away and taking them off before shoving them in his pocket. He grunted at the sight of those dripping folds, grabbing the flesh of your bare ass to get a better look at that slick cunt ready to be pleased. “I want to taste your pussy so badly, Cinderella.”

His hand left your skin just as quickly. You felt his weight leave the cushion, hearing the rustle of fabric even with the music from the party still blaring downstairs. One sound caught your attention among all the noise. The sound of a zipper being undone lures you attention like a sweet melody. And when your face follows the source you’re greeted by such an alluring sight of a well toned chest, with ripped muscles from years of training in the volleyball team despite Suna’s lean frame.

You wanted to run your hands acrossthem again, caress and kiss that bare skin. But Suna had other plans as he lowered both pants and boxers, sighing as his erection springs out with a small bounce, with a small bead of precum already dribbling down. He was quick to crawl over your naked body to begin grinding his shaft between your cheeks so you could feel the hard cock eager to be inside your velvet walls. “But as much as I’d love to have you sitting on my face. I can’t wait any longer, but neither can you right?”

He let out that signature chuckle when you buried your face into the arm rest and started mumbling to yourself, he could still make out something along the lines of “asshole”. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Cinderella.” He gathered more of your arousal between his fingers, occasionally rubbing a thumb against your clit to tease, ignoring the desperate pleads as he began pumping his cock, covering it with enough of your slick before pressing it down between your folds, with a quick thrust of his hips, he finally buried himself all the way in.

The fabric underneath your face muffed your cries of discomfort, pressed tightly against your face to the point it was hard to breathe. The stretch was so painful, so hot, but it was so fucking good, your body craved for more and Suna was eager to provide.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You feel so good sucking in my cock like a good little slut.” He gripped your hips harshly, giving short, lazy thrust that made you cry out to him. “Tell me how good it feels to have me inside of you.”

“It feels...ngh! It feels great, Suna!” A hand smacked your ass painfully, leaving behind a burning sensation on the delicate skin. “Mmmm!”

“Wrong name, sweetheart.” He gave another thrust, a rougher one that pushed you forwards, nearly smacking your forehead against the arm rest. “Wanna try again? You better get it right this time.”

“R….Rin-!” A hand pressed firmly on your back while the other one tilted your hips upwards, it helped Suna brush against a different spot, one that brought tears to your eyes with every thrust. An arm reached back to hold on to him, just to be grabbed by the wrist and twisted behind your back, trapped in place while Suna began moving faster “Eh, close enough. Be grateful your pussy feels so good, otherwise I would’ve left already.”

“No!” You cried out, “Please Rin! Don’t stop, it feels so good!” You gave him a pleading look and tried moving your hips, just for a hand to smack the tender flesh of your ass, it was a warming to remain still. You’ve never been this bold before, why were you acting so different? Was it the effects of the blunt? Being railed in the middle of a party, where anyone could barge in at any moment?

“So you know your place, good.” you didn’t know it was possible to feel better than what you’re currently feeling, but Suna proved it was possible when he began pounding you harder, nearly pulling out his whole member until only the tip remained inside before slamming back against your abused hole.

He couldn’t take his eyes off your body, of the soft jiggling of your ass whenever he slammed back against it, the loud slapping of your skin, the way you moaned whenever he brushed against your cervix. It was too good, and he needed to preserve that image.

Your arm was released abruptly, and you quickly pulled it back to hold onto something else as the same warm feeling from before began spreading again, sending goosebumps through your whole body. If that wonderful feeling and the music hadn’t been a distraction, you would have heard the low beep of a smartphone filming everything. 

It started out at the spot where you both were connected, capturing the uncontrollable clenching of your cunt around Suna’s cock, the lewd mixture of your moans, grunts, the slapping of sweaty skin and one of the most vulgar songs to ever exist, slowly the camera went over those red marks all over your ass and hips, until it stopped at the back of your head, and the locks of hair bouncing around with each thrust.

“You look beautiful, Cinderella.” Suna cooed. “I wonder what They’d do if They knew you were with me right now.” He hissed in delight when you clenched tighter around him. “What would mommy and daddy think of you?” 

Anyone else would have cringed from thinking about their parents in the middle of sex, but Suna’s words stirred something twisted inside you. A wicked being yearning to make your parent’s life miserable and make them pay for everything.

Every single memory came back in a flash. From the memories of elementary school, where they expected nothing but the best but couldn’t bother to attend the school plays to the incident at college. 

That was the last straw, and the exact same reason why you sneaked out to this party to begin with, even borrowing an outfit from your friend that was perfect for the occasion. And look where that got you, to one hell of a good experience. Probably the first time you’ve been able to be yourself, not just a trophy child to be bragged about during Christmas dinner.

The same creature wanting to feed off your parent’s wrath kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear, sinister thoughts hidden behind honeyed words, craving to watch the world burn beneath your feet….In the end, not a single effort was ever enough to please your parent’s expectations...so, why bother?

Fuck it...Fuck it all.

“Harder, please fuck me harder Rin! Your cock feels amazing!” Suna blinked once, then twice, scoffing in amusement by the sudden twist in your mood, but who was he to complain? His phone was quickly shoved aside and ignored, not even remembering to stop filming as he leaned over your body. 

Those hard muscles you had been craving to touch were pressed firmly against your back, his toned arms resting around your head, and the chance to feel them up was certainly not missed.

With this angle, he reached places inside you that felt like the physical embodiment of paradise. Drool, sweat and tears covered your entire face when he found that one spot that took away your breath, and he began abusing it repeatedly. He too started getting closer to his release, and buried his face into your hair with a growl. His pace wavered bit….but he was so close, and so were you, judging from the desperation as you chanted his name over and over.

“Where do you want me to cum, my little whore? In you- Fuck! in your pussy? Your mouth? Your pretty pucker? I’ll put it wherever you want.”

That was it, you couldn’t take it anymore. Just thinking of it sent you over the edge. Your walls clamped down on his cock with such force that Suna had to stop moving. He would’ve loved to keep going for a little longer, but he couldn’t take it either.

“Rin!” With the last cry of his name, he pushed his whole body against yours, dropping his whole weight down as he finally came,  coating your insides with spurt after spurt of warm cum. Nothing seemed to matter as you laid on the soiled piece of furniture, trying to catch your breath in a dark room reeking of sex, sweat and weed.

It felt like an eternity had passed when Suna finally moved away and pulled out, watching in satisfaction as his cum began leaking, running down over your folds, your clit, eventually dripping down on the furniture with every spasm of your body.

The one thing that caught him off guard was when you hid your face away from him and began trembling in place, muffling some sniffles with the aid of the cushion. The fact you began crying caught him off guard for a moment, until your face turned to the side. And rather than crying, you were actually giggling like a mad woman.

You couldn’t stop that giddy smile. Cheeks burning furiously from everything you felt in that moment. For once in your life, you had the chance to experience freedom in the most intoxicating ways, and you wouldn’t change it for anything else.

“Everything okay, Cinderella?”

“Ahahaha...Yeah…” You turned over and laid on your back shortly after the laughter finally ceased, and turned back to him to watch that familiar joint between his fingers.

“Everything’s fine.”

Taglist: @hawks-senseis @honeytama @wakaoujisenhime @iwaasfairy @shoutogepi @gr0vndz3ro @xplosiveboy @shinsotired

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Off to the Races | AU: Gangsters/Casino | Russel Adler x fem!reader

Summary: You were born for the stage. A natural dancer with all of your youth used for experience, you now find yourself as a showgirl in one of Vegas' top casinos, the SunDowner. Owned by, Russell Adler, a notorious gangster in the underworld who remains undercover to the public eye, business is booming. Doubly so when a mysterious promotion comes your way, launching you to the top stage...

Just when you thought your life couldn't get more interesting, just how crazy will things get when the old gangster handpicks you from one crazy life to another, to keep for himself?

Tags: Gangster Au, age difference

Warnings: This fic has no explicit smut or anything, but WILL contain some overtly sexual themes and suggestive content, strong language, and age difference bc y'all know me 😪 So reader beware!

Y'all thought I was joking with this post huh lol

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You’d be surprised how much that little mantra has gotten you through.

Tonight, it comes in handy once more.

You scurry into place on stage, surrounded by an array of women around your age in exactly similar costumes. Glittering, skin tight leotards, sky high heels to pop out some ass, sheer mesh sections to show a little skin, and long, billowing feather accents mounted on your back and head for God knows what.

It’s your first night doing a showgirl routine at the infamous SunDowner casino, right here in shiny, shimmering Sin City itself. You’re one of three acts going on at the same time, all on different floors of the building. Your performance is taking place in the middle floor stage where the least amount of people are likely to see you, just in case you turn out to be a waste of a contract.

You take a look around you. The other women seem so confident… That, or they’re damn good at pretending. Makes sense, you think to yourself, everyone and their mother is a damn actor in this town. It’s all an act... When Shakespeare said “All the world’s a stage”, you doubt this is what he had in mind.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker booms, announcing the start of the show. The lights power on over head, blindingly bright as some oldie style song starts up. Something for the oldsters, no doubt. But then again… aren’t you too?

The curtains shoot to the side on the beat and you can feel yourself pulled into auto pilot. You’ve practiced this dance so many times, it’s like second nature by now. So you dance. You parade around, covered in glitter and somehow managing to not break your neck in these heels while you strut around and roll your hips and shake your ass for some drunk old men with all fourteen of the other women beside you doing exactly the same thing.

And while you preform... Somewhere, way way up on the top floor, Russell Adler, owner of this whole joint and a couple city blocks to boot, returns to his office after taking a walk through the gambling pits. He’s caught two hustlers tonight alone, both of which were dealt with… severely.

The Sundowner doesn’t take kindly to thieves, and neither does he.

He dips into a side room within the office space behind a covertly placed door into a soundproof room. Adler switches on the lights and takes a seat in front of a huge stack of tv monitors. He pours himself a glass of whiskey, and watches the live feed from his many surveillance cameras. These are to keep an eye on his dealers and pit bosses rather than the customers, contrary to what most may think.

Can’t be too careful in this line of business, after all.

The room is silent except for the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the large oak desk. He’s not one for glitz and garish glamour, but he is never without his four favorite rings.

They adorn his right hand, all made of polished platinum. Three are made in the shape of a thin, wound coil with some decorative knurling along the surface in a trapezoidal pattern, getting slightly thicker in size right up to the crown piece on his index finger. The largest ring features the hissing head of a viper with inset eyes made of two black diamonds.

Each ring is easily worth several thousand dollars, and not even close to the most expensive item on his person tonight, let alone in his wardrobe.

His eyes shift from left to right, scanning each screen quickly and judiciously as he taps and sips. For a moment, he lands on the showgirl performance. The quality of entertainment and the establishment itself is every bit as important as making sure everyone else stays in line and on their side of the house rules.

Adler checks the camera marker and notes that these are the new hires. Whatever he sees, he’ll make sure to cut them some slack.

Some.

One girl stumbles a bit, right there on stage. She’s out. Another girl brushes against the one beside her. Out. Then, towards the finale, two girls jump out of sync with the rest. He shakes his head and sighs. Where the fuck are his people getting these girls from?

He takes note of the ones he wants gone, then manages to swallow his frustration and watch the wrap up. Things end to light applause and before the curtain closes he taps a key on his board of switches to pause the feed. He counts up the dancers and take notes of each girl personally.

You know… Throughout that entire shit show, if memory serves, there was only one girl who hit all the marks.

Adler rewinds the feed and focuses on you in particular. He follows your every step and leap. Watching every move, studying every turn…

He was right. Perfect, throughout the whole routine. He reaches for his red phone and calls up the man in charge of the girl shows.

“Who’s the one in position seven, middle stage show?”

There’s a moment of silence and a rustling of paper before the other man replies with your full name, a little bit of your credentials, and the date of your hiring. “Something wrong sir?”

“Yes, send positions three, ten, eight, and twelve home. We have standards, for God’s sake”

“Of course sir-”

“And as for seven… I want her performing top stage next time”

More silence, and then a tentative, “...Yes sir”

Adler clicks the phone into the receiver and takes the last sip of his drink. Hmp, lucky number seven… His gaze lingers on you and your supple body only a moment longer. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip... then goes back to the rest of his cameras.

He’ll be interested to see if you can rise to the task he’s gifted to you.

When the last of your shows ends, you and the rest of the girls head back to the dressing room one more time tonight to get changed out of these contraptions they have you wearing. A stern looking man bursts into the room unannounced, he calls out four girls and sends them packing with no explanation given. His beady eyes scan the room and land on you, nearly giving you a heart attack as you brace to be cut as well.

“And you, seven… You’re performing in the VIP lounge next week. Don’t fuck this up”

And just like that, he leaves as quickly as he came, slamming the door behind him. The other girls turn to congratulate you, some bitterly, while you’re left reeling.

Playing the top floor, the “VIP lounge” is… huge.

Some girls perform here their whole lives and never get to see it. You’ve even heard that they hire foreign professionals, just to meet up to their standards. Up there you can make tips on top of your salary. Well, only for... private dances or pole shows, but still…

You go home that night wondering how such a thing is even possible, but soon decide to shake it off. Who cares how, all that matters is that the chance has come.

And you plan to rise to the occasion.

You spend your next two days off practicing and limbering up both with the other VIP dancers and on your own. Most of the women keep to themselves and you can tell they’re a bit resentful of your presence.

There’s no question about it, you’re the youngest one here and by default the least experienced. What gives you the right to be instantly promoted like that? If only you yourself knew.

Regardless, your first performance on the top floor is here before you know it. And things go… Fairly well, to be honest.

The routine is complex, but you can tell it’s been slowed down to give you a chance. The stage is bigger, the makeup more colorful, the costumes more revealing, and the lights brighter, and yet... you feel right at home. The nervousness has worn off by now and you’re a rising star on the stage.

After a few nights of proving yourself, you’re even hired for some private dances and given a chance on the pole.

The cash pool you take home gets bigger and bigger every night, and so does your audience.

But, for all the eyes on you, there’s one strange pair that bothers you the most…

You’re working a routine with the other girls tonight. The leading girl is out with a sprained ankle, so tonight you were given the honor to dance as the Primadona, front and center on the stage. You twirl and strut up to the front, the women behind you backing you up and mirroring your moves. They continue to spin and clear space in a geometric formation to give you room as you perform the finishing stunt.

With a deep breath of air, you perform an impressive high kick on the crescendo beat that transitions into a backwards somersault and ends in a split at center stage.

A roar of applause and whistles comes from the crowd of wealthy men and women watching you.

All except one.

