#someone erase my memories so i can watch bleach again

[nums-bird]

Ulquiorra missing hours😔(I miss my son)

[sumeshi-t]

falling.

fwb!sakusa x reader

wc: 1.7k

warning: slight nsfw mention here and there

i tried tried making this as just a drabble, but i think i might have gotten carried away sksksks 

tagging cheesecult: @akaashit-baeji @bubbleteaa @yamagucheese @milkandc00kiez @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes  @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma  @kawanisshi @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @airybby @kawaiikraykray @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei

and thank you mom @taeiliee for beta-ing this omg ilysm

you were sat at the corner of the large hall, watching as strangers kissed strangers, brushing their sweating bodies against each other on the dance floor, the smell of alcohol and lust and sin heavy in the air, all this muted by the loud blaring of music, the bass thumping along with your heartbeat, sending vibrations to your skull.

sighing, you swiveled on the chair, before asking the bartender for a drink. you were just going to enjoy one more shot, give your friends a text, and go home, sleep, end the night as dull as it should be.

until this man, whose curly hair framed his face perfectly, two distinct moles just above one of his brows, the scent of fresh laundry and lavender reaching your nose, caught in your periphery, sitting a chair away from you. his mask prevented you from seeing him in full view but just a look at his eyes tells you that he's been through hell just by being in that place. 

he only asked for water, took out a handkerchief and wiped the rim of the glass before pulling down his mask to take careful sips. he must've noticed you watching him, so he turned to you.

as silly as it sounds, you hiccuped at having realized how cute this man actually was without the mask. you quickly cover your mouth and, surprisingly, he asks the bartender to get you a glass of water. 

"you having fun?" you ask him once your hiccups subsided, apologizing for bothering him. the man who has yet to introduce himself groans, "obviously not. i don't see you having a good time either," 

"this isn't really my type of fun. not at all; i'd rather be at home but..." it's the alcohol, you're going to stupidly put all the blame on the drinks that you've had; on the way his eyes scanned your face; on the way your eyes watched his lips move; on the way his arm brushed against yours once you two decided to get the hell out of that shit-fest.

you thought this was only going to be a cute little encounter with a man who also hated crowds that rescued you and himself, and you were in no way expecting to be ending the night like this–

tipsy and naked, legs spread, back against the wall, nails digging into his smooth back, warm shower water trickling down your body; your breath fogging up the glass, panting with every snap of his hips against yours. 

it was a weird way for introductions to be made, but as you both neared your high, he whispers his name in your ear, "say it, call my name, scream,"

and you did. 

as you rode out your orgasm with him, the sensation of his name rolling out of your tongue felt more euphoric than what really led to you being unable to stand on your own, knees buckling soon as your feet touched the floor, that he has had to give you and himself a real and decent shower.

when you lay in his bed moments later, his back was turned to face you. no "good night" or "sweet dreams"– you realize you'd preferred it that way, to stick to the reality of what this was: a one night stand. and since it's like that, you guessed that this was the last time you'd be seeing or even be breathing the same air as this man. 

so even if he was merely breaths away from you, you knew what you shared with him just now wouldn't shorten the ten thousand miles between you. you knew it was wrong to be feeling this way for a stranger; even so, your clouded thoughts got the best of you.

and you reached out.

"kiyoomi,"

"what? can't sleep?" his voice was a low grumble, the sound muffled by the pillow he was hugging to his chest.

"it's y/n," meanwhile, your voice was barely audible, you were sure it was just another whisper in the wind. but for sakusa kiyoomi, it was louder than the moans and gasps you made that night. "though i don't think that's important," you drawled before succumbing to sleep.

the next day, you wake early and leave him, his bed, and the memories of last night without a word. just as how one night stands should be.

so for the next week, you were confused, angry, for feeling so desperate to see sakusa kiyoomi once again. if only you knew that this was how it was going to be, you would've left your number on a little note; or maybe do the things they would in movies, used your lipstick to write it on his bathroom mirror with hearts and your name in case he didn't hear it.

and your desperation has you coming back to that shit-hole of a party. if only to relive the memories of that one night. you knew the chances of seeing him there again were slim, absentmindedly twirling your glass of vodka in your hand while letting the alcohol slowly numb you.

only to see a familiar set of eyes, and half of a face obscured by a mask beside you. 

"thought this wasn't your fun?"

"i could say the same about you, didn't you hate it here?" you place the glass back on the counter, completely turning to sakusa, "wanna get out of here?"

he downed the shot you didn't take, before standing up to leave. 

you both hated having to go back to that club. but for some reason, the two of you just indulged in the prospect of meeting each other there, only to be in each other's heat, and for one of you to be left alone in the cold the morning after.

then it was the third, fourth, and soon it was the sixth-night-stand.

you did something you've never done before: that was, pressing your lips against his. there was a surge of boldness in you that you assumed was only from the alcohol, when you didn't know yet that it was already something more addictive and dangerous than that.

you thought the kiss would ruin everything that you had with him–whatever it was–but, it didn't. instead, sakusa kiyoomi responds with a bite to your lower lip, a chaste kiss, a teasing lick, before pulling away to rest his lips to nip at your neck.

for the rest of that night, his movements weren't so rough. from his lips came out your name and his praises, and with those same swollen lips he left behind a burning trail of butterfly kisses on every corner of your body covered by skin he could taste–all this replacing the usual grunts of approval or the loud smack of his palms against your ass.

this time, sakusa's bed wasn't cold nor empty. the first thing he saw as soon as he opened his eyes the next morning was you; cradled in his arms, hickey-filled chest steadily rising and falling with each breath. his calloused fingers brush against your cheek once, and it was too bad that you couldn't see the soft smile he has for you.

after the seventh night, you two began texting. the texting escalated to phone calls. the phone calls turned into meet-ups that you all but wanted to call a date but couldn't because you had no idea just what you were to him, and what he was to you.

"woah, you can do that? don't your wrists hurt?" your eyes widened, almost dropping the ice cream he bought for you after one of his practice games. 

"really, omiomi? that how ya flirt with such a pretty lady?" one of his teammates quips from behind you. sakusa glares at the blonde guy who you remember as their setter, and you decide to laugh it off. "don't worry, he doesn't have to do much to have me on my kne–"

sakusa slams a mask to your face to keep you from saying anything more. and then, once he knows the two of you were out of their earshot,  his arm wraps around your shoulder to pull you close to him, and he warns by your ear, "that filthy mouth of yours needs a little cleaning tonight,"

to his surprise, you smile up at him, which gives him a hard time concentrating on what you were saying, his quickening pulse echoing in his head making him unable to hear your voice. 

it was no longer the sex that you craved from him. it was no longer just sex for him. deep in your heart, you knew what you shared with sakusa–it was making love. and he knows this too. it was a feeling that to him was so familiar yet so distant. 

"kiyoomi,"

"y/n,"

"i... i think, i'm already in love with you,"

you were so blinded by the brightness of the emotions you knew you felt with and for him, that you failed to notice he never answered you back, nor did you see the fears and worries that he keeps hidden behind his mask.

after all that build-up, only for sakusa kiyoomi to drop you at the last second. as if nothing happened. as if you were nothing. the meet-ups stopped, your calls were declined, texts left on read. 

it's been a month since then, now you were in your bedroom on a friday night, refusing your friends' invites for yet another party downtown. this time, they tell you it was for you to forget. which was dumb, considering that place was where it all started.

"it" meaning... what? it's not even valid to call it a one night stand anymore. a friend with benefits? then again, did you even fit his description of a friend? or were you just another fuck buddy to him? someone he used as an outlet of his sexual frustrations and when he caught on to the feelings you shouldn't have and even you didn't even know why–

you wished forgetting sakusa kiyoomi was as easy as getting rid of the stains on your sheets.

but the tears and pain he's dirtied you with was a mark no bleach or detergent could ever erase.

little did you know, for the past month, sakusa kiyoomi was patiently waiting for you in that same old stool back in the bar, with three words he wished he'd told you sooner. 

[kyberphilosopher]

Tʜᴇ Nᴇᴘᴇɴᴛʜᴇ

part ii of ‘the Caim’. 

word count: 4790

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.  Nepenthe... (n.) one that brings a pleasurable sense of forgetfulness, or the erasing of an unwanted memory.

It felt better than last time, at least. 

No, it wasn’t perfect. Nothing was ever perfect when it came to wartime- least of all emotional well-beings. But you had once been at the lowest of all points, and now you could say otherwise. Now, at least, your emotional state was better than others. Better than comrades, friends, and those who you dearly missed without even being allowed to. 

You had known it was a silly thing to do from the very beginning. For one, it was against the code you had sworn to uphold and heed. You knew the Jedi would never have approved of what you allowed to take place, but the sincerity of it all had admittedly clouded your judgement. Secondly, it was simply ridiculous enough of you for encouraging it to begin with. It was even more ridiculous to continue to cling onto what had happened, all within the confines of a slim, onyx box. 

The parchments were fragile from time, but protected from how well you’d treated them. You’d been sure not to crinkle the pieces anymore than you’d needed to. Even taken extra care in not smearing the ink when your thumbs were rubbing over top of it. With a rather unrealistic fear of the papers turning to dust at the very mention of the air, you rarely took them out to see with your own eyes. 

But what in the wide open galaxy could’ve been so precious, someone would never take them out out of fear of oxygen? 

Treasures from your worst time, of course. From Umbara, when you had been called to fill in for General Kenobi and Skywalker on a month long mission in retaking the shadowy world. It hadn’t taken long for you to lose any notion of spirit to exhaustion. Your body and soul had turned sour with a dull ailment, as if you were dressed in the feeling of dry throat. But, of course, you had been prepared to ride this feeling out until the end of your task. 

And then something had made it far more bearable. First only a little, then a lot. 

No, you were never able to prove it. But you knew. And in return, Rex knew that you knew. Whether he noticed your demeanor and mood or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that the man had taken time out of his rather busy schedule to write you small, but simple, declarations of his admiration for you. It was probably the nicest things anyone had ever done for you, and the Captain had done it purely out of his own golden heart. 

So, that was what you kept in the box. Notes from the man who had touched you deeply, and therefor carried you to the end. 

You hadn’t seen Rex since the second siege of Umbara- the mission you’d been involved with. But that was about five months ago now. You had already returned to your own battalion, returned to your own battles, returned to the people who were already counting on you. You still saw Anakin and Obi-Wan fairly often, even aided the latter in a space battle against Grievous. Other than that, you worked with General Plo Koon in guarding the skies. And all was well.  

You never asked about Rex. Though you desperately wanted to inquire of his health, it would’ve been too off putting for both your colleagues and your own men. After all, nobody knew what had transpired between the two of you. And even then, neither you nor the Captain acknowledged it. So it wasn’t like you had much of a right to any concern for him anyway. You weren’t his lover, or even his friend. You were a superior, and it was not much allowed to act as though there was anything more to it. 

Though as your fingers ghosted over the last slip of paper he had written to you, a certain fondness was hard to deny. 

“ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ.” How were you just supposed to forget that? Though you supposed that must’ve been the mans intention. He hadn’t wanted you to forget it, even if it was a bit of a distraction to both of your duties.

With a slow exhale from your nose, your thumb strokes the corner of the parchment a final time. Then, you fold the paper back up, stack it up in line with the other pieces, and carefully place them back in the black box. You only have to lean over in your sitting position to place the box under the shelf you call your bed. Once you sit up again, you’re met with the boring gray walls of the inside of a Venator. And without realizing it, the last thing you think of before you lay down for sleep, is how you’d much rather be looking at a certain Captain instead. 

You would get your wish.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

You grip the table in front of you as your ship jolts. Overhead, lights lining the ceilings and walls flash red like sirens. A few of the officers and men around you stumble as well, and you just know a trillion more problems are arising. 

“C’mon Plo...” you urgently hiss under your breath. “Hurry up, please.”

As if on cue, you watch his star-fighter spin outside the bridge window, closely followed by a spray of enemy shots. A low trill from in front of you grabs your attention instead, and you raise your head to meet your fellow Jedi.

“General Y/N?” Anakin inquires importantly. “Are you there?”

Another shake runs through your ship, causing your knuckles to pale from the intensity of holding on. “I’m here,” you answer. “Our forces are overpowered. General Koon won’t be able to hold out for much longer. I suggest we-” another shake of your ship. “I suggest we pull back.”

General Skywalker nods his head firmly, then looks around with darting eyes. “We’re coming out of hyperspace now, General. Whether or not we’ll be in one piece is up for debate, though.”

You raise an eyebrow in question. Your fellow Jedi know your lack of speaking enough to understand that this quirk is encouraging them to explain. “We’ve been... badly damaged. Admiral Yularen is out cold. If we stay on this ship, we’re done for.”

You nod as you get the message. “Understood,” you say, and the hologram disappears. “Open up the hanger and lower rear shields. Prepare for incoming escape pods,” you say to one officer. As he nods his head curtly, you raise your communicator to your lips and turn to the bridge window. “You hear that, Plo?”

“Affirmative,” the Kel Dor answers through blasts. 

“As soon as everyone arrives, I want us in hyperspace,” you say to your Admiral. 

It only took three moments before the giant window you looked out to was painted with blue and white streaks, and then a tunnel of indigo. A slow breath escapes you as anxiety quietly builds inside. Skywalker’s plan went horribly. He’d known the Separatist ships had outgunned you and Plo this time, but he insisted you hold your position. You had attempted to warn him against this, but clearly to no avail. Now you’re down a ship, Yularen, and several men. Not to mention all the shots your own cruiser had taken. 

“Plo,” you say into your communicator, slowly. “Do you read me?”

Silence. 

“Plo?” 

“I’m here.” You exhale in relief at the sound of his voice. “I’ve met General Skywalker in the hanger bay. They have wounded.”

“I’m on my way.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“General Y/N!” Anakin exclaims. His notorious smirk is creeping against the edge of his lips, and his hands are outstretched to make his words all the bolder. Despite his warm greeting, clones are being carried away in stretchers all around him, and your once clean bay is now streaked with skid marks. 

“I have to say, this is one of your worse landings,” you tell him once you enter earshot. Unlike the man in front of you, you were not one to shout your half of the conversation from across the room. You nod once to General Plo as he passes you by.

“Yeah, well, I improvised.”

Clearly, you think as you watch a Clone remove his helmet and gasp for air. 

“We lost a whole squadron of men,” Anakin continues. “Yularen was injured while we were out flanked. And Obi-Wan...” Anakin sighs and squares his jaw. “Obi-Wan’s gonna kill me.”

What about Rex? You resist the urge to scream. Instead, you say, “I can cover you for this one.”

“No,” the man says quickly. He folds his arms somewhat bitterly, though you know it’s not directed towards you. “No. It’s my mistake.”

You’ve barely opened your mouth before someone else steals your attention again. Behind you, a distorted voice rings clear and true. “General Skywalker,” it calls, and your heart gives a great pound, even though you’ve heard the voice over a thousand times today.

You shift your body so you’re half facing the voice. You watch a trooper in blue marked armor march up to where you and your comrade stand. Helmet scarred with tally marks... Blasters on both hips... The appearance only confirmed what you had already known. 

Coming closer, Rex lifts his hands and removes his helmet from his head, revealing his face. 

Maker, had he always looked like this? Or was this a trick of your brain from a new addiction to him?

Bleached hair cut close to his head, striking features and golden eyes. Angular as ever, but symmetrical nonetheless. You hadn’t really experienced attraction much in your life. The Jedi code kept barred you from it, and you hadn’t much of a desire to really seek it out. But you had spent so much time wondering about the man that when you saw him again, even after all this time, you knew at once that not only was Rex attractive, but you were attracted to him. 

“Ah, Rex,” Skywalker says in turn. “Good to see you’re in one piece. I was just about to mention you to our host here.”

You watch the Clones pupils dilate as he bites the inside of his right cheek. Although you’re feeling the same amount of both excitement and anxiety as he is, his discomfort means more to you. In a quick but meaningful attempt to quell his rather put-on-the-spot feelings, you speak first. 

“Captain,” you say steadily. “I’m glad to see you well.”

What a poor thing to say. Could you truly not have thought of anything better to say to the man?

“How are the men?” Anakin asks from beside you, nearly making you jump. You’d momentarily forgotten where you were, and the fact that other people just so happened to exist. 

Rex dips his head. You can see the weight of stress against his shoulders, and a darkening shadow within his eyes. In the pit of your own stomach, a prick of guilt and empathy sparks. Is this how he had felt seeing you in such a state? Had it truly felt this jarring?

“They’re... heavily injured,” the Captain answers. A thumb rubs against the side of his helmet like a ghost, just over the tally marks. “We’re still counting the casualties.”

“If you’d like to help your men...” Anakin trails off. 

Rex snaps back to attention, his voice as clear and strong as any soldier. “I would. Will you be alright without me?”

“Rex,” Anakin assures with a lighthearted smile. “We’ll be fine. I’ll contact you if we need anything.”

Rex is sure not to make eye contact with you again as he goes. He silently questions Skywalker a few seconds longer with his large, amber eyes. Then he puts his helmet back over his face, turns around in uniform fashion, and heads to assist Kix in the corner. 

You knew how dedicated of a man he was before. He had his conflict, but he always put it aside for the greater good of those around him, meaning he was selfless as well. Rex remained hardworking and level headed, which didn’t surprise you much, but still. He impressed you with how he walked and talked and treated other people, you being one of them. Focused, diligent... there was so many things you could say about him. All of them flattering. Instead, you muttered:

“He always was a good man.”

“Well he hasn’t changed much since you saw him,” Skywalker elaborates. “I was hoping to promote him to Commander this year, but I doubt it will happen now.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you turn back to your fellow Jedi. It’s a silent question of ‘why? what makes you say that?’.

Anakin takes a small step forward, which allows you to inhale his scent. It’s an intimate act, though not in a sexual nor romantic way. It’s an intimate act of secrecy, and you’re sure to give him your full attention in the coming moments. 

