#pls be kind i’m so scared to post this LOL

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little. 

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy. 

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less. 

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might. 

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot. 

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart. 

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air. 

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three. 

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind. 

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood. 

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime. 

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for  you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer. 

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said. 

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and  I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He  made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced. 

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

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[listerbirdloml]

The Death of Your Dog, The Stretch of Our Skin.

Summary: At fourteen, Rowan's dog died. At fifteen, Jimmy's grandmother died. And now, at twenty, Lister has lost his father.

Characters: Alister 'Lister' Bird, Jimmy Kaga-Ricci, Rowan Omondi, Piero Ricci, Chiara Ricci, Graham Duncan, Mention of Cecily Wills and Louise Bird.

Warnings: Death of an animal, grief, self effacing thoughts, strong language, minor violence, someone says the wh*re word, someone also tries to say a racial slur but they do not manage to.

Ships: Bicci kiss teehee

Word Count: 4.6k

just a little thing I wrote about the ark boys comforting one another through different types of grief. PLEASE BE KIND IVE NEVER PUBLISHED ANY WRITING BEFORE LMAO

Tilly Omondi.

When they were fourteen, Rowans dog died. 

It had been a truly unremarkable day at school. They played in the music room, ate their lunch, attended their afternoon lessons, and then walked to Rowans. He had the better gaming system out of him and Jimmy, and he even had the new Red Dead Redemption game. He’d gotten his mum to buy it the day it came out, and now they were all excited to see how it was. Especially Lister, since he didn’t have a play station or anything of his own.

As they walked down the road to Rowans, conversation flew freely among them. Per usual, it was dominated by Lister and whatever random topic entered his mind. Jimmy was content to sit back and listen, chipping in whenever he thought of something relevant to say. Meanwhile, Rowan was more than happy to shut down particularly stupid conversations Lister started or rise up to the challenge whenever Lister turned to teasing him. 

When they arrived at Rowans home, the three boys began untying their show laces and shucking off their winter coats. It wasn’t exactly freezing anymore, but it was cold enough for the jackets to still shelter them from the Kent winds. Earlier in the winter, Rowan noticed Listers coat wasn’t the warmest, so he’d given him one of his own under the guise of wanting to get rid of it.

When Rowan opened the door, the lack of four legs bounding towards them was immediately noticeable. Tilly, the Omondi family dog, was a little white Jack Russell with the sweetest of nature. She was a lap dog at heart, rarely barking. She was always found greeting anyone who entered their home at the door, her little tail wagging while she waited to be greeted in return.

"Mum?" Rowan called out pensively, thinking perhaps she’d taken an impromptu walk with the little dog. There was noise from the kitchen, as though someone was startled at the idea of Rowan being home at the time he was.

"Hi sweetheart." Came the call from Rowans mother, but she didn’t leave the kitchen. Lister thought he could hear a waver in her voice. But then again, he was starting to believe he was hardwired to detect the negative emotions people portrayed. even if they weren’t there. "Uh, Ro, can you come to the kitchen, please?" Rowan glanced at his two friends who waited in the doorway, all three clearly confused. With a gesture signalling the other two to wait, Rowan headed down the hallway and disappeared into his kitchen.

Standing just the two of them, Lister suddenly ran out of words. He was entirely focused on a loose thread in his school shirt, and Jimmy was too nervous to start a conversation himself. If it wasn’t in band practise or their shared history lesson, Jimmy found it difficult to talk with Lister. He found the other equally intimidating as he was admirable.

The blonde had definitely made huge progress with his confidence around the two friends, but deep down he was still pretty shy. He still held the fear that he was only there because he knew how to play the drums. He was a friend of convenience until Jimmy and Rowan could afford another drummer or even meet a better one. A drummer who wasn’t self-taught like he was, someone who could actually afford the lessons needed to become successful. While he still had these fears and and worries, he had begun to use them for the better. He was worried about being replaced in their band, and so he practised as hard as possible. He was worried about being replaced in their lives, and so he made as big a space for himself as he could. A space big enough that they would sorely miss him should he leave it.

"So uh-" Biting the bullet, Lister had gone to say something. But as he did, Rowan reappeared down the hallway, shoulders slumped, and face a mixture of shock and tears. All trace of nerves or awkwardness had immediately subsided from the two left in the hallway, both meeting Rowan half way. Jimmy put a hand on his shoulder, his own face contorted with worry. Lister didn’t doubt that Jimmy had thought up every single worst-case scenario he could.

"Tilly died."

There were two sharp inhales, and then silence.

Neither seemed particularly sure how to continue, but they both knew that their friend needed them. And so in a fluid motion, Lister and Jimmy had wrapped Rowan in a big group hug, pretending not to notice the way his body was wracked with sobs.

"There was a- a car." Rowans explanation was met with shushes. Lister knew that talking about it more would just upset Rowan, and he had plenty of time in the upcoming days to process the loss. Right now, he was allowed to just feel it. Feel it, with the safety of his two closest friends.

They stood in the Omondi garden, with Lister on one side of Rowan and Jimmy on the other. They both had a head leaning on Rowans shoulders, arms around his middle as he cried. His mother and sister had cried too, but nowhere near as much as Rowan. He had always been particularly close to the little dog.

His dad had just rested Tilly in the ground and let Rowan lay her favourite toys and treats with her before he began to refill the dirt.

Lister had never been to a funeral. Neither had Jimmy.

When Lister was ten, his grandmother on his dad's side passed away. Even though he had been very close with her, his dad didn’t want him at the funeral. He didn’t want Lister to have to stay the few days at his new home; his wife and new kids clearly objected to the older boy’s presence in what was their family home. It wasn’t exactly like he could own a pet either, the landlord of the flat he lived in with his mum was very clear about that.

Jimmy had never been to a funeral because no one in his family had died yet. There had been the rare distant aunty or several times great grand-something or other, but no one closely related to him. The thought alone of losing anyone in his family made him want to lie in the ground alongside Tilly.

"It’s okay, mate." It was Lister speaking, which wasn’t always the safest bet in a rocky situation. But Rowan was too upset to form words, and Jimmy was too scared he’d say the wrong ones.

There’s silence between the trio for a moment, until Lister starts speaking again. "Hey Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Can dogs go to heaven?"

"Well... they’re creatures made by God? So, I would assume so."

"Me too! I think if any creature on earth should enjoy an eternity of peace and happiness, it’s dogs. Not humans." He turned his body to face Rowan. "And when your time comes, you can wave up at her."

There’s silence before Rowan chokes out a loud and abrupt laugh. He covers his mouth, his shoulders shaking from laughter even as the tears freely flow down his cheeks. Jimmy can’t help but begin to chuckle too, even if he himself had been tearing up. And when Lister joined them, they came together again in a group hug, sandwiching Rowan.

Joan Ricci.

Jimmy wasn’t in school today.

While Lister himself had missed more classes this year than possibly anyone else in their school, and Rowan wasn’t immune to the odd sick day, Jimmy was never sick. And even if he was, he made his way to school for fear of missing anything important and having his schoolwork snowball.

The most concerning thing about his absence, however, was that he hadn’t responded to any texts from the two boys. He hadn’t even read their group chat either. And now, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the two were headed to the Ricci house, sat on the bus in silence. Thankfully, Lister no longer felt awkward in the presence of one of them alone. He still felt incredibly aware of the split between them, between childhood best friends and drummer, but it no longer prevented him from connecting with either Jimmy or Rowan.

He had just come to accept that he would forever be the odd one out. the one who lived on the council estate, the one whose mum had him as a teen, the one with an estranged dad. He could never compare to Jimmy and Rowan, with their private music lessons and middle-class homes. The kind that weren’t even attached to the houses next to it and were made of the fancy looking red brick.

"What if he's, like, dead?" Rowan interrupted the silence, looking down at his still-unanswered text to their friend. Lister sighed and lightly shoved the bassist on the shoulder. They were almost at the bus stop near Jimmy's grandparents home.

"Mate, you sound like Jimmy when you think like that. 

With a reluctant sigh of agreement, Rowan followed Lister out of their seats and down the aisle of the bus to wait at the door for the driver to let them off.

As they walked the last few minutes to the Ricci household, Lister could feel dread settling in his stomach. He didn’t know what for, or why it decided to make itself at home in his gut, but he almost had to stop walking. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was with Jimmy or what, but he was definitely more eager to pick up the pace to the Riccis to ensure their singer and best friend were okay.

The first thing they noticed about the Ricci household was the cars parked outside. Neither of Jimmy's grandparents could drive anymore, and Jimmy wasn’t even old enough for a provisional licence yet, let alone a car.

But for some reason, there was four or five cars around the driveway and road in front. Lister glanced at Rowan, the taller one seeming confused as well. But instead of looking at Lister, he kept walking, jogging up the steps, and ringing the doorbell. Lister soon joined him, hands wringing together uncharacteristically. Through the stained glass of the front door, he was sure he could hear soft murmurs from the living room. way more voices than the three inhabitants of the Ricci home. Soon a figure from the inside was moving down the hallway to open the door, and it was immediately apparent it wasn’t Pierreo or Joan. This person moved far too quickly, and before Lister could say anything else, the door was opened.

It was a woman that Lister had never met before, but he could tell instantly who she was. She was tall, about the only thing that didn’t resemble their friend. But the shape of her eyes, the curve of her nose, and the slant of her jaw was almost entirely Jimmy. The grumpy frown was the splitting image.

She had only glanced at their uniforms before she sighed and went to shut the door. "Jimmy can’t come out right now."

"Wait!" Lister cried out, sticking his foot in the doorway. The woman looked mildly infuriated, and distantly, Lister couldn’t help but think this was a terrible first impression with Jimmy's mother. "Is he okay? He hasn’t answered us, and he wasn’t at school. We were just…" Lister trailed off as he caught sight of Piero walking out of the living room.

"Pierro?" Rowan called out, and Lister could hear the apprehension in his tone. The old man’s face had sunken even since they’d seen him at the weekend. They’d been celebrating Rowans fifteenth a week early, and Joan had managed to get out of bed to bake him a huge cake before they had band practise. But now, Pierros eyes looked red-rimmed, and he was leaning heavily on his walking stick with every step.

"Boys," he sighed, joining his daughter in the doorway. Lister was the closest to him, with his foot still in the door. Pierro opened up the arm not relying on the cane, and Lister quickly accepted it for what it was: a hug.

"Is Jimmy okay? Did something happen?" It was Rowan again, and as he pulled away from the old man and glanced at Jimmy's mum, who still stood watching, Lister couldn’t blame the worry in his voice. If Rowan was feeling anything as unease’d as Lister in the presence of the usually aloof CEO, then Lister was unsure how Rowan was so well at hiding it.

"Boys." It seemed that Pierro couldn’t say anything else; his voice was fading. "This morning… Joan passed this morning."

The dread in Listers stomach had spread to his whole body, his heart aching as it pounded a mile a minute in his chest. He couldn’t form words, but tears had begun to well in his eyes.

"What? no… No she… What?" Rowan was scrambling to find the right words. He hadn’t begun to cry yet, but Lister knew it was from shock. His own tears were spilling onto his cheeks already.