You lock eyes with a lone gentleman sitting front and center at a round booth table in the dimly lit room. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and even behind his dark aviators you can feel his eyes on you. As though to confirm your suspicions, he lowers the glasses to the bridge of his nose, exhaling a plume of smoke as he stares directly into your irises.

He brings his cigarette back for another hit, the small flame highlighting a horrible looking scar that goes the length of his cheek, and as the curtain falls, his creased, glowing blue eyes are the last you see of him.

The truth is… Adler’s had his eyes on you ever since that first night on the cameras. Tonight, he came down just to see your show in person. You’re just as good as you are on camera. Perhaps, even better.

No... definitely better.

He’s been reviewing your track record as of late. You took ballet lessons ever since you were just four years old. Won several awards for dances and even some state level beauty pageants. Joined the dance club at your highschool and got a scholarship from it to put you through college. You’re trained classically, but it would appear the only jobs you’ve ever gotten are clubs, bars, and casinos just like this one.

Adler smirks to himself, thinking of your pretty young face as he takes another drag. Maybe you're not as innocent as you seem.

He can work with that...

[seancekitsch]

I was Never Young: A Klaus x Reader fic

Anyways uhhh heres my fic based on the Klaus spin off series!! I made sure not to really spoil anything in the series if u guys haven't finished it yet but it does take place after the series events. there's no smut which is weird for me bc i usually write just smut but like yolo this is where it went.

Klaus had been through the ringer. Los Angeles seems to just be more of the same, so why even leave home? Right, he’d been kicked out and cut off. Well, at least one of those problems has disappeared, he thinks as he pats the ugly little satchel full of money at the side of his hip.

He meanders down the street, no real direction or motive as he shuffles down. The diazepine is starting to wear off, and he’s going to need something to dull the corners of his mind in about an hour. A neon green sign draws his eyes, looks as sick as he’s about to be.

‘Cobra’s’ the sign says, and this one is probably as good as any.

The bar has exactly six people inside of it, he realizes as he pushes the door open. It’s hazy, full of the stale and welcoming scent of menthol tobacco. Perfect, Klaus thinks.

The bartender is a stern looking man, like he used to be a wrestler. Maybe this is what Luther or Diego will look like in thirty years if they don’t eat their wheaties.

There are two other men sitting in a booth by the corner, deep in conversation with one another. They’re boring suits, no one that Klaus could have for company. He’s just looking for someone alive to have a conversation with while he numbs himself. Someone alive, he clarifies to himself. His last friend left for heaven’s greener pastures, which he’s happy for him, but maybe the guy could have stuck around on this plane of existence for a weekend longer.

There’s a couple at the end of the bar that looks like they're on a date. In the middle of the day? Wonder if their spouses know they aren't at work. Klaus laughs out loud, poor bastards.

And then there's you, with your mixed drink, absentmindedly swirling it with your little stirrer. You seem like a safe bet, so his feet drag him over to sit down at the middle of the bar near you. He more or less throws himself into the chair, his feet immediately feeling the relief. He’s still clammy and feverish in the come down, his stomach hurts, but that’s nothing a little booze and sugar can’t help.

You notice the guy as soon as he walks in. Of course you do. After a few years, you start to recognize people even if you don’t know them. You don’t recognize him. He looks paranoid, fresh off a set and worried about what a job will do, for and to him. Poor thing. Probably one of those River Phoenix types. Young, pretty, and overwhelmed.  In teen mags one day, in the obituaries the next. All preventable, hundreds of people that could step in if money meant more than the people around you.

“Hey,” the guy next to you greets you, his voice uneven, watery and cautious. His hands shake a little as he pulls a stack of cash out of his threadbare satchel, pulling a few bills from the rubberband holding it together and flattening them out against the bar.

“Hey, yourself. You new here?” He looks surprised as the words leave your lips, but is interrupted by the bartender approaching.

“Yeah, whatever that special is for today, that’ll do,” he orders like he doesn't really know what to do at the bar. He turns back to you, looking ever so boyish and lost with his big green eyes.

“How did you-?”

“How did I know you're new here?” You throw the rest of your drink back, carelessly placing it at the far end of the bar from you, “Because you don't look absolutely beaten down. I mean, you look a little twitchy, but you look fresh.”

Fresh? That’s not at all how Klaus would describe his look, having not slept in days and having been using an extreme amount of controlled substances, even for his standards.

The bartender slides a glass towards him, and he scrambles to catch it. There’s a total of two umbrellas, a flamingo stirrer, and two straws in it. In all, garish and hard to look at. The bartender takes the money, and they nod at each other.

“You look kinda young to be here,” with that remark, Klaus takes a long sip of the fruity cocktail he ordered, a sickening blue color so intense you bet it could substitute as hair dye.

“You do too,” you quip. You’d been working in this town for a few years now, on and off movie sets and bartending clubs with live acts. This boy? He looked fresh. Like he’s just been taken for his first ride. He looked rough and unused to it.

“How old are you?” he asks,  he can’t place your age or accent. You look just as young as him, if not younger. You sound southern- Boston- Chicago- western and somewhere European he can’t place. Is that what Hollywood does to people's speech patterns? Is that gonna happen to him? But you seem to be as much an anomaly here as he does.

“How old are you?” you mimic back.

Klaus stares in awe as you rest your elbow against the bar, making sure he sees that as you snap your fingers, a cigarette materializes between them. You quickly shift the rolled tobacco to rest between your index and middle finger, ready to place it against your lips.

“Listen, I’m old enough.” That's all you have to say about that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Sometimes I think I was never young.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, the hint of a laugh.

“Yeah, alright.” You fish around in your jacket pocket for the lighter and ask, “Do you wanna get out of here? Only smoking bar in town, but it ain’t got hotdogs.”

Hotdogs, Klaus thinks, He remembers having sausage back home, but he’s never had a hotdog.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that? You never been to a baseball game or something?”

He shook his head, no. Klaus hadn’t ever seen a baseball game. He knew the history of it, the impact it had on American society. All from a very clinical and academic standpoint. Sports weren’t really his thing.

“Nah, I always preferred activities with a bit more... uh, substance.” He laughs at his own joke, whether you get it or not really doesn’t matter.

“Right, right. So River, what’s your real name?” You talk with the cigarette but between your teeth, lighting it quickly, before the lighter in your hand vanishes from sight.

“It’s….. uh, It’s Klaus.”

You give him your name, and he repeats it, tests the name out on his tongue.

You take a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

“So Klaus, wanna buy us some hotdogs?”

You leave as soon as he finishes his drink, and he talks in a way that he thinks might be too much. But you listen. You’re the first living person that’s actually listened to what he had to say since he got here. He asks about you, your story, but he doesn’t get as much as he wants. You like your smoking, you’re a special effects designer, you dropped out of high school to come out here, and you fucking love Alonzo’s hotdogs.

“Hey ‘Lonzo!” you shout, interrupting Klaus mis sentence, raising both arms above your head, the baggy sleeves of your jacket falling closer to your elbows.

“How’s my kid doin?” The man shouts back. A tall man, with heavy brows and a mustache. “And who’s this?”

“My friend Klaus here just directed a movie! With Vivian Clarke, and the kid’s never had a hotdog! Can you believe it!” Your footfalls come quicker, starting to jog as you clear the end of the block, Klaus starts to shuffle quicker to catch up. When he gets to see the man up close. clear chocolate brown eyes greet him. He looks pretty trustworthy, Klaus thinks, Like Santa Claus, or John Stamos. Basically, like anyone but Dad or Viv.

Alonzo asks all about Klaus’ recent accomplishment, not exactly something he wants to talk about, but he likes that Alonzo is genuinely curious and polite. The only thing you say is “extra relish, on both. Big shot director pays.” during the conversation, focusing more on finishing your cigarette and stubbing it out with the toe of your boot. Klaus looks down and the cigarette butt leaves no trace on the concrete.

“So back there,” he says as you wait for your dogs to be handed over, “That cigarette business, are you a magician?”

“Nah,” you say, not fully meeting his gaze, “I’m a Libra.”

You nod at the guy as he finally pulls the dogs over the edge of the cart he operates. Extra relish, just like you asked. When he places the hotdog in Klaus’ hands, the redhead’s eyes go wide. Guess he wasn’t kidding about never having relish, you think.

“Huh,” he starts, dumbfounded by the hunk of grease and meat and relish in his hands, “I’m a Libra too, actually.”

“Guess that’s something about balance or something,” you say, effectively ending the conversation again by opening your mouth as wide as you can to accommodate the sheer mass of one of Alonzo’s hotdogs.

He looks at the meal, his first and probably only for today, and then takes your lead, opening his mouth as wide as he can before finally chomping down on a huge bite of it. The bite is… heavenly. Pickled vegetables and chutneys exploding on his tastebuds, the coolness of it contrasting with the fresh off the grill meat. No offense to mom or Pogo, but none of their cooking could ever hold a candle to this street hotdog.

“Good, yeah?” Your voice, distorted by a mouth full of food, breaks his almost nirvana like trance.

“So good,” he tries to say, mouth just as full as yours. He finishes chewing, swallows with a huge gulp.

“You got any more food spots to show me?”

[counting-eyerolls]

"un claduros sugeti pula" listen i died. i think you're very valid for this and not overreacting at all!

i think the basic problem that we as romanians share (generally speaking, of course, i'm aware there are individuals who are exceptions) is the fact that we have a genuine lack of basic human decency and mutual respect for a person we don't know. and i mean in any environment. from retail workers you ask for help who look at you like you asked them to hand-sew you the clothing article and comment passive aggressively while 'helping you' (speaking from experience) to the non-reactions that non-conventional artists experience, like in the 2019 ritual.

yk what they say romania is a beautiful country, too bad it's inhabited.

i was talking to my friend about this whole thing on the phone like an hour ago and while she isn't into ghost or rock/metal she has unfortunately been forced to hear and watch a shitton of ghost stuff because of my obsession. and when i told her hey did you know they apparently performed in bucharest too, she was like no shit what? ("ba esti prost?" to quote) and even she could tell how shitty it must have been for everyone on stage when the crowd had that attitude.

what bugs me more is that a lot of romanians i've met who like rock and attend concerts like that metallica one in 2019 consider themselves much better than everyone else (the whole "ba eu sunt roacher nu ascult prostii") and then you have these people in front of you who are putting on an amazing show and you just act like you're too good for it. but you don't even bother to appreciate and/or acknowledge the sheer amount of work that they put into those shows, the skill and talent of tobias and everyone underneath those masks. like come on you don't need to know who is under the mask to see how nice they play. like i didn't know who per was or that he was behind the mask but it took i think 2 videos for me to have such deep respect and appreciation for the way he plays -- and that goes for literally everybody on that stage.

anyway oops i rambled.

the attitude is a big problem. buying a ticket doesn't make you entitled to anything at all other than the basic decency an artist can offer while on stage. if that's not your cup of tea you can just not attend as op said but also: you are allowed to not enjoy a specific piece of art without trashing the artist or being rude about it. lemme give you an example: a few nights ago i went to hozier. i of course was so excited and all that and i was there quite early because i wanted to see the opening act too. i had no idea who the last dinner party was, i hadn't even listened to their songs. and then they came out on stage and did their set and i was blown away. but as they got off the stage and we waited for hozier i couldn't help but think back to how the venue was just then filling up, how they played to an almost empty concert hall, how people didn't pay attention during their set or used it to go get drinks or food or merch or go smoke. and these girls played so well but does it matter? does it matter when you won't even give them the chance to show you what they can do? when they don't even have to fight to catch your attention because you didn't even deign to give it to them from the beginning. while this wasnt in romania, this is something that happens almost always in romania and i've seen it every time i attended any kind of event or concert.

it's embarassing and sad to see how romanian people act and furthermore it makes me feel bad for all the artists who want to try and include more countries in their tours only to end up with situations like these. and all i can say is that i'm sorry for the artists who have to experience this (whether music or any kind of other art).

regrettably i'm thinking about the 2019 bucharest ritual again

So the one and only time (so far) that Ghost has been in Romania, it was in 2019 where they opened for Metallica at the National Arena. And it was... rough

(disclaimer i wasn't there but i consumed every single recording i could find online)

Firstly, they put them on during the middle of the day, which is already just a piss take-- but like fine, whatever, not the biggest possible issue

But then, the stage they were on was... weirdly big, but not in any way that was useful-- it was really long but really narrow. And I don't know if that's just the usual shape of the stage or if the planners suck at their jobs, because the band was playing in front of this sort of screen and you could see Metallica's set pieces peeking out from behind it-- so I got a sneaking suspicion they divided the stage in half and squeezed Ghost in the front

Also that screen was so tall that their setup looked laughably tiny. Idk

The stage also had this weird semicircle-shaped catwalk in the front? Which was pretty cool the couple times Papa got down there, but it also meant no classic Square Hammer intro-- no lean, no nothing, the guitarists just kinda huddled into a corner near the front.

ALL OF THIS WOULD BE ONE THING. Because hey, it was an arena show, maybe those don't go so in depth with the details

But the audience. The fucking audience... They're the reason I can no longer honestly complain about so few artists coming to this country, because honestly? Can't blame them!

The arena was half empty. It looked like one of those local shows where they put on your cousin's garage band and people only really show up because it's free to enter and the beer's cheap. EVEN THERE, I've seen more enthusiasm from the crowd

I understand most people were there for Metallica, but then why come see Ghost as well, if you're not gonna engage at all? Tobias was up there performing his heart out, talking to the audience, trying to get their attention-- nothing. The most enthusiasm I saw was during Year Zero (which is funny considering the state of this country ifykyk), and the people in the pit were the most responsive, but even then, disappointing

And I know it can't just be the band's fault for not engaging the crowd, because they get a completely different response in other countries, where people follow basic show etiquette and don't act like wet blankets

Seriously, why even pay to see a band you're not interested in. And if they were interested, that's a hell of a way to show it; but knowing the ro scene I'm tempted to believe most of them were just elitist weirdos who hadn't even heard of Ghost and generally have no respect for artists

anyway yeah this is my roman empire and it keeps me up at night

[puppywritings]

pairing: lee jeno x reader (gender neutral) word count: 0.4k prompt: ‘i just want that fairytale ending’ (x) warnings: drinking, smoking masterlist

taglist: @infnteen​ @sly-merlin​ @stayinzencity​ @babiesunshine​ @seonghwashyung​ @panpandami​ @zedwards​ (here’s the form to be added to my taglists!)

The air in the apartment was stifling; it was humid, filled with the scent of too many sweaty bodies. You’d been drinking and dancing all night, but the dehydration had gotten to you, and the situation was getting to be too much. You were growing tired of the party, and you wished for escape. Unnoticed, you snuck away from the mass of people, who were far too busy celebrating nothing other than their youth to realise the absence of just one person. You spied a door at the end of the hallway, leading to a fire escape that provided you with the perfect place to get some fresh air.

