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phantomdoofer · 1 year ago

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Chapter 6: Ad essere onesti

Giuseppe walked slowly through the small town that had popped up around Peppino's pizzeria and the NTV tower since Pizzahead's fall. His agents were spread out, discreetly keeping an eye on the few people he was worried about. So far, they'd not reported anything unusual - other than the biggest Peppino clone chasing the Noise into NTV. The residents didn't seem to know how to respond to Giuseppe - some greeted him cautiously, others eyed him suspiciously. A few seemed like they wanted to take a swing at him, but thought better of it.

He looked around, surprised at what he saw. This is actually pretty nice - populated, but quiet. I think I'll like living here. He'd thought about seeing if he could track down Anita, but she'd made it very clear the last time they spoke she wanted to be alone. The thought stabbed him in the heart, as it always did. After Gustavo died, her heart broke. So did mine. She'd left the force not long after, and disappeared into the wild like she'd said she wanted to.

Giuseppe hoped she was still alive.

Suddenly someone slapped him in the back of the head. Che diavolo-?

"Hey, fat man, you out for a walk?" a sneering voice spoke behind him. "Finally decided to-"

Noise squeaked like a rubber ducky as Giuseppe wrapped a hand around his neck and lifted him off the ground. "Eeep," he managed to work through the iron grip.

Giuseppe gave him his most malicious grin. "You must be that one Peppino mentioned. The Noise."

"Ygs," Noise gargled. Oh crap, this guy's not Peppino! This guy's gonna use me for a chew toy!

"You seem to be mistaken. I'm his brother, Giuseppe. I'll be moving here soon. We may look alike, but I'm not my brother. I suggest you remember that. I may not play so...nice."

Noise squeaked again. Peppino didn't play nice with him at all. It cost him a lot of money to keep getting his teeth replaced.

About that time, an official-looking Cheeseslime oozed up. "There a problem here, sir?

Giuseppe looked down at the Cheeseslime. This one wore boots, gloves, a badge, and a cowboy hat, and had a hard look in his eyes. In fact, one of his eyes was focused on him, with a cross-hair design that looked very familiar. He smiled. "No, sir, no problem. Just a little case of mistaken identity." He released the Noise, who gasped. "Isn't that right, sir?"

Noise nodded vigorously. "Oh yeah, definitely. I was just saying sorry. Later, Vigi!" he called over his shoulder as he ran off.

Vigi looked up at Giuseppe. "You do look mighty like Peppino." He left the sentence hanging, and Giuseppe let it hang. Finally, Vigi huffed, then grinned. "You look like you could fold 'im up like a pretzel, 'stead of just knocking his teeth in. The Noise can be a problem, I apologize. But try not to hurt 'im too much, eh?"

Giuseppe smiled back. He understood perfectly. "Absolutely, officer, sorry it came to that. He took me by surprise, that's all. No harm intended."

Vigi nodded. "Good, good. Heard you say you were movin' here? We got lots of places bein' built. Glad to have you here, long as you don't cause trouble." He handed him a pamphlet. "Here's some suggestions if you don't already know."

"Thank you, Sheriff. I already have some prospects, but I'll keep this in mind." Giuseppe saluted by reflex.

Vigi saluted back. "Another war vet, eh? I was too young, but my pappy was in it. He didn't come back." He shook his head. "You lookin' for work? I could use skilled people like you. We don't have many trained yet."

"Thank you, but no, I'm looking to retire," Giuseppe said, "perhaps I could give your men some pointers."

"All right," Vigi said. "You change yer mind, you let me know." He saluted again and walked off.

Giuseppe saluted back and smiled. Not a bad guy. He looked at the brochure. It looked basic, but had a surprising amount of info - housing, restaurants, the works. Everything a new resident would need. That Noise character may own a lot of this, but somebody else who really loves this place made this.

He pocketed the brochure and kept walking. Have to make sure to get back to Peppino's tonight, don't want to miss this...

~~~~

Peppino plopped the mop into the bucket and wiped the sweat from the top of his head with a towel. Done. Drying time, then I can head home. He sat down. On Saturdays he closed the shop and did a thorough cleaning and inventory - cleaned the oven, the windows, the freezer, the surfaces. We do that during the week, too, but... Peppino didn't want to admit that he really didn't have much to do outside of work. He'd never had time, or money. His pizzeria was his life. Now he actually had free time occasionally. But for what? He worked with his best friend. His love life had been dead since before he was in the Army. He didn't have any hobbies other than trying out new recipes, and he was in a bit of a rut on that front lately. He patted his belly and snorted. I'd start running, but there's not enough road around here for me to get up to a speed that would be meaningful. And I'd probably break a treadmill. That's the problem with having special abilities - sometimes they get in the way!

He glanced down - the floor was dry already. He hopped down and carried the mop and bucket to the back to dump before he left. Maybe Gustavo's up to something interesting. He glanced out the window - Noisette's Cafe, newly built across the street, was open. Since Peppino's was closed, it was bustling. Maybe I should try the food there. Then he remembered Vigilante telling him about some of Noisette's more interesting "ideas," and thought better of it.

As he turned to go to the back, someone knocked on the door. "Sorry, we're-a closed! We'll open at eleven tomorrow," he called loudly over his shoulder.

They knocked again. Oh per l'amor del cielo. "I'm SORRY but we're CLOSED!"

Knock knock knock

"FIGLIO DI PUTTANA!" Peppino roared, "can't you-a read the-!"

He turned around. Giuseppe was standing outside, holding a plastic bag, making a key-turning motion, and grinning hugely.

Peppino slammed his mouth shut, unlocked the door, and let his brother in, locking the door back behind him.

Giuseppe set the bag down. "Haven't heard that one since Anita left the force," he said with a grin. "I found a place over on the other side of town that makes a respectable Chicken Tikka Marsala. Thought you might like to share."

Peppino was surprised. He was planning on eating at home, but... "Well, if you're offering."

They ate for several minutes in companionable silence, the spicy sauce gently burning on the tongue. Their bellies full, Giuseppe sat back. "Took a walk around this little town today. I think I like it."

Peppino quirked an eyebrow. "I would've-a thought your people would've told you everything you need to know."

Giuseppe chuckled. "My 'people' are mostly kids, fresh out of training. Good people, smart, but most of them are green. They're too busy looking for threats, so they miss small stuff. And I like to look myself." He spun his finger in a circle. "Most of the experienced ones are out looking for Pizzahead right now. In fact, that's part of why I'm here. They're making an announcement about it today - in a few minutes, in fact. And the big one about the clones, too."

Peppino's stomach clenched a bit. Should I really be worried? The people around here already know about me and Fake. But... "I hope they're-a prepared for what happens after."

Giuseppe sighed. "They've made plans, but it'll never be enough. I think it'll mainly be a few firebrands that cause trouble though, and most of them were already being observed. Riots, maybe, protests definitely. All the clones are under protective watch until things calm down." He looked outside, and rubbed the side of his leg, where Peppino realized a wicked-looking pistol was hostered. "I wanted to be here with you... just in case."

Peppino's eyes bulged a bit. "You don't mean to...?"

Giuseppe looked down and laughed. "Oh, no. This is a little something R&D cooked up. Knock out anything from a Cheeseslime to a pissed-off Ogre in three seconds if you know how to use it." He patted it. "We try to keep it non-lethal when we can."

Peppino relaxed. I still have a lot to learn about him. And how much is he allowed to tell? "You said it would-a be on soon? Which channel?" He moved to turn the TV on.

"National News should have the clearest coverage," Giuseppe said. "But they'll all be there. This is a big one."

Just as Peppino turned the power on, he heard "-tional News special report." Good timing. He sat back down, both watching intently.

An elderly general walked to a podium. Giuseppe grinned. "Old General Grey," he said, "I thought he retired. He was in charge of our program back during the war. Guess he insisted on being the one to break it." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "I don't like him much, but he'll tell it straight."

The old general cleared his throat. "Good afternoon. A few months ago, many of you may have heard of the incident known as the Pizza Tower. While this incident was resolved by a group of private citizens, we have had it, and it's owner, under investigation for several years." He cleared his throat again. "Many of you have now heard allegations that one of these citizens encountered several individuals in the Tower that appeared to be clones. While the process involved in the creation of these beings was flawed, we have decided to reveal that cloning is an actual, usable technology."

The room started to erupt in questions, but the General held up a hand. "Please hold all questions until I have concluded."

They quieted down.

"Thank you. Cloning technology is a form of Old Technology that is quite rare. Thirty years ago, the decision was made to use this technology in conjunction with military training to create a special forces program for this nation. The details are as follows..."

Peppino listened raptly as the General outlined the whole sordid thing: kidnappings, cloning, espionage, and military operations, especially their involvement in the War. The number of clones measured in the hundreds, with more suspected elsewhere.

"...we would like to emphasize that these cloned individuals are considered citizens of this nation, with all the rights and restrictions of a natural-born individual. All the cloned individuals in question have already been briefed on their origins and nature. While we will not be releasing their names for privacy reasons, we leave it to them whether they will reveal their origins. The program in question was disbanded after the last war, and no clones have been produced by our government since. We deeply regret this violation of rights and trust, and will continue to work to make amends for what was deemed, at the time, a necessary evil."

Giuseppe growled. "No offense General, but you can't give us our lives back. Or bring back the ones we lost." He twisted the leather bracelet on his wrist.

The General flipped the sheaf of papers in front of him. "Now, the owner of the Tower, a Ninda individual named Pizzahead, is wanted for questioning on several disappearances. He has also been documented performing various acts considered crimes against sapiency, and as such has formally been declared a terrorist and war criminal. A search for this individual is ongoing by elements of both police forces and our Special Operations branch. We are offering rewards for any information on this individual, and will be glad for any report of his appearance anyone may have." He stood straighter. "Make no mistake. This is a highly unstable individual. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. If seen, report to either your local police, or a local military branch if possible. We will provide more information when the situation has developed. I will now take any questions you may have."

As the press room exploded with voices, Peppino turned to Giuseppe. "Just like that, the secret's out," Giuseppe said. He looked out the windows - Noisette's Cafe was well lit, and obviously busy. "You want to step across the way and see how people are taking it?"

Peppino hesitated, but nodded. Between the two of us, we should be able to handle any problems. He stood up, turned off the TV, locked up the shop, and together they crossed the street to the Cafe.

"After you," Giuseppe gestured.

Peppino opened the door, and the smell of coffee and new paint struck him. The cafe was full, mostly with Tower residents. In fact, he saw both Vigilante and Pepperman there. Wonder when he got back. Everyone was staring raptly at the TVs on the wall. Noisette saw Peppino, and rushed from behind the counter.

"Oh, Peppino! Did you hear? They made an announcment about the Tower being investigated! And Pizzahead's wanted! I hope they find him! It sounds so scary! I didn't know about any of that! And all that talk about clones, do you think -" she stopped as Giuseppe stepped in. Her mouth formed a perfect "O" of surprise. "Oh, Peppino, I guess you already knew. First the ones in the Tower, and now this! You have another clone!"

Oh Mio Dio, I guess we're doing this now. Peppino scratched his head and smiled nervously. "A-actually Noisette...I'm-a the clone. This is the original me, Giuseppe."

The cafe went quiet. Vigi jumped down and walked over. He looked up at Giuseppe. "I thought you two looked mighty alike. Thought maybe Peppino had a brother he didn't mention."

Giuseppe cleared his throat. "Really, I consider Peppino my brother. Most of us do. I couldn't mention it til after the announcement." He held out a hand. "Nice to actually meet you."

The Cheeseslime shook his hand. He looked thoughtful.

Pepperman rushed over to the two, making both jump a bit. A giant bell pepper rushing at you could unnerve anyone. "Peppino! This business is so... unsettling! Clones everywhere! You're a clone!" He gasped. "They said Pizzahead did a great deal of cloning, more than even we knew. What if he cloned...us?"

Many of the patrons whispered in agreement. Rather than his own clone status, they seemed more worried about Pizzahead and his shenanigans. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. These guys have seen a lot of weird shit already, just having lived in the tower.

Giuseppe stepped forward and raised his hands. "Just want to remind you there's a major investigation going on. Be sure to report to your local officers. It's very important you provide any information you can, no matter how unimportant it might seem. Pizzahead is dangerous. If any of you notice anything unusually suspicious, report it immediately."

Giuseppe sat down at a vacant table, and Peppino joined him. "Nice-a speech. Did you plan that?"

"No. Just had too much practice. Glad they're reacting well. I bet it's not so quiet elsewhere."

Peppino nodded, as patrons approached them with questions and reports.

Pizzahead has the government on him now. It's only a matter of time.

~~~~

Elsewhere, in a dark room, a crumpled figure watched the report condemning Pizzahead. They reached out with a remote, and flicked off the screen.

"Guess it's a good thing we hid, isn't it?" Strange, grotesque figures huddled around them. One of them made a questioning sound.

"No, not yet. We don't want to ruin the surprise."

#peppino pizza tower #peppino spaghetti #peppino #pizza tower fanfic #pizza tower au #pizzatower #pizza tower #pizzahead #noisette #pepperman #giuseppe spaghetti #the vigilante #tower town au

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inkling0121 · 1 year ago

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You Remember that au I made right? it's the one were Mikey and Leo were raised by Shredder to be foot soldiers with Karai being manipulated by the Shredder, believing they have no one but themselves as family, and meeting Donnie and Raph, who are pals with Casey and April already helping them take down the foot solider to face off against Shredder. They cross paths with each other, which shapes how the story continues. Mikey starts to question Shredder, believing that the other side is who he should be with because he starts finding the way the foot handles things to be suspicious, so he goes on his own solo fights throughout this iteration, fighting Raph and Donnie every now and then, with Leo popping in to see assist and see if everything is okay. He also starts questioning his loyalty, but never brings it up since he believes in his father, Shredder, and sister Karai are innocent, so he and Mikey get into a fight, and Mikey chooses Raph and Donnie, which upsets Leo, who throughout the rest fights with Karai to try and get Mikey back on the shredder side. well I was wondering if you had any good advice on how I should start off with it I have been thinking about starting on Raph Donnie side so that I could set up Mikey and Léo later on but I don't know where to start with it do you have nay good suggestions for me? also I should I make Karai a trio with Mikey and Leo in the beginning or should I try incorporating her later on when things get more serious? sorry for the long ask btw.