“Rex tends to... self deprecate.”

Your first instinct is to be somewhat offended on the clone Captain’s behalf. But your mind is quick to quiet this instinct, giving way to the logical answer. 

Skywalker isn’t wrong. Though his phrasing may not be the most accurate, it gets the point across. Rex does self deprecate. He shares the loss with everyone as if it were his own. As if he were responsible for the failure or wrongdoing whether he really was or not. And, sadly, most of the time he’s not. But he’ll never see it that way. 

The Captain considered all the men lost on this mission his fault. Anakin could offer Rex the position of Commander all he wants, but the clone would never accept after a mission like this. 

You turn back towards his direction. Rex crouches down next to his medic friend, occasionally nodding his head solemnly. Even now, in a state that tugs on the edges of your heart, he looks pretty. 

“How long do you expect to stay?” you ask with focused eyes. 

“I don’t know,” the Skywalker says with a sigh. “But you don’t mind if my men stay here while me and Obi-Wan do some recon, right?”

“No,” you answer slowly, the idea solidifying as you watch the Clone push himself to his feet. “Stay as long as you need.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You wrote it out carefully. The grip around the pen was tight and secure, and the letters that bled from it were tiny and neat. In an age where holopads ruled the galaxy, you’d almost forgotten what your handwriting was like. It was nice to remember. 

Writing was simple. It was more peaceful than holding a lightsaber, and you didn’t destroy anything through your hands movements. When the letters appeared at your will, you could imagine a life where they did this all the time. A life on the countryside maybe, or the beach. You’d heard Scarif was beautiful often. Maybe there?

The feeling of sullen peace doesn’t last long. As soon as you finish your statement, you’re back to being a Jedi knight. It saddens you in it’s own way, but you tell yourself it’s for the best, as you usually did. Then, you read your gift over in your head.

ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴀɴ.

It didn’t seem like it was enough, so you flipped the parchment over to the other side and wrote more. 

ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ.

And you meant what you had written, too. Rex, like any other Clone, didn’t deserve the guilt that war brought. He didn’t deserve the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, but he had to bear it anyway. Maybe your little words with alleviate some of it for him, just as it had for you. 

I slip the paper between the folds of your robes. At nightfall, you creep into the darkness, a messenger of your own terms. 

You knew that Rex had received and read your offering. The moment yours eyes met, it was done for. 

You weren’t going to act out. Your face didn’t change in the slightest. Rex’s, however, has shifted his eyes into a widened state, and his lips are parted as he realizes what you have done. Whatever doubts he had about it were now quelled, for at first he had assumed it was a simply a kind soldier. 

Instead it was you, the Jedi he had thought about every day since first sight. 

Slowly, you raise your breakfast bread to your lips. Your teeth break through the little cloud of dough, savoring the dry taste. Rex seems to be paralyzed on the other side of the room. He doesn’t even seem to recognize that he’s in public, in a sea of clones and officers who would be able to read the look on his face if they squint enough. 

You hold the man’s stare for a few seconds longer. Then you turn away, just in time to catch Plo and Anakin approaching you. 

“General,” Anakin greets. You bow your head in recognition. 

“We received a transmission from General Kenobi and Windu this morning,” Plo booms. “They’re on their way to support us best they can, but they estimate they won’t be here for the next three days.”

Three days. You have three days to calm Rex’s nerves. 

You swallow down your bite of bread before you respond. “Any news of the enemy?”

“None so far.”

“We should send out scouts in all directions,” Anakin steps forward. “We have to locate Grievous before he escapes again.”

“He could’ve already jumped into hyperspace by now,” you urge. “Unlike him, we may not have that fuel. Not until Obi-Wan gets here.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex found the second note that evening. 

He’d already struggled to push the first from his mind, but now his head felt like it was filling with clouds. What should he have focused on? Your lingering scent on the cards? The cleanliness of your handwriting? The fact that it was from you? For him? Maker, he hadn’t even said thirty sentences to you, and he was already drunk with love. 

Not infatuation. Not lust. Love. 

With a shaky hand, the soldier purses his lips. He bends over in his blue painted armor. He feels the paper against the fingertips of his gloves. At once, he feels you too. He can’t turn it over fast enough. 

ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ, ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ. ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ- ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ? ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.

Rex’s throat dries fast. The light in his ambers eyes resembles the embers of a fire, alive and awake with the spark of a promise. But the man knows there may be more, and he turns the parchment to the other side, nearly giving himself a paper slice. 

ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ, ʀᴇx.

It’s you. This confirms it. 

You’ve addressed him by name now. You’ve made it solid with the motion of your wrist and the ink of a pen. So how does Rex respond? Confront you directly? No. You’re his superior. Rex isn’t even fully sure he’d have the courage to do that yet. Lead his men into battle? Any day, no problem. Speak to you, with your piercing eyes and your analytical mind? His tongue would tie itself before he’d be able to get any words out. 

Should he write a letter in return? That’s not how this works. Rex remembers he’s out of paper at the moment anyway. He can’t talk to Anakin about it without getting you in trouble. Confiding in his brothers would’ve only led to frustration, lame advice, and court marshals. That’s not an option. 

The only other path is simple: no confrontation at all. Rex rides out the wave of your words until you split paths again. You disappear to do whatever it is Jedi do, and the Captain is forced back into having to find ways to inquire about your wellbeing to Anakin without seeming unnatural. 

But that doesn’t totally seem like an option either. 

Unknown to the man, you sit on security cameras. You watch as he stands outside the doorway of his barracks, clutching the note close to his chest, before you head to your sleep. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Rex is happier the next morning. 

His broad chest is puffed out further than before. It’s not noticeable for most people, but it’s noticeable for anyone who’s memorized the walk and posture of their lover. The same goes for the corners of his lips, which aren’t as dragged downwards as usual. His eyes are bright from a well rest. 

He is physically healthy. You can only hope his head is beginning to follow suit. 

You write him one note, which is read before lunch time. A simple:

ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɢʟᴏᴡ.

Which you could swear resulted in softer expressions on his part throughout the day. No smiles. The atmosphere was too grim and crowded for a full, cheery curve. It’s a bit of a shame, because you meant your words. The thought alone of Rex grinning in sheer joy is enough to make you want to grin too. Still, you understand. Disappointment and understanding tend to go well together. 

After overseeing some construction, you receive a cut along your palm. It is sharp and deep, and the crimson blood seeps into the crevices of your fingers. Despite the stinging, you offer little outside reaction. You are quick to carry yourself to the infirmary. 

Rex leaves the infirmary at the same time. 

You tell yourself you won’t turn to look at him. But then you hear him speak “General, are you alright?” and you abandon your internal swear. 

The promise of seeing his face is too tempting. You turn smoothly, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” you tell him, as if nothing ever existed between the two of you. “I’m alright.” Then your brows crease together. “Are you?”

Rex takes a split second to respond. He is distracted, trapped in his own thoughts thanks to you. “Oh- yes, General. I was just, ah, visiting Jesse. Some friends of mine were injured in the crash, sir.”

Your gaze softens considerably. Your next lines come out without thinking, but they flow as freely as a stream regardless. “You always were a kind man.”

Which isn’t a bad thing to say to anyone, by any means. But in relation to you and him, it feels like a big step. The words sound like something that should’ve been kept in between the folds of paper, and left by the side of a door. 

Both Rex and yourself tense up at the exact same time. Eyes widen, shoulders square. 

But Rex is true to his nature. “And you always had quite the way with words, General,” he says. The end of his sentence is capped with a clipped up smirk, and a charismatic glint in his eyes that is too raw to be untruthful. 

So the Captain finds another letter addressed to him that day, right before bed. 

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ.

And on the other side, 

ɪ'ᴅ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And then it’s the last day that you’ll be together. The day you’d been dreading. The day you’d been putting off. 

You hadn’t meant to get so attached. It goes against your training, your code, everything you’ve sacrificed yourself for. But you’re too far in now. You are absolutely star struck, invested, and trapped in a rabbit hole created by Rex himself. Not that you blame him. You’re glad for it. You could be happy like this. 

You don’t want to lose him. Therefore, a line of thinking pops into your intelligent little brain. It wouldn’t solve all the problems. In fact, it would probably create more. But it would be binding. It would be official. You could escape. 

You wanted to. You wanted to go forward with your line of thinking. But Maker, it was a leap. Would it be worth it?

Yes. If you had to answer now, the answer would be yes. 

An entire section of your brain was dedicated to mulling it over the entirety of the day. Even as you commanded your troops, signaling and training and clutching the end of the holotable with your bandaged fingers, about seventeen percent of your brain power was stuck on the future. 

The answer was reached at the very last moment. 

As Obi-Wan emerged from hyperspace, along with several fighters, your mind went blank. And then the blankness washed away, and all you could feel was the simplicity of a crackling fire, the waves on a beach, and the promise of safety. You imagine yourself writing every day with pen and paper, creating whimsical works for yourself and your lover. There is nothing but peace. No war, nor responsibilities. Only the beach, the parchment, and Rex. 

Rex. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Your lover already received what he had assumed would be the last letter from you. He’d seen it in the morning. It was simple and sweet, and while it didn’t do much to soothe himself from the thought of parting from you, it had made him feel warm inside. 

ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ. ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ, ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

So you can imagine the way his dark eyebrows knit together at the sight of another. 

Perhaps it was an accident. The Captain had been returning to his quarters to gather whatever belongings he’d left inside before transferring over to Obi-Wan’s cruiser with General Skywalker. No. That was a ridiculous thing to think. You were simply immune to making mistakes. 

Rex bends over. Again, his black gloved hand stretches out and clasps the parchment up. He is always careful with it, as to not crinkle the memories and sentiment wrapped within. Like you, he is sure to keep everything you send to him in either a box or an envelope for future reference. 

Your last note is not a statement. It is not a compliment to be taken at face value. It is a question, a proposal. It is a leap of faith. 

You got your answer the next morning. Before loading himself onto the transport, your Captain is sure to meet your eyes. You step forward with one foot, searching for any signs. And for the first few seconds you are concerned that he has answered with a simple ‘no’, but then you realize that he is simply teasing. Something you’d have to get used to, it seems. 

Rex gives you a smile. A soft one, but a sincere one. His right hand reaches up, and pats against his armor, right over his heart. He does this one, two, three times, before slipping his handsome face inside his helmet, and disappearing behind the visor. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You are married on Obi-Wan’s cruiser. General Koon sends you over the next day to obtain information in person instead of holograms for fear of bugs and spies. And, yes, you were true to your mission. 

But where no one could see you, you met Rex in a humid hallway. The lights were dimmed and near glowing red, but the area was totally cleared out. Neither clone, nor Jedi disturbed the lovers, whose shadows were looking into each others eyes.

Rex has your hands in his. They are rough, and a reminder of how you observed them and thought he had stood out at first sight. He still has the scar on his palm, though this time you have your own to match it. This time, you also match in terms of jewelry, for both of your left ring fingers are tethered by simple, silver bands. 

The kiss that sealed the idea was chaste at first. You hadn’t known what to do, though it hadn’t taken you long to through that thought to the wind. Kissing Rex felt good, even if you had nothing to compare it to. It was the kiss you had been waiting for, and the tongue prodding at your lips had only confirmed your suspicions that Rex was an adventurous man. 

And so, in the hallway where the lovers met, all was well. 

At least until Order Sixty-Six came. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

finally. 

might edit though, but i always say i’ll do that and then don’t. 

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​ @chokemeanakin​ @anakinswhore​ @haztory​ @fanficsforheartandsoul​ @kit-jpg​

[mooswords]

It’s all coming back

Pairing: semi eita x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags: war au, minor character death (mentioned), angst

Ramblings: i think ive peaked with this fic. i also cried multiple times writing this but like... thats nothing new sklajsdbk. thank you to lyra for beta-ing and yelling about this with me every step of the way <3

---

The summer breeze sweeps through the valley, warm air bringing little relief from the afternoon sun. You can feel the sweat dripping in familiar discomfort down your back as you pull at the weeds invading your struggling potato crop. It’s mind-numbing work, but it has to be done. Anyway, you’re almost-

Your name is yelled, loud and panicked. Tsutomu’s stumbling form is running towards you. 

“There’s a man,” he pants. “There’s a man coming up the hill.”

“Is it Tadashi?”

“I don’t think it’s him. He-” Tsutomu throws a look over his shoulder, like he can see through the house and fences to remind himself what this man looks like. “He’s got a sword I think.”

“A soldier?” you breathe, the stone in your stomach dropping lower. Your shoulder aches. It’s still healing, a lingering reminder that soldiers are nothing but bad news. It’s been nearly a year since the war ended, but they like to ignore that fact. 

Through the summer haze, you can see a blurry figure trudging up the road winding up to the house. Even at this distance, you can tell it’s definitely not Tadashi.

“Kei and Hikota are further out," you tell him, eyes still set on the figure. "Go find them and stay in the barn together until I come and get you, OK?”

“But-”

“Tsutomu. Go.”

The mystery figure is nearly at the house by the time you make it out the front door, shotgun in hand. Now you're closer you can see the ash-grey hair, the sword swinging at his hip. At this distance, you can also see the nervous smile on his face. Reluctantly, you lean the shotgun against the door jam.

He stops a few respectful paces away, and you let your eyes flit over him scornfully. “You’ve got guts, showing up here again.”

Semi winces. He knew not to expect a warm welcome, especially with how he left, but he hadn’t expected this. You don’t look the same as he remembers - more worn, more beaten down by the ebb and flow of life than he had hoped. There is a new assertiveness that you wear, still a few sizes too big for you to fill out properly but nonetheless folding strong and confident across your shoulders. It speaks to many years alone, being forced to grow up too quickly. 

He supposes that’s partially his fault though.

“What do you want?” you ask, chin tilted up. Defiant as always. He’s glad that hasn’t changed.

“I’m… the war’s over. I came home.”

“Home?” You sound incredulous, a mocking edge to your voice.

“Yes,” Semi says, uncertainty beginning to cloud his words. “To you.”

You scoff. It seems the years have gifted you with a certain bitterness; he can not fault you for it, but it still grates at his rose-tinted memories. You were never a particularly joyful child - joy wasn’t a luxury people like you and he could afford - but there was a hope he remembered, a desperate spark that you’d imbue into the stories you’d tell the younger kids. The woman in front of him today deals only in blunt, unsavoury realities.

“Home to me,” you repeat, nodding slowly. Your tone is less than impressed. “Tell me-” you cock your head, contempt in every move, “since when do you leave your home without even a goodbye?”

You can see the confusion in the furrow of his brow. How could he not know? 

“I’m sorry, I-” he shifts, looking less like a war-hardened soldier and more like the lanky 17-year-old you knew all those years ago. “I wasn't brave enough.”

“And yet you were brave enough to go fight in a war that's stretched on for years.” You bite your tongue, frustration welling up because you want to hug him forever but you also can’t let yourself slip up. He’s a soldier. He left. You have the younger kids to think about too, and you aren’t going to let him come in and destroy this family you have fought tooth and nail for. 

“You seem like you’re doing OK now.”

“Yeah, now,” you bite back. “I’m doing OK now because I survived long enough to get out of the city walls. Barely. You can’t just waltz back in here like you never left.”

“I had to go, they needed me.”

“They needed you?! What about Tsutomu?” 

He looks sheepish at that. Maybe you're finally getting through to him.

“He had you?” he tries.

Then again, how could he know? He may have seen horrors fighting for six long years, but Semi left before the city really began to fall apart. You have survived your own nightmares. Humanity is capable of more atrocities than just war. 

“Of course he had me, I wasn't going to abandon him after his own brother did.” It's a low blow, but you can't find it in yourself to care. “But that doesn’t erase the fact I was one girl! I was struggling to feed my own siblings let alone yours! Do you think young girls can find work in the city? Do you think I could protect all of the kids?” 

You’re shaking now, animated in your fury, and the words are pouring out faster and more uncontrolled than you had imagined. You have had six years to think of what you would say to Semi if he ever came home, but right now you can't remember a word of the carefully scathing speeches you had drafted in those long nights. This is far less elegant, nothing more than the messy sum of repressed emotions and long-forgotten promises.

“You left! When I needed you! You left me alone, just to-” you angrily smear your tears, jaw clenching, “-to go fight in some stupid war they already had thousands of men to fight.”

“You had the others, and I couldn’t just-”

The door behind you creaks.

“Go back to your siblings, Kei,” you say, not turning.

Semi’s eyes are pulled to the proud arch of a young boy’s head. For someone with dirt smeared across his cheek and a sun-bleached shirt, the kid holds himself with something akin to royal grace. Semi would be impressed if he didn’t recognise the faux bravado as the carefully cultivated shield it is. He used to wear the same brand of armour.

“You sure?” the boy asks, a well-worn aloofness in his tone that that shouldn’t belong to someone still so young. If life hasn’t been kind to you, it has been rougher for this kid.

“I’m sure.” You turn, finally, and Semi catches the edge of your smile. He wonders if it still pulls higher on one side like it used to. He wonders if you still remember that secret handshake you made him learn all those years ago, if you still love the sunflowers that used to grow in the upper circles of the city, if you still get that faraway look in your eye when you get lost in the labyrinth of your own mind.

It’s jarring, Semi thinks as he watches the final nasty look thrown his way before the boy disappears back into the doorway. The image these memories paint is so out of sync with the woman he sees before him now, and no amount of reminiscing will bring them back together.

“So… who’s he?”

Impassiveness slides back over your face, the momentary softness slipping out of sight. “His family has also been torn away by this war. We stick together because we have no one else. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Come on, please,” Semi starts. This is not how he expected this reunion to go. He takes a tentative step forward. “I know you’re angry, but I truly never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you and the kids safe.”

You don’t shake off his careful hand on your shoulder; you’re not sure you could. The fight is draining from your body, and as the anger recedes, you start to see him come into focus. The dusty bandage wrapped around his hand, the lines running deep around his eyes. Maybe you had survived your own nightmares, but you were a fool to think that made his any lighter.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing closer. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen to you, but I’d do it again. I’m sorry I had to leave you and the kids, but I don’t regret going to fight.”