The cool night air hit you like a bus, although it was welcomed. You felt better immediately, closing your eyes and relishing the feeling.

“Hey,” a voice called out, and your breath hitched in surprise.

“Hi,” you replied, opening your eyes to find another person standing on the fire escape, who’d managed to escape your attention in the last few moments.

“Jeno,” he introduced himself.

“Y/N,” you returned. The other man seemed mostly sober, which worried you a little because you certainly weren’t. However, it didn’t worry you all that much, given the sheer amount of alcohol in your system.

“You at Jaemin’s party?” he asked, to which you nodded. “Me too. Want one?” You looked down, to see that he holding out a box of cigarettes in his hand.

“Sure,” you obliged, taking one. You placed it between your lips, where Jeno lit it. The two of you smoked in silence for a while, and there was an inexplicable feeling of peace to the situation. Maybe it was the calmness of the outdoors compared to the suffocating party, or maybe it was the man standing before you. You couldn’t be sure what to attribute the feeling to, but you were enjoying it.

“What’s your story, Y/N?” Jeno asked, after a while.

“My story?” you asked.

“Yeah. Who are you, what do you want out of life?” he elaborated.

You were quiet for a moment, thinking this over. “At the end of the day, all I want is a fairytale ending.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “A prince charming, a nice castle, a crown on your head?”

You shrugged. “Maybe just the prince charming.”

Jeno stubbed his cigarette out on the railing, letting it fall to the floor. “Well, I hope you find him.”

“Me too,” you agreed.

“Wanna go back inside?” he asked, holding out his arm for you to take.

You gasped. “Jeno - you aren’t my prince charming, are you?”

He grinned, his eyes forming happy crescents. “I can be, for tonight.”

You took his arm, smiling back at him. “Let’s go, prince charming.”

[themadauthorshatter]

Time to check back in in Kai.

PG-13 NINJAGO REWRITE PILOT EPISODE 2!

We open on Zane as he ninja flips and parkours ahead of Wu and Kai. Wu's fine, but Kai's tired and asking if they can take a very fast five minute break.

Wu complies and they take a seat on the grass, Kai falling flat on his back, reminding Wu that they had a deal.

Yes, they did. And Wu says Kai can ask whatever he wants.

First question: Why did they take Nya?

Garmadon's doing. Who's that? The guy that ordered Samukai to attack Four Weapons and take Kai's sister. There you go, happy? Next question, please.

What did they want with the map? Wu explains, not as fed up this time, that the map leads to four golden weapons, which Wu is trying to find, so they need to go get it back.

What makes these weapons so special? They're elemental. Fire, earth, lightning, and ice. And they can do some pretty cool stuff, though Wu's never seen it happen, because he helped hide them. Supposedly, though, they have the power to get people in and out of the Underworld, which makes Kai's eyes widen.

Kai jolts off his back and asks what they're waiting for and tells Wu to keep leading the way.

Wu, in a mood, asks what happened to taking a break, but Kai says that can wait becuase they need to go.

Wu obliges and they continue onward, though find Zane standing in front of them, about 10 to 15 feet away. Kai asks him if he could get moving, but Zane doesn't respond. Kai and Wu get closer and see he's trembling and seizing, crumbling to the ground and jerking around as his eyes roll back.

Wu acts quickly and holds onto him until he stops siezing. Kai doesn't see it fully, but does see Wu help up Zane and hold an arm over his shoulder.

They continue, which we see in a time montage, which shows Wu half carrying Zane, until Zane gets better enough to run ahead of them again, until Wu is leading Kai to the monastery, where Kai, quite tiredly, questions, why Wu expects him to fight in a place of peace.

Wu corrects him: he's not fighting, he's TRAINING, and his first lesson is patience.

Wu commands Kai to sit tight and wait while he goes in to grab some things for him.

Kai watches him go inside and has a big brain moment: He turns his heel and spins, continuing until his body burns and he falls down.

Wu returns and shakes his head; LESSON. FAILED.

Kai asks how they're training, if there's nothing there and Wu reveals the training equipment. Kai will train alone in the beginning, and must complete the training course.

Kai gives it a go and gets beaten off by a spinning mini obstacle course.

Kai lies there and asks if this is the only way he can save Nya. Wu replies, beginning that he knows Kai is frustrated and just misses his sister, but must focus. Kai cuts him off and asks again if this is the only way to save Nya.

Wu sighs. Yes. This is the only feasible way Kai can save his sister. He knows because, once upon a time ago, he was Kai. He lost his brother, so he tried getting him back on nothing but his wits and whims. The world beat the EVER LOVING F*CK out of him for it. Wu needed a Wu in that moment of his life. He doesn't have a Wu. He has a Kai, and Kai needs a Wu, so he's got one.

Kai nods and gets back up, ready to try again. He has a question, though: how long does he have to complete the course?

Wu sits cross legged, places a cloth on his lap, and prepares and drinks some tea from a small cup.

Kai's annoyed at this, because Wu did all that in a matter of seconds, and asks how he knows Kai can do all that in the same amount of time. He's a blacksmith, not a gymnast.

Wu picks up the tea, cup, and cloth, and states that Kai is his father's son, and Ray was a man who was nothing, but ambitious to accomplish his goals.

Kai asks if Wu really knew his father and Wu goes inside, telling Kai to keep practicing.

Kai only watches Wu leave and then looks around. TV perspective, we get Kai's perspective as he looks around. The training course and equipment is now bigger and there's more space between them. The only thing we hear is the wind and some bird song, but, out of the perspective, Kai tenses up and hugs himself. Cut to a bird's eye view of Kai in the monastery as he looks around, the empty space more than obvious when we see him on his own.

While still in this shot, we see a couple figures leap over the training equipment, all of them in black. Kai doesn't notice them, but the camera does, focusing on the two. One is much of built and muscular than the other, who is more expressive, giving Muscles a confused glance before turning back to Kai.

They observe the anxious Kai, who stands and does just about nothing until Wu returns.

We cut to this happening and Wu asks why Kai hasn't been training, seeing as he's hell bent on saving his sister.

Kai counters that he can't exactly train properly, if there's no one to give him pointers on what he could improve.

Wu is suspicious, but takes a seat anyway and tells Kai to practice.

Kai nods and takes a breath, running and leapong onto the obstacle course.

Which jumpcuts to him faceplanting on his new bed, fully clothed, bruised, and groaning from the massacre that was training.

Wu, standing at the door, remarks that tripping and getting swept up in the obstacles is not a massacre, but lets Kai be overdramatic just a little longer.

Kai sits up and asks if they're doing this again tomorrow.

Wu nods. They're doing this every day until Kai gets through the training course.

Kai sighs and nods, willing to training even though he's going to be hella sore tomorrow.

Wu commends him for getting here and at least doing training and lets him go to bed, so he can rest.

Once he's gone, Kai changes into some pajamas and lies down in his bed on his back, staring out the window. He then turns on to his back to stare better, and to just reflect.

This is the furthest he's been from home, and the longest he's been alone. And not having Nya with him isn't helping.

He hears the floorboards creak outside his door, and Kya jumps to his feet and throws the door open, looking into the hallway; "Nya!?"

Nope. No one's there, much to Kai's dismay, which we see clearly as he goes back to his room and gies to bed.

TV perspective, the camera pans away from Kai's door to the not-as-muscular ninja as he's on the ceiling, having wedged himself in a corner to avoid detection(so ninja).

We zoom/cut in on him as he's joined by Zane, who swings down to him, hanging upside down by his knees, and silently greets him.

Jay- if this was legit, we wouldn't know by now, but this is for simplicity sake, sorry- almost says, "Hi," but Zane shushes him and points to Kai's door.

Jay nods and Zane points down the hall and gestures, 'outside.'

Jay nods and we cut to Wu in his room, meditating as three figures surround him from behind and kneel down. Wu turns and faces them, greeting them with a head bow, which they return.

Wu asks for what they found and we cut to the Underworld, more specifically Nya being thrown to the ground with her hands tied behind her back as Samukai takes a knee, apologizing for his absence and tardiness to Lord Garmadon himself, who we and Nya see as the camera is panned up.

He's shrouded in smoke and darkness, the smoke because of some dying embers that act as an insense that make him strong, for magic BS reasons I can't come up with other than it just looks cool and would look cool.😅

Garmadon asks if Samukai was just wasting his time on tormenting people like Nya, who looks between them in fear.

Samukai denies wasting time, because he found the map for finding the four golden weapons.

Garmadon chuckles and commends him for finding the map, and then asks why the hell he's standing around and wasting his time, when he should be working and getting his ass and army to the surface, so he can find and retrieve the weapons.

Samukai reports his army got weekend whipped by Sensei Wu and his rag-tag team of ninja, which confuses Nya. Garmadon notices her confusion and politely commands she voice her thoughts, please and thank you.

Nya does so, saying that her brother said ninja weren't around anymore, not a group of them, at least.

Garmadon laughs and approaches and kneels down in front of Nya, telling her that if she's in the Underworld and seeing living skeletons, there are ninja left in the world, and she will bring them right to him.

Nya's confusion returns, along with some fear, and we cut to Kai as he trains, wearing a uniform provided by Wu.

He does well enough, but fails when he notices Zane agility his way to Wu and whisper something to him before leaving.

Kai asks who that was, but Wu tells him to be patient because, for now, that was no one of consequence and Kai will meet him later. Now, however, he'd better be focusing on training.

Kai does so, but in an awesome montage that shows him training and slowly realizing he's not alone, which we see when Jay hand springs behind Kai while Kai's brushing his hair, Cole meditates beside Wu while Kai trains, and, and this is going to freak people out, but trust me on this, Zane crawls across the ceiling as Kai sleeps, at least until Zane falls and Kai races out of bed to see what it is. He finds nothing, because Zane threw himself out the windkw and is caught by Cole, who gets him back inside.

After a week or so, in the early morning, Kai steps out to the training course with Wu next to him. Kai stands resolute, determined and focused before noticing Zane, Cole, and Jay take their places on different points of the roof, though Zane is next to Cole😉. Wu readies a cloth on his lap and barks for Kai to begin.

We see a split screen view as Kai races forward and Wu picks up his little teacup. Cole leans forward a little bit and Jay, who was sitting, hops into a crouch. Kai passes the first two obstacles with almost sheer ease before noticing Wu filling his cup. Thinking fast, he flips and throws a sword at Wu as he reaches the next obstacle. Wu ducks out of the way, which almost gives Jay, Cole, and Zane heart attacks. He's fine, which he shows by taking a sip of tea, but stops as he looks at and shakes his cup, like uppends it. Damn Kai, made him spill his tea😔. Speaking of Kai, he races through the last obstacle and practically launches himself beside Wu, picking up his tea kettle and offering a cup.

Wu stares up at Kai, impressed with him, and a little offended, because you don't touch Sensei Wu's tea, but holds up his cup.

Kai pours him some tea and takes a seat as Wu drinks, asking if this means he passed. Wu, not pausing from his tea, nods. Kai then asks, very excitedly if it also means they're going to save Nya. They lock eyes and Wu gives a, "Mm-mm." and finishes his tea.

Kai, thrown through a loop here, asks what they're doing then, what all that training was for, if it was nothing at all, but enjoyment for Wu, who tricked him into joining.

Wu picks up his cloth, cup, and tea, and explains he gave Kai a choice, and Kai chose the better of the two. He was not manipulated, at keast not in the way Kai thinks, which is, "if you want your sister back, come to my side, which is the dark side." The training wasn't for nothing, either. He's going to need it later.

Kai asks what that means, but Wu leaves, telling Kai to rest for the day, because he's earned it.

Kai gives a look of confusion and that fades/transitions to Kai in a bathroom as he brushes his teeth. He's worrying about Nya again, but he's also thinking about what Wu said, about how he needs his training. Kai wonders what he needs it for, and is too distracted to see Jay, Zane, and Cole sneak up behind him.

Kai finishes up his dental hygiene(keep those cavities away, Kai👍), and stares at himself in the mirror, mentally promising to save Nya, then notices too late that Jay is behind him.

ACTION TIME! Jay pounces and grabs onto Kai from behind with an arm and his neck. Kai tries shaking and throwing Jay off him, but ultimately does so by elbowing him in the ribs and face, which makes Jay let him go.

Before Kai can celebrate or ask who this guy is, he gets his legs swept out from under him by Cole, who also kicks him. Kai turns to fight him, but Cole is joined by Zane. All three glare at him and Kai glares back, readying himself for a fight.

Cut to Wu as he meditates and is in a state if hearing nothing but bird song, leaves ruffling, and wonderful outdoor noises. TV perspective, we stay focused on Wu as Kai is kicked into frame by Zane, who kips up to keep fighting.

Kai more or less pushes himself up and punches Zane away before shouting for Wu. Jay stops that with a tackle. Cole runs by, stops, but continues with Zane following.

Kai is quite literally thrown outside as Jay races around him, no cool visuals other than he's there one second and gone the next in a blur.

No time to worry about that because Cole leaps into the fray with Zane hopping off of any high place he can until he's in a battle stance next to Cole and Jay.

Kai backs up a little, but gives an, "AHA!" as he picks up and draws a katana.

The trio respond accordingly, Jay showing off his nun-chuck skills, Cole unsheathing and twirling a scythe before holding it out to Kai blade first, and Zane holding out his hands and "magic tricking" shurikens in between his fingers.

They all charge toward each other, Cole and Kai going at it for a bit before Kai pushes and kicks him away. Zane throws his shurikens at Kai, who deflects them with his katana, and Jay races forward, which leads Kai to have to ignore Zane for a bit to take care of him.

He dodges the nunchucks and grabs Jay, throwing him down and punching him hard in the face.

Cole spots this and literally throws Kai off of him.

"Enough!" Wu shouts.

All three stop, though Zane helps Jay to his feet and Kai sits up. The three bow and reply, "Yes, Sensei," like before, but this time Zane is completely silent.

Kai stands and asks if these three maniacs are Wu's students as well, and Wu nids, which leads Kai to kick himself.

Jay also has confusion: If Kai's this new kid Sensei told them about, then why didn't Wu tell them sooner? And why four, because last time he checked, there was always three in a group. When Jay starts stuttering and can't form words, Cole puts a hand on his shoulder and carlifies that they're all confused at the new arrival of a fourth ninja, seeing as the three are all close with one another already.

Wu grins and admits hes glad for the question and spinjitsus towards and past all of them, giving them plain gold emblems that are tied around their gis, though Kai gets his own now, too. They're all still in black, but that'll change, trust me. They also have their weapons, as well, so there's that.