I think the best way to start is to create the character designs, if you're not an artist just write it out, but what helps me to create new stories is to get the ground work down first

For my own au, I started this out MONTHS ago, like way before summer. I used to write fanfiction all the time (I'm talking about updating daily) but I fell out of that fandom and wanted to focus on art, so I would always start with the basis

What I have for my current au is: designs, world building, personalities, history (for major every party involved), relationships with others, side characters, enemies, and archs

Now the relationships with others was a bit unnecessary on my end but I still added it and it helped sort out some notes (like how Splinter and Shredder feel about each other since they grew up as brothers)

And the archs is where the real stories begin, theyre sorta arranged like chapters but some are like a day or two long in the time like, and others are months and even years (the first part that I need to start drawing out soon), theyre more like the most important parts of the story, hold on

Im gonna rename some of the archs cause the best chapter titles are the most comedic

But anyway Im starting from the beginning, a prologue sorta. Theres many routes you can take, but I think the origins are the best

However it would be cool to start with one side and have it be revealed. Maybe you could have Raph and Donnie run into Mikey and/or Leo and confront Splinter about it, then have Splinter tell them the true story of their mutation, I feel like that would be an interesting start

#tmnt #asks #strawberryshortcake #ink talks #tmntmdt

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princeanxious · 4 years ago

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was worried my ipad was gonna overheat after attempting like three insufficient doodles before settling on this one so have a littol W.I.P. for now that i title ‘Charging Time’ based from @delimeful’s Fake Title Prompt: Broken Wish!

Now I ramble under a cut bc i have Thoughts:

-now I can explain abt the the accidentally suggested dynamic like nothing was even suggested to b romantic in the actual prompt im well aware but brain literally Could Not give me ANYTHING to draw them doing without enough insp to draw it out, without having them interacting physically in some way to add life to the piece, which, yknow, doesn’t exactly fit this prompt or it’s base characters without reason, but monkey brain literally fought me for an hour straight on settling on something to even just LISTEN TO let alone let me draw them doing anything or even just standing knbkjhk so uhhhhh yeah

This next take isn’t canon to Lime’s piece at all, btw, just me wanting to run w/ this highkey specific interest that I have that stems from a combination of my love of g/t aus and bjd doll customization, aight? It’s just what I had in mind while giving Virge and Logan their designs and i figured why not share them?

-so: Virgil possesses a BJD(Ball-Jointed-Doll) that probably originally was very blank and forgotten and missing any personality(which fit well enough for the creepy aesthetic he was going for), buuut I wanna project, as someone who personally dabbles in BJD customization, that someone(maybe Roman or Remus, leaning towards Remus) found him, was Thrilled about the fact that it was haunted by a strong af but mostly just mischevious spirit that he just like, talked Virgil into letting him customize his vessle into something still v spooky but also hella cool looking, with a new segmented and articulated tail and inset eyes that, if Virgil so pleases, can pop out of place and rattle around in his head for a personal spooky trick(Virgil LOVES this, and loves the fact that he gets two different colored, non matching eyes to boot). His body stands at about 11 inches tall?

-Logan is like, 13 inches tall, and y’know, a sentient a.i. given form. I like to think that it makes more sense that he’s less sleek and more chonky because he needs all the space he can get for his hardware? Idk, but I like it alot. The glasses and tie he wears? Gifts from Virgil, something about it being an attempt to ‘help Logan look and visually be taken more serious the People Way, like Lo had said he wished for’ and now wears them seriously because they are the first hand-made gift he’s ever had. It probably makes him see Virgil as an even more super intelligent a.i. but, one step at a time, yknow?

anyway I like this concept A Whole Lot, Okay?

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #luka draws #ai!logan #spirit!virgil #the drawing isnt perfect but look i tried lol kjnkjhkjh #i hope to finish this soon and draw more fitting doodles bc i really do love this concept buuut ye! I hope u like it Lime!!!#i rly love yer work so i hope this does it some justice jhbkhb

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hhjs · 4 years ago

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forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary — Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

You accept it.

For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all.

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour. Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe. While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him.

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell.

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose. You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night. See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart.

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.” he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

“I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side.

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous.

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it.

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say.

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

—

Kiss underneath a mistletoe.

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right.

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different. Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

—

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh. Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you? "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know. Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

—

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear, "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

“Lucky Together”

Summary: Harry and Y/N always have wine night as best friends, but when Harry brings up the possibility of him going on a date, some confessions are made

so best friends to lovers! and its WINE WEDNESDAY!! I’m not entirely happy with this and I had an original plan for it and maybe someday I’ll actually do that, but for some reason my hands like to write angst sometimes. It’s mostly FLUFF but there is a little bit of tension, but it ends on a good note. Also it just felt kinda cliche but I still liked it - im conflicted. Let me know what y’all think feedback is appreciated :)

Word Count: 2.5k | Warnings: swearing, a little angst

Harry heard the door opening before he even heard the knock on the door. Y/N swung inside his home as he began to get up. A grin was plastered on her face as she bounded inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Harrry!” she exclaimed, dragging out his name in voice that wasn’t exactly her own - a more exaggerated, silly persona. “Are you ready to get fucked up on…” she slowed down as she looked at the label of the wine she was holding, “A $20 bottle of a lovely red wine that I can’t read the name of?!”

She threw her bags and coat haphazardly on the floor and Harry grinned back at his best friend. Y/N was so impossibly electric sometimes. He loved feeding off her energy and she was always quick to feed off his as well.

It was Wine Wednesday, a tradition Harry and Y/N have had since the beginning of their friendship.

They had met at a corporate party thrown by Capitol Records. They worked in completely different sectors, Y/N’s job would never cross with Harry in the studio normally, but they met that night and hit it off. A friend of Y/N did in fact work with Harry and had introduced them casually. After spending the night laughing their heads off together, Harry and Y/N had exchanged numbers, promising to follow up on things they had thrown out as things to do together. One of those ideas had been always wanting someone to have a Wine Wednesday with. She had told Harry that she did it a few times in college, but had wanted to start again now that she was a sophisticated adult. He had laughed and agreed, saying he had never had a designated day for wine, but he thought it sounded like a class idea.

That next wednesday, Y/N had called Harry asking for his address and then told him she’d be over in twenty minutes. Y/N had burst through the door similar to how she had tonight, except the first time Harry had to open the door for her first. She had thrown her things to the ground, found her way to the kitchen and uncorked the random bottle of cheap wine she had found at the market down the street from Harry. After that, they began to switch off who was to supply the wine, but Y/N always insisted it be cheap and that they were always at Harry’s house.

They had lost track a long time ago about how many times they had done Wine Wednesday together. And it was always together and no one else.

He scoffed at his friend as she beelined to his kitchen, “Naturally!”

Y/N smiled, grabbing a fish mouth bottle opener. Y/N took it and played with it for a second, animating the bottle opened to look as if it was swimming. After amusing herself enough, Y/N set to work on opening up the random bottle of wine. Harry joined her in the kitchen, moving around her with ease to grab their two extra large wine glasses.

On their first Wine Wednesday, Harry had only brought out his regular sized wine glasses and Y/N had told him that she’d bring bigger ones next time. He had stopped her, reassuring her he had larger glasses, but hadn’t realized that was what she wanted. Her reply was that it was only the two of them drinking the bottle, “Who the fuck else is getting poured a glass?”

“What are you doing with that fish, gonna break it, love,” Harry teased as he placed the glasses to the right of Y/N.

She rolled her eyes playfully at him as she finally freed the cork from the bottle. “Was just giving Mr. Fish a proper swim before using him. It’s the same as knocking before you enter a room. ‘S polite.” She smiled smugly, before pouring two extremely full glasses of the red wine. After resting the bottle back onto the table, Y/N grabbed her glass and nodded to Harry to take his. Knowing what she meant, Harry immediately took up his glass and clinked it with hers. They both threw back their heads slightly, taking large initial gulps of their wine.

Y/N led the way into Harry’s living room, which was big and spacious. He furnished it with big comfy couches and various art pieces on the wall, some random items laid around, but mostly it was clean.

Y/N had brought over a few of the random items that laid around, when she had first come over, she had told him how bare it was in here. Next time she was there she brought over a scarf - to hang over a lamp - she’d embroidered and a small rainbow sculpture. Harry had thanked her for the gifts, but Y/N insisted he was doing her a favor by allowing a little more life in the room. “Don’t get me wrong this art is...so you. But why is there nothing else in here that screams Harry or like, I live here? Feels suffocating, so lonely” she had mused about the room. Harry didn’t have an answer for Y/N and she was okay with that.

“Okay, so what are we doing tonight? Movie, music, or gossip?” Y/N relaxed into the couch and stretched her body out, leaving her almost prone on the couch with her feet on Harry’s coffee table. Her stare fixated on his smiling face, awaiting his suggestion. He shut one eye while contemplating their options, then he took a sip of his wine and went to settle beside Y/N on the couch. “Think gossip and music, yeah?” Harry said thoughtfully as he threw his toned arm around the back of the couch.

Y/N shifted to allow herself to look at Harry. He was in a hoodie and sweats and he looked a little sleepy already. She knew that meant this Wine Wednesday was going to be a short one. As much as she loved hanging out with Harry and drinking wine, she knew that he needed his rest. If he was already looking tired, it was likely the half drunk wine bottle would end up in the trash can and she’d be catching a cab before midnight. It wasn’t annoying, Y/N always wanted Harry to take care of himself first, rather than putting others' needs ahead of his own.

Nodding, Y/N took a sip of her wine. “Alright, for music...What are we thinking? Beatles? Or...uh, Beatles?” she said as if ruminating on the bands coming out of her mouth. Harry’s hand that was on the top of the couch came down to swat at Y/N’s head. “Hmm, good choices...But I was feeling more Hall & Oates tonight. You mind?” She shrugged after hitting his hand right back. “Don’t care, but Lennon and Harrison just might be rolling in their graves right now,” Y/N said as her eyebrows rose and she looked disapprovingly at Harry. “You literally love Hall & Oates, Y/N, hush,” he popped back up after scolding Y/N and flicked on his speakers and pressed play on his Hall & Oates playlist of their discography.

“Would I have persuaded you more if I had asked for Fleetwood?” Y/N asked when Harry returned to his seat. She shifted to sitting completely, cross legged, fully facing Harry on the couch. Harry barked out a laugh before visibly considering her question. “Maybe,” he said with a scrunch of his face like ‘if only you had asked, oh well’. They both laughed.

“Okay, now you’re usually not one for gossip,” Y/N started after they had drank some more of their wine and talked a little more about the music, “So what’s your gossip. Spill.”

“So you know the bird at the coffee shop down the street, who started working there last week?” Harry started excitedly. Y/N finished her sip and nodded seriously, curious to hear what Harry had to gossip about that concerned this woman. “Well, today she told me my coffee was on the house, and then when my black coffee was ready it had her name on it and her number!”

“That’s forward,” Y/N mused, her tone wasn’t necessarily judgemental, but it definitely wasn’t ecstatic as Harry had expected when he had decided to tell Y/N the story.

“What? Would you not have liked that if someone had done that for you?” Harry asked, genuinely wondering what made Y/N not be her usual excited self. She was also a hopeless romantic, so he had thought she would have loved this.

“I mean, I guess I would have been flattered, but you’re not seriously considering taking her out? C’mon, Harry, she obviously knows who you are,” Y/N paused, trying not to sound like a total asshole, “Just, if I were you, I would always be wary of people’s true intentions before I started anything.”

Harry sighed and took a long gulp of his wine, decreasing the amount in the glass significantly. Soon, he’d need a refill. “I know that...but she seems so sweet and I haven’t been out with anyone in awhile. Romantically.” He added the last word after a beat, like it needed clarification that when he went out with Y/N it wasn’t something romantic. She twitched and shifted in her seat, trying to push away the negative feelings she got when Harry made that distinction.

“Okay, if you’re that desperate for someone then go for it,” you said not fully realizing the exact words coming out of your mouth. Your mouth dropped when you processed what you had just said. Harry looked at you with slight disbelief. “I didn’t mean it in that way, Harry. I just-”

“No, I got what you meant. You think this woman is just using me for attention and that I’m so starved of any romantic connection that I’m willing to be used. Have you ever thought about why I’m so starved of any romantic life? Maybe because I’m always hanging out with my alleged best friend who never approves of anyone I bring up.” Harry sounded hurt. Y/N felt terrible. He set down his glass and shifted to face her more fully, his face set in a good amount of anger.

“That’s not fair, H,” Y/N sighed and placed her glass on the coffee table. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. You give your heart away so easily and then people just end up taking advantage of you and hurting you. And I hate seeing you hurt. Because I’m the one who is always there to pick up the pieces.”

“Why are you always there though, Y/N? Why do you stick by my side when I’m always apparently making the wrong love choices?” Harry asks, his tone rising to something that was almost aggressive.

“Because you’re my best friend, Harry!” Y/N laughed incredulously. She was in disbelief that Harry would even ask her such a question. It was strange that their evening of fun had escalated into this nightmarish confrontation.

“That’s not enough,” Harry insisted, forcing them to continue the conversation. The conversation the two of them had never thought they needed to have. “You’re right, you’re always there to mend my broken heart. And you always discourage me from going for risky romances. And you never talk about any potential people for you? Why?”

“You’re my best friend! I don’t know what else you want me to say? What do you want me to say, Harry?”

“You know what I’m asking, Y/N.” And just like that, Harry turned from aggressive to pleading. He wanted her to say what he had always thought about her, but had never pushed it because she was his best friend. His jade-toned eyes were glassy and wide, begging for her to answer truthfully.