“And I don’t hate you for wanting to fight,” you relent, finally meeting his eyes. They’re sadder now, yet he can’t help feel relieved that the animosity has drained away. 

You shrug, pained smile stuck awkwardly on your face. “But you still left us.”

Somehow, the lack of anger makes your words cut deeper. They have lost their accusing edge, replaced with a blunt resignation that makes his heartache. There’s resentment rallying in his stomach against your disappointment, and it mixes unpleasantly with the hope he had walked up to you with. 

“I said I’m sorry, didn’t I?” He can hear the annoyance leaking through, and from the line of tension that returns to your shoulders, so do you.

There’s a long moment, full of memories and chances long lost to history, where all you can feel is the inevitable beginnings of a new battle. The lamentable reality is that you were never taught how to back down from a challenge; to do so would just send you reeling back down to the bottom of the hard-won steps you had already taken. But haven’t you fought enough? Haven’t you fought your past enough, must you now fight him too? 

“You can say sorry all you like, it doesn’t change the past.” Your voice comes out more resigned, less annoyed than you had wanted. 

“Why are you so set on the past?” he demands, frustration tearing through the thin blanket of peace that had settled. “I’m here now, trying to make amends and you-”

“I don’t care what’s happening now, I want answers for what happened back then! Why didn’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trusted you, I- I just…” he throws his hands up, pacing a few steps away. “It was something I needed to do. Talking to you wasn’t going to change that.”

“Oh, so I didn’t matter then?” you say, lips pressed together painfully. It’s a wet anger; blurry eyes and choked voice. You had stared down more fearsome men than Semi Eita without a tremble, but his long-forgotten familiarity somehow makes this so much harder. “My opinion didn’t matter, my life didn’t-”

“Don’t be stupid, of course you mattered! Why do you think I left, huh? You and Tsutomu matter more than anything else-”

“Well that’s not what it seemed like to me and Tsutomu!” you yell back, sick to your stomach. “One day you were here, and the next you were gone! No warning, no nothing! Tsutomu was ten, Semi. TEN.” 

He hadn’t been there to see the pieces of your life shatter apart, to see Tsutomu look so confused, to hear him ask, so quiet and ashamed, if it was his fault his brother left. He hadn’t been there to see you patch your family back together with tape you couldn’t even afford and promises you literally bled to uphold.

“I was fighting to protect you-”

“You left us for dead.”

“You would be dead if they had reached the city! What was I supposed to do? Sit back and let others die for me while I did nothing?”

You huff, dragging a hand over your eyes. Your shoulder aches. “So you thought the military needed one extra person? One extra body, that’s all it took to win the war?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he groans.

“Do I?” you fire back, leaning forward into his personal space. “Do I know? Because I was of the understanding we were a team, and then you left without a word!”

He can tell from your face you are just as frustrated at this conversation going in circles as he is. And he knows you have a point - he did leave without saying anything, and it’s a guilt that still weighs on him. But in his core, he knows he is right too. Why shouldn’t he want to defend his home? Why shouldn’t he have gone? 

“I did what I had to protect you and the kids.” His voice drops into a low anger that holds more fury than any scream could. “I’m not going to apologise for wanting to protect what I love, no matter if you appreciate it or not.”

Your eyes dart between his, narrowed and searching. There’s definitely more underlying those words, years of unspoken almosts that had to be forgotten. Even just saying that much dredges up old memories he thought long gone, lost to time and unfortunate circumstance. 

“I’d appreciate not being left alone to feed-”

“Stop being dramatic, you weren’t alone. The kids are smart, and W-”

“They were literally kids!" you flare, tongue cutting with scorn sharper than any blade he's faced. "What, you wanted me to let Yachi go work in the factories? Let Tsutomu go fight in the pits? We both know that would have been a death sentence.”

“You had Wakatoshi, and-”

“Wakatoshi died!” 

Semi has been stabbed before. It’s a strange sensation; if there’s enough adrenalin flooding your veins, it almost feels like nothing more than a poke. But slowly, a creeping realization will set in as the wetness of your shirt becomes too much to ignore and your eyes are drawn irrevocably down. It’s only then the pain will hit you.

This doesn’t feel like that. This is immediate pain, your words splattering sharp and bright across his chest. He stutters back a step, breaths coming in short and shallow bursts.

“What… who...”

Your lips are pressed together, face turned away from him. The breath you pull in is shaky, and when you meet his eyes, they’re apologetic and guilty.

“The… the town guard caught Tsutomu trying to pocket medicine for me, and they were going to take him but Wakatoshi stepped in and it all happened so fast I…” a breathy sigh escapes you, right on the cusp of a sob. “I’m so sorry Eita, I didn’t mean to tell you like that.”

“It’s-”

It’s not OK. Wakatoshi has been a reliable fixture in Semi’s life for years, unshakable through everything. His certainty was something Semi had always admired. And despite his severity, there was a gentleness to his composure - lifting the kids up onto his shoulders during the rare parades or quietly teaching them how to play knucklebones. It’s unthinkable, for Semi to have survived this war but Wakatoshi to not.

“I’m OK,” he says. 

The quiet hand you lay on his arm doesn’t help, only serving to remind him that you lost Wakatoshi too. And maybe he lost you a long time ago too. Just one more thing to add to the never-ending list of all he’s lost to this war.

Semi can only laugh, a bitter, broken sound that echoes in his own ears. It’s an ugly thing; to fight and bleed and sacrifice for a country that has never done anything for you, only to come home and be slapped with everything else that’s slipped away in the process. Of course his selflessness would be repaid in frayed relationships and lost friends.

“I’m OK,” he repeats, because he needs it to be true this time.

“Are you?” you ask, concern slipping in under the blunt question. He wants to laugh again. You always have asked the hard questions. 

Your hand slides up to cup his cheek, palm rough but touch gentle against his skin, and he leans into it rather than answer. With his eyes closed, for just this moment, he can almost believe reality isn’t quite as bleak as it actually is. 

When he opens them your head is tilted, looking up at him with exhausted but understanding eyes. Sighing, your head falls forward to knock against his chest. You shoulders slump, and he slowly reaches around to grasp the back of your shirt. It’s still messy between you, and he knows this is only the beginning of a long road back to the trust you shared before. 

Yet as your arms come up to wrap around him too, he thinks maybe there’s hope for him. 

“I missed you,” you whisper into his shirt.

Maybe even hope for you and him. It might not ever be the same, but that is a battle to be faced later. 

For now, he finally lets the tears come. For Wakatoshi. For everything he went through, for everything he put you and Tsutomu through. For the simple relief of not having to fight anymore.

He feels your arms tighten around his waist. 

“It’s OK,” you tell him, and he thinks, someday, he might just believe you.

[solastia]

Day 22

Faith, Namjoon x Reader, 8/8 Chapters, 31k words

After trying to squeeze everything for Beneath the Surface, I think I’m going to split this one into two days. So...today we will be squealing about the first four chapters. Buckle up Buttercup, this about to be a whole damn emotional rollercoaster!

I think it was this story that cemented in me just how much I love your writing style. I love going through it with a story, but please give me a happy ending. I get too emotionally involved and invested in these characters and having a sad or open ended final chapter is too much for me! Give me the warm and fuzzy feels in the end! You really like to give us satisfying stories and happy endings. I was once deeply invested in a Harry Potter fanfic and it ended up having a tragic ending and I swear to Bob, it scarred me! We have enough sadness irl, give me the fairytale!!!

So, in this story, our MC falls in love with Namjoon, who is an underground rapper. You see how you ground the story for the fans? This could have really happened, or maybe it did...wait. Thinking about it now, we’ve all heard the theories that Joon is secretly married with kids. GURL, DO YOU KNOW SOMETHING WE DON'T??? Ok, ok, ok, moving on.

“You weren’t going to leave before your brother even got to the stage.

You MIGHT get kicked out before then though, you thought to yourself, glaring as another random hand smacked your ass as they walked past you.”

AGAIN, you always make your female MCs feisty and I am here for it!!! I know these are reader inserts, but I rarely ever see myself in them, if that makes sense? I still form a mental image of these main characters and I love how you are able to flesh them out so well without giving in depth descriptions (which is not ideal for reader insert fics, you know?) And I love that they stand up for themselves, no doormats here!

“You look up to find an incredibly handsome, and very tall, guy looking down at you, dimples on full display. He was dressed in all black. From the black skinny jeans that encased his long legs, to his black snapback on top of his bleached blonde hair.”

LAAAAWWWDD!!! I have a very clear memory of the rap line doing Cypher Part 1. Hobi looking like he was prepping for Mic Drop with his fit, Yoongi was blond, snapback, ripped jeans, bomber jacket, and his Straigh Outta Daegu attitude. And Joon...he had that undercut, kinda silvery blond hair, a simple beige t shirt, and black shorts. THAT’S THE JOONIE I PICTURE IN THIS FIC!!

“And your rap name is?”...

“It’s Rap monster.”

“Huh. Well, it’s not the WORST I’ve heard. Remember Llama guy? His name was MC McGriddle. I finally convinced him that it would be in his best interests to change his name. He finally did. Now he’s Hilbo Haggins. I don’t think he understands the concept of copyrights.” You smiled over at him.”

HILBO HAGGINS!! I am literally in tears. And is that Hobi??? Is it? Cuz if it is I will hereby stop calling him Hobert and refer to him only as Hilbo! Wait no...Hilbo reminds me of Himbo. Who is the biggest Himbo rapper I know, hmmmm…..OFC, MATTHEW! The big tiddy man himself. Ok, new theory. Hilbo is BM from Kard, and no, you cannot convince me it is not Matthew!

The first time between Joon and our girl is so damn hot and tender at the same time. Joonie is, of course, the perfect gentleman, invested in our girl’s pleasure just as much as his. And then…

“I can hear you overthinking.” He chuckles into your hair. He leans back and tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“So what’s it going to be? Am I staying the night or do you want me to leave?”

You look at him shyly, and bury your face into his chest, mumbling, “Stay…please.”

“Good, because we obviously really like each other, and I wasn’t ready to leave. Give me twenty minutes to rehydrate and we’re going for round two.”

“I’ll never survive!” You squeak out, as he laughs and picks you up, carrying you to the kitchen.

AAHHHH!!!

“You watch the rise and fall of his chest, letting your mind ponder the situation you’ve found yourself in as you drift off to sleep. The only conclusion your exhausted mind can reach is faith. It’s time to let yourself believe in someone. You’re probably an idiot for it, but you’re going to put your faith in this man named Namjoon.”

This is incredibly romantic and scary at the same time. Putting your faith in someone, being vulnerable with someone, is so damn scary! It is a huge leap of faith. I can feel the angst coming!!!

The little snippets of them together in chapter 2 are so damn cute! I am on the verge of tears! When Joon calls himself a dad because she got a puppy, saying he wouldn't let her be a single parent, omg that was so cute!!! UUggh so fluffy.

And then...

WAIT

WAAAAIIITTTT

I just got it. The foreshadowing. Excuse me, I need to go cry in the corner for a bit, be back in three business days. This is like the tenth time I’ve read this story and I was today years old when I realized. It hurts, thanks! *finger guns*

Anyways, more cuteness please!! The peanut butter in the fridge, his apology, Joon befriending her brother, so freaking domestic. I cannot!!! And then, the emotional whiplash:

“You watch him over dinner, excitedly talking about his plans for the future (with a full mouth), and you slowly start to realize…you could never tell him. This was his chance. With his level of talent, you were sure he would be at the top in no time. You were going to have to set him free, so he could achieve his dreams, without worrying about you or what was soon to come.”

NO GURL NO!!! DON’T DO IT! TELL HIM OR I WILL. TELL HIMMMM!!!!

“Namjoon pulls off your shirt and expertly unhooks your bra (Heh)”

We, as a fandom, have decided to erase all memory of that particular song! Because we have deleted all information stored in our collective memory about that song, I do not understand this reference. Thanks! Lmao

AND THEN YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO NAME THE BABY FAITH??? So, my feelings don’t matter to you? My personal well being is not a priority for you? Noted. Not like I can do anything about it. What am I going to do, stop reading your stories? Bwahahaha that ain’t gonna happen. I guess I’m a masochist cuz here comes chapter 3…

Their reunion was freaking amazing. I thought he'd be mad or that his anger would turn into hate, but it seems our boi is even more in love with our MC than he was before. The looks across the room, toying with her fishnets, the flirting, the back and forth, the ride to Jack-in-the-Box. Talk about foreplay!!! And then the culmination inside the Jack-in-the-Box bathroom! Woooooooo! And she still hasn’t told him about the baby?!?!?

“If the two of you had gotten into a fight, Namjoon would drag you there to sit and talk things out.”

This is so spot on, Joonie would!

“Tell me what happened. Tell me why everything changed. Tell me why you didn’t want me anymore.” Namjoon whispers, his voice laced with pain.”

NO, NOPE, NOT TODAY SATAN. I CAN’T. I’M CRYING. I’M CURRENTLY SITTING IN MY CRYING CORNER ABSOLUTELY BAWLING!!

“You lose yourself in the familiar feel of his soft, plump lips moving tenderly against yours. If there was one thing that Kim Namjoon was better at than rapping, it was kissing. He always kissed you like he was worshipping you with his lips and he could happily do it forever.”

I feel this in my bones!!! Joonie would be the type to take his time too! And with those lips! Dayum…

I think I am done for today, my heart can’t take any more!!!

Tomorrow we will finish this story!

Now that I picture Matthew as that rapper, I can’t get it out of my head! Totally canon lmao. 

[flowercrown-bucky]

Anything can piss you off, you just have to try hard enough.

rrFandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists….. It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats..

Word Count: Lots

Chapter One | Chapter Two

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter Three]

 Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger. During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense. 

Author’s Note: The boy with the thorn in his side is absolutely Loki’s anthem. Also Loki is a soft sweet baby and if you disagree you can absolutely fuck off,

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME TO BE ADDED

The boy with the thorn in his side

Behind the hatred there lies

A murderous desire for love

How can they look into my eyes

And still they don't believe me?

How can they hear me say those words

Still they don't believe me?

And if they don't believe me now

Will they ever believe me?

--

Loki was rather beginning to like Earth.

Specifically, this little corner. He’d been to Spain before, during the time of an inquisition, and was generally less than impressed. So, Castellon was a pleasant surprise. 

After the interesting experience with Roger Slater, you’d mutually agreed to get away from Monaco, sharpish. 

It hadn’t bothered Loki so much as he thought it was weird, but it bothered you more than you were letting on. You never said it in as many words, but your behaviour changed. 

The unusual encounter had initially been dismissed by you both, left without so much as another word. But after two days of your head snapping round every time you heard footsteps behind you and sitting bolt upright every time he shifted at night, he knew it was bothering you, so you decided another destination was for the best. You hung around for a few days to avoid suspicion, before leaving the hotel you had been in. A little under forty euros later, you were tucked into your seats on the overnight train to Montpellier. 

You’d settled a little more once you were in a different country, but it left Loki wondering what exactly the strange man had whispered in your ear that had you tip-toeing on your nerves in that way. He’d even considered entering your mind again, but the one time he’d decided to give it a crack had not gone so well. As soon as his hand came within five centimetres of your sleeping form, your own had reached out and grabbed his wrist, your eyes flying open. 

He watched you now as you sat across from him, stabbing a mushroom with your fork and swiping it through the sauce on your plate. A few strands of your hair fluttered in the gentle breeze, the evening sun warming your complexion. You looked softer in the warm light, less harsh somehow, as if someone had taken an eraser to your edges. 

Just the night before, you’d successfully seduced and robbed a man who happened to be in possession of diamonds of a karat higher than you could count and in greater quantities than you could fit into your pockets. You’d been so pleased with your conquest that the worry you’d carried on your face for days had slipped, spinning circle after victorious circle across the plaza’s stone labyrinth. 

Your good mood had continued through to the morning. In the two months or so he had known you, every single day you had vanished at roughly nine o’clock, for about an hour and a half. What you did in that time, he had no idea.

This morning, however, you had led him through the city centre, along bleached pedestrian streets and through winding alley ways to a tiny shop just off the street, with a small orange sign barely visible through the grubby glass and a mouthwateringly savoury smell wafting out the door and down the street. 

You’d greeted the owner with surprising geniality, quietly asking for a cortado - he would later discover this was pretty much the full extent of your Spanish - and something he didn’t quite catch. You accepted your coffee and a small paper bag, with a quiet muchisimas gracias. 

Blinking the bright morning light out of his eyes, he’d unfolded the brown bag, reaching inside and feeling around for the contents. It was soft and slightly springy to the touch, and drawing it out into the light revealed it to be a small cake, golden brown in colour and wrapped in a white casing. 

“Breakfast.” Was all you’d said as he’d eyed it curiously. He was pleasantly surprised to discover - after a first tentative bite - that it was sweet and buttery, the fluffy sponge melting in his mouth, leaving his mouth empty but for the remaining traces of sugar and lemon on the tip of his tongue. You’d laughed as he all but inhaled the remaining cake, the most genuinely happy laugh he’d heard from you since you’d met. 

He considered this as he watched you chew. 

--

Loki was staring at you. Really quite intently. He was looking at you as if you’d kicked his very favourite puppy as you swallowed your mouthful. You glanced down at his plate, noticing it was still mostly full, his cutlery disregarded atop his napkin. 

Your Spanish was not wonderful, but you were familiar enough with some of the more common dishes to have a vague idea of the menu’s contents, enough so to give you freedom of choice, safe in the knowledge of what you’d ordered. Loki, however, favoured the ‘point-and-hope’ technique. 

You looked more closely at the contents of his plate. Perhaps he didn’t like fish. 

You thought momentarily back to your trip to the market. Being in a town with a seaport, the seafood was excellent, and you’d wanted Loki to try fresh mussels. 