"I’m sorry, boys." Pierro shook his head, and as though they were driven by the same force, Rowan and Lister descended on the old man with bone-crushing hugs. He tried his best to reciprocate them, but Lister could feel the quiver of his hands and the shallowness of his breath.

When they pulled apart, Lister wiped at his face a little too aggressively, but his shoulders were still high to his face, and he was still shivering from the force of his tears.

"Jimmys upstairs. I think he might like to see the both of you."

 

When they opened the door on the furthest end of the upstairs corridor, they noticed the lights were off and the curtains were drawn. There was a figure sitting up on the bed, a blanket draped over their head as they seemingly stared into space.

Pushing the door over further, the creak of it and the intrusion of the hallway light made Jimmy turn his head, the blanket falling to instead rest on his shoulders. His face was void of emotion, but even from where he stood in the doorway, Lister could see how puffy and red it looked compared to normal. Cheeks that still carried baby fat were raw with tears and the motions of wiping them away. Rowan and Lister had only just managed to compose themselves.

No one of the trio said anything; instead, the two newest additions to the room made their way over and sat on either side of the singer. He managed a small smile, trying to convey his appreciation for their attempts at comfort.

"She died." He croaked out, looking between them. Lister had a hand up to Jimmy's face, carefully moving some of Jimmy's shaggy hair out of the way of his face and behind his ear.

"We know, Jimjam." His voice was so foreign, even to himself. It was soft in a way he didn’t know he possessed anymore. He couldn’t help but think he almost sounded like his mum. The hand that had been fixing Jimmy's hair now rested gently on his shoulder, and he used it to bring the smaller one into a hug.

They could feel Rowans arms wrap around them, Jimmy circled. If Lister wasn’t the token atheist of their little group, he would think that it was symbolic or something. The wings of an angel maybe.

They should write a song about that.

Alister Bird.

Bringing a hand up to his earpiece and pulling it out, the full noise of the crowd hit Lister instantly. It was the end of their first show back, and now only Lister stood on the stage. Jimmy and Rowan had already made their exit, and now, standing up from his drum kit and holding his sticks in the air, it was Lister's turn.

He was panting, and he’s sure he looked like a sweaty mess, but the crowd was losing their minds, and he had never felt more alive. He jumped down from the platform where his drum kit was stationed and exited off the side of the stage towards Rowan and Jimmy, who were waiting for him. They both were panting and sweaty, but the grins on their faces resembled their thirteen-year-old selves so much that Lister didn’t care about it when he dragged them into a group hug, jumping up and down from excitement.

"That was fucking class." Lister managed out, his arm still wrapped around Jimmy's shoulders when they pulled away, his boyfriend (boyfriend!) leaning onto him.

"Profound as always, Alister." Rowan teased, the both of them pretending to fight for a moment or so longer before they were all ushered away from the backstage area and towards the dressing rooms.

Jimmy held a firm grip on his hand, and when they found an area secluded enough, he used it to detour them into a hidden crevice. His hands balled into fists around Listers shirt, and he used it to push him against the wall.

Lister laughed, but his chest was still heaving. "Jimjam, slow down." He could see the way the singers eyes drooped, the way they seemed fully focused on the way Listers lips moved around his words. He kept leaning in to try and kiss them, but Lister was feeling mischievous. He kept holding the singer away.

"Lis, I swear to God." He had a glare on his face, trying to appear intimidating. He failed to realise that to Lister, he did the exact opposite. Feeling empathy for the clearly desperate singer and giving into his own urge to kiss his boyfriend stupid, Lister leaned down and pressed their lips together.

He could feel Jimmy relaxing in his hold. He could feel the heat radiating from the frontman's body after the long show, and he could still hear the commotion of the crowd as the lights were turned on and they were ushered out of the venue. It was hard for Lister to believe that he was lucky enough to experience this. Not just the resurrection of his passion for music, but also the chance he’d been given to live a life by Jimmy's side. He’d lived in the frontman's shadow all these years, but now he had been given permission to love him. To kiss him freely without the guilt of another drunken mishap. To hug him without feeling that he had ill intentions.

He hoped the way he held Jimmy could convey all this. It was difficult to show the full extent of your love with only one arm around the middle. To share your soul with someone in the hopes they’ll accept it and, in turn, share their own.

His hands were in Jimmy's hair now, tugging at the strands on the back of his neck. Jimmy's hair had thankfully recovered from the years in which he straightened it, and now it was styled in its more natural waves. It was thick and bushy, and when Lister needed something to do with his hands, he would try to braid it. It wasn’t quite long enough for that, though, as Jimmy still preferred it short.

"Mr Bird."

The voice made both stars jump, with Lister keeping hold of Jimmy until he could see who it was who had interrupted them. He only hoped to God that it wasn’t a fan. But then again, not many Ark fans were middle-aged, bald white men with security written in bold letters over their chests. If this was a disguise to get backstage, it was a damn good one.

"Sorry to bother you, sir. But there’s a gentleman here who says he needs to talk with you." The man held a hand to his earpiece, turning away slightly as he likely received more information. Lister's thoughts had begun to run wild. He wasn’t sure who it could possibly be. He hadn’t spoken to any hookups in months and hadn’t initiated any since he and Jimmy had been talking. The guard turned back to them, ignoring Jimmy entirely. "A Graham Duncan, sir."

While it was clear the name didn’t ring any bells to Jimmy, Lister had sucked in a breath through his teeth so deeply that Jimmy could feel his chest move with it. Lister gently nudged at Jimmy's shoulder, urging him to back up so that Lister could move away from the wall.

"How did he get in?"

"His ID, Mr. Bird. Miss Cecily has a list of approved names, and he was on it, sir."

Lister sighed and rubbed at his forehead, post-show high clearly gone as he looked back to Jimmy.

"There he is!"

There’s excitement in the voice, but the room is silent around him. Rowan was sat on the couch farthest from the door, Lister stood from where he’d been sitting on the sofa, and Jimmy still sat next to his old spot. The father and son stared at each other for a few tense moments. Listers face was unreadable as he crossed his arms over his chest. Graham looked as though he'd been here to joke around with his son, coming close and punching him lightly on the shoulder.

"What you been up to then, boyo?" Lister could see Rowan raise an eyebrow at this, his face screaming, 'What does it look like we’ve been up to?' But Graham didn’t seem bothered by waiting for a response from Lister. He looked around at the two other members of the band, likely not wanting a crowd for his conversation with his oldest son.

"What do you want?" There was no pleasantry in Listers tone. He felt no need to pretend. To act like he and his dad had spoken since he’d turned ten, since his half brother was born and he himself was thrown to the side. Lister was the child born from a teenage mistake to the woman Graham had married for only two years before cheating with another woman. He wasn’t something Graham wanted to remember. And yet, he stood in their dressing room as though they were old buddies.

Graham laughed, spluttering on words for a moment as he clearly struggled to find what to say. "I can’t come see you then?" He landed on, earning a scoff from Lister, who walked away from the older man and made his way to the refreshment table in the corner. It was obvious to those who knew him that he was acting on instinct. Looking for something to drink. Looking for something to take the pressure of the situation off. But of course, there was no alcohol on the table anymore. Just water and juice. The juice would have to do.

"Ally, don’t be like that. You’ve no seen your auld man in donkeys, and this is how you want to act?"

"Lister." It was Rowan who had corrected him, sitting up on the couch and levelling Graham with a glare. While he knew very little of Listers family, he knew that this man was no father. He had just so happened to be Listers biological parent. There was nothing more between them.

"What do you want?" Lister asked again, holding the juice bottle to his lips and drinking almost half of it in one go.

Graham once again looked like he was about to obfuscate, but dropped it when Lister went to turn away from him again. "The house, Alister. It’s gone up... Me and Maria are struggling."

Rowan and Jimmy looked at each other, utter disbelief written over their features. The gaul of the man who had neglected their friend since he was a toddler to then come to him and ask for financial aid?

It would appear Lister also caught the irony, laughing bitterly as he finished the rest of his drink. "The house I have never been to? The house the woman you cheated on my mother with asked you to buy, so that you could play happy families while me and mum rotted away in a fucking council flat?" With each sentence, Listers voice rose higher and higher. "That fucking house?" He rounded the sofas to once again stand in front of the now angry man.

"You can fuck right off." Lister hissed, pointing to the door.

"I am your father, Alister. I helped raise you. You might look back on it now and scoff with all your multi-millions, but it was the damned best I could do." He was shouting too now, poking lister repeatedly on the chest. Rowan and Jimmy had stood up, fearing the worst with Lister's temper.

"You gave my mum fifteen fucking quid a month."

"It was all I had, Alister!" But Lister wouldn’t accept that. He threw the bottle across the room, watching as it grazzed past his father's head.

"Get out!"

"You are fucking pathetic. Your mother did about as much as I did, and you bought the stupid bitch a house? You give her money so she can prance about like she wasn’t some little fucking whore. And now, you’re acting like some big rockstar." He looked at Rowan and Jimmy. "But its just you and two fucking da-"

Graham Duncan didn't get to finish whatever hateful words he had wished to shout, as Lister had slammed his fist right into the centre of his face, feeling satisfied at the crunch of bone he felt and the cry that carried out through the room. The older man seemed to be torn between hitting back and staggering away, but the door was already open, and security was swarming Graham, dragging him out.

"Lis." Jimmy’s hand was on Listers shoulder from behind him, and Rowan was also taking a step closer so that he could make sure his friend was okay. Listers shoulders were hunched, and his face contorted as though he were in physical pain.

"Why... why doesn’t he care? Why does he..." He had begun to cry, and Jimmy was quick to tug him down by the shoulders in a hug. He rubbed at the drummer's back as he cried, shushing him gently to try and calm him down. Rowan also had a hand on Lister's shoulder.

"It's okay, Lis. he's gone." The bassist reassured. The drummer turned his head to look at Rowan, a small and appreciative smile on his tear-stained face.

"Well, he seemed lovely." Jimmy sighed, and Lister couldn’t stop the wet laugh he let out, rubbing at his eyes.

"A fucking delight, right?"

The three of them can’t help their giggles. Rowan quickly checked Lister's fist to be sure he hadn’t hurt it.

No matter how much it had hurt Lister to be confronted by his father, he felt comfort in the fact that he’d always been right about the man. He didn’t care about Lister or his mother. He only cared about himself and what he could get out of people. Perhaps it was a good thing that Lister had been raised by his hard-working and considerate mother. As much as he used to long for a father in his life, he knew now he was better off without him. It was his job to grow up to be a better man. not because of his father, but to spite him, to show him that not everyone was doomed to fall headfirst into the bottle and to never make it out. No. he had reason to live. to live happily.

"If I ever become a dad, I am never asking him for advice." Lister sniffed out, Rowan and Jimmy laughing as they pulled him in for a group hug.

[decoy-sammy]

New fic rec for me it seems. I'm scared already🥲

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[kajibunny]

⟡˖ ࣪ ren kaji as your boyfriend ₊˚⊹⋆

✿ summary: relationship headcanons (ren kaji x reader) ✿ warnings: awkward silliness, some parts are a lil suggestive ✿ a/n: i love this man so much you don’t understand pls ;__; hi i'm new here and ofc my first post is abt my love, ren kaji hihi pls be nice!! ✿ wc: 960

ꕤ kaji is more than just your bf, he’s also your bff, partner-in-crime, and sometimes guard dog (lol).