Y/N gripped her jaw in place at Harry’s pleading words. She raked both her hands through her hair and couldn’t believe what Harry was saying right now. Finally, she sighed when she risked a glance towards Harry’s face. It turned everything around for her, she couldn’t hide from that face. She couldn’t hide from Harry, ever.

“Because, I love you. I love you, Harry, in more than a best friend way. Happy now? That was literally the most unromantic way to tell someone you love them, but you asked for it,” she shook her head and threw herself against the couch, flailing her arms slightly in exasperation.

Harry moved himself to Y/N’s side and moved her so that she was looking at him. He rested his hand against her cheekbone, and stayed and cradled her face right there.

“I love you, too. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you. It just...something made me press the subject. It wasn’t very kind of me.” He rushed to say, instantly feeling conflicted. He was overjoyed and relieved at Y/N’s revelation, but also felt guilt for the way it had come about. He had been the one to escalate the conversation.

“I didn’t mean to call you desperate,” Y/N said softly as she raised her own hand to Harry’s face. “You aren’t desperate. You’re amazing and wonderful. You love with your whole heart and anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“Darling, you’re the one someone would be lucky to be with.” Harry brushed a stray hair behind her ear and moved his face closer to hers.

“We could be lucky together?” Y/N whispered as his nose brushed up against hers. Harry blew a short breath out of his nose, hitting Y/N’s face. “I’d like that,” he responded.

Then he leaned the rest of the way and connected his lips with hers. She pressed back eagerly tasting the red wine on Harry’s lips. As they kissed, Harry felt something wet slightly touch his face.

He pulled back slightly, “Are you crying, petal?”

Y/N sniffled, “I just, I never thought this would happen. I’m happy...it’s just a lot.”

Harry nodded and wrapped his arms around her waist. “C’mere, we can just be here in this moment, together.”

Harry pulled Y/N into his lap and settled back into the couch. Her head rested softly on his shoulder and she ran a hand up and down his muscled arm. It was smooth and soft, and it radiated heat. Harry’s presence was always soothing, but especially helpful right now. Y/N calmed down, significantly, while in his arms.

“So does that mean you won’t call that bird?”

“No, no, I will definitely...not call her.” Harry chuckled at her question. He was happy that she was feeling more like herself, sarcastic and bubbly.

The pair sat snuggled on Harry’s couch, taking in each other’s presence as “Sara Smile” by Hall & Oates played softly through the speakers. They both smiled and sang softly along to the words. Happy in one another’s embrace.

taglist: @cronias13 @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @harrys-cherrry @harrxier @sltwins @awesomebooklover17 @harrys-stan

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #best friend!harry #best friend! y/n

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akihiko-sanada · 4 years ago

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BRO, WHY’D YOU LIKE YUKICHIE SO MUCH??

Ok first of all, bro,,, B R O, bro ilysm being able to infodump like this means so much to me for real. And second of all, this is gonna be very bullet point-e since I can't string a coherent sentence together to save my life. LET'S BEGIN:

Tropes and dichotomies

Yukichie has a bunch of romantic tropes, including but not limited to:

-Beautiful and popular genius falls for airhead jock outcast.

-Childhood best friends to lovers.

-Two girls fall in love but one girl's close minded parents (yukikos) disapprove and kick her out so she suddenly moves in with chie (this definitely happened i'm sure of it).

Now the dichotomies:

Fire and ice: I feel like I don't even have to explain why this is romantic so I'm just gonna jump straight into the evidence: Yukiko is the teammate with Agi and Chie is the one with Bufu, one of Yukiko’s themes is called “Snowflakes” and there's also the twin dragons special move.

Sun and moon: Might be a stretch but I really do think that Yukiko is the moon, silent, beautiful and graceful while Chie is the sun, energetic, bright and hot to the touch.

Shadows

Shadow Chie reveals that Chie developed an inferiority complex from constantly comparing herself to Yukiko (not surprising but aw :(), and part of this is her not feeling worthy of Yukiko and her company, bUT MEANWHILE YUKIKO HAS THE OPPOSITE PROBLEM WHERE SHE RELIES TOO MUCH ON CHIE,,, like shadow Yukiko literally says says to Chie “Chies my prince, she's a strong prince, or at least she was”, she hoped and relied on Chie to save her from having to take over the inn and having to stay in Inaba,,,,. ALSO WHEN SHADOW YUKIKO'S HEALTH IS LOW SHE SUMMONS A PRINCE SHADOW WTF, WTF WTF WTF, SHE STRAIGHT UP SUMMONS HER PRINCE, CHIE, WHEN SHE’S MOST VULNERABLE????? HELP???

And speaking of shadows, Chie is pretty calm when it comes to rescuing people from the TV world except for Yukiko, she goes absolutely APESHIT, says "You don't know SHIT about how I feel! Yukiko might DIE from this, for crying out loud! I'm going, and that's that!" before running HEADFIRST INTO A MONSTER INFESTED PALACE WITHOUT A PERSONA OF HER OWN,, TRUE LOVE RIGHT THERE BABY. She also almost single handedly beats up a whole ass police station for even suggesting that Yukiko was involved in the murders.

Color theory

I'm a huge rwby fan so colors is definitely gonna have its own section IFSFNS. Anyways, in color theory, colors that are on opposite sides of the color wheel are considered complementary colors, and guess what the most used example for this? Green and red! Green and red always pop out when they're next to each other, and color is very important in p4 (for various reasons but a big example is how all the students at school wear dull colors except for the investigation team, they're just full on power rangers), so id like to think that making Yukiko’s and Chie’s colors the prime example of complementary colors was something intentional made to remind you of how well they work together.

Also: Chie “wow yukiko red looks really good on you” yukiko, twirling her hair “haha thanks do you mind if i wear it for the rest of my life-”. Also side note I’m 100% sure that Rio’s favourite color is red because it reminds her of Hamuko <3.

Comphet and obliviousness

It's very obvious that like, everyone’s in the investigation team suffers from comphet, especially considering their reaction to Kanji coming out (which is, something), but I'm only gonna talk about yukichies; first of all this whole scene screams of comphet, no one just gushes about their friend THAT much:

Also, Chie disapproves of all of Yukiko's suitors cause she's subconsciously jealous, Chie is 100% a baby lesbian cause shes literally like: “haha im not a lesbian, I just cut my hair short and mostly hang out with guys because then I’ll be more masculine and men like girls so-aw shit”.

Also, Inaba is a breeding ground for comphet because it's a rural town in the middle of nowhere in a town where most of the popuñation is old so,,,yeah,,,.Yukiko feels like her only option in life is to take over the Amagi inn and follow in her family's footsteps, which would in turn be like rotting away in Inaba, so I like to think that the Amagi inn is some sort of metaphor for how being yourself is key even though it can disappoint your parents by making you stray from the path they paved for you, but that’s still an important step to take to become a better person and being true to yourself. Now that isn't very different from coming out now is it?

Official art and others

-Yukiko’s and Chie’s designs inspired Tomoe Tachibana and Maria Torres from Trauma Team and they’re hella gay

-Yukiko and Chie are next to each other or side eyeing each other when the other isn't looking in 99% of the official art they're in, I wonder why that is-. Also if you look through Chie’s gallery 90% of her photos include Yukiko and vice versa.

-Everyone in Inaba knows that Chie and Yukiko are practically dating cause some bullies literally threaten Chie with hurting Yukiko saying stuff like “that precious Yukiko-san of yours” and “So don't you care about what happens to your loved ones” LIKE HELLO???

-Chies social link? oh you mean the yukichie social link right? No but seriously like Chies social link revolves around Yukiko NANFFGGW

-Yukiko’s theme in p4u is “princess Amagi” and shadow Yukiko calls Chie her prince, coincidence? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Fun headcanons and random stuff

-Chie definitely short circuited for a full ten seconds when she saw Yukiko in a yukata for the first time

-I'm sure that when the investigation team meets up like 20 years after p4 they'll be like “wait Yukiko you've been living with Chie for years?? did you get married?” Yukiko and Chie who haven't even started dating officially “no?? what are you talking about- WAIT.”

-Yukiko and Chie: *adopt three cats and a dog and call them their children*, also yukichie “we’re just really good friends :)))”

-Yukiko and Chie definitely made out with each other a couple of times using the excuse of “were practising for when we have boyfriends”

In conclusion, yukiko and chie have the type of love where they've known each other for so long and care for each other so deeply and passionately that they don't need to search for a significant other because deep down they've always known they were each others. They've always pictured the other in their life from beginning to end but have yet to put together that they want to be in each others life romantically because of comphet and just, never really seeing each other as an option because they've just always been friends, nothing more nothing less. Thank you for coming to my ted talk I hope I gave you yukichie brainrot <3

#yukichie #yukiko amagi #chie satonaka #asks #p4 #persona 4 #persona #my posts #kalidontskrrt

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pocketramblr · 4 years ago

Note

im going to be so fucking predictable right now but, for a prompt... how about some momnight

I'm going to do my Very Best at this though I am very unpracticed with writing her so here we go!

---

"Alright, class. Today we're supposed to do a lesson that follows up on the interviews you did yesterday with Midnight and Mt. Lady. Which means I'm not teaching."

With that, Aizawa-sensei flopped to the ground. The thud was only slightly cushioned by the sleeping bag around him. A few students winced.

"Exactly!" Midnight said, shoving open the door. "This time, we'll be practicing a little more with cameras and a little less with talking."

Oh? The students all leaned in, curious and excited.

"We'll be practicing photo shoots! Come to studio 1-4, come on." She stepped to the side as the class got excited, and just waved Aoyama out the door when he jumped to go ask her a million questions, sparkling.

Toru was excited too, though she took more time to stand than the others. By the time she had, Yaomomo had already dragged the reluctant Jiro out of the room, and all that remained were Bakugo and Koda.

"Not going to be the last one there, I hope, Bakugo?" Midnight asked, tone of voice edging into a tease.

Bakugo grumbled about it being stupid, but he did hurry more out the door.

"And you, Koda? Nothing to be scared about, the camera doesn't bite." But their teachers sure might, if they dawdled- or interrupted anymore of Aizawa's extended naptime.

"Right!" Toru agreed, skipping to the back of the room to reach for the boy's arm. "Come on, it'll be a fun lesson! Better than a pop quiz, and maybe you'll even get to do a cute picture, like holding a bunny!"

Koda stared at her sleeve for a long moment, then finally nodded.

When they passed Midnight at the door, Toru looked up and realized the woman's smile had slipped a little; she looked thoughtful, brow furrowed behind her glasses.

The smile came back quickly though, as she tugged the door closed behind them and hurried them to the studio where the class was waiting for them.

Haya-senpai was also waiting for them, apparently. The cool girl stood in front of a group of third years by the side wall of the room, where several desks and mirrors and lights had been shoved in a row. The rest of the room was cleared out, backdrops and green screens angled around with a few stools and props.

"Alright, class 1a, before we get ready for your first shoot, there are some things to know." Midnight closed the door behind her. "You can take notes on your phone, if you want. There are several different kinds of photoshoots. What ones can you think of?"

"Ooh!" Mina waved her hand and was called on. "There's magazine photoshoots, and if you're lucky you'll be on the front page!"

"Certainly, magazine shoots. What else- Yaoyorozu?"

"Advertisements, with products?"

"Very good, you've done some of that already, haven't you? Alright, what other kinds?"

Toru waved her arm, humming so she'd be more noticed. Midnight crooked her finger at her. "Makeup? Well I guess that could be a product too, but there's also fashion shoots."

"Right on, Hagakure."

The class was quiet for a few moments, and Midnight nodded. "There's other kinds too- a headshot shoot, some hero agencies will require them for an application or their site. Portraits, lifestyle, sports, glamor, portfolio- the point is, there’s different types, and different points to each of them.”

Tsuyu raised a hand, and got a nod. “Midnight, all the different types, but don’t they boil down to either work use- like the headshots- or publicity for everything else?”

“That’s not a bad way of looking at it, Asui,” The teacher tapper her cheek as she paused, “But there’s more than that. You could also be doing it for benefit of others, either like a charity calendar photos, or perhaps even as a favor for a friend if one of them asks for a photo op.”

“And if,” Bakugo spoke up, apparently at the end of his patience for waiting for an explanation, “we don’t care about that crap? Publicity? If we haven’t got any friends who just want to take pictures of us?”

Midnight’s smile stretched, just a little, like a smirk. “Not a bad question. Anyone else think they have an answer?”

No one spoke, looking at each other, then Iida raised his hand.

“Midnight-sensei! Regardless of wanting to do publicity or charity or not, an agency may require to and all parts of a hero career should be done as exactly as one can, whether or not you want to-”

Midnight coughed. “Not bad, Iida, but not what I was thinking of. Bakugo, everyone, consider it like this. Once you become a hero- before that, even- you are going to have publicity. You are going to have paparazzi. Your photos are going to end up in ragmags no matter what you do.” She emphasized those words with a tap from her whip to her palm. “But, you can decide how you present yourself in other media. Sure, you can go way underground like Eraser. Or, you can take control of your representation. Choose your own photographers, magazines, products, vlogs, anything. That’s why you have to learn how to do these photoshoots and other media courses.” She clapped her hands, and the third years jumped. “So, we start with makeup.”

The older students waved some of her classmates forward, and Toru pushed Koda forward so he’d sit.

She found herself watching them get makeup put on, holding Iida’s glasses for him while Haya mused with his hair. Next to him, a senior was marking lines under Uraraka’s eyes to make the lashes pop.

“That looks really cute!”

“Thanks!”

“Do you mind me using a bit more foundation here?” Another senior said, poking at Midoriya. “It’s not quite even, but some of your freckles are showing through still.”

“Uhh,” Midori said, eloquently.

The older student raised his eyebrow.

“Um, actually, its,”

“It’s what, Midoriya?” Midnight asked, stepping from out of nowhere to peer over his shoulder at his mirror.

“It’s fine!” The makeup didn’t completely hide how red his face went.