And here, Wu introduces the ninja to Kai, and vice versa, and us the audience.

Muscles and strongest of the group, leader of the team, is Cole, who's as grounded and strong as stone. He's been training under Wu the longest and has since become his confidant and right hand; so if Wu's not around, Cole's in charge.

Speedy is Jay, who's as bright, as powerful, and as fast as a lightning strike. Jay removes his hood and first greets Kai and admits he's a little more than all that. He builds too, and dabbles in poetry, from time to time("But, OP, I thought you said Jay doesn't like reading?" I said from time to time, so don't worry about it), has tried and failed at cooking, but did fix the oven in the process, and lots of other things he's about to go into before Wu taps his staff against the ground to politely silence him.

Dropkick is Zane, whose as silent and dangerous as a winter's night. He's the most practically skilled, too, being able to cook, track, see the future, sort of, and be just about anywhere anytime. He's the newest after Kai, having been training for only a year under Wu's wing. And in that time, he's seldom spoken a word.

Kai asks if anything happened to make him mute and Jay stage whispers to him that 'seldom spoken' doesn't mean 'mute.'

Last, but not least, is Kai, who burns hot as a flame and just as quick to act.

With the meet and greet over, Wu gets to the point: Samukai and his army are on the move, and they need to act NOW because if that bonehead gets his hands on the weapon, there'll be hell to pay.

Kai asks about saving Nya, which gets Jay curious. Wu tells Kai to cool it because they'll save her soon enough, for now they need to catch up with Samukai.

Wu tells them all to go to sleep, so they're all rested for tomorrow, and retires for the night, leaving the boys alone.

Jay wonders if Wu was being serious about tomorrw, but Cole removes his hood and tells Jay not to worry. They've all fought the skeleton army before, so this will be a cake walk.

Zane and Jay exchange a galnce, Zane giving a shrug, and Jay asks if there are really dragons guarding the weapons, like Sensei said, correct him if he's wrong.

Cole shrugs it off. Kai asks if he's got a problem with dragons, but Cole simply says he has a team, a new kid, an army of bastard skellies, and four weapons on his plate, no room for dragons, thank you very much.

To change to subject, Jay inquires about who this Nya girl is, and Kai snarls that it's none of his business. Cole barks at Kai to be nice, because Wu never had to ask Kai to come along.

Kai sighs and states that if this is voing to help him save Nya, then so be it before he leaves to get some sleep.

The other three watch him go. Jay gives a, "huh," and wonders if this is an 'Orpheus and Eurydice' situation or if this is a family matter, but Cole tells both Zane and Jay to keep an eye on Kai; as much as he trusts Wu's judgement, he isn't ready to trust Kai, who's settling into bed.

The episode ends with match cuts of Kai in the monastery and Nya in the Underworld. Both are lying flat in a bed, but Kai is in his room while Nya is in a cell, guarded by a pair of skeletons.

[atths--twice]

Chapter Five

December 1923

It took nearly a month to secure the preparations needed to leave Cairo and begin the journey down the Nile.

If he had not seen much of Dana before, he now saw her nearly every day.

She brought books from work, shared information she had been gathering for years, showed him maps she had copied and shared where she believed the temple of Kha’ari was located and why.

“There are big areas devoted to the more well known gods and goddesses: Luxor, Karnak… but I don’t think it’s near them. I just feel as though it’s near the Kharga Oasis,” she told him, as he walked her home after dinner at the hotel.

“The names are similar,” Fox agreed.

“True, but it’s more than similar names.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think… and, I know how it will sound, but I think that the other temples were erected in places where it may have been hard to be happy at times, but…” She paused and shook her head with a heavy sigh. “I think it’s harder to be sad in a beautiful place. To feel the weight of your heart breaking, while the day is beautiful and others around you are happy. I think a temple near an oasis, near that beauty, for a goddess of pain and suffering… that would be the perfect location. Showing that there is that beauty in the world, even when we believe it’s not possible.”

Fox stared at her, thinking of the people who may have come to the temple, leaving their offerings of thankfulness, finally able to see the beauty in the day around them, their hearts beginning to repair. He smiled and nodded, believing she had to be right, her deductions far too reasonable.

“I think that makes perfect sense,” he said softly and she smiled.

_______________________

The Lady of the Nile, was a large beautiful ship in which Fox had procured two rooms to carry them to their destination. When they had arrived that morning, Dana had stopped and stared at it and then at him.

“Our journey will take three weeks. We may as well spend it in comfort,” he had said and while she had seemed hesitant, she entered the ship with him.

The ship was even more beautiful once they were being led to their rooms. The rich colors, tapestries, and details all added to the grandeur of it. Dana kept looking all over and shaking her head, telling him how beautiful she found it.

Her room was first and when they stepped inside, she gasped. The room held a small bed, wardrobe, nightstand, oil and globe lamps. There was a sitting area with a small sofa, a table in front of it, and a sink with a chest below it.

Shelves with brackets were above the bed and along the walls to hold objects and keep them from falling. A round window, above a small bookshelf which held a decent amount of books, opened to look out onto the water. Sheer curtains hung around the bed and a large rug covered the floor.

“This room is nicer than my flat,” Dana said softly to him as she looked around, her trunk set down by the porter.

Fox smiled at her before excusing himself and continuing onto his own room. It was similar to hers, though the colors were a bit darker and instead of the small sofa, it had two comfortable looking chairs.

He unpacked his trunk, hanging up his clothes and looking around with a grin and a nod. It was all really happening.

He walked around the room, touching the books in the bookcase, the oil lamps, the curtains around the bed. With another nod, he left the room and walked to the dining room, requesting a table for dinner on the deck at sunset.

When he left, he walked back to Dana‘s room and knocked on her door. She answered, though she did not open the door fully, staying slightly hidden behind it.

“I’ve made reservations for dinner,” he said. “But I was wondering if you would like to take a tour of the ship with me.”

“Oh… yes, I would like that very much. Can I meet you in a few minutes?”

“Of course,” he agreed with a nod. “Fifteen minutes? In the main lobby?”

“Yes,” she agreed, smiling and nodding as she closed the door.

He left and walked to the bar, looking at the alcohol displayed and ordered two glasses of champagne. As it arrived, so did Dana, in a dress he had never seen before, and his heart stopped before it began to beat rapidly. Her hair was up and she looked beautiful, though slightly nervous.

“You look beautiful,” he said as she reached him.

“Thank you,” she answered with a blush on her cheeks. “My mother sent me this dress, just in case I had an occasion to wear it. I’ve had it for nearly two years and never worn it before tonight. I feel a bit unlike myself, but thought it was the right time to make use of it.”

“Indeed,” he said with a smile, the dark blue of the dress making her eyes bluer, if it were possible. “Here.” He handed her one of the glasses, clinking it with his own.

“Cheers,” she said quietly and he nodded as they took a sip. Extending his arm, she accepted it, as they turned from the bar and made their way up the stairs.

They walked around the ship, discovering the luxuries it afforded: a dining room smoking lounge for the men, a library, a salon with chairs and sofas filling the room, the gleaming windows letting in the late afternoon sun.

The deck of the ship was even better with the view of the sunset, the water, and the other small boats sailing beside them, their masts filled by the breeze.

He glanced at Dana, the loose strands of hair blowing across her face, and he smiled. Her eyes were shining and her lips curling up as she waved to him sailing past them. Under any other circumstance, he would have seen the romance of the situation. Truth be told, he was hard pressed not to see it, as the setting sun created a romantic atmosphere all its own, but he pushed those feelings aside.

“This is a beautiful ship. Far more than I was expecting,” she said and took a last drink of her champagne, the glass now empty.

“What were you expecting?” he asked, taking her glass and then draining his own.

“I… I don’t really know,” she said, leaning her arms on the railing and twirling a strand of hair, at the base of her neck, around her fingers. “I’ve… It's been a long time since I’ve been around such luxuries. My income at the museum is not large and what money I am sent from my mother, it’s not much either, and not always absolute.” He frowned and she smiled slightly. “My father didn’t want me to leave and threatened there would be no financial help from him if I did.”

“That’s…” He paused, not knowing what to say, and not wanting to insult a man he did not know.

“Not exactly the kindest, no, but it’s been cleared up. Letters and distance work wonders, you know.” She smiled at him and he frowned again. “He was worried about me on my own, and didn't want me so far from home.” She bit her bottom lip and looked away with a sigh, the wind blowing her hair across her face.

“But you know what I think?” she asked as she turned to look at him again. “Although he never says, his own letters generally short, and only a postscript added to my mother’s, I think the money is from him, but he won’t admit it. Stubbornness and not wanting to appear too soft, he will continue the charade.” Fox laughed softly and she smiled.

“My mother similarly did not want me to leave. But… after the pain and uncertainty the war caused her, I can understand.”

“Were you… shot? Your leg…” She glanced down and back up at him. “Please don’t feel you have to discuss it if you don’t-”

“No,” he interrupted, not wanting her to feel she had imposed upon him. “I wasn’t shot in my leg. I was stabbed and it became infected before I could get proper medical health. I had to spend some time in hospital correcting the mistake. I didn’t think I would go back to the front line after that, but they cleared me to return. My mothers letters were filled with her worry and anger over that decision.”

“I can understand how she feels,” Dana said quietly, her eyes downcast, fingers stroking her locket.

He felt the conversation was becoming too morose and so he suggested they continue walking and heading to dinner. She agreed and they moved on, him carrying the glasses and giving them to a server who had passed by.

Dinner was delicious, their conversation easy, but he could not help but feel something was different. She smiled and laughed, but the happiness did not quite reach her eyes.

After the meal was finished, she politely excused herself to return to her room, claiming she was tired and could do with an early night.

“Of course,” he responded with a nod, and she walked away.

Not wanting to be held within the walls of his own room just yet, he strolled around the ship again. On his second trip, he stopped at the library where he spent some time perusing the titles. Taking a book back to his room, he was determined to read as much as possible before falling asleep.

__________________

The days they spent together were different from the seemingly endless ones of planning and discussions. Then they worked tirelessly, walking to and from the library, the hotel, and her flat.

Now, they had time to relax, sleep later, lounge about if they so chose, which they did as it was a very welcome change.

They ate every meal together, learning more about one another.

She had grown up in Maryland and was the youngest of three siblings; her youngest brother dying in infancy.

Her brother, Bill, had fought in the war, coming home wounded in one eye. He handled it well, saying he could live his life with one eye as well as two. His fiancée, Adelaide, had not cared, thankful he had returned to her alive, and his children, of which he had two rambunctious boys, thought of him as a pirate.

Her sister, Melissa, was married to a very kind and quiet man, Joshua, who doted on her every need. They had three children and last she had heard, would soon be adding another.

“They are all the sweetest children, my sister's children more so, always sending me drawings and little notes. I love them all, miss them of course, but…” A hand at her throat drew his attention, but no story was forthcoming and he was left wondering about the mystery of the locket.

He told her of his life, a sometimes lonesome one without a sibling, wishing he had a playmate, but happy with his parents. His mother especially was loving and attentive and he had never lacked for anything.

“But it’s not made you as some,” Dana said and he frowned in confusion. “I mean that some people become demanding and rude, carrying their wealth as though it puts them above others. You don’t do that. You have wealth, as was obvious when I first met you, but you don’t flaunt it. It’s a part of you, but not something you think or worry about.”

“That may be the kindest way to tell someone they are a rich snob that I’ve ever heard,” he teased and she laughed, looking out at the water as they sat at a table, enjoying a drink.  

Other than the discussion the first day on the ship, the war was a topic they avoided and also how she had come to be in Egypt. It hung between them, something he would not have minded discussing, but one which she obviously did not, so their conversation mostly revolved around the journey and their destination.

The ship made many stops, allowing for touring the temples. For Fox, they saw nearly enough to make it all worthwhile, even without discovering anything on their own, but knew it was not the same for Dana. Her commentary of the day as they returned to the ship and had dinner, her eyes shining, he knew she was thinking of the excitement of their own hopeful discoveries.

Luxor, Karnak and Hathor, each place was more impressive than the last. The sheer magnitude of them was daunting enough, but the details in the artwork kept him standing in one place and sketching for longer than anticipated, only stopping when Dana joined him after touring places he had missed, his attention focused on sights before him.

There were people offering their expertise as a guide, but they declined them. Dana shared everything she knew, which was quite a bit, explaining what they saw with a passion the other guides lacked. He loved listening to her speak on subjects of which she knew, her tone animated and her hands moving quickly, pointing them out with a smile, his interest piquing with every word.

They went to the Valley of the Kings, where a large crowd waited to see the tomb of King Tutankhamun. Fox felt nervous as they made their way to the front of the queue, terrified he would react the same way he had at the pyramids. It would be twice as horrifying if it were to happen in front of Dana.

As the next couple walked forward, he took a deep breath. Thinking of the fact that it had been a while since he’d had any type of an attack of panic, he felt his heart start to race.

“Fox? Are you ready?” Dana asked, breaking into his thoughts and gesturing toward the tomb.

He took a deep breath and felt the panic begin to rise, when suddenly she touched his forearm and stared into his eyes. As she did, he felt a calm wash  over him, his breathing returning to normal.

“Yes,” he said, letting out his breath and swallowing down his worries. “Yes, I’m ready.” She smiled and took a step forward and he followed; down the steps and into the tomb.

_______________________

December 25, 1923

Off the ship and now staying at a hotel in Luxor, Fox dressed for dinner, tying his tie before he put on his jacket and walked out of the room.

Tomorrow would begin their day of preparation. They would be meeting with the men who would be joining them on their expedition. Food would be acquired, tools, clothes, tents, and any other items they would need.

Fox was excited, but also nervous, hoping they would truly find what they imagined was somewhere out in the middle of the desert. Tonight though, he and Dana were having dinner and celebrating the holiday.

Nearly a month on a ship, he was glad to be in a place which sat on solid ground. The ship had been large and comfortable, the river calm, but he still preferred to be on dry land.

Down the stairs, he stood waiting in the main lounge area for Dana. She did not keep him waiting long and when he saw her coming down the stairs, he drew in a deep breath.

Wearing the same dark blue dress as she had their first night on the ship. Her hair was up, though in a slightly different style, and his let out his breath when she reached him. He smiled, unable to take his eyes off of her.

“You’ve managed to make that dress even more beautiful the second time. You quite literally took my breath away.” He smiled again and she looked down, her cheeks pink, before raising her eyes to his and smiling.

“Thank you. You look very nice too,” she said and he nodded as he extended his arm to her. She took it and they walked into the dining room.