ꕤ he’s a little mean, but he means well. 

ꕤ everyone in town refers to you both as each other’s “other half”, as he relies on you quite a lot. not because he wants to boss you around (well, well, iykyk second year grade captain ren kaji mode on) but because he immensely trusts you.

ꕤ you also rely on him a lot, and he is a very protective boyfriend. he won’t let anyone harm a single hair on your head if he can help it.

ꕤ lots of people thought you two were already together way before you two actually got together, since you two were always…well, together. to the point that you adapted each other’s habits and vocabulary. (you catch yourself picking up kaji's direct tone of speaking and occassional "damnit!") no one was at all surprised when he introduced you as his lover. to everyone, you two were practically married already.

ꕤ it’s either both of you are bantering or play fighting one second, then all over each other the next. if ever you two have serious arguments, he’s usually the first one to apologize and ask how he can make it up to you. kaji is very mature that way, and is scared of hurting you, as he treasures you with all his heart (and body lol).

ꕤ has this habit of putting his lollipop in your mouth - just to see what you would do. loves the faces you make when you least expect it. thinks you’re so cute like that, but of course, will never admit it out loud. 

ꕤ when agitated, he calms down when you give him head pats and tell him that he’s a good boy. (double meaning i’m telling you)

ꕤ his love language is definitely quality time! he loves hanging around with you, walking home together, having deep talks in high places like a grassy hill or rooftop until the sun rises, listening to music together while you lean on his shoulder absorbing the sound from his headphones.

ꕤ your pet names for each other are lowkey insults like “idiot, dumbass, stupid” but affectionately. it became kind of like an inside joke between the two of you. he’d say the sweetest things, then pair it with a completely opposite word, like “it’s because i love you…you fool.” and you can't tell whether he wants to fight you or if he wants to kiss you. 

ꕤ kaji likes having collaborative playlists with you. doesn’t matter if you two don’t have the same music taste, since he’s always curious about what you’re listening to. sometimes sneaks in a few hidden messages using song titles in his playlists, for your eyes only.

ꕤ during the cold season, he lets you slip your hands in his hoodie pockets, embracing him from behind, like he’s your natural heat pack.

ꕤ when sleeping together, he’s a (literal) freak in the sheets. a blanket and pillow hogger, takes up more than half of the bed, ends up in the strangest sleeping positions, and at times accidentally pushes you until you end up on the floor. 

he definitely does not mean it though, if you hug him or hold him tightly while sleeping, there’s a higher chance he’ll stay still.

ꕤ when not on the bed, kaji likes to take naps on your lap or your shoulder, because according to him “it’s comfy and soft. like a pillow”

ꕤ lets you hold his valuables - lets you wear his hoodies, lets you hold his headphones, lets you drink from his bottled water, and even lets you suck on his lollipop (the one in his mouth okay but maybe also sometimes the one in his pants asdjbjdjcnd;;) but only you are allowed, because you’re special.

ꕤ you had to learn basic first aid because kaji always ends up with many injuries after fights, and gets angry at anyone who tries to touch him or disinfect his wounds, except for you. (soft!kaji *sighs* the effect you have on him aaaa) 

ꕤ makes a barrier with you in his arms whenever you’re passing with him in a crowded or busy street, to make sure no one bumps you or gets too close to you, to keep you safe.

ꕤ kaji is naturally such a good kisser, but claims he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. he tells you it’s just because he’s eaten a lot of lollipops, so he probably practiced unknowingly with his mouth and tongue. (help this is so funny)

ꕤ so many awkward and cute moments, that makes you love your little idiot ren kaji more and more each day (if that’s even possible) 

accidentally bit your hand when you fed him food. (from that day on, woke up to the realization that he might have a little bit of a biting kink)

once tried to do a kabedon on you like you two saw in one film you watched together but ended up tripping a bit, landing on top of you and squishing you.

there was a time he asked for love advice from hiragi when you two started dating, and umemiya ended up eavesdropping on them, and kaji ran away so fast as if he saw a ghost (ref: ch 58 kaji-senpai lol)

forgot he was wearing his headphones with music on full blast and broadcasted a little too loudly about how much he missed you because “you were gone on your trip for so long” and he “wanted to kiss your annoying face” all in front of his giggly vice captains, who of course heard every single thing he said. you made sure to tease him a lot about it afterwards.

© kajibunny 2024 / all rights reserved

[wonwoonlight]

just one day / yoon jeonghan

⇢ Jeonghan x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ fluff // angst // nonidol!au // brother's best friend // fake dating!au // they're idiots lmao // not edited nor proofread so pls bear w me lol // cursing and. two? kissing scenes.

⇢ A/N: this has been sitting unfinished in my google drive since... either last year or the beginning of this year lmao. i have always wanted to write brother's best friend and i had this sudden urge to finish it earlier so i did. been some time since i posted a proper fic so, enjoy~

He must be dreaming.

He must be.

“What?” Jeonghan says just for the sake of saying it.

“I like you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You blink at his firm voice, wondering what kind of situation this is. Sure, you shouldn’t be confessing to your brother’s best friend, but you feel like you’ve been obvious enough and you don’t see why you shouldn’t confess when it’s been eating you inside out.

And, yeah, you didn’t expect him to do anything about your confession (or even say that he likes you back), but you didn’t expect this either.

“What do you mean I don’t?” you frown, looking at him accusingly. “I like you.”

“You don’t, kid.” He sighs, already feeling a headache coming. He’s not stupid, alright, he has enough sense to gather that his best friend’s little sister probably has something on him–a crush, perhaps, but he’s never thought it was real enough for you to feel the need to confess.

It doesn’t help that he is attracted to you, has always been since you’ve gone back from Sydney after finishing university a year ago. He admits he’s always thought you’re attractive, and if he’s being honest, he would’ve asked you out first if not for the fact that you’re literally Joshua Hong’s little sister.

As if it’s not enough that not dating his best friend’s little sister has always been a code he follows, Shua has always been a little too protective as a brother. He’s seen firsthand how the guy scared off some who had the guts to flirt with you, seen how for two decades only two guys had ever been declared good enough to date you (he couldn’t do anything about the flings you had when you were abroad, but at least you’ve always been appreciative of his protectiveness and you never missed to inform him of some guys who were actually trying to get it on with you).

Long story short, Jeonghan does not wish to be on the receiving end of Shua’s scrutinizing eyes regardless of how much he’s actually into you.

“Look, you know me,” he starts when he realizes you’re not backing down. He looks away, pretending to be frustrated, though it’s really just because he thinks he’ll relent if he looks into your eyes a second longer. “I’m not gonna make a good boyfriend and I’m literally your brother’s best friend.”

You don’t seem to care about the first part of his sentence, irked by the fact that him being best friend with Shua would be an obstacle in your way. Shouldn’t it be easier for him to get a seal of approval if he’s already close with your brother? But, then again, Shua probably knows Jeonghan inside out and knowing too much is never a good thing.

“So what?” you say anyway, because if there’s any word that would describe you perfectly, it’s ‘stubborn’. “Why does it matter that you’re his best friend?”

Jeonghan sends you a look, and you pout because you actually get what he means. You know Shua, after all, and as much as you want to condition yourself to believe that Jeonghan would be the person Shua approves of with all his heart, you also know that even if your brother actually approves, he would put him through hell just for the fun of it.

Anyway, this doesn’t tell you at all where Jeonghan actually stands about you.

“So, you don’t like me?” you shoot straight to it, as if Jeonghan wouldn’t be able to hear your heart beating like there’s no tomorrow if he takes even one step closer–as if your ears aren’t hot from saying it out loud. Jeonghan does not need to know how flustered you actually are.

And it works, because he seems to be taken aback by your boldness and you try your best to hide a victory grin at that. You should probably be more grateful that he can’t stand to look at you for more than three seconds; if he had, he would’ve seen the tip of your ears turning red and the speck of blush on your face, which means he could’ve easily taken control of the situation and turned it against you.

His silence encourages you, because if he really doesn’t like you then he would tell you so. As much as Jeonghan is a master of tricks and he’s great at acting, he’s never been good at hiding his feelings.

Jeonghan bites his lip, trying to get a way out of this. Why can’t he just say no and be done with it? Sure, he’s not in love with you or anything (yet?), but it’s a straight out lie to say he’s never seen you that way.

After all, there’s a reason why he’s been avoiding you the past few months. 

You just have to be more daring these days, and as much as he wills himself to behave, there are times when he’s already flirting with you before he knows it. He’s just lucky Shua has never caught you two.

Plus, you’ve taken a liking to wearing a crop top and it’s the absolute death of him.

“Tell you what,” you say before he does. “Date me.”

Jeonghan chokes on nothing, violently coughs that his shoulders are shaking and you actually need to pat his back so he’ll calm down.

“Are you okay?” You ask worriedly, and he’s terribly conscious of your hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm, of the way your brows furrow in concern, of the way your lips are a little ajar and if he moves forward just a little–

“Yeah.” He shakes his head despite the word, then clears his throat and squares his shoulders before he looks the other way around. He doesn’t step away though, and it’s so fucking stupid that he frowns when you do. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Date me.” You repeat anyway, though you know this is Jeonghan’s way of  giving you an out in case you want to pretend like you didn’t just say that earlier. He opens his mouth, and you can hear what he’s going to say even if he hasn’t said anything so you cut him yet again. “Just for one day.”

“Kid–”

“Stop,” you say firmly, something akin to determination flashes through your eyes that he’s actually taken aback. “Stop calling me that.”

He sighs out your name, but you’re not hearing it because if you back down now you know you won’t have it in you to say this out loud again. You’re fueled by nothing but impulse and you’re not going to let Yoon Jeonghan himself slow you down.

“Han, I see the way you look at me–you’ve gone past seeing me as a kid since I came back from Sydney and it’s been a year since then. I’m not stupid.”

It’s hard to describe the way he looks at you, and he’s not blaming you because he is confused. The mixed feelings bursting in his chest is much too complicated for him to explain. Let alone through words, even his consciousness does not know how to register what he’s feeling.

Your face falls at his silence, and whatever courage that drives you up to this point is starting to ebb little by little. You’re so goddamn stupid–did you really think confessing to him would lift the weight off your shoulders? What made you think Jeonghan would be able to treat you as usual after you confessed?

Didn’t you confess only because it’s heaving you down? Because you thought you’d regret it if you stayed silent?

Then what is this weight on your chest? 

What is this disappointment looming all over your body?

Why the fuck are your eyes pricking with tears?

Still, you stand your ground and square yourself up in front of him. You’ve gone this far. If you’re going to be embarrassing, might as well do it for a reason. 

“Okay,” he breaks his silence, his tone defeated for whatever reason. It’s not discouraging though, more like unsure and maybe a little hopeful, and when you look up, he’s biting his lip in contemplation. “Just one day, right?”

“But you have to actually treat me like I’m your girlfriend.” You push, heart beating both in excitement and fear. Because what if he backs out of nowhere? He’s not that kind of person, but this situation is nothing sort of normal and his consciousness just might get to him if you don’t push him already.