Their teacher met his gaze in the reflection, clicking her tongue. “Come on, what did I say the point of the lesson was?”

“Um, control?” Midoriya asked, then went “Oh.”

Midnight smiled, straightening back up.

“I’d like my freckles to be- to not be covered up. Please.” Midoriya was still red, but the senior just shrugged.

“Alright. I’ll darken them with this then instead, so they actually show well under the lights and all that.”

He nodded, relaxing back in his seat, and Midnight squeezed his shoulder before moving on, nodding at Iida before looking at her.

“Hagakure, you haven’t gotten someone to start makeup yet?”

Toru shook her head- and shoulders. “No, Sensei. It’s not like I’ll show up on camera anyway, so.” She kept her voice cheerful, but her smile faltered halfway through.

It was fun to watch everyone else get dolled up and decorated... but would probably be fun if she could join them too.

Midnight stared at her, and she couldn’t read the expression before the teacher shook her head. “No, no. You’ll still have to participate and I have an idea!” She took Toru’s hand, then led her to the seat next to Uraraka.

Toru couldn’t keep the startled giggle from bubbling up as she sat.

“Midoriya,” Midnight said, riffling through the makeup on the desk, “You heard Hagakure. What do you think she could do in a photoshoot like this?”

“Hm.” Midoriya considered it, but when he answered he sounded much more confident than he had earlier. “Well, she’s invisible, but anything on her wouldn’t be. You could play with elements like dust or sparkles to suggest shape in an interesting way- oh, if you don’t mind being in your hero suit, that is.”

Midnight hummed an affirmation. “There’s a lot you and your team could do with that, and body paint is a fun medium to work with.” She paused, then leveled an eyeshadow brush at Toru like it was her whip. “Only when you’re eighteen, though. What do you think, Uraraka?”

“You could use your quirk, you know, to shine?” The brunette waved a hand. “Lighting up in different places to outline you, maybe, it’d look really cool if you had a space-y dress or something with it.”

“Oooh,” Toru had to admit that would be fun. It’d need a dark background and probably a camera without a flash or something, but it would be a picture of her, using her own quirk.

“Or like, even a space suit or something alien!”

“As long as I don’t upstage Mina!”

Midnight decided on something, then turned back with a nod, eyes sparkling. “Those are good ideas. Now, I’m going to try something with eyeshadow on you. Tell me when your eyes are closed.”

Toru closed her eyes as asked. “They are now, Midnight.”

If the point of this lesson was control, she wasn’t quite sure that this counted since she was just letting someone else do it, but Toru didn’t mind. She had a couple new ideas bouncing around for real photoshoots, in the future, and she really wanted to see what her teacher came up with.

She’d been right, this was fun.

It tickled a little, when Midnight traced eyeliner all on the sides of her face, but Toru managed to keep her face still enough. Then came brushes and colors she couldn’t see, shapes she could feel but not recognize.

Finally, the touches to her face stopped and she heard the brush clatter on the table.

“You can open your eyes now.” Midnight said, moving out of the way between the chair and the mirror.

Toru gasped, then stood so she could lean closer to her reflection.

Her teacher had painted elaborate designs over both her eyes, branching out like butterfly wings. They shimmered with many neutral tones, light and brown and pink between the black lines. A few sparkles were touched heavier on the ends, and overall they looked beautiful.

“Oh! Guys, look!” Toru turned, and Uraraka gasped too, clapping.

“Those look so pretty!”

“Right? Thank you so much, Midnight-sensei!”

The hero laughed, waving a hand. “You’re very welcome. You’ll have to work with the photographer to decide how to model it on your own though. Speaking of...” She checked the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes left! Get to pictures then washing off.”

She walked off down the row again, checking on the other students, though not before she squeezed Toru’s shoulder for a second when she passed.

Toru was beaming as she asked for a senior with a camera to work with her, and she ended up with a picture of herself winking- one eye open to show the full butterfly, the other closed to show the colors swirled on the eyelid too.

It looked pretty, and it looked fun. It felt like a perfect picture.

#*offers this* sorry it took a while #it was pretty fun to write tho!#pocket talks to people #owlf45 #my writing

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jensungf · 5 years ago

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐒 ☁ 𝐩.𝐣𝐬

summary: park jisung was supposed to be more than a passing cloud, than a fleeting moment.

↳ (adj) describing something that doesn’t last as long as you’d like.

pairing: reader + park jisung genre: high school!au, angst word count: 2.4k warnings: language

author’s note: this was supposed to be a blurb but it kind of turned into a really long drabble or oneshot, whatever you wanna call it hehe. it’s been about two or three years since i last written something so i’m quite rusty but please enjoy and let me know what you think!

“hey jisung, we’re still on for tonight right?” you chirped cheerily, not bothering to hide the cheeky smile adorning your face. you had been looking forward to this all week, and it was really hard not to show it. you skipped over to his side of the room, taking a seat besides him.

you had been harboring a crush on your friend for god-knows how long (about a year actually) and had jokingly suggested that he owed you a movie date days ago during your weekly study session with him. to your pleasant surprise, he had agreed without any hesitation, and you had taken that as a sign that maybe — just maybe, he saw you as more than just a friend. maybe.

you frowned when you realized you hadn’t gotten a response and looked up to see jisung’s fluffy brown hair engrossed in his video game on his tablet. “hey! jisung!” you called out again across the desk.

no reaction.

you rolled your eyes and sighed before grabbing a pencil and lightly throwing it to get his attention. it hit his shoulder, causing him to finally glance up. he scowled and barked out a “what do you want?” before returning his concentration on his game.

“woah, sorry...” you felt awkward now realizing how annoyed he was. “i just wanted to ask if we were still on for tonight.”

he looked up again, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “what’s tonight?”

before you even realize it, a deep scowl marred your face. how could he forget? you had been mentioning it all week now.

“you know, the movie...? the one you promised we’d watch together?” you asked eagerly, hoping his brain would get off of whatever game he was playing and return back to reality.

“oh. that.” his tone was indifferent and you couldn’t help but tense up in annoyance. he really forgot? “yeah, sure...” before quietly mumbling, “if i’m free.”

you wanted to scoff at his dryness, but chose to be considerate and give him the benefit of the doubt. maybe he just wasn’t having a good day and he wanted to be left alone for now. maybe if you gave him some space he’d be in a better mood tonight. hopefully, you thought.

“i’m going to go, but i’ll text you, ‘kay?” you tried your best to smile despite the butterflies swirling in your stomach (the bad ones, the ones that looked pretty but were actually poisonous), but jisung doesn’t even bother to lift his head from the screen before muttering something that sounded vaguely like a bye. you sigh, and turn on your heel quickly.

hopefully all would go well tonight.

you spoke too soon.

☁

you had texted jisung an hour or two before the designated time you both were supposed to meet each other at the movie theater, asking if he was free later to confirm that your plans and he had simply responded with “probably.” you would be lying to say that his offhandedness about this entire situation wasn’t bothering you at all but you had been so excited for this opportunity to finally spend some quality time with him that you were willing to overlook his odd behavior.

you had decided to leave the house about thirty minutes before you were supposed to be at the movie theater, and quickly took your phone out to text him.

to: pwark jwisung♥︎ [6:04pm]

➤ hey i’m about to leave the house! ➤ don’t forget to bring an umbrella. it looks kind of rainy outside

you peered outside the window, looking at the gloomy skies. however, you were determined that nothing was going to ruin tonight for you, not even some threatening grey clouds. by the time you arrived, you checked your phone again. you bit your lip in exasperation to see no notifications pop up, unlocking your phone only to see that jisung hadn’t even read your messages. maybe he was busy and simply saw it without opening the chat.

obviously, jisung wasn’t the most punctual person in the world, but you had specifically told him to come earlier than you days ago for that very matter. the weather outside seemed to be an omen, but you remained adamant. no stormy weather was going to ruin your time as long as you had jisung by your side. he was going to be here soon and you would have a good time, like you had hoped.

to: pwark jwisung♥︎ [6:21pm]

➤ im here! are you here yet or are you on your way?

[6:30pm]

➤ ji?

you decided after nervously waiting outside the doors, watching the skies slowly get darker and darker (as if it was a sign of impending doom), that maybe it would be a good to finally call him. you had scrolled on your social media to pass time, and saw he was online. maybe something had happened?

you tapped on your phone, letting the call ring only to wait for an automated voicemail of “hey it’s jisung, i’m probably busy rig— hey! jaemin! give me my phone back! oh my god, stop it, i’m trying to record a voicema—“

you felt your chest constrict as you took in a deep breath and exhaled shakily. there’s no way he forgot... right? you had just talked to him today about it. maybe his phone died or he was playing another silly prank on you and hiding somewhere.

[6:43pm]

➤ hey idiot responddddd ➤ if this is some funny prank, come out! you win :(

[6:57pm]

➤ come on ji, im actually going to get mad if you don’t show up soon >:( ➤ you were just on instagram like 15 minutes ago...? is something wrong? please let me know.

the number of strangers who passed by you who eyed you curiously increased, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with anxiety. you hated waiting alone, especially in public. it was nerve wracking and jisung knew it. your feelings of doubt and unease were creeping up behind you. maybe this was all just a bad nightmare and you’d wake up from it soon.

the skies began to drizzle as you stood beneath the awning of the movie theater. your body was clammy and shivering. it was cold and you had forgotten your jacket and umbrella, despite even reminding jisung to bring himself an umbrella. just your luck.

you glanced at the clock ticking by, and you knew the showing of the movie had started long ago. however there was another showtime, so you tried your best not to fret. if he showed up soon, you could still watch the movie. if not, any other movie would’ve been okay with you. where is he? why isn’t he showing up?

you decide after waiting for almost 45 minutes that you should give him another call. it went straight to voicemail again. you felt tears finally begin to prickle in your eyes as you angrily typed out a message to him.

[7:12pm]

➤ jisung... if you were busy you could’ve just told me. ➤ this really isn’t a funny joke at all. i’m actually pretty upset. ➤ the last showtime is in 15 minutes, please text or call back.

frustration and betrayal overcame your body as you began trembling, trying your best to hold in your tears. the number of people entering had diminished, but you refused to let yourself cry in public. this was already humiliating enough as it was.

you decided as a last resort to call one of his friends, and you scrolled through your contacts before dialing na jaemin’s number.

after a few rings, he picked up to your great surprise.

“hey (y/n)! what’s up?”

“um, hey.. i-i was just wondering, if... jisung was with you by any chance...?”

you heard some shuffling around before he spoke up again. “uh yeah, he is actually. is something wrong...? you don’t sound okay.”

you bit your lip, holding in a sigh of relief because jisung was okay and alive before realizing that your tears were about to burst. you swallowed your tears and let out another shaky breath before answering.

“c-can i just talk to jisung please? he hasn’t been picking up my calls.” you sniffled, voice cracking as you gripped your phone tightly.

jaemin frowned on the other end of the call before, managing to sense your urgency and emotion in your voice. “okay, give me a second,“ as he went to find the younger boy.

“hey jisung, (y/n)‘s on the phone,” you could some hear yelling in the back before you heard some more shuffling and screaming. jaemin tried to cover his phone’s mic but you managed to pick up bits of the conversation anyways.

“what is it jaemin? i’m in the middle of a game right now,” jisung’s deep voice spoke in an irked tone. you would recognize his voice anywhere — what you once deemed to be soothing no longer brought the sense of comfort you needed right now.

“jisung, she called me saying ... hadn’t been picking up ... calls! tell hyuck.. play for you and talk ... now!” you could hear some groaning through the crackly audio, before jisung’s voice piped up on the line.

“um, hey (y/n) what’s up? why’d you call me... i’m kinda busy right now.”

your lips quivered along, feeling your heart fall before the dam actually broke. you croaked out, “park jisung.. don’t you remember what tonight was? i’ve been waiting for an hour and a half now! i thought you were dying or something.”

jisung’s eyes widened before he sighed, “uh, shoot sorry. i’m busy with the boys right now and kinda forgot.” your tears dripped down your face as the raining outside ironically began to pour down harder at that very moment. you almost dropped your phone in shock. that was his reason for not making it? you felt as if your heart was being crushed, suffocated by jisung’s hands. how could he be so.. callous?

“jisung, we’ve talked about this all week and you promised! i asked you this morning, and afternoon and i even texted you!” sobs began to wrack through your body as you could no longer contain it anymore. you tried to wipe the tears away as quickly as you could, not wanting anyone to witness your meltdown, yet to no avail. “how could you forget?”

jisung rolled his eyes and sighed. he didn’t know why you were just attacking him like this and interrupting him in the middle of a game. he retorted with irritation piercing his voice, “look (y/n), i don’t know why you’re being so dramatic but like it’s not that big of a deal. it’s just another dumb movie anyways, and i didn’t even really think these were definite plans. i said probably and things change, you know that.”

embarrassment flushed through your body, before anger replaced it.

you swallowed harshly, feeling all self-restraint leave your body, all your anger and bitterness clouding your thoughts leaving you dizzy and breathless. “i can’t believe you... i waited for you because i thought.. that you were excited for this chance too.”

“my friends always come first, you know that! i thought i made that perfectly clear so why are you so upset?” jisung barked out, clenching his fists. he knew he was wrong but he was stubborn and irritated, wanting nothing more but to go back and claim his victory instead of wasting his time arguing with you.

you couldn’t believe your ears, your heart shattering as you took in every word he was saying. was this the same park jisung you knew and fell in love with? how could it be? you were an idiot for believing he actually liked you back, that you had a chance with him. he had always seemed untouchable, and now you were seeing his true colors. this clearly didn’t mean as much to him as it did to you and you had gotten your answer.

“i have every right to be upset! you made a promise and you broke it. you left me hanging and blew me off, for what? games? there’s more to life than just playing video games with your friends jisung!” you bit your tongue, before continuing, your emotions blowing through the roof as they overtook your body.