The room was large, with a dance floor in the middle, and tables around the edges, covered with white tablecloths. Candles lit around the room and sitting on the tables, gave it an inviting feeling.

“It’s beautiful in here,” Dana said, the orchestra in the corner beginning to play softly as they sat down.

“It is,” Fox agreed, looking around and smiling. “I think what I like best though, is that we aren’t on a moving ship. This room, being stationary, makes me very happy.” Dana laughed, picking up the menu from beside her plate.

Their food orders were given and as the waiter left them, he looked at the orchestra, his foot tapping the floor beneath the tablecloth. Turning his head, he looked back at Dana who smiled at him.

“I want to thank you, Dana,” he said quietly and she seemed surprised at his words. He drew a breath, about to speak, when the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine, filling their glasses. “A toast. To the journey on which we are about to embark, all we have seen, and to one another.” She raised her glass and tapped it to his, her eyes shining.

God, she’s beautiful, he thought, the dress and style of her hair accentuating her beauty.

When they had eaten, and the dishes cleared away, they rose to leave. Her eyes followed the dancing couples as they glided past, smiling and laughing.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked and she shook her head, clasping her hands in front of her. “A walk around the grounds of the hotel perhaps?” She smiled in agreement and they began to walk.

“Fox,” she said softly, her eyes on his. “I have thoroughly enjoyed the last few weeks. I’ve lived here for over three years and I have not had the opportunity to travel as we have done. I knew it was there, but the cost was beyond my means. Here I was in a place I had wanted to visit most of my life and I was stuck in one place.” She smiled at him, reaching for his arm and slipping her hand into the crook of it. “I never imagined I would be here, on the brink of doing what I set out to accomplish.” She stopped walking and held tight to his arm, forcing him to also stop. Staring at him, she smiled again.

“Thank you, Fox.”

“It has been my pleasure,” he whispered with a slight nod. “I have enjoyed the past few weeks as well. Immensely.” Placing his other hand over hers, he squeezed gently.

“And now I must express my appreciation. Thank you,” he said quietly and she shook her head. “No. I do thank you. If it was not you who answered my first letter, I would not have been as intrigued to come here. To not only see all that we have, but to meet and thank the person behind the pen. I’m so glad it was you. Thank you, Miss Scully.”

She blinked her eyes rapidly, though he could see the tears shining in them. He squeezed her hand again, let go and took a handkerchief from his pocket, handing it to her as they began to resume walking.

The music from the dining room could be heard through the open windows as they walked past and he stopped. Turning his face to her, he raised his eyebrows, asking silently if she would like to dance. She nodded and he took back his handkerchief, placing it into his pocket.

Holding out a hand, she took it and he pulled her close, waiting to feel the rhythm of the music.

“I’m not always good with the quicker steps, but I’ll try my best,” he confessed and she smiled.

“I’m not a great dancer myself. Please don’t feel worried,” she whispered. He smiled with a nod, his leg the furthest thing from his mind as he held her in his arms and they twirled, her laughter ringing through the air.

They stumbled only a couple of times, both apologizing and then laughing harder, but they kept dancing until the music stopped, with applause following.

Catching their breath, he looked at her and without thinking if it was the right thing to do, he leaned forward and kissed her softly, surprising both of them. He began to pull back, his apology already forming in his mind, when her grip tightened and she kissed him.

As quickly as it began, it stopped. She pushed away from him, her eyes wide.

“I… I’m sorry,” she breathed, a hand going to the locket at her throat. “I…” She shook her head and stepped back, walking away quickly.

“Dana… Please don’t leave,” he called after her, but she kept walking and he did not chase after her, knowing it was not what she wanted nor what he should do.

The music began to play again, happy and festive, the diners applauding, laughter  echoing through the windows. He felt no such joy, only worry and confusion. Less than a minute ago he had been happy, and now he stood alone, the memory of her kiss still lingering on his lips.

[yeojaa]

( TO THE MOON AND BACK. )

You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  kth x (named) f!reader.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre +  rating.   non-idol!au.  there’s some fluff and there’s definitely some angst.  general.    

tags / warnings.  none, except for a lot of emotion. 😐😐

wc.  4.9k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as per usual (i owe you my life) and @yeoldontknow​ for tolerating me when i came crying into our messages.

author note.  this was a commission for the endlessly lovely @1088x1088​.  thank you so, so much for loving this series enough to support it.  it was a ton of fun to write (even though this chapter did really hurt).  finding my voice again was a bit of a struggle, but i hope you enjoy it!  i’m sorry this was late! 

chapter 12. 

You can feel the difference in the air the moment you step out of the building and into the arms of your bouncing, bubbly boyfriend.  There’s something about him today - an intensity that radiates out of him, refracts off his edges like an aureate coin.  He’s got the biggest grin on his face - so wide and unabashed you think he doesn’t even need the umbrella he’s brought along - that the sheer power of his joy might be enough to push the rain clouds back.  It stretches wide, brighter than the summer sun, and spills light into darkness, chasing away all the spiders.  It warms you from your toes through to the tips of your fingers, filling your veins with lovely golden thread, dust that settles in shades of yellow. 

“Did you win the lottery or something?”  The question is paired with a sweet kiss to his cheek, your entire body sagging comfortably against his as he wraps his free arm tightly around your shoulders and mirrors the gesture.  Your cheek tingles where his lips land.  You think he might be a wizard, magicking away all the hardships of your day.

“No, even better.”  The excitement is nearly bursting out of him, seeping out at the seams that hardly hold him together.  How he hasn’t simply told you yet is beyond you but you know Taehyung’s a bit dramatic - loves the build up as much as the climax - so you wait patiently, linking your hand through his elbow when you move onto the sidewalk.  It’s easy to fall into this routine:  the one you’ve perfected over the last few months.  It never feels stagnant, never anything less than a warm hug on a cold day.  You find comfort in that.

The sun sits low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street.  They throw shapes across Taehyung’s face, bathing his features in darkness when you step beneath an awning and out of the downpour.  His eyes never stop twinkling - like stars against the night sky, lighting up even the places where the rays can’t reach. 

“We’re hosting an exhibit for local artists.”  He’s trying to be careful, hold himself together.  Still, you can hear the way he speaks a little too fast, too quick to be nonchalant.  Bite back a laugh when the words tumble into each other, failing under their restraints.  “The director asked me to curate it.”

He stops and looks at you then, hopeful and bright and so brilliant you imagine the sun’s disappeared behind the clouds and found a new home in his smile.  You know how much this means to him - how long he’s worked for this, how it’s cost him his parents’ affection and long hours that he’ll never get back.  It goes without saying he deserves this, this incredible opportunity. 

It doesn’t do it justice, but you offer your congratulations regardless, slipping support seamlessly between syllables.  Blending the words with a squeeze of his arm, a delighted little giggle that spirals into the air like a Christmas orange, tart and sweet.  “That’s amazing, Tae!”  

He’s a million miles over the moon, eyes waning, lost to a flood of emotion as he beams down at you.  

“I did all the research and she was happy with it and—”  A twinkling laugh breaks up the excitement, steeping it heavily in the sound as he exhales a big breath that seems to steal a little bit more of his coherence.  “I just—it’s huge.  It’s next month but the director’s given me the go-ahead.  Me!”  

You decide you’d really like to bottle this moment forever, to keep it on a shelf in your thoughts.  You think it’d be the best cure for a bad day, better than any chocolate, more comforting than an afternoon nap.

“Of course you, Tae.”  You’re matching his smile, cradling his jaw in the small of your palms.  Thumbs brush over the seam of his bottom lip, the freckle that dots the edge of his nose.  “I’m so, so proud of you.  You’ve worked so hard for this.”  You know the words aren’t possibly enough but you gift them anyway because it’s still nice to hear.  Everyone deserves that recognition, kindness to hold you up like ribbons, to keep your head held high. 

“Thank you, jagi.”  He sighs a soft sound, all rounded edges and a deep, abiding satisfaction that fills every inch of his expression.  It’s still there when he begins walking again, guiding you back to his favourite place with you at his side.  You fit exactly as you should, tucked under his arm, the tips of his fingers brushing over the teddy bear fabric of your coat.  

“Have you told the others yet?”  

“No, I’m going to tell them at dinner.”  The pride that colours his tone is shades of yellow - marigolds sprouting between vowels, sunflowers encapsulating consonants.  “I want Jungkookie to show his work in it.”  

He must not feel the way you stiffen at his side, how the blood runs cold in your veins and sticks you to the spot like an icicle.  You play it off well enough, tripping over your own two feet and righting yourself as if it were all just a matter of misplaced steps.  

(In truth, you could’ve sworn your heart had plummeted through your feet, all the way to the molten core.  You can feel it burning to a crisp, setting every nerve aflame at the mere thought.)

“I don’t want him to feel like… it’s a handout though.”  

“He won’t,”  you reassure around the strange, familiarly silhouetted lump in your throat.  You are intimately familiar with Jungkook’s work - what spreads over canvas in lovely lilac shapes, stark ink bringing relief to watercolour.  You know who inspires the evening skylines, the immaculate and yet effortless scenes he brings to life with strokes of pen, paint, charcoal. (Or, rather, you knew.  Things could be different now.)  Who graces - had graced - the rolls of film, painted in sepia tones until brought to life by a careful hand.

(You have a feeling they aren’t - that they’re just as they’ve always been.  Too much the same to be safe.  It’d be impossible to miss, even with blinders on.  You and Jungkook would always be complicated.) 

“He’s worked really hard.”  Taehyung’s more or less speaking to himself, carrying a one-sided conversation as you duck back beneath sheets of rain, droplets rolling off the umbrella he carries and splashing all over your toes.  Suddenly, the torrential downpour feels fitting, as if the skies have opened up to soothe the burn beneath your skin.  “It’d be nice if he just caught a break, you know?  Something to give him more confidence.”

He, as well as you, knows just how much of himself the youngest puts into his work.  How every canvas, every roll of film, represents a corner of his heart.  Offers a glimpse into his thoughts.  

You, possibly more than anyone.  But Taehyung doesn’t know that and it certainly isn’t your place to say, so you simply nod along, humming in agreement as you wander the quiet Seoul street.  (It’ll be busy soon, once you pass from the residential area into the bustle of nighttime and exploration.  Not even the rain can keep people away, everyone far too eager to catch up amidst a crowd of smoke and drinking games.  You’re used to it though - used to being dragged out by the ragtag group for their impromptu yet regular weekly dinner dates.) 

“I’m sure he’ll say yes.”  It’s all you can offer as your boyfriend rambles on, lost in his own world

“Really?” 

The amount of hope - strung up on fairy lights, dim and yet somehow so full - rings crystal clear in Jungkook’s voice, tearing your thoughts from the piece of pork belly you’re carefully grilling.  You do your best not to jerk your head up, already all too aware of the topic.  You remind yourself it’s not your place and you flip the slab, gaze trained on the fat that renders out and slides over the metal grill.

It’s hard to do but you weather the storm, quietly observant as the excitement level at the table turns to eleven.  With a group of four it’d be boisterous;  with a table of nine, it’s a cacophony of sound, rising above the din of the bustling restaurant.  It kicks above the chorus of cheers and clattering utensils, as if this moment means so much more.  (It does.)

“You think I’d joke about something like this?”  Taehyung’s doing his best to play it cool, to convey something suave and reassured, but there’s the tell-tale wobble of his words, the way his knee bounces beside yours, nervous energy thrumming through his frame like a livewire.  It practically pours from his fingertips, shooting out past his teeth as his mouth shapes into that familiar boxy grin that belies his delight.

Not that Jungkook’s any better.  

On your other side, his hand’s tensing and relaxing over the tabletop, lips pulling and pursing around thoughts he hasn’t fully formulated.  He’d always been someone who had to be moving - tapping his toes, shaking his leg, simply shimmying in his seat - but this is something else.  It’s as if he’s on the precipice of a realisation, of diving headfirst into his lifelong dream.

(Which, you suppose he is.  He’s wanted this forever, just like Taehyung.  The break he so wholly deserved.  It warms your heart even as it stills it, stutters it uncomfortably in the small of your chest.)

“I’m just—”  Speechless seems to be the appropriate word, because Jungkook simply trails off, wonder in his eyes, his expression that of a child on Christmas.  “Thanks, hyung.”  It’s a rare occurrence, usually offered with that sly bunny smile of his, but it’s dressed in gratitude now, year’s worth of tenderness occupying the spaces between each syllable.

“Don’t thank me.”  It comes, dismissive and yet still just as soft.  Rounded by an awareness that exists only within this group, a tenderness that blooms and blooms and never withers.  “Just make me look good.”

A teasing comment echoes from across the table - that’s impossible from someone who looks and sounds suspiciously like Kim Seokjin - and your group dissolves into a puddle of laughter, the chorus of amusement dissolving above your heads.  

This is too good an opportunity, not the time for your selfish concern.  You swallow your worry with a dab of ssam and a crunch of lettuce.

You miss the look Jungkook shoots you.

He has two weeks.  

Two weeks to select five pieces he thinks will showcase the best parts of himself, the depth of his dedication, the quality of his passion.  Two weeks to go through his extensive portfolio, to rummage through harddrives and pick through his canvases.  Two weeks to determine what home means to him.

It’s certainly not the hardest thing in the world - Jungkook imagines it starts with the words Jeon and ends with a certain group of six idiots - but it still leaves him stumped, sitting at his desk for three long hours as he pours through folders, thankful he’d had the wherewithal to name things properly.  (None of the Aug17uuuuuuughfuck.raw files of his college days.)

It lightens his load, keeps him from upending his entire setup and throwing it out the window in frustration.  Not that he doesn’t still want to.  He very much does.

But perhaps it isn’t the hundreds of images that’s the issue.  Maybe it’s just one - the same one he’s been staring at for the better part of the evening, unable to move on even when he wants to, tapping over his mouse yet never actuating enough to pull him onto the next slide.

It sits front and centre on his screen and he can’t look away;  drinks his fill of it like a man drowning at sea;  savours it like a king at his final feast.  A photo developed with an accidental light leak and how fitting that is, as if all the sunshine has been captured in the single click, trapped behind the shutter for him and him only. 

You’ve always been that to him, though.  Crystalline and beautiful, with light catching off your edges, refracting from every angle to spell something like I love you; with fireflies at the tips of your fingers, guiding him home in the dark;  with the summer sun strung between your teeth, filling him with warmth.  

Could he use this?  Would it be too much?  

More importantly, how would you react?  Had your story ended, chapters of friendship folded between flat pages and tucked within a shelf to accumulate dust?  To sit among the tomes long forgotten, never reached for, barely worthy of a second read? 