Jeonghan bites his lip, looking at you like you’re a bad idea that he’s caving into. And he’s starting to think that it’s true. But if he’s being honest, he’s not against this at all. He also wants to know how it’d feel like to hold your hands and just listen to you talk without thinking about Shua and whatever that will follow if he ever finds out.

Frankly, one day wouldn’t be enough, but that’s better than nothing, right? And he would never have the guts to propose it himself, he admits, so this is a chance that he knows he wouldn’t get his hands on ever again.

He sighs, praying to every god up there that this won’t backfire on him.

“Okay,” he whispers, more to himself than to you, and then repeats it once again, this time firmer, looking at you straight in the eyes. “Shua’s going on a business trip next week, right?”

You nod.

“I’ll see you next Saturday?”

You bite down your lip so hard that you taste blood to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.

Tuesday, 26 July

[14:32] Yoon Jeonghan😠: beach or amusement park

[14:50] ?????

[14:50] its not a surprise?

[14:54] Yoon Jeonghan😠: just pick one, kid

[14:55] 🙄 beach ig

Thursday, 28 July

[01:11] Yoon Jeonghan😠: festival or night market

[01:12] ?????? sir?? go to sleep??

[01:12] didnt you choose a place alrd???

[01:12] but night market

[01:13] Yoon Jeonghan😠: you go to sleep

Yoon Jeonghan😠 is typing…

…

Yoon Jeonghan😠 is typing…

[01:17] Yoon Jeonghan😠: good night, kid

[01:18] nightttttt

Friday, 29 July

[22:20] Yoon Jeonghan😠: wear something light tomorrow, but bring a jacket just in case it gets cold at night

Saturday, 30 July

[00:03] k, boyfriend 😌

[00:03] sorry, i was on the phone with chaeyoung earlier

[00:07] Yoon Jeonghan😠: i really cant with you

[00:07] Yoon Jeonghan😠: and chaeyoung as in vernon’s cousin? your friend from high school?

[00:07] Yoon Jeonghan😠: you still talk to her?

[00:08] yes!! surprised that u rmb her :0

[00:08] and i actually just met her by accident earlier today and we decided to catch up thru the phone bc i had to go somewhere

[00:09] apparently, she’s dating choi seungcheol or smth 👀

Incoming call from Yoon Jeonghan😠 - 00:11

Call ended - 02:27

[02:27] Yoon Jeonghan😠: you fell asleep. night, babe 🤪 see you

You bite your lip in giddiness as you keep on rereading Jeonghan’s text, like you’re not giddy enough already at the prospect of today.

You fell asleep last night while on the phone with Jeonghan, but whatever curse you were about to dump into yourself for falling asleep during what might be your only chance to be on the phone with Jeonghan during ungodly hours was immediately wiped out when you saw his text.

Yes, you’d flirt with each other from time to time–but never through texts, and the prospect of having a message from him that you can read over and over again some time in the future is both delightful and… sad.

The sudden tug on your heart and consciousness is a little heavy, a reminder that he’s doing that because you asked him to. That whatever’s happening in the span of today is an illusion, one that Jeonghan agrees on creating.

Why, you don’t want to dwell on it too much.

That should be your motto for the day: fuck it.

So what if it was an illusion? Jeonghan agreed and you’re going to make the best out of it. If you’re never going to be Jeonghan’s girlfriend, might as well be shameless and live your teenage (and adult, if you’re being honest) dream and be his girlfriend for the day now so you can stamp it in your memory. You only have today and you’re not going to spend any second thinking about the technicality of it.

As far as you know, Jeonghan is your boyfriend and he’s taking you out for the day.

You jump when your phone pings, the notification on your lockscreen rids you of whatever negativity that was in your mind literally seconds ago as you grin and make your way out of your apartment.

[09:17] Yoon Jeonghan😠: am in the lobby. get ur pretty self here, angel.

For all you know, the world is plenty unfair. But seeing Jeonghan looking like that with a simple white tee and a faded pair of jeans reminds you just how unfair the world actually is. Like it’s not unfair enough already because he’s not your actual boyfriend.

“Come on, let me take a picture of you,” he says as he softly takes your hand, pulling you up from the mat. “The wind isn’t too strong and you’re looking particularly pretty today.”

You scrunch your nose as you mock annoyance, a failed attempt to mask your blush. Hopefully, Jeonghan would think you’re simply flushed because of the sun and not because of him.

“I don’t like taking pictures.”

“How dare you lie to me.” Jeonghan says without missing a beat. “I know you make Shua take a ton shit pictures of you when you’re out somewhere.”

You pout at this, and as much as you know Jeonghan doesn’t mean anything by it, the mention of your brother isn’t exactly welcome today because his name just reminds you that this isn’t real and he’s a big part of the reason why.

“Can you not talk about my brother?” You say softly, which Jeonghan easily catches even if he’s not sure you mean for him to hear or not. The sadness in your voice is genuine though, and he makes a mental note to stop mentioning Joshua for the rest of the day. He’s starting to question once again if this is the right thing to do even for a day–after all, Joshua is his best friend, and this particular conversation is the exact reason why he’s not supposed to do this.

But he’s promised you he’ll treat you like his girlfriend–perhaps another personal agenda of his because he does want to experience being able to be your boyfriend even for a day. He should’ve thought more before okay-ing your proposal instead of thinking about it right now when you’re in front of him, in a simple white shirt and a black skirt that stops just below the middle of your thigh but somehow still the prettiest he’s ever seen. 

He wonders if this is how you usually dress up for your dates, and something bitter makes it to the tip of his tongue as he thinks about someone else taking you on a date. 

“Sorry. Come on, let’s take a picture together.” His fingers wrap around your wrist to pull you closer before eventually linking them with yours. “You’re very pretty today, have I told you?”

“You have.” You scrunch your nose and pretend to roll your eyes at the sudden sweetness he basks you in even though you’re liking every second of it. “Literally one minute ago.”

“Well, you really do look very beautiful and I want you to know.” He lowers his voice an octave and stares right into your eyes before he eventually bursts out laughing.

“Stop!” You giggle, knowing that he’s doing this on purpose to annoy you. “That’s too fucking cheesy and you know it.”

He laughs along with you, then tightens his fingers in yours like they’re not interlocked already.

“I mean it though.” He whispers one last time, not looking at you this time around because his heart might fucking burst to say it to your face without the faux of messing with you. “You do look beautiful.”

At least you share the sentiment, as you quietly duck your head to hide your smile, whispering a thanks that’s only meant for the two of you.

Jeonghan keeps his end of the bargain, you’re happy to know, as you don’t even think about your brother and the pretense that is your relationship for the rest of the day. You freely flirt with each other, cheeky smile and winks being thrown here and there. His hands never seem to leave you, and you gladly cling on to him even if you don’t need to.

You get ice cream, insist that you want the plain strawberry one only to eventually switch with Jeonghan’s cookies and creams because his looks better. He plays hard to get before giving in to you, but not before swiping ice cream from the side of your lips and licks his thumb like that shit isn’t going to give you a heart attack.

It’s around seven when you both get to the night market not too far from the beach, and you’re both even gigglier than earlier which you didn’t think was possible. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you’re the furthest thing from complaining as you continue at whatever dumb jokes Jeonghan throws your way.

The night market isn’t as crowded as you think it would be, but it still is crowded and Jeonghan makes a show of throwing his arm around your shoulder because he ‘doesn’t want to lose you’ and you seem a little cold (which you kinda are).

You elbow him at this, shake your head and pretend like you’re not internally dying from the closeness between the two of you.

“That’s so lame.” You snicker. “Just say you want me close and go.”

“I do want you close.” He whispers unexpectedly, catching you entirely off guard that you trip on your own foot you almost fall on your face. He doesn’t seem to realize you tripped because you’re flustered, which works good for you, and he flicks your forehead as he scolds you to be more careful and goes back to holding your hand.

“Seriously. How are you still so clumsy?”

You don’t like being reprimanded by Jeonghan, because it awfully reminds you that you’re younger than him–that you’re his best friend’s little sister. And as much as you know Jeonghan definitely does not see you as a sister, the implication that he has to see you as one because of the association is very disheartening. 

“Why are you frowning?” He copies the gesture, and you shake your head, telling him it’s nothing. The night is ending, and you don’t want to waste more time thinking about stuff that you can think of tomorrow when you’re not in a time limited relationship with Yoon Jeonghan. “No, tell me–”

“Jeonghan?”

The both of you turn at the call of his name, and your frown deepens as you see Jisoo in front of you, Jeonghan’s ex that he amicably broke up with. The one ex that has always made you feel like shit because she’s everything you’re not and they were such a picture perfect couple that you’re sure they’d go back together someday.

It does not feel good to see her today of all days.

“Oh, hi!” She kindly greets you, her smile way too genuine for you to think she’s just being polite and secretly hates you inside. Gosh. You need to stop watching too many TV dramas. “Joshua’s sister… right?”

There it is again. The reminder that you’re his sister–something you really don’t need to hear today.

“Hi.” You smile awkwardly, and only then remember your hand is still pretty much joined with Jeonghan’s. You don't know how to feel about the fact that his reflex is not to let go of your hand in front of his ex who obviously knows your brother. You try to let go of his hand, but Jeonghan holds on tighter, as if telling you it’s okay and there’s no need to worry about Jisoo.

They share a small chat for a bit before eventually parting, and Jisoo wishes you both a good night, which makes you hate yourself so much for being jealous of the girl when she doesn’t even have an ounce of bad energy towards you.

You try to enjoy the rest of the night, but Jisoo’s appearance just reminds you that this whole thing is pretty much fake. That someone out there is going to be in your place for real–able to hold his hand and just be with him all the time without having to wait for your brother to go on a business trip to even hang out with each other. Without some stupid request and guilt eating them inside out because they’re not supposed to do this.

Trying to be subtle, you put on an act of wanting to visit every stall in the festival and pretend to be tired after about thirty minutes or so. You’re surprised Jeonghan isn’t already tired to begin with, this guy has the battery of a five-years-old phone, you didn’t expect him to actually bring you around until night if you’re being completely honest.

Jeonghan complies when you tell him you’re ready to go home, and you don’t even realize he’s also being weirdly quiet because you’re too deep in your thoughts. And it’s once his car is parked on the parking lot of your apartment building that you finally open your mouth trying to say something–anything.

You want to thank him for today. To thank him for making a memory that you’ll dearly hold on to, for giving you a standard of what a boyfriend is supposed to be even for a day. For fulfilling your dumb request when he doesn’t even have to.

But what comes out of your mouth is something entirely different and you almost want to bash your head against the door of his car right after.

“Whoever’s going to be your girlfriend is very lucky.”

You can hear Jeonghan takes a sharp breath, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying because you’re just so fucking stupid like that.

You try to remind yourself that you asked for this. That Jeonghan is doing you a favour and owes you nothing. That you should be thankful you’ve even gotten the chance to play girlfriend with him when he could’ve just embarrassed you and walked away after your proposal.

The deafening silence inside the car is very loud, and you feel like you’re suffocated by things unseen that you just want to get out of the car and take a very deep breath. So you do just that: reach for the door of his car because you can’t take being so close to him anymore.