“i’m not just some girl you decided to blow off because you didn’t know. i never expected you to choose between me or your friends because i’m also your friend too. i thought we were friends but this shows how much you really care about our friendship. i waited here for you. i don’t want your bullshit excuse anymore, you can go play whatever games you want as long as they’re not with me. i’m not your toy jisung or a game, and you can’t win me like this. have a nice life.”

“wait (y/n)—“ you ended the call hastily, not wanting to hear another word come out of his mouth.

you shut your eyes as you tightly to hold in the tears. if your whole world had been torn away to unveil a big, fat ugly lie in the end. this wasn’t the park jisung you knew. this was park jisung, the boy who you had fallen utterly and hopelessly for. the boy who made your heart flutter with his shameless laugh, who spent hours awake at ungodly hours of night watching anime with you when no one else would. who would make fun of you but spend hours trying to teach you play video games or take you out to eat ice cream whenever he knew you were feeling down.who managed to lift up your mood with his incessant teasing that you grew to learn was just his way of caring, so effortlessly.

how could you be so foolish to work yourself up just to be devastated in the very end? you wished for this to be a nightmare. your hopes of fulfilling your dream date with the boy you had been pining after for the last year or so had been had been crushed. you looked up into the drizzling rain and grey clouds wondering where you had gone wrong. the clouds passed by fleetingly. you could’t help but laugh at how cliché this was. this was how you would remember your heartbreak, under a grey sky full of rain. and there was nothing else you could do about it.

he was nothing but a fleeting cloud passing by in your life.

+ bonus blurb!

+ the sequel!

#park jisung scenarios #jisung scenarios #jisung angst #park jisung angst #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #park jisung imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct scenarios #nct angst #nct dream angst #highschool!au #nct dream imagines #leyna writes #may or may not be based off of my frustrations of gamer boys LOL

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dessarious · 5 years ago

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Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt58

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

“So what you’re saying is that Batman and his team have done more in two months than you managed it two years.” Discorde was about five seconds from Cataclysming Superman, relations with other heroes be damned. She only held back because Ladybug had a hand on her arm. Robin didn’t seem any happier and it brought him up in her estimation.

“That is wildly presumptuous and inaccurate.” Oracle’s voice came through the comm and both she and Red Robin were scowling at the others from a screen on the wall. “We only managed what we did because of the incredibly detailed and accurate information Ladybug gave us. There’s no telling how long it would have taken us starting from scratch the way she did. Not to mention she is one hundred percent responsible for the plan that gave us Mayura.”

“Convenient.” Superman still sounded doubtful but seemed willing to drop that part of things, for now. “Regardless, there’s still the matter of actually apprehending him and what we do with the object that gave him his powers in the first place.” The hand around Discorde’s arm tightened and she looked over to see an incredibly pissed off Ladybug.

“That is none of your concern.” Ladybug’s tone held an impressive amount of authority and disdain. She’d been around Damian a lot lately and it showed. “We are here as a courtesy but I will not allow you to interfere.” Multiple members of the League glared at her from their seats.

“She’s right.” The voice belonged to a rather subdued Wonder Woman. After the rundown Ladybug had given her of the previous meeting Discorde had expected her to be of the same mind as Superman. “The Miraculous are not our domain, nor should they be. While I’m not thrilled that such a burden was placed on children it is not our place to question a Guardian who has dedicated their life to protecting the Miraculous and maintaining balance.” There was complete silence after she spoke, no one seemed to know how to react. Batman recovered first.

“I agree. There’s a reason most of us didn’t even know the Miraculous existed until now. From what Wonder Woman has told me the Order that protects them is very good at keeping them contained.” Discorde felt Ladybug stiffen slightly, but otherwise she didn’t react to the words at all.

“They failed once. Sure this time it’s contained in Paris, but what happens the next time? We can’t take that risk.” Ladybug had apparently had enough of Superman’s self righteous attitude.

“It is not your decision to make.” Her tone was hard and frigid, it sent a chill up Discorde’s spine and she was thanking every Kwami she knew that it wasn’t directed at her. “Even ignoring the Order for the moment, the Miraculous exist to maintain balance. Having all of them in the hands of a group dedicated to their form of justice will wreak havoc on that balance. Villains and dissenters will start popping out of the woodwork at rates you won’t be able to handle. You’ll just be making everything worse for the people you claim to protect. The cost is far too high whether you believe it or not.”

Discorde watched the heroes' reactions, trying to decide which were threats and which were allies. Batman and his team were firmly entrenched on their side, at least for now. Wonder Woman seemed content to let things take their course and at least not interfere. Superman looked like he was ready to go to war with them along with a couple others so that’s where she kept her focus. When Marinette had suggested she be here Plagg had given her some tips and suggestions to keep them in line if necessary and she wasn’t going to hesitate if any of them came at Ladybug.

“So these powers are better protected in the hands of children? If this Order is so competent why didn’t they send their own people in to do the job?” Okay, that was a good question that she’d have to file away for later.

“You have no idea how the Miraculous or the Order work and I’m not about to enlighten you and put others at risk. You believe in very strict definitions of good and evil. I doubt you’d be willing to listen to let alone understand even if I did explain.” Batman’s lips twitched upward and Discorde thought he was trying not to smile. The rest of his team didn’t seem to feel the need to restrain themselves and were snickering in the background. Red Hood even gave Ladybug a thumbs up. Wonder Woman looked amused and… proud? One more thing to try and unpack later.

“You do not decide what is and is not pertinent information for us to know. We will ask questions and you will answer them to the best of your ability.” Superman’s tone said he didn't expect her to know much and Discorde felt the growl in her chest before she heard it. How dare this pompous, self important, alien…

“It would be wise for you to stop.” Discorde glared at Wonder Woman as she spoke, expecting to be the object of her censure, but she was focused on Superman. “Ladybug is perfectly correct in her assessment and the Justice League as no standing to interfere in the first place. What’s more, threatening her will do nothing but give her black cat a reason to show you just how ineffectual your powers are against the powers of gods.” Her tone was dry but firm. Some of the heroes were now looking at the two Miraculous holders like they were bombs ready to go off while others seemed to doubt Wonder Woman’s claim. Discorde almost hoped one of them would try something at this point. She knew exactly how much stress Ladybug was under and this wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“What’s she going to do, purr at me?” Something inside her snapped. She felt for the destruction inside her as Plagg had taught and pulled it to the surface. She was vaguely aware of Batman and his team moving away from the man of steel and heard Wonder Woman’s resigned sigh. The rest didn’t seem to know how to react. They would soon.

The table and chairs dissolved as though eaten by acid causing everyone to scramble away. After that she concentrated directly on Superman. He still seemed to think he was invincible but she knew better. Plagg and Tikki had created the universe and while Superman was immune to the dangers of Earth, he wasn’t immune to the dangers of his home planet, or the Kwami. She focused the ball of darkness inside her into the shape she wanted before letting it shoot straight at Superman. Just as Plagg predicted, he didn’t even try to move.

“Is that all you have?” His cockiness brought a feral grin to her lips. She waited. “This is a waste of time. I want to talk to whoever thought it was a good idea to entrust-” He broke off in a coughing fit that was so violent he ended up hovering over the floor. When he stopped and looked at his hand everyone in the room could see blood. “What did you do?” Discorde glared back at him.

“I infected you with Krypton’s version of the bubonic plague and Ladybug is the only one who can cure you so I suggest you appropriate a new attitude.”

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#maribat #marinette dupen chang #damian wayne #bffmaridami

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: The Royal We ch.1 (baon)

Summary: Family helps family. Sometimes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

When they first came to this universe, it hadn’t taken long for Edge to realize that things were very different here than back home in Underfell, (no, not home, not for a long time now). The changes took some time to absorb and some might never fully integrate, as his freezer filled with stocked up meals would attest. But there were a few universal constants and while all of them grew up with their brother as their only relative, they all knew that family helped family. Even when that family was a pack of alternates who appeared later in life.

Which was how Edge found himself on his day off sitting on the floor of what was currently Papyrus and Blue’s house, making party favors for Undyne’s baby shower.

The living room was strewn with decorations waiting to be placed, streamers and banners in an eclectic rainbow of colors, uninflated balloons spilling out of a bag like the leftover skins of a particularly garish fruit. The party itself wasn’t until tomorrow, but that left little time to waste, considering the plans Papyrus had drawn up.

Plan was perhaps an overstatement, but Edge could never fault Papyrus for his enthusiasm. His color scheme, on the other hand—well. He’d never approved of the way some Humans were so obsessed with gender that they actually assigned colors at birth but there was a great distance between that and a design that might cause any guests with fleshier eyes to scramble for sunglasses.

Papyrus was bustling around setting things up while the rest of them were sitting on the floor in a circle around a coffee table that was cluttered with craft supplies. He’d paired each of them off to work on separate projects and for all that the occasion was a joyous one, the mood was decidedly not.

“how many of these things do we need, anyway?” Stretch grumbled. His and Jeff’s assigned duty was to pour a mixture of toffee-coated popcorn into small plastic bags, tie it closed with a ribbon, and then affix a sticker on the front that declared in cheery letters ‘Ready to Pop’!

Edge was morbidly curious as to how Undyne felt about that particular sentiment this close to the end of her pregnancy.

A glance at the finished bags confirmed that Stretch’s ribbons were less a bow and more a tangle of colorful knots, Jeff’s only a slight improvement. The bags were sealed at least, and Papyrus was more than content with the effort, which was all that really mattered.

Besides, Edge was busy with his own task; planting tiny succulents into miniature pots, each with a painstakingly attached tag reading, ‘Watch Me Grow!’. Privately, he thought the small cacti were a far better representation of Undyne than any snack, but then, he wasn’t the one actually throwing the shower.

“How many do we need,” Papyrus repeated thoughtfully. Edge pointedly did not ask about the garland in his hand which seemed to be made of dangling fish ornaments and…was that tomatoes? Edge decided it would be best not to know, lest he end up lying awake tonight with the answer still haunting him. “Well, there is Undyne’s co-workers in Security and Alphys’s at the lab, plus their neighbors and friends, and of course us!”

“i don’t need no damn cactus,” Red muttered sullenly. How Papyrus even got Red here was another burning question, though the answer was likely Sans sitting placidly right next to him. His collar was visible over the neckline of his t-shirt, the buckle glinting in the light. Occasionally he reached up absently to touch it as if to verify it hadn’t wandered off when he wasn’t looking. Their entire duty seemed to be putting cans of sparkling water into drink koozies emblazoned with such witticisms as ‘nacho average baby’ over a cartoon of a tortilla chip. It was anyone’s guess as to if that task was actually assigned to them or simple the one they’d decided on doing, but between them, there were four cans done after a half an hour of work.

Sans managed to slide another can into a koozie, bringing their grand total to five. “paps, that didn’t really answer the question.”

“That would be because I am not finished counting!” Papyrus scolded. “There’s also Undyne’s ‘Cooking with Krav Maga’ class and naturally all the Dreemurr family will be coming.”

“great, ass-gore will be here,” Stretch muttered, fumbling to tie another ribbon with varying success. “i’ll be sure to bring my headphones.”

Edge sighed inwardly. Stretch was in a prickly mood and had been all day, and it didn’t take a scientist-level IQ to know it had something to do with the baby shower. They’d known about this for days; when Papyrus asked if they would help, Edge hadn’t hesitated to agree. Now he was wondering if he shouldn’t have asked Stretch in advance. He hadn’t refused to come, but he’d been twitchy and snappish since getting up that morning, only getting worse when they came over. If the party were for anyone but Undyne, Edge would have suggested they go home.

Adding to the irritation was Red in a poor mood of his own and he hadn’t a single qualm about casting sparks around a gasoline spill. “good, no one wants to hear you flappin’ your yap, anyway. save your 280 characters for your twitter freaks.”

“aww, jealous?” Stretch cooed, “‘cause, you talk so much crap, i dunno whether to you need toilet paper or a breath mint.”

Edge exchanged a weary look with Blue, who returned it with equal exasperation. Those two had been sniping at each other all morning and it was Blue’s turn to attempt a least a little fire prevention.

“Really, Papy, that’s enough,” Blue said reprovingly. That might stop them briefly, but they all knew from past experience it wouldn’t last. Red and Stretch were alike in a number of dissatisfying ways, past the darkened circles of exhaustion that were currently visible beneath both their sockets. For one, most of them weren’t above returning a good insult with a better one, but Red and Stretch could be particularly vicious about it. Usually it was better to let them simply work it out between themselves; trying to intercede past a little mild scolding usually ended up getting you mixed up in the spat.

This time Edge was tempted, if only because Jeff looked supremely uncomfortable. He fumbled with his latest little bag of popcorn and ended up with a good portion bouncing into his lap rather than the treat bag.

For the time being, Sans seemed content to allow them to try to rein in their brothers, and that would likely last until their petty squabbling might upset Papyrus. Who thus far either hadn’t noticed or was content to allow the others to handle it. Edge hoped it was the latter. The crack in Papyrus’s skull was still starkly visible, although his balance seemed much improved, if the way he all but leapt from the ladder was any indication, digging furiously through an overflowing box of even more decorations.

“sure, bro,” Stretch said to his brother’s scold, and then promptly added a mumble of, “don’t see why he has to be here, anyway.”

“’cause it ain’t your party, it’s hers, and she’d want ‘im,” Red grumbled. Then, in a smirking sotto voce, “’sides, i figure he’s the baby daddy so be kinda rude not to at least give ‘im a party favor.”

“There is no baby daddy, since neither Undyne nor Alphys want to be called daddy, and it’s much ruder to speculate,” Papyrus called primly, confirming that he was indeed listening to the ongoing bickering. He stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing the growing balloon sculpture critically. Edge joined him in looking, biting the tip of his tongue to hold back any questions, especially on whether the design was supposed to be Undyne or an eggplant. Never ask when you didn’t want to know the answer and Papyrus wove in another long, purple balloon as he went on, “and also Asgore can’t be the donor because I am.”