You almost laughed at the memory of his disgusted response. Perhaps it was the fish. 

Your own - fishless - dish seemed a little more Loki friendly, so you scooped up a forkful of beans and sauce, holding it out towards him. 

He looked at you with complete bewilderment. 

“Try a bit.” You waved the fork in your hand. “You don’t seem keen on yours.” 

“No, it’s fine.” He dismissed you. “The food is good.”

“Then what’s with the staring?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there something on my face?” 

“No, no.” He replied. “Just. Thinking.” 

“About what?” You asked, returning your fork to your plate, instead reaching for your wine glass. 

“You.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Me. Life.” 

“Do go on.” You took a sip, savouring the taste as the bubbles slipped down your throat. 

“I was thinking about my mother.” He admitted. “How much she would like it here.” 

“What’s she like?” You asked. “Your mother.” 

“She’s the most wonderful woman in the universe.” He smiled wistfully. “The kindest, the wisest, the cleverest.” 

“So why did you leave?” You continued, intrigued by the sudden nostalgia in his eyes. He had told you virtually nothing about himself or his past, always dismissing it as a matter for another time. 

“Truthfully?” He bit his lip. “I left because I was bored.” 

You leaned back in your chair, mulling this new information over in your mind. 

“When will you go back?” It was a question that had been plaguing you for a week or so. Would he just leave in the night if the mood took him? He had every right to, you knew, but a part of you wished he wouldn’t. You had come to enjoy his presence, to almost cherish his company. For the first time in a long while, you were not alone, and it felt good. Loki irritated you beyond belief - although it hadn’t taken you long to realise that this was fully intentional - and he was just about as stubborn as you were. You bickered constantly, but he had warmed a little part of your heart and you knew you would miss your companion greatly if he decided to sever your paths. 

“Perhaps never.” The look on his face told you he knew exactly why you were asking. “Perhaps tomorrow. I shall decide as the mood takes me.” 

Satisfied that this was the closest to an answer you were ever going to pry from Loki, you lifted your fork to your mouth. As you chewed, you decided to switch up your line of questioning. 

“Tell me more about your mother.” You lifted your arm to rest the weight of your head on your knuckles. “Or your brother. Your childhood home. Your first pet. Anything.”  “Do I sense an ulterior motive?” His left eyebrow quirked bemusedly. 

“I have at least eighteen ulterior motives, at all times.” You could not help the smile that came across your face. “But I do struggle to envision you as a child. Or anything other than the unsufferable prick I know you to be, really. Throw me a bone, would you?” 

“So, do you spend a lot of time thinking about me?” He rocked forwards onto his elbows, his eyes glittering with mischief. 

“I should’ve killed you when we first met.” You drawled. 

Loki laughed. A rich, full bodied noise rumbling through his chest and echoing through the warm evening air, his head tipped back as if it simply could not support the weight of his mirth. 

“Alright.” His laughter subsided, reduced to a smile. “What do you wish to know?” 

-- 

Your sudden interest in Loki’s life had taken him back a little. You had never seemed one for nostalgia, so a sudden fondness for trivial reminiscing about whimsical exploits and innocent mishaps seemed out of character. He wondered what your play was. 

He glanced up at you, at your earnest expression. If you were attempting to extract information from him for personal gain, you were hiding it well. 

“Anything.” You replied. “Everything.”

He paused for a moment, thinking over what you’d said, sifting through his memories, carefully considering his next move. 

He told you stories of sitting in the apple orchard as a boy. He told you stories of playing in lakes, stories of tumbles with his brother, lunches with his mother. He told tales of climbing trees that seemed to stretch higher than the sky and of gazing at stars that seemed to stretch on beyond the edge of the universe. He told you of friends, of past loves, of heartbreaks. 

You hung on his every word as he spoke, your face enthralled. He felt as though he could talk forever just to see the wonder on your face as he told you all the stories a mischievous blue eyed boy could possibly seek to hold. 

“What about pets?” You asked, twirling a lock of your hair around one finger. “Did you ever have one, you know, as a kid?” 

A breath hitched in his throat. He blinked once, not entirely sure how to respond. 

As a teenager, he had indeed had a pet. Well, not a pet, exactly. A stray, a ward, of sorts. A horse. 

He’d been reading in his chambers one day when a servant informed him that the Allfather had summoned him. Assuming himself to be in trouble - as he often was - he had hurried to the throne room. Instead of being reprimanded, however, his father had led him into the palace grounds, saying he had something for him. 

In the stables, there had been a foal. 

No more than a few months old, it stood in the stall, dripping wet and braying pitifully. 

“It has become estranged from its mother.” Odin explained. “Alone, it is not long for this world. It needs love and care if it is to survive.” 

He looked up at his father with confused eyes. 

“With a steady hand, it will grow to be strong and nimble.” He continued. “With the right guidance, he will become a fine companion for a warrior. I believe that hand could be yours, my boy.” 

He looked from his father, to the calf, and back to his father again. Dumbfounded, he felt was the appropriate word. This timid, trembling little creature, a cavalry steed? It was almost laughable. 

“His name is Gustav, for he shall indeed become your staff.” His father followed his line of vision. “A loyal steed is both the most formidable weapon and strongest friend a king could hope to possess. Treat him with love and kindess and he will teach you more than you thought possible in return.” 

And he did. Initially, the foal did not respond well to him. He would not stand near him, would barely look at him, would not even eat whilst he was present. It seemed almost as if it would never grow to trust him, but he tired through, and eventually the horse grew to eat from his hand. It would allow him to brush its mane without kicking out at him, and when Gustav grew strong enough to carry Loki’s weight, he broke him himself - despite the stable master’s constant offers of assistance - leading him all the way to saddling, until finally, he was ready to ride. 

Every day, Loki turned him out, even when the ground was hard and the frost had fallen. Riding soon became his favourite thing, and the sight of the dark prince taking off into the night atop an equally dark stallion became commonplace. Victorious in battle and at peace within the elements, they were nothing short of unstoppable. 

Loki’s carefully built world came crashing down on him when Gustav was shot in the leg. Whilst the wound appeared superficial, it soon got infected and started to poison his blood. He grew weaker with each passing day, and nothing Loki could do would help him.

When Odin told him that Gustav was to be put down, it broke his heart, but never had he expected to be the one delivering the death blow. 

“You must learn to make sacrifices if you are to ever be a strong ruler.” He had told him. “You must cast aside matters of the heart in aid of the greater good.” 

He stroked Gustav’s mane gently, kneeling down in his stall beside where he lay in the dirt. His dark head bent, resting his head on the stallion’s dark nose in a final goodbye. He had practised the spell he had created to end Gustav’s life, intending it to be painless, but he could not have prepared himself for the loss he felt as the life drained from his eyes. 

“It is done.” Was all he’d said as he turned to face his father, unable to make sense of anything he was feeling. 

“You did well, my son.” Odin nodded at him, granting him permission to leave. Thor and Frigga stood a few feet away from the stall, but for once, he did not find their presence comforting. His brother held out a reassuring hand towards him, but he brushed it off as he strode past, head held high. 

He did not turn at any point as he walked back to his chambers, for fear that if he did he would return to Gustav’s lifeless body and weep to the heavens. 

Only once he had returned to his chambers and dismissed the servants that were waiting for his arrival did he allow himself to cry. 

Curled in a ball on the cold stone floor, his long legs drawn into his chest, knees tucked under his chin, Loki, Crown Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies, wept. 

He wept for the loss of a truly innocent soul, wept for the loss of his truest friend. He wept for the truest, most unconditional love he had ever known, the likes of which he thought he might never know again. 

It was like this that Frigga found him, noiselessly sobbing on the floor, staring into the fireplace with a blank expression on his face.

He glanced up at her as she entered, his face stained with tears, green eyes bloodshot and red rimmed, his bottom lip trembling, a few stray locks of dark hair splaying across his face. 

“Mother.” He croaked, the dying embers of the fire illuminating his face. She hurried over to him, crouching next to his trembling form and throwing her arms around him. He sobbed harder at the feeling of her soft hair against his face, breathing in the sweet smell of her perfume. 

“Oh, my sweet boy.” She murmured, cradling him to her chest. “I am so sorry it had to end this way.” 

She stroked her hand over his hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head as she rocked him back and forth. 

“Your heart is too pure for this cruel world, my sweet, precious boy.” She whispered to him. “ You feel such pain now, my darling, but this storm shall pass and the sun will shine on you once again.” 

Loki wept in his mother’s arms all through the night. When the sun rose, they both departed his chambers to tend to their duties. Eyebrows were raised and hushed rumours spread of the dark prince’s icy heart finally melting, but life went on. 

Loki never spoke of Gustav again, but every time he passed by his stall, his father’s words echoed in his mind. 

You must cast aside matters of the heart in aid of the greater good. 

He would never forget those words as long as he lived. 

“Loki?” Your voice snapped him back to the present. “You good? You spaced out for a minute there.” 

“I’m fine.” He replied. “Yes, I did have a pet once.” 

You looked at him curiously, but decided not to pursue it. 

“Anyway, I told you about me. It’s your turn.” He leaned back in his seat. “I have my own questions.” 

“Ask away.” If you were concerned about what he might ask, your face didn’t show it. 

“Where do you go every morning?” He began. It had been pressing on his mind for some time. 

You choked back a laugh. 

“Is that all?” You scoffed. “If you must know, I go to get coffee and go for a walk. Does that satisfy you?” 

His posture slumped a little in disappointment. He had been hoping for something a little more... Clandestine. 

“Why do you sleep with a gun under your pillow?” He pressed. “What are you so afraid of?” 

Your face hardened almost as soon as the words left his mouth, and he wished he could snatch them back out of the air and swallow them back up. The silence that hung over the table was almost unbearable, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he stared at you. Your expressions were a mask, but he knew you were carefully considering your next words. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

Loki remained silent. He had crossed a line, and you both knew it. 

--

The walk back to the hotel room was silent and awkward. Loki rubbed at the sleeve of his blue shirt awkwardly, glancing around him. The street was quiet, save for a few other pedestrians, and dark, save for a handful of intermittently placed streetlights. 

You were a few steps ahead of him, your arms crossed at the elbow. You hadn’t spoken since you’d left the restaurant, and he wasn’t really sure what to say. The easygoing nature you had adopted during the day was gone, and you were suspiciously glancing around you. What you were looking for, Loki could not hazard to guess. 

You stopped suddenly, turning to stare behind him, at something in the distance. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, when he noticed your bottom lip trembling slightly. 

Whatever you had just seen, had frightened you. 

He reached over to you, rubbing your shoulder with one hand, the other lifting your chin gently. You lifted your gaze to meet his as he rubbed your cheek with his thumb. 

“Are you alright, little mortal?” His voice was low as to not be overheard. “You look startled.” 

“Let’s just go back to the hotel.” You whispered. 

He nodded in response, slinging one arm over your shoulder. Picking up your pace as much as you could without appearing suspicious, you hurried back to the hotel. You were visibly unnerved, although you tried to hide it. 

Back in your room, you perched on the end of the bed, your shoes clutched in one hand. You rubbed at your nose absentmindedly with the back of your knuckle. 

He called your name but you didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Tell me.” He dropped to his knees in front of you. “What is going on?” 

You wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Whatever is happening,” He continued. “I need to know. What did you see?” 

You closed your eyes before inhaling deeply. 

“I think I’m being trailed.” You whispered, flicking your gaze down to meet his. “Someone, maybe a few people, I don’t know, have been following me. Have been for a few days now.”  “Trailed?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“The first time I noticed was in Zaragoza.” You ran a hand through your hair nervously. “There was a man stood behind us when we checked in, just stood there, watching. Then I kept seeing him in the lobby, just milling around, like he was waiting for something. Then I didn’t see him again, and I just assumed I was being paranoid.” 

Loki said nothing. 

“Then when we were in a restaurant one night, I noticed someone else a few tables away, just staring. He had sunglasses on, so I don’t know if it was the same man, but I’ve been seeing people everywhere. Just watching. Watching, and waiting.” 

“Watching for what?” He asked. “Waiting for what?” 

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. 

“But why?” He continued. “Why would someone be following you?” 

You lifted your hands to your face, hiding from his view. 

“Why would someone want to go to such lengths, travel such distance?” His voice dropped. “Who would want to trail you across a country?” 

Your silence spoke volumes. 

“Do you know who is following you?” He looked up at you. “If you know what is going on, you have to tell me.” 

You rose from the bed, turning your back to him. 

“I’m tired.” You said. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“If we are in danger, and there is something you are not telling me-” His voice raised, his temper flaring. 

“Goodnight, Loki.” You snapped, rolling under the cover. 

He sighed in frustration, climbing onto the bed himself. He lay there, in the dark, for some time, considering your words. Was someone tailing you? Had there been things he missed? Just how had he missed it? His mind spun with a million unanswered questions. 

The longer he considered it, sifting through his own memories of the previous three weeks, the deeper the realisation sunk. You had been right, you were being followed. 

To the unsuspecting mind, it was easy to miss. No average person would pick up on it, but the signs were there. 

People walking a few paces behind you for a kilometre or so before turning off and fading into the distance. The same faces appearing behind you in queues at the supermercado for days on end. Men in dark clothes sitting a little too close at lunch or bumping into you in the street. 

If you weren’t expecting it, it would be easy to miss. Unnoticeable, in fact. 

But that was what Loki found most troubling. You were expecting it. 

He was more certain than he’d ever been that you were hiding something. Something big. 

Being the God of Lies, hiding things and deceiving people was not new to him, nor did it entirely bother him. But whatever your secret was, he was certain it had something to do with the two of you being trailed. It was too much of a coincidence for him to overlook. 

Whoever it was scared you witless, and that frightened him more than anything. 

--

TAGLIST:  @chxrryycola @the-middle-oldest-child​ @possessedjoker@amour-delicate @marvelouslyme96 @the-emo-asgardian @lokilvrr

[chanlixformysoul]

Honeypie [ Chanlix ]

rating: mature

word count: 1624

chapter: 1

summary:

➥ Chan wrote a song for Felix.

song recommendation:

estimated reading time: 12.5 minutes

♪───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────♪

Chan found himself starring yet again at Felix. It was a normal quiet day at their shared apartment. The two had known each other since basically they were in their moms belly. They had grown up together, summer days spent in each other's backyards, the burning sun and heat making sweat run down their temples, all the fun they had all these years.

Chan can still recall the summer evenings where they would run around without a reason, chasing each other till their legs would give out, both collapsing next to each other on the ground laughing at the most stupid jokes and things but then suddenly asking questions such as:

'Do you think we would still be best friends in the future, Chan?'

or one of his favourites:

'If you found someone special you wouldn't forget me, right?'

Felix would always ask him that even though Chan's answer would always be the same

'How can I forget you, Felix?'

But here he was, in the present. The world was in chaos, quite literally. The virus had everyone quarantined including the two boys. Chan was currently sitting at his desk in their living room, pen in hand, papers crumbled everywhere around him. Chan liked to write lyrics and produce music, he had a job already in the music industry, a friend of his helped him in becoming his assistant, which meant he was writing lyrics for a label as well as producing music. He wanted to write a song, a song about Felix. Felix, who was right in front of him sitting in the couch lounging his slim frame on it while watching another anime Chan haven't heard of, Felix, who was his best friend since he could remember his first weeks into the world, Felix, who he liked for quite some time but he never had the balls to confess. Chan knew that if he did something or said something their relationship will change and he abso-fucking-lutely didn't want that.

He enjoyed being Felix's personal pillow at night, cooking for him, helping him, giving him advice on how to improve his essays and he loved just being in the presence of the other .

He thought about a lot of stuff before deciding to go with the best way to describe his feelings, a simple word that probably was kinda ridiculous but to him it didn't matter.

Honeypie, that was it, that was the word.

It was the perfect word to describe Felix, from his honeyed voice to his bubbly personality, to Chan's memories with him, the Australian sun radiating yellow strands of heat. Chan didn't knew what it was but he associates Felix with the colour yellow. The way he would smile, his overall personality just simply screamed cuteness alongside with positivity. Plus Felix's favourite dessert is honey pie but that's just a coincidence ;)

Chan simply scribbled down some lyrics, creativity coming down on him. After what felt like an eternity he finally finished.

Taking the paper in his hands, he slowly read it.

It was perfect.

But the more he looked at it, the more he felt himself sinking in his seat. Maybe the way he wrote down the words was incoherent, just maybe the manner in which every little line and curve of the letters were written just didn't seem right.

Who knows...

Chan wasn't one to give up easily so he did the smartest thing he could do in the moment: rewrite everything.

He didn't want to erase the lyrics, he got too attached to them, they got too much meaning in such a little time to be erased, he wouldn't feel good if he pretended like he didn't write them down.

Chan grabbed his notebook, opening it slowly, he made sure to rewrite the lyrics but in a more neat and cool manner on the blank page.

At the top of the page, the title was proudly sitting, written in a big and simple but also cursive manner.

The melody immediately came into his mind, so he grabbed his laptop opening some advanced music program.

After an hour or so he managed to get a decent melody that still needed a lot of time and patience. It wasn't perfect but it was something he created.

Chan was proud of himself.

He shut his laptop, saving the process he made and then took his notebook and read the lyrics again.

Honeypie

(Yes, I changed the lyrics to fit the fic better, also this song is called Honeypie by JAWNY, go give it a listen while reading this, it's a great song )

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey honeypie

Oh, boy don't you stop

Tell your mom, boy and I won't stop it until your my boy

And you can't stop that 'till your my boy and I can't

Find out what you want, what you got, I got that honeypie come bite it

Bring your own fork boy you know I don't provide it

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, boy don't you stop

Tell your mom, boy and I won't stop it until your my boy

And you can't stop that 'till your my boy and I can't

Find out what you want, 'till your my boy and I won't stop it until your my boy

And you can't stop that 'till your my boy

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

Oh, boy don't you stop, don't you stop 'til you get enough honey

Oh, honey, honeypie, honey, honey, honeypie

It was finished.