It’s your fault. You shouldn’t have asked for this. Shouldn’t have asked for a taste of heaven because surely you would want more and you’ll die of thirst right after. Now you’re just going to be awkward with him until god knows when and you’re regretting it already. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You should’ve been satisfied with your close friendship with him, with loving him from afar. Now you’ve ruined things between you and him and who knows when things will get back to normal? He’ll fucking think of you as pathetic and it’s just going to be pity in his eyes everytime he looks at you now.

“Hey!” Jeonghan jumps in alert the moment you step out of his car, quickly follows through and catches you before you take another step away from him. “What–why are you in such a hurry?”

You look down to your shoes, because you can’t stomach looking at him right now just in case you’ll see what you fear will be reflected in his eyes.

“Hey… Look at me?” He tries once again, tone getting a little helpless. But you shake your head, because you’re sure you’ll start crying if you do and you want to preserve the little dignity you still have in front of him. But Jeonghan doesn’t stop there, he whispers a ‘please?’ and lifts your chin gently so you’ll look at him, his heart breaking when he sees how close you are to tears and his throat closing at how he’s the reason behind all this.

“Thank you.” You brave yourself. It’s the least you can do, because as much as you’re going to grovel for the next few months, you know that this particular memory with Jeonghan will always be dear to your heart and you’ll treasure it forever. “I’m sorry for taking your time and–”

“Ah, fuck it.” You hear him say before he dives into your lips, not minding the way you’re frozen in place out of shock. He hums against your lips, and it’s then that you finally kiss him back, your hands settle over his shoulders and your whole body relaxed under his touch.

When the both of you pull away, you’re a little out of breath and your thoughts all over the place. But there’s a small smile in Jeonghan’s face that gets you mirroring the gesture. He closes his eyes as he places his forehead on yours, and you follow suit, feeling the warmth of his breath on your face.

“It’s… okay for me to do that, right?” He asks, albeit a little too late. You still don’t know what the whole things mean, but you find yourself chuckling, because you honestly would let him do anything to you. But he doesn’t need to know the kind of power he has over you, so you simply nod and let him have his peace.

“Han?” You say after a while. “What does this mean for us?”

Jeonghan stares into your eyes, deep in his own thoughts as if he’s trying to rearrange his words so they don’t stumble out of his mouth like a trainwreck.

“Let’s see where this takes us?”

“But Shua…?”

He presses his lips together and wraps his arms around you, pushing you into his neck as he breathes in your scent.

“Whatever happens, happens.” He decides, already resigning that he can’t possibly let you go now that he knows how it feels like to have you like this. He’ll make your brother understand somehow, but right now, he wants to be with you and savors the little time he has with you before your brother comes back, not even minding the way his phone has been vibrating in his pocket.

[Joshua sent a picture.]

Joshua: heard from Jisoo you’re on a date w my sister??????????????????

Joshua: did you finally get out of your ass and stop being in denial lmaoooooooooooooo

Joshua: just pls be safe

Joshua: she’s still my sister

Joshua: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

©wonwoonlight – all rights reserved. I don’t allow any reposting, translation, and any other kind of redistribution of this fic. Please tell me if you’re aware of anyone doing this without my permission.

[suhkusa]

HELLOOOO i see you opened ur req👀 can I req for suna or atsumu suddenly getting a girlfriend, like hardlaunching her on social media, after almost a year of being on and off... can it be angst to comfort/fluff (pls i want to cope so bad from my prev situationship bahaaaaahahha) tysm just so u know i love u and ur works and prolly the first one to like em immediately>< <3

CASUAL.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, situationship-to-relationship lol

A/N. ouchhh i hope this is good anon ><

Being in a situationship with Atsumu Miya was the absolute worst.

Sometimes it felt like he was stringing you along in his little game, while other times it felt like you two were truly meant to be together. 

There were many invisible boundaries in the relationship, or talking stage, or whatever he wanted to call it, that were made without having to say a thing. 

It was mutually exclusive, so no talking to other people romantically.

You two didn’t post each other on social media.

The two of you would make it official when you both were ready.

The rules were easy to follow. Though, you had always been a bit iffy on the third one. When would the two of you deem yourselves “ready” when you’ve already been talking for so long?

———

The worst part about Atsumu, was that he was so indecisive. 

One minute, the two of you could be acting as if you were a married couple. Going on dates, spending time at each other’s houses, and late night calls. The two of you even had pet names for each other! 

But then the next minute, he decides his volleyball career is more important. Or that he’s too busy. Or that he wants a break. Or that you’re too controlling. So many excuses, yet every time he calls out to you to come back, you come running back head over heels. 

And it hurts. It hurts being with him even though you two had never made it official. How could you feel so tethered and intertwined with a man who never had the guts to ask you to be his and only his? Who never posts you on social media?

You weren’t controlling. You were just tired of this cat and mouse game. You just wanted certainty and reassurance. 

Was that so much to ask for?

Apparently for Atsumu Miya, it is.

“I don’t get it Atsumu, why can’t we just say we’re together? Everyone already knows we basically are!” you sigh. 

The two of you sat in his apartment as the TV played in the midst of your argument. This was definitely one of the worst arguments that had occurred between you two.

“If we’re basically together then why can’t you just be happy? Do I need to ask you out? To post you?” he rebuttals, his voice clearly agitated.

“Because! You haven’t asked me out. That stuff is the bare minimum yet I’m here begging. You’re so comfortable in this weird limbo talking stage where it’s so easy for you to leave me and then hope I come crawling back!” you cry, you hadn’t even realized you started to cry. “I’m so, so tired of this shit!”

“If you’re so tired, then leave!”

Usually during the short breaks of your situationship with Atsumu Miya, it was always him who had decided to call it off. But his words had snapped a cord in you that had already been thinned to its last thread.

The two of you share a tense look, both unmoving. It’s you who decides to break the silence.

“Me? Leave? Hah, fine. I will,” you’re quick to grab your bag on the side table.

“Wait, Y/N-”

“And don’t expect me to come crawling back to you, Miya. This time you really did it,”

He freezes when you open the door, eyes filled with tears as you look back at him. 

“Bye,”

The door shuts before he could say anything.

What was he supposed to do now?

———

If Atsumu knew one thing for sure, it was that he was stupid. 100%, a million times over, he was an idiot.

His concept of love and relationships were hindered during his high school days. The ability to commit was a hard idea to grasp onto. 

But you were different. 

You were kind and patient, unlike any one he’s ever known, and he was undeniably scared. Scared to lose you, scared to fuck up. And so what did he do every time he got scared?

He ran away and gave you some bullshit excuse. But even then, you’d come back time and time again.

But now it is different. He told you to leave and you really did. You wouldn’t come back to him willingly.

Atsumu’s stupid. That’s why he’s at your doorstep in the rain.

He rings the doorbell. He’s shocked when you open it on the first attempt.

“What are you doing?” your quiet voice says.

Atsumu takes in your disheveled appearance. You definitely had been crying based on your swollen eyes.

“I—” Atsumu can’t find the words. He’s really scared.

“If you’re going to yell at me or ask me to come back, you better be ready to beg me Atsumu, I’m not doing a stupid “talking stage” or some cheap crap you come up with,”

“I’m sorry, I-l fucked up really bad,”

You don’t say anything in response, allowing him to continue. 

“I love you so much,” he’s stuttering, “I’m really scared but I want to try with you, I want to be with you, for real this time,”

“And if I say yes, are you just going to leave me when it’s convenient for you?” your own voice sounds a bit hesitant. 

“No, no. I promise you. I mean everything that’s coming out of my mouth,”

You look like you’re lost in thought for a split second before you speak. “I’ll be with you, Atsumu. For real,” you smile as you mock his words.

Another moment passes by, and before you know it, you’re kissing him and he kisses you.

———

ATSUMU MIYA HAS MADE A NEW POST.

[tsumumiya]: my person ❤️

[yn.lnnnn commented]: ughh loves it <3 ure so cute ml

>>> [tsumumiya replied]: I LOVE YOU!!!!!

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[blossiewossie]

— Lawless Affair

pairing : gojo x reader x geto genre : business men au (lawyers), smut rating : mature word count : 2k+

shoutout to @junqkook for helping me with learning the ways of tumblr and for helping me prep to post; i still have lots to learn but you made it less intimidating teehee ♡

— note : hihi this is my first time using tumblr and also posting on tumblr, pls be kind. also, i put down 'smut' but the spicy stuff could come in a later part (when i eventually write it, lol) enjoy!

“Ah, ____, I see you’re all set up at your desk!,” you heard someone exclaim behind you.

Spinning around in your chair, you look up to see one of your new colleagues smiling cheerfully at you while holding a woven basket full of supplies. Her silky black hair was tied up in a half-up do with a cute pink bow on it, completely encapsulating her bubbly personality.

“I’m sorry to bug you, but I brought you these!,” she exclaimed brightly, plopping the basket down. She reached in and started pulling out different items for you to use to decorate your cubicle, including a bunch more bows of various sizes.

“Thank you, uh…,” you trailed off sheepishly, glancing at the spot where you were told to wear your name tag on her shirt before realizing she didn’t have hers on.

“Oh, where are my manners?!,” she cried out loud. “I’m Utahime Iori, but you can just call me Iori! I figured since it’s your first day here with us, I’d give you a hand with decorating your spot!”

“Cut it out, would you? You’ll scare her away!,” demanded another colleague. Turning your head towards the new voice, you spot a woman with silver hair sashaying towards you, her heels clicking against the floor. She came to a stop next to Iori and nudged her before turning to you with an apologetic smile, while Iori coughed awkwardly.

“Sorry about her, she tends to overwhelm our new hires with her presence. I promise she means well,” says the new woman. “I’m Mei Mei,” she says.

“Hi, I’m ____,” you say back, laughing as Iori sticks her tongue out at the unimpressed colleague.

You tell them you appreciate how welcoming they are, as you were feeling quite nervous about today. After all, not everyone gets a chance to work at a prestigious law firm under one of the greatest lawyers of the country.

The two women quickly assure you that you’re in good hands and the topic is quickly changed as you all started getting to know each other. Many moments, and laughs, later, you are all exchanging numbers so that you could contact each other outside of work. As the two women say their goodbyes and you turn to face your desk, Mei Mei stops in her tracks and returns to your desk once more.

“Just a final thought. I want to give you a warning,” her voice drops to a whisper, while she glances around carefully.

Intrigued, you lean in, eager to hear what she has to say.

“Whatever you do, do not let him in your pants.”

Sputtering wildly, you look back at Mei Mei with a shocked expression while she has a curious look on her face.

“I’m not letting anyone in my pants, wha-,” you start to stutter out when Mei Mei’s palm splats across your lips, hushing you immediately.

Mei Mei glances around once more before removing her hand.

“The big boss has a friend that likes to linger in here when he has nothing else to do at his own firm,” she says softly. “We cannot speak ill about him freely, but as your friend now, I must warn you. Do not fall for his games. He has slept with every new hire we have had. You don’t want to be tangled up in his mess.”

Straightening up, she looks around once more before nodding at you. Turning on her heel and flipping her silvery locks, she walks away while yelling out a loud ‘Nice talking to you, ____!’ before entering the hallway and disappearing.