Was this meant to disappear, just like you had?  What did that mean for him - for his future?  Were you meant to take all the possibilities with you, tucking them alongside your cotton candy laughter, the sly turn of your smile?  Were they lost to the tangle of your hair, braided into a knot he’d never been able to unravel?

Jungkook hates feeling like this - all the uncertainty swallowing him whole and spitting him out;  leaving him black and blue and bruised all over;  dressing him in shades of grey that only seem to fade with each pass through the wringer. 

A part of him wonders whether he should just ask.  Surely you’d answer the phone, sound so pretty carried over the airwaves he’d probably forget himself.  

Could he find the words?  Would you laugh in his face?

He stares at the photo and wishes it held all the answers, that the light would offer something more than beauty, more than memories that feel more like nightmares.  

Half your face glares back at him, a silhouette of the girl he’d been helplessly in love with.  Rays balance across your cheekbone and cut through him like a knife.  When he blinks, you’re still there but his heart’s all the worse for it, riddled with nicks and tears.

He’ll choose another, he decides. 

Finally, he finds the strength, skips to the next preview - and regrets it almost as much as the first.

(This was his fault, of course.  Jungkook had spent so long living in a world with you, saddled at your side, two pieces inexplicably interwoven.  Of course there’d be thread still, a red string of fate coiled all the way around his heart, hanging uselessly at his side, snipped by hands that weren’t his own, now gone to tatters.)

It wouldn’t matter so much if it were someone else, if the bits of you weren’t so stark, holding his attention like a star in the sky, endlessly bright and unrelenting.  Maybe if he could pretend it was someone else, his hands wouldn’t shake, a tremor in his chest from the way his heart bounces about, demands to be let out, to lay alongside yours.  

As it stands, it is you - brought to life by his hands, overlaid in watercolour and black and a blanket of regret.  The shapes are impossible to miss:  the curve of your hip, rounded and warm, peeking beneath a wash of colour;  the river of your hair, the wayward strands that curl across your cheek and tickle the stack of silver that lines your ear;  the peek of your tattoo, embossed across your ribs, hidden beneath thin layers of paint. 

The longer he looks, the worse it feels.  A white pith of a lemon, bitter on his tongue, stinging all the cuts he’s never taken the time to seal up.  That cry out now, echo the same sadness he’s felt for the last year.  

Was there anything you hadn’t touched?  Something that didn’t carry you in its hands?

He imagines there has to be.

And yet, as he goes along, clicks through image after image, he’s only left with reminders.  Figments of you with blood-stained teeth and scarred flesh, sharks that patrol his thoughts and bite chunks when he ventures too close.  He hadn’t meant to dive this deep - lost somewhere amongst the shipwreck of your friendship, a once beautiful thing now rotten and rusted, devoured by darkness.  The empty hulls aren’t where he wants to be, caught on broken anchors and torn flags, sinking deeper and deeper.

He doesn’t know how to get out. 

It’s absolutely perfect, because of course it is.  Taehyung has put every waking hour into this, coordinating with vendors and artists and hardly sleeping a wink.  The walls are painted, artistry strung up for all to see, picturesque beneath an array of lights.  There’s not a thing out of place, each piece given their due, framed neatly with thoughtful text painstakingly written by your boyfriend.

There are dozens of people in attendance - the turnout the gallery had hoped for and yet still has Taehyung giddy, eyes wide like a child’s, wonderment written into every lovely facet of his expression.

You’re delighted for him, completely over the moon with how happy he is, pride rolling off him in waves that you’d gladly sink beneath.  You whisper words of affection - pride, support - purring them into the warmth of his palms when he sandwiches your face between them and laughs so loudly you swear there’s no other sound in the world.

“Can you believe it?”  This boy before you isn’t the Taehyung you know, carefully composed.  He’s a comet through the night sky, illuminating, fluorescent, lit from the inside out.  Glowing so bright it hurts your eyes, makes you blink once, then twice, then another time just to capture the moment against the backs of your eyelids.  (You wish you had your camera with you - something to allow you to remember this moment forever, process it and store it in your pocket for rainy days.)  

Your laughter comes in tandem, overjoyed for your love, for all he’s worked for and all he’s now achieved.  It spills forth in bell chimes, silver in your ears, and you catch his hands in your own, fingers caught together.  “Of course I can.”  The distance between you becomes nothing, barely a breath passing as you press your lips to his, offering as much affection as you can in the tiny gesture.  “I knew you could do it.”

“Really?”  He doesn’t doubt you.  Doesn’t even really doubt himself.  But he asks anyways and you don’t mind giving, folding your support into another kiss, another squeeze of his hand.  

“You can do anything, Kim Taehyung.”

He animates, a coin-operated boy whose sole currency is your words of affirmation.  Springs to life with adoration in his step, a giddy smile that eats up everything else and wanes his eyes into crescents.  Peaks like the sun above the clouds, endlessly bright - a supernova.  “I love you.”

“I know,”  you answer with your heart in your hands - in his - when they drop to his sides, fingers still intertwined.  

He stares at you expectantly, unabashedly, waiting for the words he wants to hear.  (A man with the world at his feet, whose heart still flutters for you.)  “And?”

“And?”  You parrot, cheeks round, a well of teasing growing in the dimple of your left cheek.  It spills forth when his mouth pouts, turns this way and that before settling into an expression that’s utterly undeniable, the perfect blend of endearing and infuriating.  When you relent, it’s with further laughter, a nudge of your hip against his as he pulls you close, cementing you to his side.  “I love you too.”

You’d been prepared for the people (the professionals, the journalists, all the friends and family, anyone who was anyone gathered to attend) and the chaos (your friends - all of them running amok while simultaneously on their best behaviour, biting back laughter, echoing words of encouragement). 

What you hadn’t been prepared for?  

This.

Standing before a painted portrait of yourself, blown up ten feet and hung in the centre of the gallery for all to see.  Full-lipped and grinning, with hands hiding half your face, dark hair piled atop your head and a bandana knotted below your ear.  A picture that you can hear - your laughter sounding off the page, reminiscent of that night so many months ago, standing at the edge of the water, the ocean calling you out to sea.  The sky streaked in colours you could never hope to replicate, hues that blend and bleed and build into something glorious, beautiful, ephemeral.  An arm that reaches for whoever has taken the photo, light reflecting off the sheen of silver, of gold, of the gems on your nails.  

You recognise it in a heartbeat - one that feels like it goes too long, as if it’s skipped not one, not two, but three beats - that thunders loudly in your ears the moment everything snaps into place.

(And oh, how it does.  A hundred memories that shudder into a single image and tell the story of an entire summer.

Afternoons at Jagalchi, amid the smell of fish and flesh, eating to the point of gluttony.  On the shores with sunshine at your fingertips and a hand in yours, endless possibilities stretching as far as the eye could see.  Staring up into the sky night after night, admiring the stars packed against the dark and yet always drawn back to the brightest one at your side, a heavenly body hidden within the silhouette of your closest friend.

Your head on his shoulder during the train ride there and back, the quiet offered by his presence, the comfort found in his form.  All the little pieces of himself that had somehow found their way to you:  your pinkies intertwined, his dark hair spilling over yours, his breath that came low and slow, condensing between you and turning your cheeks ruddy.

What had felt like a lifetime away - seven hundred galaxies apart, never to be found again, engulfed by a black hole of your own creation.  

What now feels like it’s right at your feet, so close you might touch it.  That echoes in your chest, a spectre living within your bones come back to haunt you.)

“Pretty, huh?”  Hums the voice at your side, filled with too much pride - for himself and his friend, for all they’ve accomplished.  Taehyung has no idea, blissfully unaware, heartbreakingly handsome as he studies the image alongside you, lets his stare rove across the contours of the woman’s cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, pulled wide in a smile that might as well carry the world in it.

There’s something familiar about the girl in the painting, something that calls to him, draws him in and keeps him anchored.  He wonders what it is, makes a note to ask once Jungkook arrives.  

Your answer comes belated, disconnected and strange, a voice too far away to be picked up clearly.  (You don’t mean it to - try to swallow down the emotion that crests and crests like a terrifying wave above your head.)  “Very.”

“Kook mentioned a girl a few years ago, so I think it’s her.”  How he speaks is thoughtful, as if he isn’t sure how much to say.  Doesn’t want to overstep even as he offers these tiny bits of information - things he thinks you have no idea about, that’s the same thing that lives within your bones, settled like bedrock that cannot be eroded.  (Guilt gnaws at you, turns its teeth cruel and unrelenting and licks the salt from your wounds like the back of a spoon.  You swallow it down, listen quietly, quietly, quietly and try to slow the discomfort growing like weeds, the blooming of tiger lilies in the small of your chest.)  

“Really?”  

“Yeah.”  Taehyung’s conversational, adoring, indulgent.  He hooks his arm around your shoulders and holds you close, unaware of the turmoil that turns your insides to ash.  He holds you like you’re precious - a sunbeam caught in his hands, just for him.  

If only he knew.

“Do you want to see the rest?”  There’s an eagerness that spills forth, tacks his words to one another and turns them into a single breath.  He inhales all the bad and dresses you in nothing but good, pins stars into your hair when he fixes you with that smile and pulls you along, further into the gallery with a hop in his step.

You should say no;  you can’t find the words.

So you follow him to his next destination - to another version of you.  Another photo, grainy and overexposed, intimate in its detail.  A faceless blur, made alive by light, artificial and too white, casting long shadows where there should be none.  It’s easier to imagine this is someone else - a girl worthy of this love, of all the emotion captured within the single image.  (Someone who could carry the weight of Jungkook’s affection without dropping it, whose hands would be a suitable home for the heart he’s now offered up, laid out ripe for the picking.  Sugar sweet and saccharine, held aloft by a branch that threatens to give away.)

The truth is in the details, though, and you see them for all they are.  The dainty thread that loops your wrist - mirrored within the frame before you.  It sits evident in the freckles on your arms, the wayward beauty marks sprinkled upon your skin, constellations that should have names - do have names, whispered by the boy at your side. 

“He’s really got a good eye, right?”  There’s that pride again, full-bodied, like a parent with macaroni art stuck to the fridge.  It’s sticky and honeyed, bright with affection, lemon tart and yellow - sunshine streaming past like the warmest day in July.  It further cements the relationship he has - that they all have - one built upon years of friendship, of togetherness you cannot begin to fathom.

The guilt rears its head again, roars like an angry beast.  You bite it back, catch its tail between your teeth and nod along, unfocus your eyes as best you can.  The longer you look, the more it grows, spiny and angry and demanding of attention.

“He really does.”

Taehyung’s satisfied with that, too caught up in his own delight to notice the stillness, the quiet.  It’s a silence he overlooks, sweeps past without a backwards glance.  “There’s one more I want to show you.” The joy is unbridled, eating up every part of him, and your heart thumps feebly in your chest, kicked around by two pairs of feet.  “I saw it and it made me think of you.”

You’re surprised this time - because it isn’t you.  It’s not the shape of your shoulders or the turn of your wrist.  It’s not a half-hidden smile, the dozens of tell-tale signs that would give you away.  It’s something far worse, that sticks to your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, wet paper towels plastered over your airways like papier-mâché. 

It pains you when you step forward to drink in the colours, the texture that lays everything in nostalgia.  An image you recognise because you have the same one in your home, hung upon your wall, taken by your own hand.  

Jungkook in an infinity room, bathed in a million little lights.  

Except this is a painting, painstakingly recreated, with shadows deepened and white ink spread throughout.  One of your most precious memories laid in gouache.

“I swear I’ve seen it before.”  It’s a throwaway thought, more for himself than for you, but it breaks you apart, crumbles the foundation you’ve been carefully laying.  It kicks your knees right out from beneath you and you swear you’d fall if not for the comfort of his side, the way he holds you up and inspects you curiously.  “Are you okay?”

He looks at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes;  you unwind beneath his stare, sinew and bone unfurling, realigning, forming into someone worthy of his love.  You tell yourself nothing else matters, that all the what ifs pale in comparison to this - how he looks at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky;  as if you’re more than just a girl who has his heart;  as if you hold all the answers to the universe.   

“Fine,”  you answer, even as you aren’t, as the ground beneath your feet threatens to give way and send you to an early grave.  Even as you cannot tear your eyes from the painting, terrified and awestruck, too many emotions turning your senses to nonsense.

You wonder if Taehyung can hear the tremble of your breath, feel it all the way through into the centre of his own chest.  You wonder what he reads into it, whether he worries for you.  You wonder if he can love a monster like you, who has kept these secrets under lock and key, tucked away into a far corner riddled with cobwebs and spiders and a fine layer of dust. 

You wonder and wonder and then you have your answer when he speaks again, something in his voice that steals your attention, pins it directly behind the light in his eyes.

“Don’t you have this in your house?”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings​ @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨

I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.

In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.

What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.

I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.

But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.

My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.

Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.

As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.

I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.

My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.

Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.

“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”

So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…

“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”

Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.

The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.

So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.

It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.

To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.

Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.

The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?

Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.

By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.

The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.

“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.

“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”

Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.

“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.

“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.

Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.

“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.

I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.

The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

[ellenoir]

@doomedog and @alkalinefrog thank you both so much for asking about my baby! Of all of the Death Note characters, Near holds a very special piece of my heart. I think it's my left ventricle.

On to the soft headcanons! Requests for this are still open, so feel free to send them in!

On a side note, my Near doesn't feel much connection to gender or pronouns, they shift constantly based on immediate state of mind. Which means I will write their pronouns 'inconsistently' based on how the relevant hc makes them and me feel.

•  what they smell like 

The most prominent scent is the very specific, sensitive skin products they use. Milk and oatmeal based body wash, shampoo and conditioner. They also smell like unsweetened coffee from drinking so much, with an undertone of something sweetly musky that is very uniquely her, almost like old books and hot water with honey.

•  what their favorite smells in the world are 

They have a love/hate relationship with petrol stations, so we'll get that one out of the way first, the rest are all loved. Bedsheets on the third or fourth day on the bed, when they go from being extremely washer fresh to comfortably familiar. Raw tobacco (Watari would smoke his pipe outside the building, but Near liked the smell anyway.) Salty sea air. Peppermint or aniseed sweets. A loved ones' just removed jacket.

•  what pajamas they wear/what they wear to sleep in 

Near actually tends to take the bottoms off to sleep. The fabric twisting up around their legs is uncomfortable, and if it happens during sleep it can affect their dreams. They sleep in an oversized pajama top and briefs/panties, whichever one they're feeling more at the time.