Finally sitting up, he stretched his arms and legs making his way over to the pull out couch, extending it and basically collapsing on the other boy when he was done. Felix let out a yelp but started giggling as the older put his head on his shoulder, sighing softly and then burying his face in the others neck while his eyes are glued to the anime on the tv.

'What were you doing?'

'Umm... you know, writing some lyrics, mixing some stuff, nothing much actually...' he said.

'Oh... okay then, are you finished? I want company while watching Yuri on Ice.' Said the younger while his right hand went into Chan's bleached locks.

'Yuri on Ice?' Chan mostly said to himself 'Is that what we are watching?' He slowly sat up to look at Felix.

'Yeah... I hear it's good so I wanted to try it out myself.' Felix said while looking past Chan to see the TV screen.

'Chan?'

'Yes?'

'Can we switch places, I don't really see the TV if you continue to sit up like that.' He said while pointing past Chan's shoulders.

'So you want to be spooned?' Chan said with a grin and sitting up fully so the younger could come in front. Felix just simply sticked out his tongue at Chan.

'You know, if you want to cuddle you can just ask, I'm not one to refuse.' Chan said smiling like an idiot. Felix just turned around glaring at the older, but of course Chan being Chan only continued to smile and Felix started laughing.

'You really are an idiot, mate.'

'Yeah but I'm your idiot.' Said Chan laughing and quickly looking at Felix to see his reaction but all he saw was Felix staring at him. Guilt came as fast as his laugh died down. He tried to back off the couch and stand up from it.

'Umm... sorry pretend like I didn't say anything.' Chan softly said as his eyes and heart filled with guilt, he didn't have the courage to look at Felix. On the other hand Felix just looked at him with a little smile forming on his lips.

'You are a big idiot, but as you said you're my idiot.' Chan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Felix was out of what? Pity? Did he feel the same way as Chan? Chan's thoughts were interrupted by Felix's warm hand on his chest.

'Are we going to cuddle more or are you gonna just stand there?' Felix asked with a raised brow getting closer and closer to Chan. Chan just let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and started to smile again.

'What? Miss me already?'

'Yes, you're my snugglebum, now come here or else...' Chan was the one raising his brow this time with a wide grin.

'Or else what? What are you gonna do, hmm?' Felix only smirked.

'Kiss that grin away.' He said this time with something else in his eyes. Chan was caught by surprise and almost chocked. He thought his ears betrayed him.

'You w-what? Come on don't joke around, mate.' He stutters , ears burning red.

'I said what I said.' Felix only said. After some seconds of Chan practically not functioning Felix realized what was happening.

'You're so oblivious. Chan look at me — he went to cup Chan's face with his little hands —I like you, for a while, fuck, I liked you since forever.'

♪───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ────♪

my ao3: Mrs_SnowPitch

my wattpad: ChanlixForMySoul

my masterlist: iza’s masterlist

[theunderdogwrites]

If you have a problem with Cookie Monster, then I have a problem with you.

Someone recently asked me how I come up with things to write about and post. Well, these posts are bona fide dumps of random thoughts that sneak in when I’m not engaging any part of my brain. I love them because they’re unpolished and exactly how my mind endlessly prattles on in conversation with itself. Truth be told, it’s usually in the shower. And the dumping of these words here is comparable to spring cleaning. It helps to declutter the mind too from time to time.

Last week my Mom and I were talking about the recent decision by Dr. Seuss Enterprises to stop publishing six of their books because of racist and insensitive imagery. For all the people screaming out there – THE COMPANY MADE THIS CHOICE. They were not forced by cancel culture, but rather listened and took feedback from audiences including teachers, academics and specialists in the field as part of a review process. This is called being responsible and allowing for growth through intelligent conversations. The company recognizes that certain depictions of Asians and Black people are hurtful and wrong and have taken steps to acknowledge these facts. They are NOT banning these books and have said they’re committed to listening and learning going forward.

Here is the list of the six book titles and the year they were first published:

- And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street (1937)

- McElligot’s Pool (1947)​

- If I Ran the Zoo (1950)

- Scrambled Eggs Super! (1953)

- On Beyond Zebra (1955)

- The Cat’s Quizzer (1976)

Have you ever stumbled upon a journal or something you wrote 10 years ago and it made you cringe? Anyone who says NO to this is probably in possession of some of the worst poetry by their hand, in the world. I know that if I was to release some of the stuff I wrote down from a number of years ago (and in reality, some stuff as recent as 3-4 years ago) I’d be embarrassed by their level of absolute lameness. I write with emotion and unless you’re Tucker Carlson or stunted inside from your head to your toes, you know what it means to evolve. It is what we’re supposed to do, otherwise we are simply stuck in one place forever and I for one can’t think of anything more grotesque than remaining the same.

“You are being presented with a choice: evolve or remain. If you choose to remain unchanged, you will be presented with the same challenges, the same routine, the same storms, the same situations, until you learn from them, until you love yourself enough to say “no more”, until you choose change.

If you choose to evolve, you will connect with the strength within you, you will explore what lies outside the comfort zone, you will awaken to love, you will become, you will be. You have everything you need.

Choose to evolve. Choose love.”

Creig Crippen

It is OK to make mistakes, especially when you don’t know any better. Applying how we have grown as a society to the way we behaved 80 years ago is absurd. We are allowed the opportunity to become better before an angry mob comes along and without discussion wants to rip our character to shreds. There are so many chances for real conversations to promote development that are not happening because people are being so quick to condemn and cancel. Fucking stop it! You’re not a crusader. You’re not the moral authority. You are not the Universe’s gift to man/womankind placed here to draw red circles and X’s on every little thing you deem ‘incorrect’. What you are, I suspect, is empty. And I do not know what it is you’re missing, but you won’t find it in a state of ‘over-wokeness’ and tumbling around looking to smite Cookie Monster for passionately enjoying baked goods.

There have been calls to tear down statues and eradicate movies and people for basically what is THE PAST. If you have an actual working time machine, I suppose you can go back to the set of ‘Dirty Harry’ because apparently:

“The film mocks liberal judges and do-gooders, and the villain claims police brutality, planting the seed that other such charges are fake moves to get sympathy.”

I can’t even with that one.

The removal of statues… ok, I understand this one. But I am not of the mind where these statues should be destroyed and essentially erased from history. I am fully onboard with placing the offending bronzed individuals into a museum with a plaque stating something along the lines of: ‘Once upon a time many of us had some crazy fear-based ideas and poor ethics that marginalized large groups of our fellow human beings and created negative stereotypes resulting in a great deal of hurt. We are trying to be better than those placed before you behind the velvet ropes.’

The past cannot be expunged. But it can be a teaching tool. And in some cases, the past can be used to say – “We still suck, but we’re at least trying to evolve into improved people!”

Sadly, instead, we’re taking down Pepé Le Pew. Let’s not believe women when they come forward with claims of sexual abuse, but let’s ban together and get this cartoon skunk with perceived rapist qualities, cancelled. Bravo. Has Pepé Le Pew been a naughty guy? Well, if you break down his actions through the lens of adults – he is incredibly aggressive and borders on being a pervert. I also suspect he’s a chronic masturbater. I grew up watching Looney Tunes (which should surprise NO ONE) and I never liked that skunk. But not because he was overly persistent in his search for love, rather because he was so obnoxious. Worst character on the show. If anything, the French should be offended because I grew up believing all French people were smelly, forceful jerks.

I am flabbergasted at what we are finding urgent and of significance these days. We allow ourselves to become distracted with the stupidest things; revealing exactly where our priorities are placed. Now do not come at me and accuse me of saying racism is not important. Sit your little crusading ass back down because that is not a thought I’d ever possess. This post is not about racism.

I do not give a flying fuck if you hate Megan Markle, love Megan Markle or think Oprah practices her reactionary facial expressions daily in the mirror, but the fact a pregnant woman went on TV in front of MILLIONS of people and admitted to being suicidal while pregnant with her first child and was met with indifference, ridicule and hate… is fucking disgusting.

The mental health status of a pregnant mother is less important than going after Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street because he is misrepresenting homelessness. Oscar is NOT homeless. He lives in a garbage can and if you knew anything, you’d know that garbage can is spacious and in terms of square footage, it is probably the most expensive home in the neighborhood. See? I can distract with silly things too.

I am going to end all this randomness with a warning…

Victor Frankenstein created his monster from old body parts and strange chemicals and it was brought to life by a mysterious spark. The monster is large and strong but with the intelligence of a newborn. Victor abandons the monster, leaving him confused and when he tries to integrate himself into society, he is shunned. Seeking revenge on his creator, he kills Victor’s younger brother. Then after Victor destroys his work on the female monster meant to ease the monster’s pain and solitude, the monster murders Victor’s best friend and then his new wife.

Ok, I think it is wonderful that our society is taking inventory of certain items and doing our best to right some wrongs… even though I believe many people are being persnickety assholes. But what has been created recently… let’s call it ‘cancel culture’, where “THEY” (please someone tell me who all the THEY people are because I’d like to know who is this organized) seemingly go in search of people, places and things to ostracise… is starting to create a monster of a backlash. (Again, this is not about race/racism so don’t start chirping about white privilege etc.)

If you listen carefully, you can hear the groaning. And the frustration. This isn’t about going after history or childhood memories and bleaching them clean of inappropriateness by today’s standards, it’s about trying to control what people are allowed to think, feel and speak. And the people are getting annoyed. Just like Frankenstein’s Monster when his grotesque appearance wasn’t accepted by society. And we all know what happened next.

[bugaboowritings]

Don’t Call Me Bugaboo -

She’s not your Love-Bug

There this one post about how Marinette won’t let anyone call her ‘Bugaboo’ or any bug/cute nickname unless it was from Chat Noir or Adrien. So that inspired me to write this short mess a while back. As it seems cute since this fic does match my url. heheheh- enjoy. 

I think that I may write something more if the idea stay in my head. Like make Clairvoyance into a ‘real’ episode or fic.

   “Silly Bug! Don’t you know that you could get squashed playin’ like that!?”

   Ladybug ran to a harsh stop, her feet stinging with her rough landing. Feeling the extra momentum throw her off the balance if it wasn’t for the grip on her suit. Her breathes escaped hard and heavy out of her nose, trying to catch her breath. Pumping her lungs with fresh adrenaline and oxygen. Glaring at the Akuma through her midnight blue bangs. 

Gripping her yo-yo a little tighter.

“Speak for yourself, Clairvoyance.” 

“More like Clairvo-Annoyance, if you ask me.” Chat Noir mumbled, reaching the scene in time. His fangs sticking out of his lips, shooting a wink to the red heroine. As dumb the joke was, it was a signal of reassurance to calm his LB. Ignoring the disgusted expression from the villain. 

   With baton ready in hand, Chat Noir itching to play offense or if needed, support for his Lady against the Akuma’s tricks. Racking his brain for ways to make the new villain pay or a quick getaway in case the Akuma pulled another foul trick from their sleeves. With the power to the bent reality and see anything in view or out, Clairvoyance proved to be a ‘little’ tricky to sneak around. Being five steps ahead of them before the Miraculous Duo even took one. Driving Ladybug out of her comfort zone as she analyzed the new threat to Paris. 

Clairvoyance scowled at the leather-cat before swiping their glasses. 

  That’s when it clicked in LB’s head. 

  The corrupted butterfly must be in their glasses!

“I’ll make you eat your words, you dirty rat.” 

“Ouch.” Chat winced, rubbing his chest as if Clairvoyance’s words stung his big heart. Chat’s acid eyes fluttered before landing a bitter smile on his pink lips. 

“First off, I’m clearly a cat. I thought that was clear. Second,” He motioned his collar bell, flicking his claws out, “-You better be a purr-fect cook if you gonna make me eat my words.” 

“Might as well cook me and the Lady dinner if you’re offering.” 

Chat’s remakes fell flat once he saw Clairvoyance’s growl turn into a crafty grin. 

“I have plenty of tricks for you to pick from the menu!”

 With a swipe of their hand, black holes appeared on the ground. Quickly expanding to the whole floor, swallowing the solid ground into a void. 

The duo jumped before they could fall into the nothingness or a tunnel that lead to the unknown. Twirling and flipping out of harm’s way as Clairvoyance made more black holes appear with the swipe of their hand. The corners of their thin lips turned up into a sick grin on their periwinkle face the more Ladybug and Chat Noir jumped around, avoiding the danger than grew under their feet. The heroes pushing themselves off the leftover bits of the green grass, trying to reach the edges of the huge stadium or even better- the high bleachers. 

 Chat Noir hopped from piece to piece, feeling himself getting cocky. Opening his mouth to speak, only for a yelp to escape. His boot missed the step and fell back. Feeling the hum of the black hole on his back as he slipped closer and closer to the nothingness. A shot yelp brought Ladybug’s attention to the black cat. Pulling her arm back as her stomach squeezed in anxiousness, launching her yo-yo out to pull her partner out of the vacuum. 

Feeling his weight hang on the edge of her string, she tugged back. Fishing out a black cat into her arms. His hair ruffled and eyes widen once they both realized what had just happened.

“I guess your bad luck never fails.” Ladybug smirked. Not helping to pull her own joke to reassure her kitty. 

“You never fail to swoon me, Bugaboo.” Chat Noir sighs. Ladybug could have sworn that his thin pupils turned into little hearts as he grinned back at her. Her grip on her partner's waist tightened when she tossed her yo-yo up and over a steel beam. Hopefully strong enough to hold them as she pushed her feet from the ground running. 

 Our heroes swung up to the stadium bleaches, away from the black holes that ate away at the once-solid ground. 

Clairvoyance burst out in giggles as the Miraculous Duo struggled to regain their ground. Ladybug holding her yo-yo tightly as Chat Noir pulled out his baton from his back. 

“Woowwwww.” Clairvoyance rolled out their lips. Winking at the team before raising their hands to their glasses. Ready to spit out another obstacle. 

“You’re so slick, Bugaboo.” They chuckled, quickly swiping their hand out to motion another tear in reality, all in hopes to confuse the bug and cat team. Portals stretched out behind the villain, revealing another monster entering the stage floor. 

  “But that cleverness of yours can only last so long.”

Ladybug ground her teeth. Only to drop her frown when she noticed the red and black spots highlighting the ceiling and Chat Noir’s baton. 

Gaining her own smile that confused Clairvoyance but motivated Chat. 

“Don’t call me Bugaboo or I’ll make YOU eat your words.”

————

“Gross.” Marinette winced as she pulled her arm away. Pressing it against her chest to protect herself. Still feeling the tingle of their touch on her forearm. Causing her to recoil from the man before stepping back. Her heels already tapped the wooden floor, ready to leave and find another seat.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Love-Bug.” The fresh-cut college student cooed. Ready to move a little closer even as Marinette moved back. 

That name just felt wrong as it slipped from his lips and reached her ears. Touching her temples as if she could stop herself from hearing this ‘evil’ or erase it from her memory. 

This guy really wasn’t getting it. 

“Not your Love-Bug, creep,” Marinette said, again. Grabbing her purse before heading out. Deciding that it wasn’t worth getting harrassed to leave her doom room. Just when she thought she had enough of this guy’s behavior, he still dared to grab her by the arm and pull her near. 

Some people don’t know what ‘no’ means until they get a punch, square in the face. 

______

“Don’t call me Bugaboo.” Ladybug snarled. Snapping shut her yo-yo communicator before facing the monkey behind her. Telling him to knock it off and she slowly gets tired of his jokes. It annoyed her even more than usual since she was cold, ready to detransform, and go home. The weather didn’t help her mood, but Ladybug just pulled her hoodie over her head. 

Ignoring it for now. 

“-Not if you want to make it out of this patrol home safely,” she added, slipping her yo-yo back to her side. Lifting herself up after watching the ground for a moment. Sniffing the bits of cement from cheap construction nearby and smoke of something burning elsewhere. The yellow-lights flickered in the Parisian apartments below her and the wind blew around old trash that cluttered alleyways. There amid the calm and crowded city was Rena’s signal to go. 

Mayura was near. 

Meaning Hawk Moth was closer.

“That’s the call.” Ladybug murmured. Motioning her team of a snake, monkey, and turtle to follow the next step of her plan.

Positioning themselves for her go. Itching to get out there. On the edge from being a still statue to swift blur on the roofs of buildings. 

“Let’s go.” Ladybug being the first to run out before the rest followed suit. 

———

“Honestly, I think you are over-reacting-”

“Excuse you because it’s the exact opposite going on! You aren’t taking this project seriously.” Marinette huffed. Pulling her bag over her shoulder, which was filled to the papers and folder about the new upcoming line being launched with GUESS. 

“I-”

“No, Calvin. I don’t want to hear it. We have deadlines and they are not being met. Do something before you force me too.” 

Marching out of the office before getting called out by the marketing team again. Pulling her in their office before Marinette could shake them off. 

“Marinette, hey! Baby-”

Marinette gave her co-worker a dull look, telling them to not push her buttons like they did every other day. Hoping that because she’s still a newbie in the company, she would this pass.  Marinette was growing tired of this and even more with the fact that they seem to see her as a small sister rather than a co-worker. Tugging on the pockets of her bright red coat that had no trouble catching attention. However, today Marinette didn’t want their eyes on her. 

Especially when today was one of those days.

 Where everything’s falling apart and she’s the only one that could manage to put things together. Scolding herself for coming to work early, she should have called in sick or walked the other direction- anything to stop this problem from being hers. Now it was too late to shoulder off this dilemma to someone else. EVEN WHEN THIS ISN’T HER DEPARTMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE!

“Don’t call me Baby, Lorraine. Not until I see those labels up and ready.” Marinette snapped. Leaving the office a quieter place than when she found it. 