Shaking away your thoughts, you straighten back towards your desk and smile amusedly at the basket left behind by your new friends. Digging through, you find a couple of bows of your favorite color and start piling them up on the side, reminding yourself to put them up before you leave for the day.

As the day drags on, you commit to your work meticulously, organizing and storing files away in their proper locations. You hear your coworkers occasionally walking around, but all is silent for the most part.

The next thing you know, BANG!

The door leading into the office area slams open and you see someone’s leg outstretched, as if they had kicked the door.

Startled, you scoot back and stand to lean over your cubicle to see what the commotion’s about as some of your coworkers do the same around you. Some of them have a wide grin on their faces while others roll their eyes and continue on their work as if nothing has happened. You notice most of the women around you are the ones keeping an eye on the door. Must be the hot-shot, you think to yourself.

The outstretched leg at the door set itself down and the man behind it walked in, exuding all the confidence in the world with his stride. You trail your eyes from his covered legs up, appreciating how well his slacks accentuated his long limbs. They continue to make their way up his torso to his chest, where he’s sporting a snug, white button-up with the top buttons lose. His matching suit jacket wrapped seductively around his arms, showing off their physique as he swung them nonchalantly by his side. Finally you raise your eyes up to his face and your breath hitches in your throat.

His eyes — they’re like the color of ice, but there’s more to it. They’re almost paradoxical, the way they sparkle with light but also glint with a hint of darkness. Paired with such breathtaking eyes was his unique hair color, as white as snow. The man was a walking epitome of winter, beautiful yet dangerous. And his smirk, that tied it all together.

Before you was an angel with devilish intentions.

You swore you could see the women in the room swoon instantaneously as the mysterious man waltzed his way around, stopping to chat with different people. Clearing your throat, you duck back down into your seat and try your best to continue where you left off in your work, suddenly feeling a rush of heat between your legs.

Jeez louise, you think to yourself.

Never in your life has a man made your body react like that from just looking at him. Sure, you’ve read some spicy stories here and there that made you want to touch yourself, but just his mere presence is making you feel more than all those stories combined.

You bite your lip as you continue typing, trying to ignore the conversations around you. Soon after you started to finally concentrate and your shoulders relax, a deep hush fell across the room as another set of footsteps make their way into the room, this time from your right side, where the boss’ office was.

“Ah, Satoru, I thought I’d find you here,” said a velvety voice.

Looking up, you realize your boss has stopped right in front of your cubicle as he spoke to the mysterious man. You recognize his voice from when he joined the human resource manager’s call to congratulate you on getting the job, but now you finally get to put a face to the voice — and what a face it is.

His eyes were closed as he smiled towards the mysterious man, making the latter return it with his own smile. His arms were crossed lazily, making his built arms and his toned chest puff out of his navy blue suit. His hair was tied up messily into a bun, with strands coming down the left side of his face, framing it nicely. You could see his ears, pierced and adorned with dark circular earrings. He stood tall, his frame towering over everyone but his friend, who had started to stroll leisurely towards him.

Gods, does being attractive come with being a lawyer?

“My, my, is that any way to welcome your friend, Seguru?”, said the man, Satoru.

You file that name into your memory, making sure to keep it there for later.

You peek through your lashes as the handsome man finally stops in front of your cubicle as well. Squeezing your thighs tightly, you listen as the two lawyers chat absentmindedly and try your best to type quietly. You do your best to tune out their conversation out of respect, but you can’t help stealing glances at them

As you went to look up at them once more, you realize the man Satoru was now looking at you curiously while your boss continued talking. Your breath hitches again as you stare into his twinkling eyes. Time seems to slow as all you can see is him.

You don’t realize your boss stopped talking until he clears his throat to get his friend’s attention, swiftly ending the intense eye contact between you both. Blushing bashfully, you glance back at your boss to see he was already staring at you with an eyebrow raised. He smiles and turns, facing you now.

“Ah, ____. I forgot to come introduce myself to you. I am Seguru Geto, we talked briefly on the call with Mr. Yu, the human resource manager.”, he said proudly, reaching his hand out to you.

You shake his hand as you spoke, noticing how small yours was in his.

“Hello, Mr. Geto. I’m honored to meet you!”, you say brightly, returning his smile with one of yours.

Your boss' smile widens as he turns his body slightly towards the mysterious man and stretches his hand out to him with his palm up.

“This is my friend and the owner of our sister firm, Satoru Gojo. You’ll see him here as he tends to visit us quite often while he lets his fellow lawyers pick up his slack.”

Your hand is suddenly lifted, taken by the handsome man himself, as he places a gentle kiss on it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Hello there, ____.”, he says slowly, as if tasting your name on his lips, his smile now a smirk once more.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Gojo,” you stutter out, yanking your hand back to your chest. You can feel your cheeks heating up again as you shyly look up at him. He sends you a wink as Mr. Geto wraps an arm around his shoulders and starts walking back towards his office, hollering for everyone to get back to work and apologizing for the interruption.

Your eyes follow their leaving forms, trying to decipher if this is real life. Before the door to the boss’ office closes, you see them both stopping to chatter, glance your way with smiles, and exit the room.

You look back to your computer once more, feeling the same heat rush between your legs from before. Now it wasn’t just because of Mr. Gojo, but also because your boss is an attractive specimen as well. A naughty thought of being with both of them crept into your mind, making you bite your lip intensely. The air around you felt warmer than before.

Leaving your desk, you quietly tell the clerk to the side of you that you’ll be going to the bathroom, getting a thumbs up in return. You quickly make your way down the hall to where the bathrooms are located. Rushing towards the sink, you turn the faucet to the cold water side and wet your hands, bringing them up to your face and neck as you look at yourself in the mirror. You notice your bottom lip was a bit red, bringing back your earlier thoughts. The sudden thought of being with both of your senior lawyers made your pussy tingle.

Groaning, you throw your hands back under the cold water to try and distract yourself from your naughty thoughts. You think back to your friend’s warning from earlier. Curiously, you wonder why she didn’t give you a heads up on how much of a hunk your boss was as well. Maybe he’s married, you thought as you dried your hands. Tossing away the napkins, you straighten up your blouse and skirt before nodding at the mirror in satisfaction.

Spinning on your heel, you make your way out of the bathroom and into the hallway. Turning back towards the office area, you walk forward — only to slam into a wall.

Faltering back a couple steps, you feel a pair of hands reach out to steady you.

Quickly apologizing, you look up to see none other than Mr. Gojo looking down at you with a concerned look.

“Are you alright, ____?”, he says, looking you over, probably scanning for any injuries.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you-,”

“This is why I told you not to walk backwards,” said Mr. Geto abruptly, rushing forward from behind Mr. Gojo, stopping behind you to look at you as well. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You realize now that both men are standing on either side of you, each one scanning your frame from the front and back. You look back up towards Gojo, his eyes now settled back on yours, an eyebrow cocked with a sideways grin. You glance back behind you to see Geto’s eyes surveying your body, lingering on your behind for a moment, before bringing them back up to meet yours, a mischievous smile gracing his lips. You swallow the lump in your throat and cough, before nodding to both of them that you’re okay.

The two men make eye contact before looking back at you and nod as well, both of their eyes twinkling as if there was an inside joke that you missed out on. Shuffling your weight from one heel to the other, you apologize again for not looking at where you were going and excuse yourself so that you can go back to work.

Walking away quickly, you couldn’t help but hear them chuckle to themselves as they talked in hushed tones. Before you reach the end of the hallway and enter the office area, you turn your head back to look at them — only to see them already looking at you with matching smirks on their faces.

Sitting down at your desk, you only had one thought on your mind as you tried to continue your work once more:

What a first day at work this has been.

[emosingles]

hello fellow girls, gays, and formless blobs <3

if you or anyone you know is going to any of the remaining tit shows and have access to preshow but are stumped when it comes to coming up with any questions- here is a list of questions i’ve made!

30 Questions for dip n pip!

1. What are your favorite 1D songs?

2. What’s the last concert you attended?

3. If you could only watch one show for the rest of your lives, TOGETHER, what would it be?

4. Create drag names for one another.

5. What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done trying to grab the attention of someone you fancy?

6. how do you think your style has evolved over time and who are your style inspos / icons?

7. What was the last “normal” job y’all had before the YouTubes?

8. What TV series did you recently watch together?

9. Are y’all aware of phannie Fridays?

10. Describe your first impression of each other in one word

11. What’s your favorite memory of touring from tatinof?

12. What’s the most unexpected dm you’ve ever received from a famous person?

13. Phil, will you ever do a Dan-esque one man show?

14. Do an impression of each other

15. Please explain the story behind “can Phil express an opinion” at that one panel because I felt the rage beam off the screen and still don’t know the context.

16. Phil, is it true that you won the Guinness world record for fastest coin stacking? Please explain how this even happened

17. DAN, we have heard Phil’s first impression of you (posh and annoying blah blah blah) but what was YOUR first impression of Phil when you two first met?

18. Have y’all been asked to be interviewed on hot ones? Dan would probably take it like a champ, Phil on the other hand- my prayers are with you babe.

19. If you could bonk any fictional character, who would it be?

20. What made y’all think to wear those ICONIC red and green uni sweatshirts for the photo cards- simply just for vibes or nostalgia?

21. three legged DDR challenge pt2 when?

22. Invisible string theory? more like y’all are being bound by shock collars and steel chains through every universe.

23. Please stop running off the stage I’m scared one of you is going to get hurt. Please. Omg. Stop. I. Beg.

24. Will y’all post a gaming vids blooper reel at the end of the year (for good old times sake) :3

25. who came up with the idea to do the april fools tasteful nude… just curious lol.

26. What kind of case do you have for the iphad? Or is it just free balling in the wind caseless?

27. How in the hell did Dan not realize the PVC jumpsuit was from an adult only website??

28. Who pitched the idea of the “no but seriously imagine it” sketch ?

29. when are dab and evan going to have a child? they were meant to be girl dads (also we just need some more estrogen thrown into the sims series pls lol)

30. what is a piece of merch that you’ve really wanted to do but haven’t had the opportunity to make yet?

i saw them back in austin and went overboard with creating questions and just didn’t want any of these to go to waste so pls use them and let me know if they ended up being answered!!

(i submitted one question during my show which was: who is the most sentimental, and they answered it! apparently dan doesn’t give a shit and will throw away everything but phil likes to hold onto things and savor the sweet mems)

[mattatouilletkachuk]

Ollie Turns Two || Chaos With Quinn

Part of The Hockey Babies au & Chaos With Quinn Au

A/N: as always this is an interactive au. I would love to hear your thoughts, opinions and ideas! (This takes place Aug. 18, 2023)

mamaqhughes posted

_quinnhughes, jackhughes and 15,709 more liked this post

mamaqhughes: Oliver Quintin Hughes, my sweet, gentle, and kind little boy, you made me a mother two years ago and I’ve been spoiled with love ever since.