•  my favorite ship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them 

I will ship Near with just about anyone. Mostly because I just kinda like DN turning into a big old poly puddle (thanks @resilicns for turning me onto this path lmao). Let's go SuteNia because I've been feeling their chemistry a LOT lately.

Don't get me wrong, Near likes to be held in bed as much as the next tiny. Stephen's arms help her quiet the overactive ramblings inside her skull. But I'll let you in on a little secret. They both love it best when Near is the one holding Stephen, her chin in his hair and his nose buried somewhere around his collarbone. They show each other their vulnerabilities more than anything then. Stephen shows that he's not always composed and strong, and Near shows just how much she needs him in her life. In their bed, that's their most precious moment.

•  my favorite friendship (if applicable) and a cute hc about them 

Okay so I love the idea of Near having quite a bit more respect for Misa than anyone else. Why? YOTSUBA👏ARC👏POWERHOUSE👏 (he also respects Matsuda even if he would advise him not to run into the building like that). Looking back on how Misa was caught, it was by sheer chance. A single strand of dyed blonde hair falling on the VHS tapes and being sealed inside the envelopes? That was an absolutely miniscule oversight that honestly impressed him greatly.

As for a cute hc? Misa and Near bond over the movie Labyrinth by Jim Henson. Near is absolutely enamored with the incredible puppets and costumes in the movie. Misa straight up loves David Bowie. Misa will sing along with Dance Magic Dance, loud and clear, and dance all around the room as it plays until Near can't help but start to sing and sway along. Misa holds out her hands, knowing not to touch without permission - and Near actually reaches out and takes them, lets her pull him up and start to dance!

•  a song that reminds me of them

Hrrmmmm... Hollow and Sorry About Your Parents by Icon for Hire, weirdly enough Sober by P!nk, and Teeth on a String by Stick and Poke. Yeah, all of these songs are sad, and TW for undertones of an abusive relationship on the last one. If I had to pick a nice song for Near... Oh, I know! The Show by Lenka!

•  what animal i think they would be if they were an animal 

Cat. Easy pick. Near likes to do things on their own terms and their own schedule and does not care much for how other people want them to behave at each moment. However, they love deeply and fiercely and will tolerate a surprising amount of annoying behaviour from someone who is in their pack (my beagle can almost jump on one of my cats and he adores her, despite him being skittish and not hesitating to swat when he's sick of paws almost squashing him). Enjoy to simply sit in the presence of a loved one and do their own thing compared to constant need for direct conversation and interaction. Will hiss, growl and swat when displeased and does not suffer fools gladly.

•  what position they sleep in

Loosely curled on her right side, grabbing the pillow and pulling it down towards her front, under a heavy weighted blanket. Near has her hands gently curled in front of her, somewhere between her breastbone and nose. Her legs fold up beneath her, her right leg a little bit tighter to keep her balance as the left leg falls on top. At one point, she looks at body pillows and finds the full wrap around designs. Its love at first sight. She gets one delivered and almost immediately drops off the first time she pairs it with her beloved heavy blanket

•  their favorite drink

They subsist on large amounts of coffee (small amounts of milk to offset the bitterness), but its not quite their favourite. Near loves boba! Honeydew, almond, matcha and the classic are her top choices.

•  a gift i would give them if i could

What do you give someone with everything...? I would like... If they accept it? Companionship. The fact that Near keeps working with Halle, Rester and Gevanni even years later makes me think they would like some sort of reliable, consistent company. They do have a sort of loneliness that they have to endure, the kind that comes from being the strange one, the out of place one, the one who has trouble connecting to people.

I'm not sure if I could think of anything else. Maybe make them a drawing, or find them some interesting or intricate toys they might like.

[ezrastokes]

[ CODY CHRISTIAN, HE/HIM, CISMALE ] —  [ EZRA STOKES ]  is a child of [ HEPHAESTUS ] with the power of  [ TECHNOKINESIS ] .  they were born in [ 1995 ] and have been in nemean lion since  [ 2010 ] .  with the change, they [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM ] the [ TECHNOLOGY ] role which makes sense since they’re usually [ FIRING POTTERY IN THE KILN AND BREWING A THIRD CUP OF COFFEE ] .  if you’d like to meet them try the [ MOON ]  building .  —  kati / she & her / est / 18+

links: stats / pinterest .

background

most of ezra’s early years were spent not fitting in and for most of that time, he didn’t know why. he didn’t understand why his father seemed to hate him so much, why his younger brother, caleb, seemed to get all of the attention. ezra chalked it up to just not being quite good enough, maybe because he wasn’t into sports the way caleb was, coming home with paint on his shirt instead of grass stains. 

for a while, ezra tried to fit in, went out for baseball to try and garner his father’s approval, but it was never really him. over time, he began to isolate himself instead, because it was easier to be on his own than face rejection and disapproval.

his mom was loving, but only behind closed doors. it always seemed like she was scared to show her affection for ezra in front of his father, like she felt GUILTY about loving him, about caring about him. she’d sneak into his room at night and read him stories or they’d spend all day together when his father was out of town. “ why does dad hate me so much ? ” he’d ask, and his mother would smile sadly and say, “ i’ll explain more when you’re older. ” 

ezra started developing his powers when he was about twelve years old. his mother had hoped it would never happen. it started small, realizing he could do things like make the toaster pop up without touching it or turn on the television with what seemed to be sheer willpower. his parents started noticing this too. he overheard them talking about it one night, fighting. ezra didn’t know what it meant, but over time, he’d listen at the top of the stairwell as the arguments got more and more heated, resulting in broken glass. caleb would sit with him sometimes. “ what are they always fighting about lately ? ” ezra would ask. “ you, ” the dreaded answer, but he’d already known. he just needed to hear someone say it. “ it’s because you’re a freak. ” 

anxious during a test at school, ezra set the printer going so hard that it started smoking and set the fire alarm off. to most people, it was nice to get out of the test, but ezra went home demanding answers. “ just tell me what i am, please ! ” rising frustration, appliances in the house whirring to life. ezra was getting more powerful, it was not just a PHASE that he could outgrow. his parents had to tell him the truth. 

his mother sit down and told him about an AFFAIR she had once, with the god hephaestus. he had been able to forgive her for it, but his father had never been able to get over the living manifestation of her disloyalty, the obvious misfit in the family that stuck out and didn’t belong. every day, ezra seemed less and less like he could be his father’s son. everything seemed to click into place for ezra, but it didn’t make him feel any better to be the product of circumstances he couldn’t control ; things would have been easier if he’d been born normal like caleb. 

his mother expressed concern for the way his powers were growing and that modern society might not be the place for him. she’d been told if such powers ever developed, that there was a place that he could go. so, at age fifteen he packed this things and began training at nemean lion. 

ezra naturally assimilated into the technology track with his powers, it seemed to make the most sense for him. in terms of helping heroes, he is most comfortable beneath the hood of a car, developing advanced transportation technology and essentially providing heroes with the best possible support. he also built his own motorcycle and car from scratch, they’re named thelma and louise respectively, his pride and joys. ezra is  a quiet person but get him talking about his hobbies / geeking out and you’ve hit the sweet spot. 

recently graduated and working, though he feels like he’s in no position to mentor the newbies…he’ll try. he would’ve been happy to be a student forever, but due to nl’s new status, he felt the need to rush his graduation and work a little harder so that they’d have the tech help they need for the heroes on the field fighting monsters and such. 

personality

PERSISTENT. essentially, when ezra sets his mind on something, he will accomplish it. in some ways, he can be pretty one-track minded when it comes to things, like he’ll start a task in the garage or at the kiln and he won’t speak to anyone for days until it’s done. balance ? he doesn’t know her. but achieving his goals ? yes, king. sometimes i think ezra believes that people are to be measured on accomplishments and his value only exists in terms of what he can do for others. however, you can definitely count on him to get a job done. 

PRACTICAL. ezra is a pretty realistic person, not the type to get caught up in a daydream or set an unrealistic expectation for himself. granted, he knows he can accomplish a lot, but he would never expect more of himself than what is tangible. he’s definitely not a naive person and is more inclined to believe actions over words every time. 

INDEPENDENT. ezra is the sort of person who has always felt like he’s had to fend for himself and is pretty mature. he’s good at taking care of himself and has never felt like he NEEDS other – not that anyone’s really need him. he’s very self-sufficient as a person basically and doesn’t rely on others to get things done. you’ll literally never feel like ezra’s a mooch, but he would let others mooch off him tbh. 

PESSMISTIC. as a result of that practicality, he can come off as rather negative in conversation or in ideals. essentially, ezra can be a real downer to be around sometimes because he will always anticipate the worst case scenario ! he’ll tell you he’s just being prepared though. 

SENSITIVE. although he comes off as tough or even unapproachable sometimes, this is actually because he’s EASILY hurt. he puts on a front like a badass but seriously he is a sensitive baby and if you say something that rubs him the wrong way he will legit never forget it. can literally hold a grudge for 8092390482 years like if you cross him slightly he will bring it up until you die. 

headcanons

if he’s not working with vehicles, he’s making pottery. he has a wheel in his room and is really passionate about art and ceramics. so, when he’s not working, he’s probably firing something.

yes, he has an etsy store <3 

has a little black cat named soot that is genuinely his best friend

has a natural affinity toward all things fire and smoke, developing the nasty habit of smoking cigarettes – american spirits, too, because he has no class. however, since he started dating his current girlfriend, he’s pretty much quit smoking to make her happy – and like, to be more kissable.

genuinely, his girlfriend cecilia baum ( y’all know her ? ) has been a super positive influence in his life because he used to drink, smoke, and isolate himself a lot more before getting to know her but honestly the act of developing a crush and trying to impress her all the time got him into better habits and her caring about him has made him care a bit about himself more too.

granted, it’s not JUST cece. making better friends and meeting people that care about him has been a positive influence on him overall

don’t ask me too much about cece, strud and i are mid-plotting but they are dating. 

you’d probably think like mechanic, artist, he must be super messy? however, ezra is really meticulous and organized, i would say he’s always been really mature and independent. he has his shit together, but he’s also fueled by a ridiculous amount of coffee in order to do so. 

though he does often smell like gasoline from working in the garage so much, though he personally loves that. 

really likes thrifting? like browsing thrift stores for hours and finding weird shit or interesting art pieces. he’ll treat thrift stores like museums, could spend hours walking around, but he’ll also spend hours walking around museums. 

wanted connections

best friends, bros, etc !! i’m looking for the people he really vibes with in a number of ways, his squad, his fam, the wholesome shit. the scott to his stiles, the schmidt to his nick, all of these things. 

but i would especially love to have like his DAY ONE, i will simply go crazy go stupid for a best friend connection and i feel like that person who supported him from the start and made him feel less alone on his first days at NL prob means the fucking world to him.

like, someone he’s protective of? maybe a little sister type connection, essentially someone that’s probably softer and more naive and he feels like he has to look out for them and keep them safe and such. 

someone to test out his vehicles and inventions. ezra is always tinkering away in the garage and he comes up with cool stuff for the heroes to use out when they’re saving the world, it would be nice if he had someone who was always down to literally come through in the middle of the night and be the elastigirl to his edna mode and all.

someone that he really clashes with. give me enemies for god’s sake, or anything, i feel like especially when he first arrived at NL he was a bit rough around the edges, hard to get to know. ezra definitely comes off as grumpy and standoffish around people he’s not super comfortable with and he’s pretty introverted, so they might have gotten a bad impression of him. 

or honestly if you play a char that’s kind of ? stuck up ? full of themselves ? that would really rub him the wrong way. tho he’s probably just jealous bc he lacks that confidence like damn. 

an almost? like a case of bad timing where they were hitting it off or maybe there could have been something between them but he started dating cece instead. maybe your character read into it more than it was and felt really hurt by it. OR he told them he didn’t want a relationship/do relationships and then started dating cece right quick like that’s gotta hurt. 

someone who is good w money. help him manage the finances of his etsy store and how to run a business because he doesn’t even know how to properly price his own goods, probably undersells himself. gimme the business mind to his art mind. 

drinking buddies! sitting around w a good glass of scotch talking about life after a hard day. ezra doesn’t drink so much but honestly their work is hard and ppl die so like, a lil something to take the edge off. 

roommates? is that a thing here? he is in moon building.

naturally also down to vibe and plot anything, exes, family members, enemies, besties, all the things, this is just off the top of my head !!! 

[trellanyx]

your jonathan crane (who i love so very much) and numbers 1 through... oh, lets say 25 ;)

(Send me a character and a number)

Have I told you how much I love you lately, Lizard? Because I do. Oh yes I do. 😂

Word vomiting about my Jon in 3, 2, 1...

1) Something this character is truly proud of.

His work, of course. Not just the toxin, but the breadth of his knowledge, his experiments, his successes and vengeances. Jonathan is an expert in his field, and considering what he went through to get there he’s damn proud of it.

2) Who they want to please the most.

Jonathan Crane does not give a single solitary fuck about what anyone thinks of him. The only satisfaction he cares about is his own. Considering how high his standards are, that’s a big enough challenge already.

3) Who depends on them.

No one. Jon may make you think you need him if that serves his end goal, but other than that he keeps his distance. If you’re in a position where you actually depend on Jonathan Crane’s services, you’re fucked.

4) What they would do if they had one month to live.

Work feverishly to A) preserve his work and B) push it as far as it can go before his body betrays him. Jon would be pulling such long, intense hours that it’s quite possible he’d drop dead before the month was up from sheer exhaustion. If he doesn’t, then he takes his magnum opus and goes out with a hell of a bang.

5) A cherished personal belonging.

Nothing. He has things he likes more than most: a tortoiseshell watch, a spring-loaded gun, his sturdiest boots, his sharpest scythe - the whole fear gauntlet, actually, impractical as it was - but nothing he’d go as far as to say he cherishes. Everything Jon owns is expendable, and no matter how attached he might be to something, there’s nothing he wouldn’t chuck in a fire instantly if he needed to. 

6) Something they lost, but would love to have back.

“Unlimited access to test subjects wrapped in a stable paycheck. Arkham’s much more fun on the other side of the straitjacket.”

7) This character’s favorite character

I give up. It’s been days. Days that this post has sat in my drafts while I tried to think of this asshole’s favorite character, and I’ve got nothing. I’ve come up with a couple of disparate headcanons involving Jon and fiction in general, but I have no answer for this one. I offer this as a placeholder: “He doesn’t have any because he’s a contrary and insufferable bastard.”

8) What kind of car they would drive.

Dark, boring, older than sin. The gas pedal is the most abused piece of equipment in South Gotham. There’s a stain on the backseat floor that Jon says is coffee, and no one is brave enough to question him. Edward refuses to be seen dead in it. One day Jon’s gonna take that as a challenge.