A hush of silence fell, along with a number of wide sockets and eyes turning to Papyrus’s direction. No one’s were wider than Sans’s at what was obviously unexpected news to him as he blurted, "seriously, bro? you're the one who handed over the baby batter for undyne?”

Papyrus frowned at them all reprovingly. “That is rude AND crude, I'll thank you not to refer to it that way.”

"sorry, bro, but fuck,” Sans sputtered, “you didn’t say anything!”

"Is there a reason I would need to?” Papyrus asked, brow bones raised, “Undyne is my best friend and wanted a child, so of course I would help provide the necessary material in her time of need!"

“necessary material,” Stretch muttered, his face scrunching up, and in that Edge could only agree, “right.” He nudged Jeff with an elbow, who yelped aloud and jumped, sending up another miniature shower of popcorn, “uh, andy, i know we're best buds and all, but if you ever need--"

“Nope, I’m good,” Jeff said, a touch too loudly.

“happy to hear it.” Stretch gave him a grin that slowly faded. “see? so if asgore didn’t donate his, uh, time and effort, he can stay home."

“Honestly, Papy you can’t—" Blue began reprovingly, only to be drowned out by Red’s loud snort.

“what the fuck is your problem with asgore, anyway,” Red grumbled. He picked at his gold tooth, a tell that sent tension winding up Edge’s spine even as his brother added with lazy viciousness, “get over it already, you act like he’s your ex who fucked you over.”

The day seemed to be one for unexpected silences. Only this time the stares were directed at Stretch, who said nothing. He only sat white-faced, cellophane crinkling loudly as his hands fisted around the bag in his lap, his skull draining of color as he managed to look at anything but those stares.

Red let out a harsh chortle of laughter, “seriously? all this time you’ve been holier than thou about his lv and it’s actually ‘cause you used to give him the bone over in your ‘verse? fuck, now there is a mental picture,” Red moaned out gleefully, “oooh, fuzzy ass, stick it to me good! ram me with your furry wand of wonder and i’ll get your goat!”

A chorus of protests rose up, with Edge’s snarl of, “That’s enough!” rising to the top.

But Stretch was already standing, a litter of colorful ribbons shedding from his lap as he walked swiftly to the door.

“Rus—" Edge stood to chase after him, cursing his damned leg as it threatened to buckle under him. It was an exercise in futility from the start, as he’d known it would be. Stretch shortcutted the moment he was out the door, heading off Angel knew where to lose himself in the stew of his own thoughts. The temptation to look up where he’d reappeared on the phone app was strong, but Edge resisted it. Stretch had the right to be alone if that was what he wanted, particularly after that dig.

He sighed and went back into the house. Only to pause as he saw the various looks had transferred to him, all of them guarded, particularly Blue; his starry eye lights seemed to be anticipating anger at Stretch. As if this made any damned difference between them. Even Jeff looked near tears, like he expected Edge to already have Antwan on the phone demanding him to draw up divorce papers. It was damn well insulting, and he glared back at them all until those gazes dropped, Blue’s reluctantly last.

All except for his own brother. Red was grinning, savagely pleased, and if they wanted anger, the simmering urge to shout at his brother was rising to a roiling boil in him, his LV waking in his soul to twinge eagerly at the heat of it. Only that was likely exactly what his brother wanted, to be punished for his casual cruelties. Whatever was troubling Red, Edge wasn’t about to reward his masochism.

His own anger fell swiftly into disappointment; lately Red had been bordering on kind with Stretch, if it could be called that, treating him as a brother, or better, if Edge were honest with himself. A brother that needed his protection as Edge decidedly did not. It’d been some time since he’d deliberately needled Stretch and Edge couldn’t even understand why he’d chosen to do so today. Whatever his petty reasons, they weren’t sufficient enough to excuse that.

Edge kept his voice low and even as he said, “That was cruel.”

That satisfied smirk faltered and Red shifted to lean forward. “yeah? well, it's about time he starts getting’ over it. it ain’t the same guy and he’s married to you.”

“Affection for someone else is not any kind of betrayal and considering that all of you calculated our worlds have ceased to exist, there isn’t much opportunity for closure, is there,” Edge said, acid creeping in. "The state of my marriage is no concern of yours."

Red’s sockets fell half-closed as he said, dangerously soft, "you think so, boss?"

Then he flinched suddenly, yelping as Sans slapped him upside the head. "you’re so eager for stretch to get over shit, how about you practice what you preach.” He shoved a can of sparkling water into Red’s lap. “shut up and put on a fucking koozie.”

Red scowled hard and Edge did not miss his crimson gaze flicking to the collar around Sans's throat. Grudgingly, he did what he was told.

“Do not interfere with my marriage,” Edge said coolly. Not that such a statement would stop his brother, but at least it was said between them. Then to Papyrus. “I am sorry, but."

Papyrus only flapped his hands at him, shooing him away, “No, no, go, talk to Stretchy Me! I’m sure Cherry here would like to think about how much he hurt Stretch’s feelings and yours, his own brother, who has recently suffered an injury. And there are my own injuries to consider as well, sticks, stones, and words do hurt!"

Edge let him ramble and started for the door, then hesitated. The others were accustomed to a certain amount of internal friction, some of it formerly his and Stretch’s, from the moment they woke up in this universe. Their Human companion was not so inured to it and Edge crouched to set a ginger hand on Jeff’s shoulder, “Jeff, I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” Jeff waved it off, offering up a lopsided grin. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen Thanksgiving at my grandparent’s place. Don’t think my grandma ever got the gravy stains off the ceiling.”

“can’t just drop a hint like that and not give the story, andy,” Sans said, lightly. The others murmured agreement, eager to latch onto another topic.

Edge could hear as he went out the door, “Well, uh, see, my grandpa was originally from Norway, and—”

There were any number of places Stretch might go to nurse his internal wounds, but Edge had a fairly good guess as to the likeliest one. He drove home, parked his car in the driveway, but instead of heading up to the front porch, he went around the side of the house towards their fenced backyard. Before he was even close, he could hear Stretch talking and he went quietly through the gate to see him sitting outside the coop with Noodle settled into his lap, the laces of his untied sneakers trailing into the grass for Dumpling to peck at.

His skull was resting against one of the support posts, still too pale, his sockets closed and his vape drooping loosely from his long fingers. Vaping instead of smoking cropped up sometimes when Stretch was truly irritated, as if he subconsciously wanted control over something and settled for his nicotine addiction. Or perhaps it was to protect his feathered companions from secondhand smoke.

Noodle didn’t seem bothered either way, chirring softly as Stretch stroked his free hand down her back.

“—not like i don’t know i’m being a dick. that guy just pisses me off sometimes. asgore, not red. actually, they both piss me off, now that you mention it.”

Noodle made an inquisitive sound and Stretch sighed out a cloud of vapor. “yeah, yeah, i was in a mood before we even went over. i dunno, all that baby shit gets on my nerves for some reason.” He scratched lightly under Noodle’s chin and she cooed contentedly. “you’re right, it’s no excuse for being shitty. especially to papyrus, he’s all excited about throwing this party. even if the balloon thing was creepy, you should’ve seen it, like cthulhu’s second cousin after failed plastic surgery.”

“You weren’t being a dick.” Edge said, quietly. Stretch tensed and his sockets slid open, but he didn’t look up, his pale eye lights straying down on his poultry pal. Edge walked over and sat next to them, keeping a careful distance away, easily breached if Stretch wished, or a comforting barrier if he didn’t. “Perhaps a little rude.” Edge held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A little. My brother, on the other hand, was embracing his dickish nature.”

Stretch made a faint, amused sound, “red embracing his dick was not a chat i was expecting today.”

Then he leaned to the side, crossing the distance between them to rest his skull on Edge’s shoulder. He took the unsubtle hint and slid an arm around his husband’s slim shoulders, holding him in close, closing his sockets against the faint tremble in Stretch’s voice as softly spoke.

“he wasn’t my boyfriend. fuck, i never saw him get out of the ruins. i…might’ve given it a shot if he had,” his voice dropped to a bare whisper and Edge hummed encouragingly, already anticipating what was coming, “but i was fucking everyone back then. i was maybe a little infatuated, okay? that’s it.”

“All right,” Edge said, calmly, even as he tightened his arm around Stretch, holding him closer still. He was not jealous of Stretch’s yesterdays; his only commitments were his tomorrows, and despite what his brother might think, Edge was certainly not about to allow anything so trivial as a former crush on a dead man come between them.

Stretch heaved a watery little sigh. “but that isn’t it, not really. he was my friend and i promised him i’d take care of the kid. instead i—"

“Did what you had to do,” Edge interrupted firmly. He understood impossible situations better than most, his own LV-tainted soul aching to think of Stretch enduring what he had for so long, an impossible choice to make between his world and the intent of a murderous child.

Yet, even now, Stretch couldn’t be convinced that was true. He only sighed out a quiet, “sure.” Then, louder, “anyway. he was my friend. he would have hated to see what he was in this world. it’s just…it’s hard sometimes.”

“I know.” Hard to see alternates of people they’d known, a lifetime of memories to be set aside while learning a new person with an old face. Undyne was his own personal struggle and Edge could call her friend, but it wasn’t the same, it couldn’t be.

Next to him, Stretch snuggled in closer even as Noodle let out a querulous protest over the lack of petting. “i’ve been thinking. my hp is on the rise, right?”

“It’s 5 and a quarter, love,” Edge said dryly, reaching over to offer the chicken a gentle pat, Noodle’s dismay quickly turning to a rapturous croon, “and as happy as I am for it, I’d prefer if you didn’t decide to take up hang gliding or street fighting.”

"you're hilarious, babe." Another long, slow breath, before Stretch blurted, "i know i kinda railroaded you when we talked about this before. if you really want kids--" he faltered, his voice breaking as Edge listened in dismayed confusion, "i mean, if that's…we could…"

Suddenly Edge knew precisely what Rus was going to offer and he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want him to think in even the tiniest way that he’d lost some measure of Edge’s love by preferring not to have children and and he didn’t know how to stop him from strangling out the words.

So Edge cupped his face in a hand and turned Stretch’s head towards him to kiss that stammering mouth lingeringly, until he stopped trying and simply melted into the gentle touch. By the time he drew away, Stretch was the one making thin, dismayed sounds, trying to chase after that kiss for more, his eye lights hazy soft. Instead, Edge pressed a light, teasing kiss to the slight nodule of his nasal cavity.

"No, I don’t think so,” Edge told him, slow and carefully. Watching that much-loved face to make sure Stretch was hearing him. “I’ve considered it and I’ve decided I’m entirely too busy to add parenthood to my schedule. I’m going back to the Y this week, I think I’m better off trying to secure a place in this world for the children already in it.”

Poorly hidden relief flickered over Stretch’s face and Edge leaned in to kiss him again, silently hoping that he was truly believed this time. There was no doubt in his mind that Stretch would force himself to endure the stresses of having a child if he thought Edge wished it, but making Stretch bear the weight of unwanted parenthood was a nightmare not to be considered. He’d love the child, surely, but at what cost? Far higher than Edge would ever consider paying.

A sudden cackle came from inside the coop and Stretch jerked away, sitting bolt upright.

“the egg!” Stretch gasped, scrambling to his feet, “i never did get a chance to research her adopted egg. you think maybe it actually—” hatched, he did not say, almost superstitiously hopeful.

“It’s possible,” Edge hedged, doubtfully. They both started into the coop, only for a voice calling over the fence to stop them.

“Hello? Hello, is anyone home?” The words were couched with near panic and the voice was a familiar one. Stretch beat him to the fence, opening the gate as he limped as quickly as he could over.

“Janice?” Edge said, surprised and concerned. The fur on her face was matted and wet with tears and she wrung her hands, shaking as she tried to speak. It brought back unpleasant memories of the attack at the Embassy, when one of the protesters threw a brick at her. Even then her pain and fear were tempered under practicality as she asked Antwan to bring her children to the hospital, her thoughts on keeping her boys from fearing Humans more than they already might. To see her bereft of her usual firm control was concerning.

“Calm down,” Edge soothed, pulling her into his arms without a thought, even as he cast a wary glance around the neighborhood. Nothing seemed out of order, not yet, “What’s happened?”

She leaned against him heavily and he nearly staggered back a step. Tall as he was, they were of nearly an equal weight. “It’s Jude, he didn’t come home for lunch and I can’t find him anywhere!” She hitched out a sob. “None of the other children have seen him, my family has been looking but we can’t find him, I can’t—”

Her voice dissolved and Edge gave her a last pat before firmly pushing her into his husband’s startled arms.

“Stretch, stay with her,” Edge commanded, reaching for his phone, “I’m going to make some calls.”

“yeah, sure,” Stretch agreed hastily. He rubbed a soothing hand down her back as Janice struggled against her tears. “hey, we’ll find him. little guy couldn’t have gotten too far.”

Edge was already pulling up his contact list and couldn’t help the darkly sour thought that if this didn’t pull his brother out of his bad mood, nothing would.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #kustard #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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specter-speeder · 4 years ago

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here’s a bad but wholesome horror fic by yours truly (angst, fluff, and v lil gore)

In which Danny pulls some true Paranormal Activity sh*t on his family. Only kind of makes sense, but let me be amused by this concept, okay? Post-reveal. Do I even have to say no Phantom Planet?

“I am a ghost. Fear me.”

Danny started to feel it a few days after his parents had closed the portal. It was time for the ecto-filtrator to go - when Jack and Maddie had designed it, they hadn’t anticipated the size of the Ghost Zone and its post-human population. It saw more traffic than it could handle, thanks to Danny’s fatal slip-up. They’d been working on a new containment system for the ectoplasmic waste the portal produced with each ghost that breached it, but installation meant disabling the machine for an entire week.