Only for you would I walk around a petting zoo and feed animals that I’m pretty sure were giving me the evil eye (I’m looking at you Lola the goat) in the middle of Summer while heavily pregnant. Every day I get to spend with you is a day worth celebrating but today is the day we get to do it with cake! 🎂

tagged: _quinnhughes

_quinnhughes: I wouldn’t have wanted to see him grow up with anybody else. Love you, babe.❤️

↳ mamaqhughes: I couldn’t have asked for a better father for my children.

jackhughes: happy birthday Ollie 🥳

jackhughes: on a side note, Nellie is now asking for a Pony because of that petting zoo

↳ mamajhughes: istg if I come home and you’ve bought a pony for 2 year old I’m gonna kill you

↳ _quinnhughes: @.mamajhughes if you haven’t snapped by now and killed him I don’t think you ever will.

nataliemiller: Happy birthday Ollie!! 🎉

elblue6: He looks so much like Quinn!

liked by user

↳ mamaqhughes: that’s what I’ve been saying!!

lhughes_06: Happy birthday Ols! Let him know I’m calling tonight pls

↳ mamaqhughes: just a warning but he’s mad at you

↳ lhughes_06: why?!?

↳ mamaqhughes: he kept asking for “uncle moosey” and cried when Quinn said you weren’t coming

↳ lhughes_06: I think my heart just broke

↳ _quinnhughes: it should you’re his favorite.

↳ jackhughes: what about me????

↳ mamaqhughes: I think he tolerates you for Nell & his aunt

↳ jackhughes: 😐

mamajhughes: I remember when he was born. Time goes by so fast 😭

↳ mamaqhughes: who are you telling. I hid in the bathrooms after he blew out his candles so I could cry lol.

lexiedemko: happy birthday Oliver!! (P.s. how did you get Fin to come to the petting zoo in the off-season?)

↳ mamaqhughes: don’t ask me. That was all Q.

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_quinnhughes posted

mamaqhughes, bboeser, lhughes_06, and 60,000 others liked

_quinnhughes: ♥️ 8. 18. 21 ♥️ otherwise known as the day that I have never been more scared or excited. Some people say being a parent is hard and maybe when you’re sibling is born your mom and I will find that out but since you were born you have been nothing but an angel.

Happy 2nd birthday to my oldest child, my mini partner in crime, every goat's best friend, and Fin the Orca's biggest fan.

Tagged mamaqhughes

mamaqhughes: My baby boy 🥹❤️🥹

Liked by user

bboeser: you know you’ve partied hard when you pass out on the couch after.

↳ _eliaspetterson: know a lot about that huh?

_eliaspettersson: Happy birthday Oliver!

jackhughes: the first picture was when Fin came in wasn’t it?

↳ _quinnhughes: obviously

canucksfin: happy birthday to my little bestie 🐋

canucks: Happy birthday to our biggest fan! 💙💙

elblue6: my baby boy’s baby boy ❤️

Liked by user

↳ _quinnhughes: Oliver was so happy to see you.

bradytkachuk: I’m surprised he fell asleep after all the cake he ate.

↳ _quinnhughes: this was just a power nap. Don’t be fooled

bradytkachuk: Happy birthday Ollie!!

j.tmiller: be honest, are your ears still ringing from all the kids screaming?

↳ _quinnhughes: I thought I was just going insane.

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[tachiharastanacc]

Heyyyy love your posts

I thought about this after I read someone else’s post ( I think they called him tragic little f@ck? Not sure)

Imagine after hd reveal, port mafia starts to think back of all tachi’s behavior and words, then it hits them holy fuck this kid has some issues.

Like, there was a time when he tried to ignore his bleeding leg because ‘we got a mission and that is much more important nee-san!’ Or he was very scared of medica examination and when it ended, he asked so baffled ‘..that’s it?’ And I’m fairly sure he at least once said ‘orders make me who I am’ in front of others-probably gin of hirotsu-and they were just like oh, he’s very loyal. But now that they know how young he was when he joined the hunting dogs, they can’t help but feel bitter about that sentence. I think the reason tachi is desperate to follow orders are not only because government shaped him into perfect soldier, but he was desperate for love, affection and approval. Like, his parents told him they wished him dead instead of his brother! That is something sure will leave a scar on a CHILD.

I rlly want tachihara to learn how to be human again with the port mafia. Black lizards and chuuya probably will be the biggest help because, tachi is closest to black lizards-I think hirotsu will be able to be a father tachi never had-and chuuya has been through this. He knows how he’s feeling. Black lizards will be his family, his emotional support. And chuuya will be there, guiding him through the little things-that is normal as breathing to others but so, so foreign for him(them)-and tachihara feel so understood.

(Whoops rambled..if this does not make sense, pls don’t be mad!)

I’m furious actually /j

No, I just completely forgot I had an inbox lol. But yes!! I agree!!

I think the idea of them questioning everything they knew about him also is super interesting. Because they all saw him one way (reckless, brave, a lil dense sometimes), and everything is different when he comes back.

There’s a level of ‘was this all an act’ that takes a bit to get over. But at the end of the day, it’s still their Tachi, just a different side of him. Personally, Hirotsu specifically wouldn’t mind the quiet if he wasn’t worried out of his gosh darn mind.

Also, he 100% picks up on just how much telling Tachihara he’s proud of him affects him when Tachi isn’t trying really hard to act unbothered and cool.

Chuuya just assigning him self reluctant older brother even tho it was fully his idea. Verlaine’s kinda there too, but he doesn’t really know how to approach him in a way that won’t scar him for life (again) so he kinda just follows him around occasionally like some kind of depressed French cryptid.

This is 100% more terrifying than if he just approached him bc Tachihara fully is aware that he’s been stalking him and is convinced he plans on assassinating him.

Please always ramble to me abt Tachi and his families please lol

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Send this to a stay! Have them describe themselves and see who their followers would “Ship” them with in the group! <3

oh gosh, “ship” me with? i’m curious because i honestly can’t ship myself with any of them. 😅 i am in no way good enough for a ship with them. but this could be a fun way to tell yall more about me. :)

(update after writing: this turned rambley and is probably waaay more than you wanted. im so sorry 😬 also, this is the most i’ve ever said about myself on this app and it’s scary. so be nice to me pls, im fragile)

let’s see.. are we doing physical or personality traits? or both? this is hard! 😭

♡ i’m a shy, quiet person. i’m also very anxious. (diagnosed anxiety/depression, unmedicated {hence my unhinged posts on here sometimes}, i’m working on it. lol)

♡ chronically online (tiktok, tumblr, yt)

♡ i like all kinds of music (favorites are skz, ateez, palaye royale)

♡ i love to watch movies (marvel, ghibli, harry potter, etc. but 80s movies are my favorite) even better if we’re seeing it in theaters with popcorn and candy 😋

♡ i like to read- tho i haven’t done it in awhile apart from this app

♡ i like to write (would love to write a book one day but we’ll see lol)

♡ i would much rather stay inside and watch a movie or a kdrama (currently watching Lovely Runner and it’s wrecking me) as opposed to going out. (the anxiety, yk?)

♡ i like video games even tho i suck

♡ i like cars (mainly drift cars)

♡ i’m an aquarius if that means anything to you, i don’t know much about astrology but i find it fascinating.

♡ i’m an only child with daddy issues (hence the chan bias)

♡ i have a cat

♡ my favorite color is black, or pink, or light blue hehe

♡ i have to have my cow squishmallow named Connor to be able to sleep at night

♡ i like to play D&D with my friends on saturday nights

♡ i’m terrified of severe weather- thunderstorms i can handle, tho i get scared. but tornadoes will send me into a full on panic attack

♡ i was born in ‘95 (i’m gonna be 30 in january and i don’t want to talk about it)

♡ i rely too heavily on comfort audios on yt (aka boyfriend audios- tho i hate that term) is it cringe? yeah kinda, but it makes me happy and it helps me sleep and the asmr tickles my brain good (if you really wanna know, idk why you would, but david from audiogasm is my favorite and pretty much the only one i listen to- hello parasocial relationship)

♡ blonde hair, blue eyes, chubby. 😘

and i can’t think of anything else! which is probably a good thing because i already wrote soo much. anyways, who would you “ship” me with? 😂 (pls say chan or ill cry hehe jk)

[nightcolorz]

hey bro love your posts never stop entertaining us pls

random ass question whats your favorite minor character from tvc?

Thank u ❤️❤️ 😁😁

this is a touch question lol bcus I have so many favorite minor characters, I’m a tvc minor character fanatic. I can’t choose one so I’m just gonna list of all my fav minor characters lmao.

I love Khayman hes so real. He reminds me of a socially anxious large dog who just really wants to make friends but he keeps scaring them off 😭. That part in queen of the damned where he reacts to the popularity of vampires in pop culture like a kid seeing themselves represented in tv for the first time was so funny omh i was living. Vampire from ancient Egypt buys Dracula cosplay bcus he wants ppl to like him was a genius idea thanks Anne rice. Khayman just, his whole personality reminds me of a character who’d be in what we do in the shadows he’s so inspired. Omg remember when he was so excited to go to lestats concert and meet other vampires and then he’s inside for two seconds, instantly gets overstimulated, and then sits outside for the rest of the time 😭 Khayman might be me guys.

I also love Fareed and Seth 😭😭. I love that Anne rice casually wrote an ancient Egyptian vampire and a modern day Anglo Indian vampire falling in gay love with each other and funding an unhinged vampire mad science hospital, and the Egyptian vampire is AKASHA’S SON 😭😭. the reveal that Akasha has a living vampire son who has been quietly living under the radar for the entire book series just practicing science and pursuing his passion for healthcare alongside his long term partner had me clapping and cheering I stg. They also have sm personality 😭 especially Fareed he’s so iconic. This bitch tricked lestat into giving him his sperm for cloning experiments and he served cunt while doing it. I love that they raised Lestat’s clone son as their gay dads, just so much there. Fareed and Seth u will always be famous

BENJI MAHMOUD!!! I love him sm. I’m also a big fan of sybelle but Benji occupies my mind a concerning amount. Like what kind of character?? There is sm going on with him. First of all he’s Bedouin and Palestinian and then he’s human trafficked to America by an insane man who wants him to be the house slave and take care of his disabled sister second of all he’s twelve and he’s a canon genius and he chain smokes to cope with his insane life third of all he is turned into a vampire by Marius and grows up into an immortal child who’s unfazed by being twelve for ever bcus hes such a chad it doesn’t affect him and he becomes a rich and famous business owner who wears fedoras and runs a vampire podcast and he single handedly kickstarts the plot of Prince lestat and causes the vampire government to happen bcus hes such a good activist he convinces all the characters to be better. Anyways wtf. Also I love sybelle she’s such a darling ❤️ Benji and sybelle and Armand’s little family is everything to me.

DENIS??? Wtf even was that. On a similar note Antoine. I love them both bcus they r incredibly interesting and rlly sad and they reveal so much evil about my fav characters anddd they both happened to be unforgivably butchered by the amc show ❤️

andddd last and also least haha kidding, Benedict ❤️. I feel so bad for him 😭but he’s also so real. Ben was the guy who Magnus manipulated and pretended to be friends with and then he chained him up and forced him to turn him into a vampire 😰. I love the concept where he was the first and only vampire to ever be “raped” by his fledgling, and I feel bad that all the other vampires treat him like shit for it 😭. He’s just a little guy. He’s such a pillow princess also. I can’t count all the times in Prince lestat where Bens described as lounging gracefully on the bed or whatever. Forever twink and hashtag loving it. What a dude

[bots-and-cons]

Pls more with ratchet and the guardian? Maybe the guardian sacrifices themself and ratchets reaction to not being able to save them?