9) What calms them when they are upset.

It really depends on the type of distress that it is. The basic scale is this:

Drumming his nails against things, or just tapping against the nearest flat surface if his nails aren’t long enough. (Common response to most grievances.)

Stepping outside for a smoke. He goes back inside when he either feels better or runs out of cigarettes.

Pacing inside or stalking through the streets like he’s on his way to kill somebody, taking small, petty pleasure watching people jump out of his way.

Stewing in a corner with a bottle of strong alcohol.

Actually killing somebody.

10) How they deal with pain.

Grits his teeth and bears it. The first lesson he ever learned.

11) This character’s favorite piece or pieces of clothing.

As Scarecrow: His plague doctor mask, which replaced the traditional burlap after he stopped being able to feel fear.

As Jon: Custom winter gloves with longer fingers to accommodate his nails in the winter.

12) How they sleep.

I’ve talked about this before, actually! Here’s the quote:

Since he suffers from chronic insomnia and chronic I Have No Idea What Healthy Habits Look Like, Jonathan doesn’t go to bed very often. He’s more likely to pass out wherever he is - couch, desk, once on a morgue slab (don’t ask)… But when he does sleep in a bed, he tosses and turns a ridiculous amount. It’s not that he’s having nightmares (though with the way he moves, how could you tell), he just has a hard time getting comfortable. He’ll turn over at least 3-6 times before falling asleep, and he’ll keep shifting even after he does. It’s very common for Jonathan to fall asleep with three blankets and wake up with only one.

13) What kind of parent they would be.

*hysterical laughter* NO.

14) How they did in school.

He struggled with it a lot. Not because of a lack of intelligence or drive, but because:

Constant undernourishment and late night punishments made it difficult for Jon to stay awake in class. (His insomnia didn’t develop until he was in his early 20s.)

His homework was often late or mediocre because Jon did it after being beaten or kept busy with his grandmother’s laborious demands, if he was in a state to do it at all.

Jon’s glasses were almost never up to date. Constant squinting compounded by what Jon now knows were chronic migraines made class not only difficult to concentrate on, but physically painful.

Bullying. I don’t think I need to elaborate there.

Jon barely eked out a GPA high enough to get him into a local community college with the help of a scholarship targeted toward low-income families. Once his grandmother and bullies “helpfully” left the picture and Jon could focus on eliminating the obstacles above, he threw himself into his studies like a man possessed, and by the time he graduated, he’d secured himself entry to a post-baccalaureate program in Gotham. He used that as a stepping stone to med school and the rest is history.

15) What cologne or perfume they would use.

Jon doesn’t like either. His only indulgence in the smell department is almond-scented soap.

16) Their sexuality.

It varies depending on what version of him I’m playing, but it’s always either bi or gay.

17) What they’d sing at karaoke.

Something slow, creepy and mournful, probably not even on the set list, while he stares at you unblinking and makes you regret every decision in your life that helped force him onstage. You don’t ask for an encore.

18) Special talents they have.

Jon is double-jointed, a great whistler, sews all his costumes and is an adequate mechanic. See the “should be dead twelve times over” car he still drives. He’s also a better swimmer than people give him credit for, something that’s saved his life more than once.

19) When they feel safest.

In front of a fireplace. Jon can’t really explain it, nor does it make sense considering how much he hates heat in general. But there’s something about sitting in front of a fire that really relaxes him. (Don’t bother with the scarecrow/fire jokes, he’s heard them all.)

20) Household chore they hate the most.

Bathrooms.

21) Their fondest childhood memory.

“Killing them.”

22) How they spend their money.

Books, chemicals, caffeine, alcohol, weapons. And then living essentials. Maybe. Depends on how low he is on nicotine. (Jon’s spending habits are so predictable it became a running joke on campus, what did you expect.)

23) What kind of alcohol they drink.

He’s not picky, but nothing beats a finely aged whiskey. He’s also partial to Black Russians.

24) What they wish they could change about themselves.

Useful as it can be, Jon regrets the loss of his ability to feel fear. He also wishes he didn’t get migraines so often. Nothing on the personality front, though: Jon knows what he is.

25) What other people wish they could change about them.

Oh honey, there’s not enough hours in the day to list all that.

[writingsfromhome]

Wish you were Sober

I couldn’t get this bop out of my head so I’ve turned it into a fic...enjoy!!!!

Warnings: alcohol, drugs, swearing?

———————————————————————-

You switch the cup in your hands, eyeing Harry from across the room. You came here together but ever since the two of you walked through the front door, he’d put on his hot-shot act and hadn’t spoken to you once. You watch the brunette on his left now, laughing at whatever he’d said. His hand tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. You feel sick but you can’t stop watching. You don’t even know why you came here, this wasn’t your scene, and you knew how Harry got at parties like these. But you just wanted to be near him.

It was toxic, some small part of your brain already knew that, your addiction to Harry and the way he only wanted you when you two were alone.

“Y/N?” Your mate Sofie from English spots you in your corner, you barely hear your name with how loud the music was. “I...wow, I didn’t expect you to be here!”

“Me neither,” you laugh. “Not really my scene!”

“I can tell! You look....” she pauses, deciding not to finish her sentence. “Come on,” she grabs your arm and pulls you away from the wall that you’d made a little watching post of. “Let’s get you a little relaxed...”

The rest of her sentence is drowned out as she turns away. You catch Harry’s eye on your way out of the room but his eyes slide off of you. You try to ignore the stabbing at your heart.

“Oh shite wait,” Sof takes a detour to the open door on your right. “This hasn’t been free all night. Wait out here?”

She enters the vacant toilet and you lean back against the wallpapered hallway. You didn’t even know whose house this was, but it was nicely decorated.

“Drink! Drink!” Loud chanting echoes from the kitchen. Wooping and shouts and then: “Styles! Styles!”

You cover your face with your hands, pushing back the urge to cry. You shouldn’t have come.

You wander away from the door to put more distance between you and the chanting. A room door is tilted open, a few people sit inside. The open window lets in a stiff breeze and a shiver travels up your spine. You imagine yourself walking towards it, opening it all the way, jumping onto the roof, and looking back to see Harry following behind with the grin you adored. You imagine the two of you going back to one of yours, somwhere where the music wasn’t too loud, and just spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms.

“Y/N,” an arm grabs yours again. Sof. “I don’t think you want to go in there.”

“Why?” You turn to face her.

“Do you know whose party this is?” She shouts. You shake your head and she glances back to the crack in the door. “Nevermind, best you don’t know. Oh hey your cup’s empty, let’s fill you up first.”

“I’m really okay,” you protest but Sofie doesn’t take no for an answer. You weren’t sure why she was being such a mother hen, you two were strictly school friends.

“Haven’t you got...other friends here?” You ask Sofie when you reach the kitchen, hoping it didn’t come off too bluntly.

“Yes?” She blinks.

“Won’t they wonder where you are?”

“They probably don’t even know where they are,” she laughs. “Plus you’re cool, we should hang out more Y/N.”

“Yeah...” you smile at her. She was nice.

You expect Harry to be in the kitchen once you reach the keg but he’s nowhere you could see. The churning in your stomach intensifies.

“Let’s go,” she says as your cup fills and you’re once again being dragged through the house. The room in the very back on the top floor is where you end up and as soon as the door opens you realise what Sofie meant about relaxing. A cloud of weed invades your nostrils and you feel you could get high with the sheer amount of smoke in the air alone.

“Close the door!” Someone shouts inside.

“Fuck off!” Sofie shouts, shooting you a wink. “Guess who I found?”

“Y/N!” A few people from class reocognise you and begin shfiting. The good thing about being the “nice one” at school was that everyone sort of liked you and nobody bothered you.

“Fancy seeing you here,” someone says to you. You couldn’t make out who it was so you just smile in the general direction.

“I always thought Y/N was too posh to come to one of these parties,” someone else says and your anxiety spikes. Maybe not everybody liked you.

“She’s right here you shites,” Sofie pats your leg. “Ignore them. They’re all out of their minds right now. We all love you, we just never see you outside of school.”

You let that sink in. It was true—you were always either at home or at Harry’s. Maybe this was good, to be out with your classmates.

You start to feel a little at ease until you spot him near the window. Harry. With the same brunette from downstairs.

You hear someone asking you a question but your gaze is trained on Harry, his hand grips the girl’s face and her hands are on his waist as he pulls her in, his face disappearing into her neck.

“Hullo!” Someone waves a hand in front of your face. “I think the smoke alone’s done her in.”

People around you laugh and you snap out of it, Sof stares at you with her round eyes, holding the glass object out to you. “Y/N? You alright?”

“Yeah,” you croak, taking a swig of your cup. This was so not your crowd.

“Over here,” Harry’s deep voice carries over and he motions for the bong being passed to you. Sofie hands it to him.

“Don’t mind him Y/N, he’s not worth it. He’s always hooking up with some random girl. Anyway, do you want one of these instead?” Sofie pushes cookies in front of your face, trying to distract you. She didn’t realise you’d minded him a lot, for at least the last year.

“I-“ she puts one in your hand before you can decline. Your eyes are still on Harry, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.

His eyes catch yours as he takes another hit and winks as he exhales. The churning in your stomach becomes violent.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you say before bolting from the room.

The toilets are occupied and your only other option is to make it outside in time to retch into the bushes on the side. Fuck.

You sit on the steps, eyeing the Rover that had driven you here. You didn’t even know why Harry had driven when he was going to get blackout drunk at the party. You didn’t even know why you had agreed to come with him here.

Your bum grows cold against the concrete steps as you regret the whole night.

“There you-you’re,” a voice slurs from behind you. Harry.

You ignore him, tears stinging from the humiliation of being here and the heartbreak he put you through every bloody time.

It wasn’t always like this though. Harry used to be sweet with you but always said he wanted to keep the relationship on the down low. Didn’t want his mates taking the piss out of you for dating him. So you’d agreed. And slowly he was less sweet and more sour, only coming by when he was drunk, leaving drunk voice messages about how much he wanted you, and only kissing you in the shadows. He’d strapped you onto the rollercoaster and there were too many ups and downs.

“Y/N,” Harry says gentler. “Why’d you go?”

“Surprised you even noticed,” you mumble.

“Huh?” He sits beside you, more like tumbles down beside you. “This party sucks, wanta come over mine?”

“I don’t know,” you say softly, getting up and walking towards the street. This was his routine, ignoring you at the party, then saving you for later.

“Okayokayokay,” Harry comes up after you. “I’ll drive ya home.”

You whip around, was he crazy? But he really was fumbling with his keys. You slide yourself in between him and the car and snatch the keys once he produces it from his pocket. This close, you could see what a mess the night had made of him.

“Give me-“ he tries to grab the keys but you lower them behind you.

“Are you out of your mind? You’re pissed and you’re high and you want to get into the bloody car like that?!”

“Woah,” he breathes, swaying slightly. “Tha was sexy.”

“What?” You sputter, he was impossible. “Harry!”

“Keys?” he leans in, his arms surrounding your waist and you feel your guard slip a little. Bad habits.

“We’ll walk home,” you say into his chest as he puts his weight into you, pressing your back into the car. He’s all muscle and musk.

“You are home,” he hums against you. “C’mere.”

He tilts your chin up and lays a sweet kiss against your lips, and you almost forget the whole night—it’s that perfect. You feel reborn against him this way, pressed into his warmth, his hands holding you like you meant something to him.

But you didn’t.

“Let’s go,” it takes everything in you to push him off. He’d kissed another girl tonight. In front of you. You had to remember that.

“Why?” He whines, pulling you to him again, his back against the car now. He traps you between his arms but you wriggle out.

“It’s gonna be a long walk, I’m tired. We should go.”

He sighs. “Yes missus,” He salutes you and then dissolves into a fit of giggles. You roll your eyes but your heart softens enough to loop your arm through his to drag him along.

“You’re the best y’know?” he slurs along your walk home. “M’lucky to ‘ave-“

He trips over a loose cobblestone and you’re nearly wiped too but you catch yourself in time. Harry, on the other hand, lays sprawled on the floor laughing. You really were tired, but a smile breaks out on your face.

“You’re such a klutz,” you say over him, bending to pick to pick up the phone that had fallen from his pocket.

“C’mere!” Harry shouts, opening his arms but you laugh and continue walking. “Y/N!” He stretches out your name from where he still lay. “Please! Help!”

“Harry I’m leaving you behind! And I have your phone and keys with me!”

That gets him up, following up behind you and grabbing you by the waist as he walks. You were almost to his house. Your own was another five minutes away.

“That’s my house!” Harry points to the third one down as it comes into view.

“I know,” you chuckle. “And everyone is asleep. Keep your voice down!”

“C’mon,” he walks backwards onto his driveway, still holding your hand. “With me.”

“I’m tired,” you say again.

“Baby,” He pouts, a tactic that usually worked. “M’lonely.”

“Harry,” you sigh.

He backs himself into the brick of his house and pulls you towards him by your belt loop. You go without much of a fight.

“Please?” He asks again, putting his forehead against yours. You close your eyes, a battle going on in your heart. Go with him, make love, feel wanted and needed. And then discarded. Or leave with your head held high, your heart a little hurt but better for you when you wake up tomorrow morning without regrets.

“Harry-“ you get out before he pulls you into a kiss, no longer sweet like before. This kiss was Drunk Harry, pulsing in want. Your teeths clash against each other, his kiss demanding all of you as he pivots so you’re up against the wall. Your hands automatically go up to his hair, you loved the silky strands between your fingers. His hands go everywhere: your face, down to your waist, back up to your hair, sliding up your shirt, his cold fingers fumbling with your shirt. It shocks you out of the fervour.

“No!” You push him away. “Harry, stop.”

“Wha?” He steps towards you again, his hands already on your hips, but you push your hands against his chest, his heart beating fast underneath. “What?”

You look at him, a good look. His eyes are frantic, his mouth rubbed raw-almost a violent streak on his face. This was not the sweet guy you fell for. You wanted off of his rollercoaster.

“Harry I just-I wish...” you drop your arms and step sideways. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” He repeats for the hundredth time. “What’s that mean?”

“I’m tired of this. I can’t play this game anymore.”

He reaches for you again, a wounded look on his face. But you push his hand away, the simple act crushing your heart in a vice so tight that it’s hard for you to even choke out the words.

“I wish you didn’t have to get so drunk. Harry I just...I wish you were sober.”

Harry sways towards you and then back and his brows furrow. He opens his mouth and then closes it as you take another step back.

“I wish you were sober,” you whisper again, more to yourself, before turning your back to the only guy who made you feel like life was worth living.

You turn away from him, and you walk back home. Head held high.