Without his ghost fights, Danny had become restless quickly. That much he could manage. He knew what would come next, though, and he wouldn’t dare let on to his family. Since becoming a ghost, he’d only felt this starved a few times before. It was one of his inhuman qualities he hated the most. His ghost half was yearning for fear. It was making him ill. Gave him a reason to miss his class’s 3-day team-building retreat. He’d insisted to Sam and Tucker that he had things under control— he wanted to think he did. Now, Sam and Tucker were gone, and Danny was battling fevered sleep for most hours of the day. He’d never felt so drained.

Call it intuition; Jazz knew this wasn’t the flu. Danny didn’t used to insist on hiding it when he felt like crap. In fact, the Danny she grew up with wouldn’t stop whining about it whenever he was sick. This had to be a ghost thing. She wondered if her parents messing with the portal was somehow hurting him, but Danny wouldn’t budge. He wasn’t going to help her understand. She’d been dialing Sam and Tucker all day - straight to voicemail. She’d just poked her head into Danny’s room, only to find him awake in bed and glaring at her, when she felt her phone buzz. She tiptoed further down the hall and checked the caller ID: Sam Manson.

Next thing Danny knew, his mom, dad, and Jazz were creeping into his room, forcing sympathetic smiles. Sh*t, what now? Maddie placed her hand on his forehead, he swatted it away, eyes narrowed.

“How’re you feeling, sweetie?”

“The same. Why are—“

“You don’t have the flu.” Jazz interrupted. Danny clenched his jaw.

“Jazz, maybe we could talk about this privately?” he muttered.

Jack crossed his arms. “Don’t be mad at your sister. We’re worried, too.” Danny’s eyes met Jazz’s, questioning. She sighed.

“Sam told me everything.”

Danny scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned.

“I told her how bad you were, and she’s on my side. You need help.” He shook his head, glancing at his parents anxiously.

“Look, guys... you can’t help me. Just get the portal up and running and—“

“You need someone to be afraid.” Maddie stopped him, her voice clinical.

Danny stumbled over his words, trying to answer quickly. “If the portal’s working, the ghosts can—“

“Danny, it’s not close to being done.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Your friend said it would work, so... we thought maybe, you could scare us.”

Danny’s ears rung. They shouldn’t have offered. Sam should have shut down Jazz’s stupid idea, for his sake. He didn’t want to say yes. He really, really didn’t want to say yes. He blinked.

“You mean... use my powers to...”

“We’ll know it’s only you, so... how bad can it be?”

Everything in him was urging him to take the offer, against his own wishes. He could already feel energy prickling on his spine, cooling him off. Relief.

“Are you sure?” He asked blankly. Maddie was too quick to answer.

“Of course.”

“Really sure?”

She nodded hesitantly. Jack didn’t look so convinced.

Danny took a deep breath, cold anticipation churning in his lungs. It was all he needed, and there was no going back now. With a loud electrical pop, his room was pitch black. He sunk underneath his bed and let himself transform, the typical bright flash weakened to a dull glow. All was quiet.

“Danny...?” Maddie ventured.

Phantom’s ghost form appeared in front of them in a flash, for a fraction of a second. Wide-eyed and mouth ajar, both glowing entirely green and oozing fog. Expressionless. Maddie jumped, and the Fentons were in the dark again.

The lights flickered on, but Danny’s room was different. His bed was stripped down to the mattress. All that remained on his shelves were his model rockets. His books, other trinkets, his trunk— everything was gone. Maddie felt her heart pounding in her chest, Jack was frozen, and Jazz’s eyes fluttered open cautiously.

“Where...?” Jack breathed, inching toward his wife.

Jack glanced toward the ceiling, but as soon as he saw it, it all fell. Danny’s books slammed to the floor. His trunk was the loudest, hitting the ground with a bang and toppling open, sending various balls and sports equipment bouncing with supernatural strength. Everything glowed a faint green. Before the objects settled, the Fentons were struck by Danny’s sheets and bedspread, flying toward them at what felt like 100 miles per hour. Jazz couldn’t help but scream.

The force had shoved them through Danny’s doorway. When they finally threw the bedding off, Danny’s door slammed shut in front of them, cracking the frame. Maddie eyed the railing just behind them. She’d been sure Danny wouldn’t hurt them, but another foot and they’d have been hurled over it. She wasn’t so convinced anymore. Could he blame her?

Jazz knew this was her idea, but she hated what she’d unleashed. She felt anger bubble at Sam. Was this supposed to be a punishment for caring about her brother? She thought they were beyond that. How often was Danny like this? Did his creepy girlfriend encourage it? She didn’t know much outside regretting she hadn’t tried harder for another solution.

“Away from the stairs. C’mon, away from the stairs!” Maddie urged, grabbing Jack and Jazz by their sleeves and cautiously tugging them down to the living room. She could’ve sworn they left the lights on, but everything was dim now save for the light of the setting sun drifting through the windows. The trio huddled close.

Static crackled as the television switched on. “—has residents questioning the whereabouts of the infamous Amity Park ghost, known by some as Phantom. Next, we’re live with—” The nightly news quickly cut to a vibrant green screen, accompanied by a reverberating, high-pitched ring. Jazz clasped her hands over her ears as it grew louder, piercing the air. It filled her with an unmistakable sense of dread, hopelessness.

“Mads…” Jack whispered, raising a shaking finger. They turned to face the windows. One by one, each vertical blind swayed slightly, an unseen force moving across them. It’s just Danny—she repeated the phrase over in her mind, grasping for a sense of calm. The movement stopped.

“Is it over?” Jack looked to Jazz. She shook her head unknowingly, eyes fixed on the window. She could see people outside. Neighbors who wouldn’t think a thing of ghost activity erupting from their home. Jack held his breath as Maddie caught hers. Her sense of calm was torn from her as soon as she’d found it.

The sound of snapping wood thundered from the blinds as they abruptly slammed shut, sending Jazz scrambling back. Jack caught her as she tripped over the carpet, hoisting her back onto her feet. The din from the television was deafening, its screen casting a green light on the entire room. Where Jazz had slipped lay a smudged pool of glowing ectoplasm, reflecting bright green. Maddie was the first to notice. Her head tilted upward slowly.

Danny hung upside-down, slack-jawed. Thick ectoplasm filled his mouth, dripping from his lips and empty eye sockets. His ribs jutted from his barely-opaque torso, a mangled mix of white and green disappearing into a ghostly tail. Gutted.

Jazz and Jack followed Maddie’s gaze, only catching a glimpse of the horrific form before it vanished completely. Maddie shrieked Danny’s name, a piercing combination of anger and terror.

“Sh*t!” Jack wrapped his arms around Maddie and reached for Jazz’s hand. The growing pool of ectoplasm on the floor bubbled and crept toward them, forcing them toward the kitchen. He shoved his family through the door and slammed it shut. It oozed through the frame.

The kitchen looked normal enough, but none of them dared move. The lights had been spared, and everything seemed to be in its place. After a few seconds of silence, every cabinet was thrown open at once, omitting a hideously loud slam. Maddie yelped and Jack grabbed her protectively, every hair on his neck standing up. Jazz leaned against the table, on the verge of tears.

With the last bang, it ended. Danny reappeared in the corner of the room. A quick white flash and he was his human self again, hands pressed against the walls to stabilize himself. He looked up at his wide-eyed family, panting. They looked scared of him. Of course they looked scared of him.

“What the f*ck, Danny!?” Jazz shrieked.

“Language!” Maddie chided.

Danny’s eyes flicked toward the cabinets, still ajar. He’d seen too many scary movies. He raised both hands defensively, shrinking against the wall.

“I won’t do it again. Promise.”

A beat of silence was broken by Jack’s deep, bellowing laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Jazz hissed.

Jack shook his head. “Look at ‘im!” Danny furrowed his brow.

“This kid did all that? I mean, who knew you had it in ya?”

Danny shrugged uncomfortably, averting his eyes.

“I know you’re a ghost, but c’mon!” Jack chuckled, wiping his eye.

Maddie took a step forward. Then, another. She wrapped Danny in her arms and ruffled his hair. “You’re okay.”

Jazz relaxed, her shoulders dropping. She’d agreed to be scared. And sure enough, Danny had f*cking scared her. Less than a minute into the ordeal she’d forgotten why she suggested it in the first place. Now, in their mother’s arms, he looked so normal.

“Feel better?” she asked softly.

“Yeah…” Danny huffed regretfully, “I do.”

“Never again.” Jazz insisted, pointing a threatening finger. Danny shuddered and crossed his heart.

“Alright, alright. Leave him alone,” Jack intervened, cracking himself up. “Mads, you should’ve seen your face!” Maddie rolled her eyes and released Danny.

“Oh, you scared me, alright. I thought you were going for the china.”

“It’s a good thing I was there, eh Danny-boy?” Jack elbowed his ribs. Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Honestly? I can’t back that up.”

“No, really? Did you see me flinch?” Danny stifled a smile.

Maddie chuckled. “Enough jokes, Jack.”

“Not once!” he bellowed. Maddie gave Danny a slap on the back.

“Okay, back upstairs.” He blinked incredulously.

“I’m not cleaning your room!”

“Tomorrow!” Danny insisted.

“Tomorrow.”

Jazz smiled. Yeah, they’d be alright.

Jack shook his head. “How’d we end up with a kid like you?” Danny grabbed a bag of chips from the open pantry, his appetite returning. He waved a hand dismissively as he disappeared into the living room.

“Same way you ended up with a portal to another dimension in the basement!”

#danny phantom #danny fenton #phic #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fanfic #tumblr said i can't go in the tags with Swears #boo #this is the first fic i've posted!#i didn't edit it #but it's been boppin around my nog for a while #things i like:#danny is willing to destroy his room EXCEPT for his rockets those stay put!#jazz thinks sam knew this would be a mess and just let it happen anyway #all the horror movies sam made her buds watch came in handy for better or worse #maddie is able to spot danny needin a hug a mile away #if someone drew gooey gory danny scaring his family i would die #disclaimers:#re: first fic i've posted i don't know how to format fiction and 200% did it wrong #i tried to do what looked right lol #if you have something to say about this fic pls say it to me hi #deleted moment:#the fentons get competitive and make danny tell them who was scarediest #and danny’s just like uhhh idk i was kinda busy being horrifying #mine #fic

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sourbat · 4 years ago

Note

15 or 19 - Nathan/Abigail!

shooting star

thank you!

Abigail wanted “a small dinner,” but when Nathan buys out an entire restaurant for an otherwise uneventful dinner date at a world renowned restaurant, she tells him it’s not what she meant. Later, she mentioned a trip somewhere would be nice, and he tries again, taking her across the country (not several, he points out later to her when she asks him what he was thinking), and again, Nathan wonders where exactly he goes wrong. Abigail requested a relaxing afternoon, but gets upset when Nathan orders klokateers to clear out the park ahead of their arrival, and shoot down any birds that dared interrupt the peace.

Nathan doesn’t get it. He tries asking. Abigail tells him he’s sweet, thoughtful, and that she understands his intent.

“But it’s a lot,” she says, gently putting him down with a soft voice. “And after a long day, I just really need something a bit more down to earth and simple.” She sends him a smile that helps ease the nasty blow he feels. “You understand, right?”

He nods his head at her, but deep down, is reeling in frustration. Were the dates he arranged not simple enough? It wasn’t as though he was already spending less than a few million per date, a mere fraction of what he spent on other, less worthier women.

Pickles is the first to suggest that Nathan take her suggestion into consideration.

“Here me out, what if ya spend only, like, a thousand on her or somethin’?” he says, watching in bemusement when Nathan’s eyes go wide in horror at such a challenge.

“Uh, how am I supposed to impress her if I only spend a grand on her?”

Skwisgaar stops his playing and butts in. “Sometimes it ims not about impresskinks her, but ams about listeninks to her,” he says, smiling at Nathan. “Many of them ladies I brings home just wants someones to talks to, to asks them abouts their day…”

Toki charges forth and mentions Abigail being super tired after a long day of work, and having lots of fun just paling with her, watching dumb shows like Dawson’s Creek while listening attentively to her complaints. Nathan considers it, then asks Toki what sort of suggestions he should provide if she does start complaining. Toki shrugs and tells her he doesn’t usually offer solutions.

“Sometimes ams not about giving answers to problems?” he tells Nathan, and when he glances in Skwisgaar and Pickles’ direction and sees the men give an approving nod, reaccesses the thousand-dollar challenge placed on him.

It’s Pickles’ turn again to offer a solution. He tells Nathan of a lake clearing just half an hour’s drive away from Mordhaus. Located in the woods, but not so deep that it's scary. He tells Nathan he’s taken Charles there on a few occasions. Mentions it's peaceful, and at night, reflects the sky perfectly. Satisfaction guaranteed. Skwisgaar tells Nathan to bring a blanket, and make sure it’s big enough for two. He reminds Nathan to ask questions about her day, and not tell her what she did wrong. No offering answers. Toki pipes in again and lets Nathan know all the gross, sugary wines Abigail liked to drink while watching her shows, and what kinds of crackers, cheeses and chips she snacks on during the later hours of the night. Murderface hands him a certified Planet Piss condom and wishes him good luck.

Nathan waits a few days before popping the question, and picks up on her distress when he mentions the hour of the hypothetical date. With a straight face, he tells her not to worry, but this date number four, and the pattern beforehand suggests the opposite. Still, Nathan remembers the notes offered by the band and keeps himself in check when he considers adding more to the event. Fireworks, maybe? Or hire some lousy symphony to play classical crap while they dine under the stars? Maybe he could get a pyrotechnics machine and add a bit of flare to the night? Fancier snacks? Better wine?

It takes a few blows from Pickles to remind Nathan this isn’t about him impressing her, but about listening.

Keeping it… simple.

...

They had been driving for about twenty minutes when Nathan ordered the driver to make a rough left turn, steering the limo off the main road, and onto a more secluded, dirt path. Abigail notices the tinted windows go black once they make the turn, and asks what Nathan has in store for her. He produces a sly grin, but keeps his lips tight. She thinks he’s being coy, but Nathan’s actually quite nervous and his stomach flops at the possibility this was a stupid idea. He attacks the black nail polish with the ends of his thumb nail when she tries peering out the window for any light, a clue to indicate what sort of trickery Nathan had in store for her. Ten minutes later, the vehicle slows to a halt, and Nathan informs Abigail they’d arrived at the spot.