———-

“You are so annoying,” LB rolled her eyes as the group of heroes gathered around her. Being the shortest one out of many was a little intimidating, but as leader of the group of superheroes, she got the most respect. Never worry about being interrupted or talked over since whenever she spoke, the crowd hushed itself. Her plans weren’t brushed to the side nor was she. A nice change if you asked her. However, as the leader of this magical squad, she had to be on guard. With more members by her side meant that the danger was something bigger and scarier each time. So this was the first time she had her whole team with her without the stress of an Akuma or giant senti-monster looming over Pairs. It was the first time she could relax around them. 

So for Ladybug smiling like that made some people question what was going on. 

Did the Akuma get her already?

Is this a trap? 

Does she have a big announcement? 

Is she retiring? 

Could today be her birthday?

Chat Noir hopped off the brick wall and gracefully landed on all fours. Bouncing back up as he beams a nice cocky smile to his red ladybug. 

Chat tiles his head to the side, letting his blond locks fall to his face.

 “All in hopes for you to love me more, Bugaboo.” 

 The whole team cringed or pretended to, swooned, or rolled their eyes at that nickname. Others tried to call LB by that, only met with a confused look or a frown. All quickly learning that it was Chat Noir’s thing and Chat Noir was the only person LB would ever allow to call her by that. As tough and determined the Red Miraculous Leader, she had her weak spot -Chat Noir’s clever and sometimes cute nicknames.  

Waiting for an eye-roll from the bug, only to hear her giggle. 

 “Well, you got something right at least.” She smiled. Turning to her team and pretending not to notice the shock on his face before explaining why she called them here today.

-----

“I have a meeting today, check over some of the marketing team’s ideas and then I’ll pick lunch on the way back. Do you need anything, Bugaboo?” The blond asked before adjusting the watch on his wrist. Quickly throwing his scarf around his neck and throwing his brown coat over his broad shoulders. 

“Just drive safe.” Marinette yawned. Tired and cold as the blanket around her chest wasn’t warming her fast enough. Waiting for her coffee machine to beep with her hot cup of caffeine. Envying the man in the doorway for having so much energy in the morning. 

“Always.” Adrien smiled, before kissing her forehead and walking out the door. 

[evoedbd]

Queer Advice

Summer -  Emily Collins is terrified that Dracula's Brides will need a virgin sacrifice, and she knows exactly who that person would be. Havenfalls finest are LESS than helpful with their brilliant plan to protect their virgin huntress. ((Meshed in Mac having a version of her MC, because she’s the only character who truly NEEDS her MC to reach her full potential.)) *******

“Alright. This is serious business. We’ve found out more of Dracula’s plan and i- SERIOUSLY?” Emily started out seriously, striding into the closed bowling alley with purpose. Once the door swung shut, however, the party lights revealed something that nearly made Emily blow a gasket. A cuddle pile! An honest to whatever god may exist cuddle pile! During what was meant to be a meeting to save lives. Not just A life, but multiple. On a potentially world dominating scale. This was serious business and yet four bodies remained tangled together; a series of semi naked limbs and plaid that became indistinguishable from each other.

 Mackenzie Hunt was the easiest to distinguish amidst the chaos. The Alpha was an absolute beast of a woman, in no uncertain terms. A copper skinned goddess standing at 5.11ft high, with muscles that appeared to be forged from literal copper by an artist of ancient times. Forest green eyes kept careful watch over the bowling alley, even though the gentle smile on her lips betrayed her affection for the others. Her duty as pack leader and town sheriff seemed to weigh her brows down ever so slightly, a fact emphasised by lighter hair against darker skin. Her short, choppy hair was ruffled, suggesting she had been running a little earlier. Or perhaps fingers had been running through her hair, like she now ran her own fingers through Aisha’s chocolate dust locks. Just as Atlas allegedly held the world, Mac supported the tangled individuals on her lap. Even then, she positioned herself so that she could break away and spring up at the first sign of trouble.

 Aisha Collins appeared content enough with her head resting on the arm of the couch. Aisha looked so similar to Emily one might mistake them for twins, with their high angled jaws and blazing blue eyes. Aisha had grown into her grace, keeping her head held a little higher than Emily, which made her features seem finer. Her sharp edges were softened, as if the world around her was constantly caressing them into tranquillity. The cargo pants she wore hid her lanky legs, even as they tangled with another pair of fine legs clad in designer jeans.

 Annabelle Shepard lay facing the other direction; legs tangled through Aisha’s. Her chest rose and fell with the gentle contentment of peaceful slumber. It was easy to forget how fierce the young woman could be when one looked at her soft face. From gentle curves to large, expressive eyes, Annabelle was disarming. When awake, her cheer was almost infectious, yet she held a certain bite to her. An unnameable quality that exposed the truth of the hardships she had faced. That made you respect her without even knowing her. Her lithe arms remained folded against her chest. As always, her arms were covered by long sleeves with buttoned cuffs. The few times Emily had seen Annabelle’s bare arms, she had been greeted with thick, unsightly scars. They were vicious and deep, as if she had been savagely attacked by a rabid animal.

 Damien Ryder took the weight of the cuddle pile. He supported Annabelle’s sleeping form, with his nose tucked into her hair. His arms wrapped around Anabelle, with one of his hands holding Aisha’s legs. The tussles of his signature jacket tickled over plaid and denim, offering something for Aisha to twist around her fingers in her half-conscious state. Looking at Damien, the most striking thing about him was the pain. It darkened his ginger ale brown eyes; dragged on his broody brows. Even in a relaxed setting, his squared jaw seemed hardened and his lips downturned. That along with his shoulder length fawn hair gave Emily the impressions of a western outlaw. All that was missing was the twig of barley for him to chew on.

 “Pack thing.” Aisha sleepily explained, waving her free hand in a dismissive manner. It seemed as if she believed that nobody would understand it, so she did not bother explaining. There was a gentle cheekiness to her tone; a happiness which Emily couldn’t bring herself to attack. It was with a long-suffering sigh she directed her attention towards the literal devil in the room.

 “You just want time off work.” JD accused, a smirk touching their lips as they leaned back against the bar. Jordan Davies was the epitome of teenage angst turned into professional anarchy. Lanky and long, JD was only a smidgen taller than Emily, yet appeared to be half the weight. Beneath the biker’s leather jacket and baggy red singlet, Emily was positive she’d find nothing but a ribcage. That leanness was matched in JD’s youthful face. Mischief twinkled in ember coloured eyes, as always. Nobody could look at JD’s troublemaker getup; numerous piercings, and flame orange hair without feeling as sinful as if they were sneaking out after curfew. Something about the Jersey Devil invited chaos and trouble of the best kind. The kind where you’d wake up hungover, married to a goat and wondering where your trousers were.

 “It would mean you’d have to actually do your job, Jordan.” Razi commented, an amused smile forming beneath his elegantly groomed facial hair. Razi was a picture, with only one stylish lock out of place. With his broad, defined features and luscious dark hair bound into ponytail, it was amazing he settled for a bowling alley in a backwater town. Mythical blue eyes shone; sapphires gleaming against his bronzed skin. As usual, the hunky Djinn wore a silken button up shirt, with the sleeves folded up to his elbows and dark suspenders. The half-popped buttons showed off his defined chest, along with the many hairs curling across his skin. When the light caught those hairs the right way, Razi appeared to glow, adding to his calm mystique. This, along with his dazzling smile, was truly what made Emily think the only way to describe Razi was “An exotic gentleman.” ... yet Razi’s sister called him the ugly duckling. If that was true, Emily doubted the world was ready for the Nassar family.

 “Come on, Razi. Hikari has that locked down.” Aisha called teasingly, her lips peeling into a troublemaker’s grin to match JD’s. Emily could only wince in sympathy as she looked over to the poor demon, who was struggling to rearrange the bowling balls without breaking them.

 Hikari barely passed for human, being half Fae and half, well, Satan. Her soft, youthful features were only hardened by the copious amount of eyeliner surrounding her neon pink eyes. Darkness was a theme for Hikari, with her full, blackened lips and tiny black horns which sprouted from her coloured hair. Her long hair was perhaps the most colourful thing about her, fading from pink to purple the lower one went from her scalp. Two tiny buns sat on top of her head, little spirals of colour that were almost disarming... almost. Nothing could disarm Hikari’s attitude or sharp tongue.

 “Look! This is serious! I was doing my homework on potential rituals which the Brides may preform to resurrect Dracula and it turns out that, aside from me, they may ne-“

 “Wait... don’t tell me. A virgin sacrifice.” Aisha snipped in, appearing awfully amused when she spoke. When the entire group remained silent, powerful blue eyes widened in absolute alarm.

 “Seriously? I thought that was bogus... talk about cliché.”

 “Well, Van tried to correct things apparently, but nobody took him very seriously. If he were around, Vanessa is convinced he’d have a lot to say about the current state of things.” Emily informed, her own brows pinching as she went to speak again.

 “Of all the things to get right, eh?” JD laughed, only to grow silent at the look on their friend’s face. For all JD’s chaos, they knew when someone was hurting, and they knew when their common brand of humour wasn’t going to add to the situation.

 “Not any virgin. The closer to the intended, the better. We already know I’m the intended, with that kidnapping proposal and me being the only human Collin’s woman in town. The virgin sacrifice, well I think I know who that is. I assume it can’t be any of you. Or Diego. I already know it can’t be Grace-“

 “Definitely not Grace. We can both confidently confirm that.” Aisha agreed, causing both her and Emily’s faces to flush furiously. Grace’s prom night had not ended with her date dropping her off, rather with Emily and Aisha chasing a teenage boy out of her room with a mixing spoon and a coffee mug. It was an uncomfortable enough moment that all the Collins women did their best to avoid discussing it, yet none of them could ever bleach it from mind. Aisha had seriously considered trying it once she became a wolf. Thankfully, Mac had convinced her not to test out her new powers. JD also refused to erase the memory, finding it too hilarious to see Emily and Aisha squirming.

 “I don’t get along with any other family members. Don’t have any friends outside of Havenfall. The only other person I am close to is Vanessa. What do I do? She’s already in the crosshairs, if they catch onto this...” Emily appeared to dissolve into panic, her brows contorting. All the way from her shoulders to her hands appeared to vibrate, blurring subtly due to her trembling.

 “If you don’t want her to be the virgin sacrifice, just have her lose it.” JD suggested rather casually before they took a swig of their drink. Emily could only gape, her eyes almost bulging out of their sockets as she did her best impression of a guppy fish. Mouth agape, lips flapping as she tried to find the words.

 “Wow. Just wow. Is sex literally the only solution you can offer, JD?” Emily demanded, almost on autopilot. She was in shock. The idea was ludicrous! Insane! Utterly bonkers! She couldn’t just go up and offer to sleep with Vanessa! The huntress was already so shy about most interactions, given that she had never even had friends, let alone a boyfriend or girlfriend. If a compliment left her utterly flustered, and proximity took her breath away, then what would suggesting making love do? No, it wouldn’t be making love. Vanessa couldn’t be in love with her. It’d be sex. A physical convenience. It’d rob the hopeless romantic Vanessa of her first experience with love if she agreed to it.

 “I’m just saying. A good shag would solve several problems for her.” JD pointed out, once more grinning like a cat who had gotten the cream via nefarious methods. Emily was ready to burst. To smack the demon over the head with a bowling ball. Better yet, ask Hikari to do it. The Scene Demon would probably love to dish out some payback to JD.

 “And who would you suggest we get her into bed with? You? Diego? Razi?” Emily demanded harshly, bringing a hand up to pinch at the of her nose. Her thumb rubbed over the small scar beneath her glasses, which bounced over her knuckles as Emily attempted to purge the images from her mind by rubbing at her eyes. Picturing Vanessa with JD did not bring images of love, only an image of the Huntress kicking a demon’s flaming backside out of her van. For Diego, she could only picture a holy sword shooting out the van to decapitate the vampire, or a stake plunged into his heart. Hardly romantic. Razi... might at least be allowed to speak, but he’d wind up with the door slammed in his face.

 Emily was so caught up in her musings that she missed the look shared between Aisha and Mac, yet she did not miss the words her cousin spoke.

 “Actually... you’re the best candidate.”

 “What? Why me?” She almost shrieked, feeling as if she’d been sucker punched in the gut. Was it because Vanessa was her bodyguard? Did they just assume that it’d be acceptable? Was this how boys felt when paired with their female friends? Pressure? A touch of violation? Great. First it was a girl and boy couldn’t be friends, now it was automatically that if two women were close, they had to be lesbians. Would the clichés and stereotypes ever truly die?

 “You’re the only single human woman here.” Mac pointed out. Ok. Emily could concede to that logic.

 “Huge flaw in that, guys. You’re all just assuming Vanessa is gay!” Emily stated the obvious. Instantly, she was met with various looks of amusement and pity, all of which made her brows feel heavy and her lips ache with the urge to tip into a scowl. Honestly, for a group of outcasts and Queers, their lack of consideration was astonishing.

 “Or kinky. Come on. The leather? The whip?” JD unhelpfully added, miming a whip with their left hand when Emily fixed her glare upon them. The human felt her brow twitch even as she opened her mouth to snap back at the overly satisfied demon. Before she could even utter a single sound, a snort from her cousin cut her off.

 “It’s true. No Straight woman would wear that much leather.” Aisha added, smoothing out the moment with logic.

 “That’s a value judgement!” Emily scolded on instinct. A rather calm, deadpan stare was the only response. It only got worse as Emily felt her cheeks flush a brilliant cherry tomato. A flush which she was convinced spread to her collar given her spike in body temperature. She wasn’t stupid enough to blame it on the room heating up, not when she was the only one suffering. Okay, so maybe Aisha had a point... slash the maybe. Emily had to concede. She’d never met a woman who kept her nails short and wore so much leather who wasn’t somewhat inclined towards women. Thinking back over their interactions, Emily remembered when she had raised the question about dating history. Boyfriends? Girlfriends? Vanessa had stated explicitly she had no time for girlfriends... ok. So that had to be a hint, right? Vanessa had been so flustered even saying it. As if she expected backlash. So maybe she was a little bit gay? A little. But that was only one half of the sexuality equation.

 “She stares at your ass when you walk away. Seriously, she wants a piece. The biggest piece. I can see the gay from across the bowling alley.” Hikari’s voice rung out, drawing Emily’s focus to the approaching Fae daughter of Satan. Hikari had a look of utter condescending disbelief on her face, as if she was utterly flabbergasted that Emily could be so stupid. The intensity of that look sure made Emily feel more foolish than she had ever felt in her entire life, even if she was unsure why.

 “She looks at you like you’re chocolate cake, but she forgot to bring a spoon to eat you with.” Razi continued Hikari’s logic in a much gentler fashion.

 “Are we forgetting the little issue my last partner had? It’s called a penis!” Emily strained the word “little” with her voice and her fingers, thumb and forefinger held apart to depict the size.

 Mark had started out a wonderful partner. A caring man who was decent looking. He had a good job, solid family and had been involved with his church. Early on, Emily had thought he could be the one. Or rather, the best she would ever land with her background. When she had brought him to the bowling alley to meet her friends, however, things had gone south. Fast. Mark had torched his pristine image within minutes by his relentless attack on JD’s lifestyle. Mark exposed a traditionalist streak; which Emily couldn’t overcome. At the time, she hadn’t understood why everyone found Mark’s shouts that JD was going to hell so funny. She’d been busy dumping the tool.

 “Ahha! So you admit it was small.” JD cheered, leaping on the chance to have another dig at Mark. The Demon’s grin was victorious; so full of malicious glee that Emily couldn’t even bring herself to defend her ex. Not that she would ever feel inclined to.

 “So not the point.” Emily groaned, dropping her face into her hands. Maybe if she pinched the bridge of her nose hard enough, she could repel the building shitstorm which was her massive headache.

 “Does it matter?” Hikari demanded in an almost aggressive manner. Shocked, Emily removed her hand and stared at the Fae daughter of Satan. The Faemon appeared impassioned, her neon pink eyes blazing with such intensity it could be compared to a blast of heat straight to Emily’s face. As if she’d stepped from an air-conditioned building into 116 degrees.

 “Like, seriously. Who cares if you’ve only been with men in the past, they ain’t the shit.” The Faemon continued, earning an almost amused snort from Emily. JD smirked, Razi coughed. An actual laugh came from Aisha, whilst the rumble of a chuckle echoed softly from Mac.

 Emily had always known she found both men and women attractive, yet no woman had ever fit the bill of Girlfriend material. Usually because they were straight. Men had always been easier when it came to dating, thus Emily had learned how to handle her foolish crushes and attraction to men. Women not so much. They still left her tongue tied, overwhelmed her thoughts when she found one she deemed attractive. She still couldn’t flirt in any capacity, and she absolutely could not contain her thirst.

 “If you actually connect with Vanessa, go for it. She’s cute, she’s single as fuck and into you. Are you seriously telling me a vagina is getting in the way?” The Fae continued, driving her words home with several firm pokes to Emily’s shoulder. The human could only blink. Hikari had an excellent point.

 Vanessa was gorgeous. There was no getting around that. All lithe muscle in a highly feminine frame. Dark hair spilling down her back; hair which seemed to absorb the light in a lilac black cascade. Breathtaking violet eyes, which shone with every single emotion Vanessa ever felt. Yes, Vanessa was physically stunning, yet there was more beauty to her than just her appearance.

 Vanessa was just so earnest. Everything about her was so sincere and true that is knocked Emily off her feet. Vanessa’s bravery; her capacity to make Emily believe in the impossible with her blistering passion and steadfast loyalty. It was inexplicable. Emily was forever awed by Vanessa as a Huntress, as well as a person. Whilst Vanessa’s heroism was undeniable, so was the woman beneath the legend. The tender concern in Vanessa’s eyes was almost blanketing; a warm comfort in the night. Vanessa’s genuine smiles transformed Emily’s heart into a prism of light, reflecting the warm glow of happiness throughout her entire chest. Watching Vanessa’s wonder as she was exposed to new things was addictive. To Emily, it felt like watching a whole new world birthed from nothingness. The gentle warmth and pride Emily was a constant undertone for her excitement to engage Vanessa. To learn more. Every scrap of information given by Vanessa was a treasure; a clue leading Emily deeper into a labyrinth. The journey alone was worth more than any treasure. Each moment a glistening point of connection that Emily felt content to exist in. Vanessa’s laughter... melodic. An angel’s song. The sound alone made the world fade away and infused Emily with a sense of unequalled joy. Such a pure, sincere sound as a happy Vanessa gave Emily’s heart wings.