Oh boy, angst for the win I guess lol. I decided to do a scenario, since most of my posts have been HCs lately. You can find part 1 here, part 2 here, and part 3 here. This is kind of a stream of consciousness type of thing again, so maybe not that good?

When the decepticons found out the location of the base, you knew there wasn’t much time. While everyone got together to leave the base, you went to retrieve your sword, readying yourself for battle. The human children were sent away with their respective guardians and eventually the only ones who remained at the base were Ratchet, Optimus, Smokescreen and you. The decepticon warship was approaching fast and the only thing you wanted to do was to drag Ratchet out of there and get him to safety.

“We must leave, all of us. If we stay we are surely doomed” you said.

“Optimus, they’re right, we need to leave” Ratchet agreed.

“I will stay here to operate the ground bridge. The rest of you must leave, immediately” Optimus commanded.

The second the Prime finished his sentence, the first missile hit the top of the base.

“The decepticons are trying to bury us alive” you yelled as the first smaller bits of rock started falling.

“Go, all of you!” Optimus shouted as he opened the ground bridge portal.

It was all coming down around you, the whole base. Ratchet was the closest to the ground bridge, but he wasn’t moving towards it, he was standing there, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite figure out.

That was when you saw a huge piece of rock split from the ceiling right above Ratchet.

“Primus please let me make it” you prayed as you dashed towards Ratchet and pushed him out of the way and through the ground bridge portal.

It all happened so fast. Ratchet heard a loud cracking sound from above which made him turn his head to look up. During the two seconds he wasn’t looking at you, you had pushed him out of the way. It was like everything was in slow motion. He felt himself flying backwards towards the ground bridge. You had pushed him with such a force he had no hope of stopping himself. The last glimpse he got was you being crushed by the falling piece of rock.

You could see Ratched disappearing through the ground bridge portal, and all you could think was “Thank Primus”. You had made it in time, Ratchet was safe, far away from the base that was coming down all around you. In your last moments you weren’t scared, you were just glad Ratchet was safe. There was so much you still wanted to tell him, so many things you still wanted to experience with him, but you wouldn’t be able to. You just wanted more time, but that wasn’t possible, because you were already gone.

When Ratchet came out on the other side of the ground bridge, he immediately got up, reaching his hand towards the portal, but it was closing before his eyes. He couldn’t make it back, he couldn’t help you.

Ratchet stumbled back a few steps and fell on all fours. His legs wouldn’t hold him up.

There was an odd ringing in his audials. It took Ratchet a minute to realize what the sound was. It was him, shouting desperately at the ground.

“No! Don’t take them away from me! I won’t ever ask for anything again, just please don’t take them away from me!” he pleaded.

But no amount of praying and pleading would bring you back. You couldn’t have survived, Ratchet had seen the size of the rock that had fallen on you. He would probably never get the sound of the rock crushing you out of his head. It was horrific.

“I’m so sorry” he started sobbing quietly once he had yelled himself hoarse.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. You were both supposed to survive, you were supposed to grow old together, you were supposed to have more time.

[laidback-thrills]

Anonymous opinion: You’re one of the coolest artists i’ve ever come across in the entire internet. Everytime you post I do a lil leap of joy and dance across my room. Your aura is so fucking powerful tho that i’m always a lil scared to talk to you directly.Like I just comment using the reblog tags but that’s about it.

Anyways you’re really heckin cool ^^ :thumbsup:

(Also i really hope this is anonymous otherwise im gonna FREAK )

AUGH

When I reblogged that post I wasn't expecting for everyone to be so sweet.......My heart is seriously full!! You guys are all so nice. I'm so lucky to be surrounded with people like y'all.... You guys have always shown nothing but unending kindness and support and it just tickles me pink ... I'm so very flattered.

Also, teehee...taking a guess of who this is...I think I know ;D

but regardless...PLS DONT BE INTIMIDATED BY MY SIGMA (lol) ALPHA AURA.....I need friends..I want to Yap and hold hands and frolic forever.

[vault-kid]

ofc I am gonna ask u the character hc prompts and ofc I’m gonna ask abt Butch and Luna bc I want to chew on them… 2 (during and post relationship pls), 4, 16, 20, 21

That is enough for one ask. But I will be back ♥️

kicking my feet and giggling. okaay soo theres this doomedship....

2. What kind of dynamic do they have with each other? -> post relationship EEEEK ok... how they actually got together is a story for another day, but basically both of them fell (very confused w their emotions & surprised they did to begin with) but she fell soooo much harder. their dynamic was odd at first, not knowing what to really make of it (and because they were always at each others throats, getting into physical fights and all that before they got together), but it slowly built up to be full of playful banters and teasing, which was waaaayyy different from the obvious general teasing/bullying Butch did.

Luna let loose a bit and managed to get more comfortable with him, so that's when she fell the most. she would always shower him with love and affection, whenever he would accept it. i like to think she was the one to basically show him affection isn't something to be scared of and was patient with him since ik he might not be huge on it (or used to it), considering his upbringing. Butch would still struggle to keep up with the affection, but he tries to show it with actions. maybe getting her an issue of Grognak she might not have yet, or trying to make her smile in his own ways, teaching her how she could stand up for herself more, or literally as simple as just listening to her. their relationship was always kept a huge secret for a while, so its not like they could flaunt it, but... their dynamic was def one of trying to learn to love and be loved despite their history. 4. Do they have the same love language as each other? ohhh definitely not LOL .... ill throw in during & post relationship cus i think its important to mention, but Luna's love language used to be physical touch mainly (both giving and receiving). now, post relationship, she doesn't like any sort of physical contact or anything of the sort. she doesn't really let anyone get too close which means shes not too keen on being touched, hugged, held etc. but that doesn't mean she minds GIVING physical affection. though, as for now– acts of service is huge. in both aspects, giving and receiving!

as for Butch... hm. during, i'd say he likes quality time. considering they didn't publicly display their relationship and often times it was all in secret, he just enjoys spending time with his partner??

post relationship.... maybe the same thing as Luna post relationship, cus i know damn well he loves touching and being all over someone if he's into them but maybe not so much if it's all pda and shit. like he could give it, but maybe receiving it was probably hard for him at first & maybe it still is. (thats why i mention the whole affection thing w them for number 2!). i think in all, he's more big on quality time, not a physical touch type of guy.

i do however, see him being a huge gift giver but for the most simplest things, and he'd definitely brush it off or be dismissive abt it too. like, maybe randomly he finds something that reminds him of her and goes "aint this something you like? yeah, thought so. keep it." or "look, here's another one for your weirdo collection." (teddy bears....)

16. Who loses their temper fastest?

Luna, BY FAR. at least when it comes to him. Butch would honestly bother her on purpose just to see her get mad. he finds it kind of amusing, unless it gets too annoying for his liking. Luna is often times pretty patient but not with him 😭

20. What's the worst thing about them teaming up?

ahhh. their unresolved issues. there are a lot of times when these resurface and it causes them to point fingers. sometimes they say things they don't mean in the heat of the moment, and grudges can lead to rlly bad outcomes thats aaaalll im gonna say.

21. What's the best thing about them teaming up?

their familiarity, and how they keep each other grounded. like, regardless of their issues from their past relationship, they know each other. from how to piss each other off, to where they like to be touched, how they react to certain things, their interests, their dynamic, their quirks, the way they fidget when nervous, body language, etc etc etc. but mainly, they know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Luna's not afraid to call him out when he’s being reckless or full of himself, even if he rolls his eyes and calls it nagging at first. but her words stick with him, whether he admits it or not, and he’ll start to think about what she said when he’s alone. as for Butch, he does the same in his own way, throwing her sharp reality checks when she’s caught in her head or being too hard on herself. he’ll snap her out of it. not by coddling, but by reminding her of what she’s capable of, sometimes with a blunt “get it together” or a sarcastic “you done yet?” that somehow works.

regardless, even with all the baggage between them, they always seem to have each other’s backs, even if it’s unspoken. their history gives them a lot of reasons to clash, but it’s also what allows them to pull each other back up when it’s needed. there are a lot of unspoken feelings regarding each other (mostly because both are too stubborn to admit anything), but they care about each other in ways neither of them can really explain. it’s messy, it’s complicated, but it’s there. just don’t expect either of them to actually realize it anytime soon.

[tvkorn]

Intro<3

HI:3 im ilovekorn from ao3. Me and ihearttvgirl have been working on a fanfic for a while and we felt like we should make a blog to promote and make some extra content for it! Currently, our main fanfic is “the prince she was interested in wasn’t a prince at all” which is a fantasy/royalty/medieval au version of “the guy she was interested in wasn’t a guy at all” and we will explain more about it below!!

“The prince” isn’t our only fanfic though! We also have a Style fanfic inspired by “Harvey” by Alex G. Please check it out, we appreciate it so much!!! It’s about Stan moving away for college, abandoning his friends and his past. He has to come back to south park after a bad injury and he meets Kyle again. We love to write angst lool

On a different note, we plan on using this account to post art for our fanfic along with updates on other fanfic ideas we’ve had. Maybe we’ll post some sneak peaks? hehe

hello!! i’m i_heart_tvgirl from ao3 ^^ I’ve loved “the guy she was interested in wasnt a guy at all” and writing things for like forever, but I’ve always been WAY too scared to post things online… like I only got an ao3 account midway through this project LOL!! This whole thing was actually kind of a spur of the moment thing for me. 

I realized one random day in the spring that the manga might’ve had fanfics before sprinting to ao3 to read them. I was totes amazed by all the great writers for this fandom (if any of you are reading this, chances are I’ve probably read your work ;D ) but also shocked by how little content there was. After reading this cute fantasy oneshot by another writer in the fandom, I texted korn and was like “I really wanna make a crazy long medieval au pls”. 

I’d always wanted to be one of those crazy worldbuilding writers with fanfics twice the size of a novel, but I resigned myself to observing instead of posting… BUT KORN CHANGED THAT!! They were like “yeah that sounds fire” and we started bouncing off these big ideas. Our one shared conclusion? We were going to make things super angsty. JK LOL

This fanfiction is heavily into the building up of this fantasy world. I made a map out of rice and we worked from there. Korn and I have this giant worldbuilding document full of information, which I hope can be partially shown in these blogs, where we just went on and on. Every single country has its origins, its customs, and relations with other nations. Looking at the map, it’s obvious that some countries haven’t been explored in the fanfiction quite yet. Its not from a lack of information (trust us, we have a LOT) but more so that we are taking our time with the story’s progression. 

We plan to have around 50 total chapters to tell this story, but we will sit down sometime and make sure we have the correct amount to tell the story without rushing :D there is still much to come in our tale.

On a final note, please ask us questions! The more you want to know the more we can tell you about the story and all that ^^ thank you for sticking around with our giant fanfic, and we hope you’ll support us with our future projects <3

xoxo tv girl