He’s the first to exit the limo, and is greeted by the silent, luminous glow of the moon, followed by that distant shimmer of water wafting in the distance. Nathan is quick to offer Abigail his hand. Still surprised by the short trick, Abigail exits the limo warily, hand clasping to Nathan’s tightly as he guides her to the clearing.

Abigail looks around the scene. There are only about a dozen klokateers assigned to the area. Not the several she's used to dealing with. Some hover over a small table hosting a candlelit dinner, while a few more stand by with a cart filled with covered plates of food. Another klokateer holds a bottle of sangria she’s sure she recognizes, and a klokateer approaches the table with amps playing some lo-fi mixes she knows she’s listened to on occasion.

In the distance there’s a massive lake reflecting the moon’s light, shimmering and wafting gently against the late autumn breeze. The clearing blocks off most winds, cuts out most of the moans left being cold gales. It’s…pleasant. Her eyes lift to the speckled night sky hosting an array of sparkling stars and distant galaxies.

“This is…” She feels Nathan squeeze her hand. “Really nice,” she says, dropping her gaze and settling Nathan’s hidden worries with a smile. Their shared relief spread across the scene, and upon meeting her smile, yanks her close into a perfect embrace. Abigail gasps, shuts her eyes and fights a yelp as she’s lifted and spun, and though he utters some high-pitched complaints, enjoys the massive warmth of his arms cradling her form.

The spin ends, and they settle. Abigail rests her head against Nathan’s broad chest. Music continues to play and get lost in the clearing, and after a few seconds of repetitive beats, hears Nathan’s low voice start to pick up on the rhythm and follow along.

Obviously someone’s had a hand in the planning, she thinks as Nathan begins to sway, inviting her into a stiff, awkward dance that’s more a standing display than actual dancing. Yes, there’s no doubt about it that Nathan received help from outside sources, and Abigail already knows she can blame Toki for the music and booze, but can’t figure who picked out the location, and what genius thought it was a cute idea to try and teach Nathan how to dance to her favorite mixes. But, it is cute, and the fact Nathan picked her music over the screams and trills of fast-paced guitars, and drove her someplace so close to home and not a thousand miles away, is more than enough for her. Abigail almost thinks to hand her phone to a gear and have them take a snapshot, but knows this is already a lot for Nathan. The poor guy’s likely out of his element, and is praying that a small buffet of snacks, music with advertisement, and a few fold out chairs set besides a lack will be enough.

He takes to her the table and orders a few gears to serve Abigail her first course. Abigail catches glimpses of his harsh stare ease when he turns, the wrinkles around his eyes vanish each time he turns towards the light to meet her, conservative smile turning bashful and hands clawing at the polish when he finally settles and asks in a shockingly soft voice, “Do you, uhh, like it or not?”

“This is perfect,” she answers, and chuckles when she watches his shoulder drop in relief. To think such a big man could harbor so much worry. She takes his hand in her hers and watches his attention hone in on her fingers clasping. Once trapped, his eyes meet with hers, and they lack their usual grim design, replaced with an open, puppy-eyed look that melts Abigail. “Thank you, Nathan. I…”

A flash of light above catches her attention.

Nathan probes. “Something wrong?”

“Look up.”

He does, and when he breaks from Abigail to meet her in the sky, spots the elongated tails of shooting stars racing across the clear night sky. His hand goes limp in her as he stares at the streams of light bursting through the night sky. Music fades and starts over, and klokateers raise lanterns in the surrounding trees to help establish a stronger mood, though neither date seem to notice or care.

Nathan squeezes her hand. “S’real nice.”

“Very pretty.”

He’s head drops, and Abigail catches the unnatural flow of dark hair temporarily obscuring his face before he fixes it, then faces her.

“Not as pretty as you,” he declares with a steady, but gentle whisper.

Abigail’s confident none of the boys told him to be humble, and finds the uncharacteristic change in tone endearing. Shifting between the stars above, and the one facing her at the table, Abigail determines the night a success, and figures she’ll ask Nathan which members of the band helped guide him through the night at a later point in time. For now, she lets Nathan have this, and immerses herself in the simple, but effective spectacle of their date.

“You’re sweet, Nate,” she says, leaning forward and holding in a snort when he hesitates, holds a charge, but then adjusts his movement to carefully meet her halfway. A large star shoots across the sky, flashing a ray of light above him, and Abigail can make out something promising in the man’s eyes, handsome features she’s noticed, but never acknowledged until now.

Another star hails light over them as one shadow closes the gap, startling the other with an unexpected, but welcomed kiss.

#ficlet ask thing #coldethyl75 #nathan explosion #abigail remeltindtdrinc #nategail #thank you

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hystericalweenie · 4 years ago

Text

Just Another Day at the Office - The Sexperiment

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part Five: Make It or Break It

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n is doing better than ever; she’s finally in a relationship with the man she’s been constantly thinking about, she has some great friends, and she’s thriving at her dream job. Except, there’s one problem: being in a relationship with one of your coworkers can get really steamy, and can cause a lot of sexual frustration. Her new pitch idea may solve exactly that problem, but will George be okay with it?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! **“The Sexperiment” is inspired by an actual Cosmopolitan article (here’s the link!) IM SO SORRY FOR BEING GONE SO LONG I’m here to finish this shit once and for all... I know it’s been a while, but I hold this series so close to my heart and I still have the same love for it as I did when I wrote my last chapter (I know it’s only been a few months but STILL) if you’re reading this, I just want to thank you for sticking around, you’re the best <3

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackay x reader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s NSFW content..aka smut. You have been warned. Also angst :/ srry this is kinda short

I was in the worst possible situation I could have ever imagined: I had to choose between my dream job and my dream man.

Bree arrived home about twenty minutes later by herself. My bedroom door creaked open, signaling her arrival. She frowned at my appearance, which seemed to be mascara smudged all over my eyes and cheeks and swollen, bloodshot eyes.

She sat down beside me, pulling me into her. “Y/n, I am so, so, sorry.”

I let out a croaked sigh, “I-it’s fine, he was going t-to find out eventually.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around,” she rubbed my back soothingly. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“It doesn't matter if he’s in love or not!” I exclaimed, pulling out of her embrace, my emotions arising again. “He’ll never forgive me for this.”

Hot tears began to stream down my face and I felt my bottom lip tremble. Bree took it as a cue to leave me be, so she quietly exited to her own bedroom.

What the fuck was I going to do?

This job was the job I’d been looking for my entire life; it was the job I’d dreamed about working at.

But, George...

George was everything. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that George would have ever fucked up the way I did. I wouldn’t ever have to question his loyalty, he’d proven to be trustworthy and honest. He treated me like a princess, a way I’d only ever been treated by my father. I wasn’t sure if I’d hurt more without him or without a job. He never failed to make me smile or laugh, and he’d ensure that I always felt safe. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever fall in love again, until I met him.

I could get a job anywhere, but there was only one George MacKay.

I had to delete the article.

I headed to the kitchen and made myself two cups of coffee before cracking my knuckles and getting to work.

Dean,

This is an emergency. If you don’t reply now or tomorrow, I’m going to be in deep, deep shit.

I didn't have time to wait for his response; I got right to work.

What are people into nowadays, I thought to myself. Sex.

Ping. I clicked on my email.

Y/n,

What?

Well, anything’s better than the fucking Sexperiment article.

Dean,

I have to write a new article. George found out. BAD. Can’t release it, I have to fix this.

Also, would you say your penis size relates to your shoe size at all? It’s for the article.

Promise!

Well, I thought, here goes nothing. My fingers began typing immediately. The caffeine made my fingers shake slightly, but I was determined to write anything. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get George back, but I knew I had to. This was a start, at least.

Ping.

Y/n,

Knew that was going to happen. I’ll help you out, but you owe me. Can we do this tomorrow though? It’s Friday night. Uhhh and to ur other question: I don’t think so. Not going to elaborate more than that. Hope that’s good enough.

I rolled my eyes.

Dean,

Fine. I’ll send you my drafts and you better respond as soon as you can.

I prayed to every possible higher power that this would work. I began conducting research, reading articles and articles about the relationship between the size of a man’s penis and the size of a man’s feet. I wrote down statistics, quotes, and scientific evidence–making sure to exclude any personal experience. I spent hours explaining the theory and science behind it and citing every single quote.

I wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen, but I prayed that Connie wouldn’t be too pissed at me and George would hopefully see how genuinely sorry I was. I knew I’d fucked up, I got too caught up in trying to impress my boss that I practically sabotaged my own relationship in the process. I hadn’t received a single text message or call from him. I missed the way he smelt of sandalwood and vanilla, I missed entangling my fingers in his soft, sandy locks. I missed the way his skin felt against mine and his velvety voice when he called me “love”.

Tears ran down my cheeks once again as these memories lingered in my head. I stared at my computer screen, my eyelids drooping; I needed a break. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I decided that I was going to be entirely committed on staying up all night. Making a sandwich for myself, I sat and watched television for a moment, attempting to distract me from my obvious thoughts. And once I felt slightly more energized, I resumed reading articles, highlighting quotes, and writing. I continued this until Bree woke up, yawning as she swung her bedroom door open.

“Jesus, Y/n,” she observed, my figure at the kitchen table still hunched over, staring at my screen. “Were you up all night?”

“Yeah,” my voice was raspy from exhaustion. “There’s a pot of coffee waiting for you.”

She smiled softly, walking behind me and wrapping her arms around me. “All couples fight, you know.”

I sighed, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore; I need to get this article done.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re writing a new article?”

“Of course I am,” I defended, my eyes not leaving my screen.

She poured herself a cup of the hot liquid.

“You love him.”

My eyes began to water and I fought to blink it away.

“Damn right I do,” I muttered to myself, though I was sure she heard me.

After finishing the draft of the article, I sent it over to Dean. Bree suggested that we go see our friends to distract me, but I wanted to stay home. I needed to write the final draft, and see George...both as soon as possible. Bree stayed around to make sure I’d be okay, watching television with me until Dean responded back with the edits. Once he finally did, I was rewriting the article and using his edits to perfect it. Once I’d finally finished it for Monday, I shut my laptop, grabbed my keys, and began driving to his house.

After parking, I climbed up the stairs until I reached his apartment door. I knocked a few times, nerves churning inside my stomach as I pondered all of the possible reactions he’d have. My biggest fear was that he’d never want to see me again. The door opened, revealing himself in a t-shirt and pajama pants, eyes puffy and bloodshot; I was sure my eyes looked the same.

“I-” I began, letting out a sigh. “I rewrote the article.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“It’s still sex-themed, but it doesn’t have any connection or correlation to you,” I explained, my voice beginning to croak. “I can email it to you, if you’d like. You can read it, see if it’s okay first.”

He shook his head silently. It was apparent that he didn’t know what to say either.

“I know I fucked up,” my voice broke and my bottom lip trembled. “I shouldn’t have come up with an article like that, it was so fucking awful of me to embarrass you in front of your coworkers.”

Tears began to run down my face and I couldn't help but hiccup.

“P-please, George,” I whimpered.

His eyes began to well with tears of his own, and he pulled me into his arms.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you outside of the restaurant,” he whispered, hugging me close to him.

“Oh, George,” I sobbed. “That was nothing; all you’ve done is treat me like gold, and I nearly exposed our fucking sex life to the world.”

He pulled away, cupping both of my cheeks with his palms, his blue orbs staring into mine, his eyelashes thick from wet tears and the whites of his eyes red.

“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking, “don’t lie, nor do something behind my back ever again.”

I pressed my hands against the backs of his, still holding my face in his palms.

“Never again,” I confirmed, throwing my arms around him to feel the warm embrace I thought I’d never feel again. I could inhale his scent, hear his heartbeat through his chest, stare into his ocean blue orbs, and feel the soft sandy curls on his head.

He read the article, and though it made him slightly uncomfortable that I was writing about penises, he designed simple art that would make the article pop in the magazine. Then, we laid in his bed for hours, listening to each others heartbeats, listening to our breathing rhythms, staring into each others eyes as if we were silently communicating to one another.

We decided to take a shower together, stripping each other of our clothes slowly and meaningfully. Once the hot water was running down our bare skin, we washed each other; shampooing each others hair slowly and washing our bodies tenderly, leaving kisses on wet shoulders and necks. Once we got out and dried off, we got back into his bed and maintained a spooning position, his bare torso against my bare back, as we dozed off to the warm, comforting feeling of our bare skin touching.

Monday morning, I sat down at my desk and sent the new article to Connie, anxiety making me bite my nails as I waited for a response back.

Ping.

Oh, no, I thought to myself.

Y/n,

Meet me in the conference room with Dean.

Connie

I sighed, exchanging looks with Dean–whom was reading the email over my shoulder–before we made our way to the conference room. She stood, her arms crossed, as we entered the room. I gulped, heart racing and sweat starting to form at my palms. The two of us sat ourselves, waiting for her to begin.

She joined us in a chair across from us, her elbows resting against the table.

“Well?” she began, her voice questioning. “What happened to the article?”

Dean looked at me, waiting for me to speak for myself. I braced myself before talking.

“The Sexperiment article wasn’t working for me, Connie,” I explained nervously, “I wasn’t having much luck writing it, and I wasn’t confident that it’d reach the magazine’s standards.”

I had to lie; I couldn’t tell her that the article nearly jeopardized my relationship. Dean sat next to me, silent.

She sighed, “I hope this one will reach the ‘magazine’s standards’, then,” she mimicked, before standing up and flattening her skirt. “I’ll publish the article, but this is a warning: do not change your article without contacting me first.”

And with that, we were dismissed, panic still swimming in our stomachs. Well, I thought, I chose George over my job; what else was I expecting?

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #George Mackay smut #1917 #1917 schofield #1917 cast #dean charles chapman #x reader fic #x reader

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