 “They sell solutions for that.”

 And with Aisha’s comment, Emily’s joy came crashing down. She plummeted, feathers falling from her metaphoric wings with every flap of logic and confusion tangling around her. One moment there was an argument that just because Vanessa was a woman it didn’t mean Emily couldn’t like her, or even, lord forbid, LOVE her. Then, the next moment Aisha was starting to talk about changing Vanessa? It was in jest, clearly, yet that didn’t stop the violent impulse to shout surging within Emily’s veins. Vanessa was PERFECT the way she was. Why would Emily need a silicone attachment to try to deceive her when... Ok, so maybe she was completely into Vanessa. But with angels song and happiness, why would Emily want to ever leave? Or violate that trust?

 “I wouldn’t tolerate the townsfolk bothering you two, you have my word.” Mac chimed in, noticing the increasing furrow in Emily’s brow. That was enough to break Emily out of her outrage. Mackenzie was being sincere. Worrying for Emily as if she were one of the pack. That was enough to draw a soft smile to her lips, a gesture of gratitude to the Sheriff.

 “Seriously. Humans are so hung up on this shit.” Hikari huffed in annoyance, pausing to blow on her bubble-gum. The bubble grew for a second, then the pronounced pop rung through the silent air. A gunshot before Hikari delivered her perfected opinion on humanity.

 “Losers.”

 “Gods, are all supernaturals Queer?” Emily didn’t even realise her question had been out loud before she noticed the group pause.

 Razi appeared to have been stuck by lightning. His utter shock at the question was reflected by his parted lips when he went to speak. Instead, no words escaped, and his elegant jaw snapped shut. Hikari simply resumed blowing bubbles, evidently indifferent to the question. JD let forth a bark of surprised laughter, followed by a series of eyebrow wiggles at their shocked boss. The Djinn took it in good humour, simply sighing. Meanwhile, Mac and Aisha shared a knowing look; a secret amongst the pack perhaps. Annabelle appeared rather amused as she cast her sight on Damien, who coughed subtly when faced with the weight of his pack’s stare.

 “Most are open. Even the ones in typical relationships.” He strategically answered, his eyes lingering anywhere save the almost smug grins of his pack.

 “Its a small community, we don’t judge.” JD chipped in. If the devil was burdened by the focused attention of the room, they didn’t show it as they leaned against the bar. In response to the silence which followed, they gave an all too casual shrug. That irritating silence was broken by Emily, who let out an unspeakably pained groan as her head to fall forwards into her waiting hands with a rather pronounced thud.

 “This conversation has veered so far off track it’s stuck in the gutter.” Emily’s voice was muffled by the palms of her clammy hands, which were shielding her face. In another universe, the one flashing behind her closed eyes, this conversation had not taken such a turn. They had remained logical and avoided all embarrassment as they came up with the perfect plan to protect Vanessa. There wouldn’t be a literal pile of attractive Supernaturals snuggling on the beaten down old couch. No devilish devils or sexy, well dressed Djinns making jokes. This wouldn’t have dissolved into a discussion about sexuality... and Emily’s temples wouldn’t be throbbing in time with her marching band for a heart.

 “I get it, this topic is uncomfortable. That doesn’t change the fact it would reduce Vanessa’s eligibility to practically zero.”

 Whether Aisha was genuinely trying to help, or was teasing was uncertain. Her deep eyes held the gentle understanding of a mother; matured and nurturing with a underlying protectiveness that was enough to knock an elephant off track. However, the subtle tilt of her lips betrayed amusement. Restraint. The entire wolf pack seemed to somehow snuggle closer together.

 “Look, I’m not about to go up to my friend and be like Hey, so you’re a virgin. Let’s change that so Dracula won’t sacrifice you. That is so tacky, even a porn film would reject that script!” Emily practically exploded, turning to make endless gestures to emphasise her points. Hands and hips became a second language, crudely mimicking out points in a manner equally as explosive as her booming voice. Honestly, the AUDACITY of these people! If Emily had cared a little less or was just a little braver, she’d have already bitch slapped all of them.

 She paused, taking a moment to breathe. Deep breaths. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. Her thumb sought out the small scar across the bridge of her nose when she pinched it, almost as if the gesture could contain the storm about to explode from within her.

 “She deserves someone she wants to share her life with, not just some convenient exchange.” Emily concluded, pouring every ounce of sincerity into her words. It was true. Vanessa was a romantic, behind everything. For such a vulnerable thing as physical intimacy, Emily wanted Vanessa to have the dream. The perfect first time. Candles and romance with the person she was in love with. The person she wanted to spend eternity with. Emily couldn’t even imagine a world where she took that away from Vanessa. A world where duty claimed the last piece of Vanessa; the piece only protected by lack of time. It was Vanessa’s ONE true freedom. The only part of her life that the Order hadn’t dictated or infected. How could anybody ask Emily to take that away from Vanessa? How could they even THINK it?

 “It’s clear you care about her. That must count for something.” Mac’s gentle tones drew Emily out of her internal raging. When Emily turned her gaze to the Alpha Werewolf, she met kind forest green eyes. Mackenzie Hunt understood, at least enough to sympathise with the Collins girl. Mac bore the weight of her power so well that it was all too easy to forget Mac was only a couple of years older than Emily. As far as werewolves went, Mackenzie Hunt was a young Alpha. Barely more than a pup. Yet, she saw Emily’s struggle. Even without a word of it, she offered her full support. Her approval. Even without being a wolf, Emily could feel the power in it. The warmth that emanated from the Alpha’s care.

 “Yeah. A better time.” JD added in a remarkably sincere tone. For a split second, Emily almost believed it. Then, the devil’s lips curled. Moment ruined.

 “I’m not listening. La La La.” Emily announced, lifting her hands in a weak effort to cover her ears. Still, she couldn’t help letting her mind wander. What if they didn’t have a choice? Would Vanessa be willing to accept her? Could she even live up to even a single dream or fantasy Vanessa had? Vanessa’s lavender tinged grey eyes were so expressive. Would those purples tinges darken to black with lust? Could Emily hold her gaze, or would Vanessa’s gaze devour her soul? How would Vanessa’s soft skin feel beneath her lips? Would hardened abs twitch underneath loving a kiss? Would Vanessa even want that? Could she have the patience to allow Emily to truly make her feel divine with gentle explorations and sincerely sweetened words? Or would she be inclined to take the reins? How would those battle forged hands explore if given freedom to do so? What would she want? Maybe the whip...

 “You’re blushing.” Aisha’s amused tones dragged Emily’s mind from such a salacious place. She had to get out of the bowling alley, before things became even more awkward. Before she started imagining things more explicitly. She lowered her hand to her pocket, wiping clammy palms against the coarse material before she pulled out her phone. A lifeline to save her from humiliation.

 “Oh look, I got a text! Gotta go!” She stumbled over her blatant lie in a rush to get the words out. Her phone had not chimed. Without waiting, she broke into a brisk walk towards the door.

 “To ensure Helsing’s safety!” Came a quip from behind her. Emily didn’t hesitate in raising her middle finger over her shoulder, shouting out to the chorus of laughter chasing her into the streets.

 “LA. LA. FUCKING. LA.”

[atinytokki]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 2: Babylon 

The mainmast had a coat of chalky black on it, and Wooyoung traced his hands over it in shame. There hadn’t been a shred of evidence that his brother had been part of that naval blockade, and yet Wooyoung had frozen up over it. He hung his head.

What would it come to if he actually did see his brother in combat?

It was a question he had been avoiding ardently, filling himself up with every other distraction to save the worry for later. The crisis that he would go through if he had to choose one over another. Because he truly didn’t know. And he hated that, the fact that it was even a question.

He hurled arguments at himself, reminders of the kindness of his friends and his own promises to them... but shrunk back every time as the image of his brother’s face, betrayed but gentle in the wake of Wooyoung’s treachery appeared in his mind. Wooyoung could only pray it never came to that.

He was seated in the crow’s nest, taking over for Yunho while San gave him a final check to ensure his sudden seizure hadn’t caused any permanent damage. Crewmen ambled around like insects, tiny and insignificant but members of the machine that worked to run the vessel as a whole.

The charred patches on the mast had clearly been scrubbed at by Hongjoong to try and erase some of the scarring, but it was useless and they burned in Wooyoung’s mind as testaments to his failure. He couldn’t let it happen again.

Someone called his name from the main deck and he looked down to see Yunho standing there, gazing up. Wooyoung stood and slotted his foot into the netting but Yunho shook his head and climbed up to meet him.

“It’s alright, you can stay,” Yunho breathed, as if speaking his request would give him away. “I don’t mind. I’d like the company.”

So he admitted it.

Wooyoung could tell Yunho had been on edge ever since leaving the island. It sat in his stomach, a twinge of concern that the once unshakeable boy now looked over his shoulder at the shadows, afraid of losing control of himself again.

Wooyoung nodded wordlessly and re-situated himself in the crow’s nest, sharing the space with the older boy. Yunho’s bright blue locks rustled in the wind as he sighed and sat down. Wooyoung passed a hand lazily through his own newly bleached hair. He had won out against San in the end for the blonde colour, and it still surprised him every time a few ashen strands fell into his face.

He liked the way Yunho’s brow smoothed in the ocean breeze, a weight lifted off his shoulders. “You’re alright?”

“San said everything is normal.”

Wooyoung hummed quietly at the response. He hadn’t been asking about the physical evaluation. “There’s nothing that can get you out here,” his voice was lighthearted, but Yunho knew what he was getting at and blushed.

“You heard Seonghwa. Whatever dark magic came over me is still here, we’re likely bringing it with us...” Yunho trailed off with a pointed look at San, who remained on the main deck leaning over the railing and staring at nothing. It was uncharacteristic of the boy who usually threw himself into one task or another.

Wooyoung shivered, and not from the wind whipping through the sails. “He denies everything. And I’m not even sure exactly what to accuse him of.”

Yunho was shaking his head. “San did something. We can only pray the spirits leave us alone and don’t seek retribution for it.”

It was a perilous situation, and so difficult to get anything out of San once he’d made up his mind to avoid the question. Wooyoung grasped Yunho’s hand in his. “If he’ll listen to anyone, it’ll probably be one of us.” From the way Yunho was looking at him, it was clear. He would have to bring up the subject himself.

“I believe in you,” Yunho smiled reassuringly. “San will comply for your sake, he’d do anything for you.”

 ...

It turned out that Wooyoung didn’t need to ease into the discussion. He walked into the infirmary after supper and found San hunched over his desk, candles burning low, scanning a crinkled page with the magic glass from the Sunken City.

“So that’s what happened to the glass.” Wooyoung hadn’t meant to let the words slip out, but as soon as they did, San jumped a foot into the air and whipped around defensively.

“When did you get here?”

Wooyoung considered it best to leave that a secret and approached casually. “Doesn’t matter. What are you working on here?”

San still shook slightly, and didn’t have enough time to pocket the pages away before Wooyoung was leaning over his shoulder.

“Wooyoung...” he sighed, wringing a hand through his hair as the younger boy took the liberty of grabbing them and inspecting them for himself. “It’s nothing—”

“It’s spellbook pages!” Wooyoung realised. “The slave owner, these are his spellbook pages! You saved them from the fire when Yeosang went to destroy them, didn’t you?”

Wooyoung looked up, eyes cold and severe as he waited for a reaction. San fell limply back into the chair he had been occupying, surrender maybe, or perhaps just regret.

“Why are you keeping this a secret, San?” Wooyoung’s voice had lost its edge. Only soft concern remained, and it enticed San to meet his eyes.

 “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

Wooyoung found himself in a chair, waiting for San to divulge his deepest sins. San’s tongue loosened, he tried his best to explain. “I didn’t let him burn him because I believed they might be useful. And I was right, there is a wealth of information on these concerning magic and I thought magic applied to my healing would be...useful.”

Wooyoung nodded him on.

“I worked in secret because I saw how affected Yeosang was. He spent longer on the slave estate than we did, I’m sure it’s a dark memory for him and the way he reacted to seeing that sorcerer at the blockade... I knew no one could know I was doing this. So I took the magic glass no one else needed anyway and I tried to decipher it and cast the spells myself.”

It was well intended, but such things often have unforeseen side effects, and Wooyoung knew magic in particular was tricky business.

“It was difficult, but I got it working enough to heal topical wounds,” San whispered, guilt dripping from his words.

“But no one was injured between the blockade and the island, how did you...?” It hit Wooyoung all of a sudden.

“No. You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

San was silent.

“San, you injured yourself? To see if this magic nonsense would work? Do you even realise what could have ha—”

“I know what I did. And it worked, so there’s no use being upset over it,” San gritted out, eyes wet and downcast again. He went on, “I tried more and more difficult things until I mastered those, and I didn’t think the dark spirits would take notice because I was only doing good spells but I-I think... I think there’s a dark presence following me around.” His words sped up as he began to spiral out of control, pulled back by Wooyoung’s gentle hands on his shoulders.

“It was a mistake, San. You shouldn’t have done it but we have to deal with the consequences now.” San seemed contrite, but part of him was clinging to the pull of dabbling in sorcery and Wooyoung didn’t like it. “I think we should speak with the other officers.”

San jerked out of his grasp. “Absolutely not. You know what Yeosang will say. And everyone will support him.” Wooyoung tried to argue but San cut him off. “I can figure this out myself. Whatever dark force I created, I can be rid of it. I have to. It killed all the animals on the island, and destroyed our sails, and briefly possessed Yunho—”

“—When he went to find you?”

“Yes... I had gone to try and destroy it because it was ruining everything, it was tainting our paradise and changing things into worse things...”

“...But then Yunho came...”

“...And it just jumped for him! I didn’t know what to do and I panicked— why must I always panic?” Again he sank into his chair with his head in his hands.

Wooyoung paced the room as the pieces came together. “San, maybe if you just stopped using magic entirely—”

“No! No, no, Wooyoung, don’t you see? That would only make it worse! I would have no defence against it.”

“But if your dabbling in magic is what attracted it...”

“Then magic is what I’ll fight it with. I will figure it out, Wooyoung. I just need you not to tell anyone. Please, don’t make me beg. I can do it, I just need time.”

He was staring straight at Wooyoung now. The younger chewed on his lip. San was asking so much of him, and it was probably too late for him to fix it himself, but Wooyoung knew were he in the same position, San would not let him down.

“Alright. But if anything worsens, I’ll have to go to Captain. Tell me what’s happening, San. We can’t let this thing hurt anyone else.”

 ...

Jongho watched the waves roll and let the scent of the sea fill his lungs. It didn’t matter what he did or didn’t remember about his past when he was on the ATEEZ. This was his home now.

“Ho there, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He whipped around so quickly he almost lost his balance. It was Wooyoung, strolling up from where he had been in the infirmary with San.

 “Drunk, I see?”

“I’m not drunk,” Jongho snapped back quickly. “You just startled me.”

Wooyoung had a teasing smile on his face as he joined the Master-at-Arms at the starboard rail. “Don’t tell me you’re out of sorts, too.”

Jongho sighed and shook his head. Time to divert attention. “No, I’m better than ever. I just wish we didn’t have to leave that island so soon. It was wonderful while it lasted.”

Wooyoung sobered at this remark. Jongho was right, their brief time in paradise had been violently cut short, but showed just the same what the potential could be. “Do you think there was anything of note on the eastern face of the island?” He asked him.

Jongho tilted his head and considered it. It ultimately didn’t make a difference what they could have found. Every island had a secret, and rarely did the crew discover it, but this utopia had been special.

“Something magical, I think.” Jongho concluded. For some reason, Wooyoung was frowning. Jongho waited patiently for him to speak up, watching his eyes dart between the crests of the waves.

“How can we stop a magical force? Must it always be a sacrifice?”

Jongho’s eyebrows lifted at this. Not a question he had been expecting, but he gave it some thought and tried to answer. “I only have experience with one. And it was more a magical accident than any sort of devious sorcery.” He scrunched his eyes shut as all the frustration of memories slipping through his fingers like sand resurfaced. “The solution was never clear cut. I wasn’t even the person who found it, and then I was powerless to do anything. I wasn’t the one who sacrificed anything for my past to be returned. And now I can’t even see what’s coming. Anything could be on the horizon.”

Jongho didn’t like feeling powerless, Wooyoung could tell from the way his shoulders tensed as he said the word. “There hasn’t been any issue since the North, then? Everything is... back to normal?” Or as back to normal as it can be, Wooyoung thought to himself.

Jongho shrugged and turned to face him. “I still feel fine. And I could tell you that Mingi once snuck into my bed because he thought I was his mother back when it was just the four of us.”

Wooyoung let a soft smile play on his lips. That sounded like something Mingi would do. He wasn’t prepared when Jongho started questioning him right back, “What makes you ask about it? The side effects of magic?”

Wooyoung bit his tongue to stop it from stuttering an answer and replied smoothly, “It’s just everything that went on with that island. And the way we left so suddenly... surely everyone else is concerned about it as well?”

Jongho either accepted his answer or simply ceased questioning, turning back to the moonlight reflected on water and nodding distantly. Wooyoung thought he saw suspicion in his eyes and realised it probably made him look like he knew too much. He had promised San not to reveal anything, but now it seemed he was becoming the suspect for dabbling in sorcery. He decided to change the subject back to Jongho.

“Do you relive things, now that they’re back in your head?”

“I try not to,” Jongho answered softly, not turning to look at him. “Not all the memories I got back are happy ones, you know.” Wooyoung swallowed. Perhaps he had pried too far again. But his mouth ran away nonetheless...

“What about the bad ones?”

Jongho didn’t say anything for a long time. Wooyoung was about to tap him on the shoulder to check that he hadn’t fallen asleep standing up when a small voice, much weaker than he had ever heard from Jongho, wafted into the thick atmosphere.

“I ran away.”

Wooyoung blinked.

“I said I was going out to practice, but once I started running I just couldn’t stop.” The boy’s voice was broken, and his head was hanging low. Wooyoung shuffled closer to listen.

“I hated being home. Once Father started drinking everything was always my fault and he would always beat me for it and one day I just couldn’t take it anymore and I just... I just...”

“You had to go.”

Jongho nodded tearfully and let Wooyoung drape an arm around his shoulders. He had been carrying this memory all this time since the crystal was broken, and had told no one. Wooyoung tried not to be hurt by that fact and rubbed the tension out of the younger’s back.

“You had to go, Jongho,” he reassured him with every ounce of conviction. “Things have turned out much better for you here than they would have if you’d stayed.”

It took a moment but eventually Jongho nodded and pulled away. “Don’t tell the hyungs, please.” Wooyoung sighed and shook his head. “Does no one else know about this at all?”

Jongho nodded sheepishly, and Wooyoung couldn’t blame him. He clearly wasn’t the type to open up to anyone about anything, and Wooyoung understood the difficulty with comprehending his own home situation.

“I won’t say anything, then. But you should tell them when you’re ready. At least Mingi.”

Jongho nodded in agreement and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Wooyoung tried to lighten the mood. “Well, I think we might as well break into the rum since we’re up anyway—”

 “—Hyung, look!”

Wooyoung squinted at the speck on the horizon that Jongho was pointing at. Once his eyes adjusted to the splash of moonlight on the waves, he spotted it. “A Navy ship?”

“You see it, too!” Jongho looked relieved but shot his gaze up to the crow’s nest in confusion. “Why hasn’t Yunho called ‘sail ho’? Is he asleep up there? Yunho!”

There was movement in the rigging for a few seconds before a sleepy voice called out, “Sail ho!”

Jongho was immediately his spunky self again, rolling his eyes at Yunho for sleeping on the job, spirits lifted at the prospect of action.

Wooyoung wasn’t quite so sure, watching from the sidelines as the ship grew in the distance. He realised Jongho had been right; something was on that horizon. And it was moving closer.

“I’m not clearing for action yet, it’s just one ship.” Hongjoong was already in the forecastle, swatting Mingi’s hands away from his spyglass.

“What do we do then?” Mingi pouted at him. Hongjoong thought for a second, twirling the glass in his hands.

“Let’s put up the black sails.”

Wooyoung shivered with delight. The ATEEZ was famous for their black sails, even on Si-Hyuk’s ship Wooyoung had heard tales of the small pirate vessel sneaking away in the dead of night from under the Navy’s noses. And now he got to help raise the black sails himself. The stark white was a dead giveaway, and the sooner the ATEEZ was camouflaged, the better.

Everyone lept into action, a much more alert Yunho joining Wooyoung in the rigging while the deck bound officers looked on anxiously.

“Are we clear for action if we can’t get them up in time?” Jongho tried to compromise. He had been anticipating knocking around some Navy heads.

“If and only if,” Hongjoong conceded. “And still I want you to wait for my signal.”

Wooyoung tried to ignore the thought that stealthily floating by the Navy was a much better alternative to fighting and potentially killing his own brother should they enter combat.

But he wasn’t on that ship, and if Wooyoung could just keep repeating it...

“It’s the ship from the blockade,” Yunho was looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sure of it.” The two of them finished with the sails and reported to Hongjoong.

“I’m altering course.”

The captain took the wheel in hand and curved south of the white speck on the edge of the sea. “If a blockade ship found us out here, the rest of the fleet may not be far behind.” The air was grim and quiet as the tiny threatening ship disappeared from view.

Hongjoong ordered for the black sails to be left up until dawn, and remained on deck for the rest of the night. “We take no chances,” he responded when Seonghwa tried to drag him away. “I promised to get you home and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Seonghwa suddenly withdrew and Hongjoong realised his mistake. The eldest clearly had yet to make up his mind about his plans once they arrived at the mainland, and Hongjoong had been trying not to influence his decision.

“Don’t forget to wake me for my watch. And if you catch them on our tail again I want to be the first to know,” the older said, defeated, before retreating to their cabin. Again Hongjoong could only pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

When it came to Seonghwa, he was always messing up.

 ...

It was two days later when they were spotted again. It was Hongjoong this time, staring out the back of the ship and waiting for the ship to appear.

Around noon, it did.

He called Seonghwa and pointed it out, and then let Seonghwa be the one to inform the crew. Black sails would be useless under the full revealing light of the sun and Hongjoong knew it, so he cleared the cannons for action and watched the men shuffle around like it was happy hour then simply watched and waited.

Suspicion grew in the back of his mind when the enemy drew close enough for Hongjoong to see the individual soldiers, and yet they hadn’t fired. One man stood in the forecastle and stared unwavering. It was the sorcerer from before. Hongjoong stood and went to the railing, staring back just as intently.

“What do you want with us?” He yelled across the gap when the ships drew close enough up to each other. “You have some spells that belong to me.” The man smiled and suddenly his entire appearance flickered.

It was like a candle that had been gently breathed on, a spark of something else— someone else— peeking through an exterior shell for a split second. Another face from the past. Hongjoong stepped back unconsciously.

It was Babylon.

“You can run,” the sorcerer returned, leaning forward ever so slightly. “But I’ll catch you.”

Hongjoong tore down the steps of the quarterdeck and ran to Wooyoung’s side. “Fire now.”

Wooyoung hesitated for a split second, completely unsure of what was happening. They had their broadsides, a clean hit would sink the Navy ship there and then. It was clear Hongjoong had no intention of boarding them. He nodded his agreement and cleared his head with a single breath, drawing up his flame to light the fuse.

“They’re gone!” Confusion broke out on deck and Wooyoung glanced up. The entire ship had suddenly disappeared before their eyes. “How did he do that?” The powder monkeys all whispered amongst themselves. “He’s a sorcerer,” Wooyoung groaned. “And now he’s following us.”

He turned to where Hongjoong had been standing, expecting him to answer, but the captain, too, had disappeared, back to the quarterdeck where he called all the officers to an emergency meeting in his quarters.

 ...

“This entire time, we’ve been leading him right to us.” Yeosang flopped back into his chair. The ‘we’ he spoke of was really a ‘you’ and it didn’t escape San’s notice.

He glowered at the navigator who went on, “I should’ve destroyed those pages when I had the chance.”

San’s glare intensified from the other side of the room. “There is useful information on them, and I’m close to figuring it out. If you can’t prove that it’s the spellbook putting us in danger, then you can’t make me destroy it.”

With that as his final word, he spun on his heel and exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Finally Seonghwa’s voice penetrated the thick air. “I’ll go talk to him—”

“No, I’ve got it,” Wooyoung cut him off. He felt partially responsible for all this, having been the one to put San in this situation. It was only right that he make up for it. “But we still have to do something about our tail,” Seonghwa’s response was firm.

“I say we take the fight to him,” Hongjoong finally spoke up from his desk, where he had been mulling over the facts quietly. “I’ve had enough of running away.”

Mingi coughed nervously. “Going up against a sorcerer? But none of us know the first thing about magic...”

“Which is why we won’t go alone.” Hongjoong smiled at him, and Mingi knew immediately what he was implying.

“Hyung, no.”

“What do you mean, no! If anyone can help us, it’s Eden!”

“Except we already tried to find him and he didn’t want to be found, remember?”

“That was then, things have changed. Why would he disappear when he’s clearly leading us back to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe because he’s done it before? What makes you think this time is different?”

“Because this time,” Hongjoong was standing now, an anger brewing up through his eyes before suddenly softening. “This time, the threat on our lives is his own doing. And the Eden I know would never allow that.”

It was unnervingly silent after Hongjoong’s response faded. They hadn’t been privy to this information until now. Mingi needed to take a seat. He gave up after several attempts to ask through his dry throat how exactly the maniacal sorcerer hunting them down was Eden’s fault but he was honestly afraid to.

Wooyoung was more concerned about their present issue and broke in to ask, “Do we burn the pages?”

All the heads in the room turned to him. “It doesn’t matter,” Hongjoong finally decided. “The damage has already been done.”

 ...

“San?”

The sickbay wasn’t usually the most well lit of places below deck, but it was darker than usual as Wooyoung stared into it, black as pitch except for the dying embers that glowed from the fireplace.

Wooyoung lingered in the doorway. It didn’t make sense. He had checked San’s room, the storage decks, the galley, the food stores, even the crow’s nest, but San was nowhere to be found. There were only so many places to hide on a ship afloat in the middle of the ocean and Wooyoung had checked everywhere but here.

He decided to step in and try to find a light in the mess covering the examination tables but the door squeaked shut behind him and he was plunged in blackness. Hands outstretched in front of him, he groped for a matchbox, a lantern, anything, when a whisper brushed his ear. Hair shot up on the back of his neck, and he couldn’t turn fast enough.

A pair of arms latched around him, strong enough to be immobilising. As Wooyoung sucked in a breath to scream for help, a hand clamped over his mouth. His air grew stale in his mouth and panic seized his limbs. He couldn’t get out of this man’s grip and the edges of his vision were shrinking rapidly. One thought surfaced as he sunk into unconsciousness.

 Is this the end?

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @bustdownyunho @celestial-yunho @theinvisablessed

A/N: Wow look it’s WooSan can’t keep a secret part two!! So sorry that it’s quite dialogue heavy this time. It’s all necessary I promise, but soon we will be full speed ahead and... yeah you guys aren’t ready.  Please let me know what you thought and keep an eye out for more! Reminder that voting is open until 11/27 for the next spinoff and don’t worry I will update Mingi’s before we get there.  Also if this seems rushed it’s because I’m seeing SuperM tomorrow and can’t write until next week really so :_)) Don’t forget to reblog and comment!!

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[yeshawrites]

Hair.

BINARY, an anthology. Chapter: Hair. You can find all other works of mine here. NOTES: This is a series I’m starting about my personal life. Some of these things deal with implied rape, gender, sexuality, and abuse. This piece is no exception. Please read knowing both that this is my real life I am allowing on display, and also that it may have upsetting content. 

It’s 2018. I’m sitting in my grandparent’s kitchen and behind me, their old mainstay is playing: the news. I always ignore it. It’s usually on mute by the time I arrive, but still--there’s something pervasive and alienating about the TV being on, as if it is the proverbial light to which all moths are attracted. The Supreme Court nomination hearing is on, and I’m pretending that it isn’t happening at all. 

If it’s happening, then I have to be furious. I’m already angry. I’ve been angry for years. I can’t exist when I’m burning inside. Dr. Blasey Ford sits before a committee with tears in her eyes, her blonde hair resting in short waves like mine around her chin, and I feel a kinship.  

As I sit on a stool, my grandmother reaches out and touches my bleached hair with sad, weary fingers, staring straight into my eyes. She tugs on a lock until she can see the dark roots and announces to no one in particular, “You have such pretty hair naturally. Won’t you stop dyeing it?” 

--- 

It’s 2001, December. I am terrible with dates, but this one I remember--and I only remember that because it was quite cold out and only three months after 9/11. That kind of thing sticks in your brain. The two towers crumbled in New York, the whole country listened to Darryl Worley as if he might become a classic, and my hair was brown.  I was only seven.  

Nearly two decades have passed. I couldn’t possibly outline the night if someone asked. All I know was that the babysitter was four years older than me, maybe five. I’ve tried to scrub that night from my brain the same way I scrubbed my tongue and throat with the toothbrush for weeks afterward, wondering why I couldn’t get the foul taste he’d jammed into my mouth out. 

My hair was brown and I felt guilt. Guilty like I had asked for this. Guilty like I even knew what happened to me--and I didn't, not for at least five years more, a whole decade before I could speak it aloud to someone who might even care. 

He was nearly caught by my mother.  

I often wonder what would have happened if she’d found him. 

I don’t think it would have changed anything. --- The year was 2009. I was a brunette and sixteen with a twenty-two year old boyfriend. 

Sometimes he would twist his hand around my ponytail and pull it taut, my head resting into the palm of his hand, and tell me seriously about how I’d saved him from his porn addiction. I didn't know how to feel about that. I couldn’t even fathom myself as attractive. How could I be? How could I be a subject worthy of desire when that taste still burned on the back of my tongue? 

The babysitter still came by sometimes. He was in college. Once he tried to hug me and I skittered away, tears springing to my eyes. My mother asked what was wrong with me and demanded I apologize. 

I did.   --- The year was 2010, and I called it quits with a boyfriend who fantasized about biting into my neck and holding a knife to my spine. I was a brunette.  

“You know it doesn’t matter, right?” He told me. It was the third time we’d had this talk. I knew where it went. His fingers knotted tight in the back of my hair and tugged meaningfully. “You’ll come back. You always do. You like to think you’re strong until the moment you have to be without me.”  

My ponytail ran clear down to the small of my back. That week I went to a hairdresser and cut it clear to my shoulders, and as every stray inch hit the floor, I wondered if a haircut was the only way to erase the memory of his hand around my throat. The next day I drove in my beat-up Windstar to a Hot Topic and purchased a massive bottle of red hair dye, and--defiant of the directions, ignorant to laws of color--slathered the whole thing over my scalp until my skin glowed crimson.  The year was 2010. My mother bemoaned the transformation. 

I was a redhead, and no man had ever touched my hair. I scooped away the fringe behind my head and marveled where it vanished. No more tugging, pulling, stares from men far too old to look at me. The choppy dye job made me a child again.  

Perfect.   --- The year was 2013, and I was purple--then blue, then orange, then pink. I put as many miles between myself and another poor decision as I could, but it wasn’t enough. He’d show up at my workplace and sit at the same table for hours, watching me, as if the decade between us wasn’t questionable.  

He told me he loved me. He told me he wanted to marry me. 

Then he got me so drunk I couldn’t stand and used me. 

Escape felt impossible. I oscillated between colors and hoped that one of them stuck, that one of them could be a magical shield between my skin and those ​hands, hands that bruised, hands that hurt, hands that grabbed a hold of my hair and twisted my head too sharp. Some nights I stood in the safety of my shower and wondered if I could shave off enough skin that he couldn’t smell ownership and would skitter away like a roach.  

It wasn’t enough.  

The year was 2014 and he was following me.  

I’d told him ‘no.’ I’d told him ‘please.’ I’d begged, I’d cut off contact, I’d moved and erased every picture and thrown away every dress and struggled not to cry when a man touched me. Still he followed me. When we stood before a judge--he a respectable man in his thirties, I a faux-red child--the judge glanced between us and said simply, “I think I see.” 

I was not granted the protective order. In a daze I made a hair appointment and stumbled into the chair. My haircutter took one look through the history of ill-placed colors lining my scalp and sighed, breaking out his clippers.  

“It’ll all have to go if you want it to be even.” 

It all went. I closed my eyes as the buzzing whirred past my ears and pretended that I was shaving off pieces of every finger he’d ever laid on me. When it was done we burned it all out with bleach.   --- The year is 2018, and I am bleached blonde.  

They say the body takes anywhere from seven to fifteen years to completely replace itself--or as much as it can. Some nights, when it gets too much and too heavy, I sit in the bath and soak until my skin is soft and shave until I think the top layer is as worn away as I can make it.  

No one touches my hair. Every once in a while I’ll look at my roots and measure them with my eyes, wondering if it is ​safe, if there is security in returning there and going back to 2010, if I’m far enough away that it doesn’t hurt anymore. I’m not ready yet. But maybe, maybe, maybe. I even think sometimes about having all the length back again--swooping and long, ready to braid or tie back or weave ribbons through.  

But my experience isn’t just my own.  

I watch Dr. Blasey Ford sit before a panel of men who have no doubt wound their own hands through a woman’s hair and pulled, and I wonder if it is just coincidence that she and I have the same hairstyle. Did she, too, try and burn out all those hands with bleach?  

I have no way of knowing.  

My grandmother tugs on a lock of my hair and I’m back with her in the kitchen. 

She doesn’t know. Judging by the way she treats Dr. Blasey Ford, she’ll never know. 

“You have such pretty hair naturally. Won’t you stop dyeing it?” 

I just shake my head and smile. “No. I like it like this.”

[sugaskoffee]

smoke with me | one-shot

↪ Min Yoongi × Reader

↪ Genre: very soft (af) angst

↪ WC: 2.3k

⤵ Sometimes lonely strangers shared a cigarette...

*

It's hard not to get a rush of nostalgia when revisiting an old place, sound, smell, word; something dear to you.

Something as simple as watching a sunrise on the last day of summer bears more meaning than a picture of it. Something vain as the earthy smell of early autumn holds pockets of memories that unfold before you like the feeling of smiling after a long cry; all so bittersweet. Especially missing something that you can't get back in the way it once was.

That feeling. That feeling. It's what you felt when thinking of him.

Hands fiddling with a solid square of metal, your sleep-deprived eyes kept blinking from the lukewarm wind. Dawn was creeping up with every slow minute, splashing light onto the dark canvas of the sky. Your bare legs were covered in goosebumps despite the cement being warm beneath you. If not for the morning cold pinching your nose, you would've most likely laid back and fallen asleep.

You didn't know how long you sat outside the building, occupying one of the wide stone-built steps, but it didn't feel as long as usual. There was just something about the night --the world seemed to stop when the moon took over.

A deep sigh pulled you out of your head. The guy in your peripheral vision was sitting a mere foot from you; your co-worker, Min Yoongi.

Shoulders rolling in a stretch, your hands continued to fiddle with the metallic lighter in your grasp. You never looked away from the brightening horizon.

There was a shift, then a low mutter of curses, then you felt the need to look over.

Bleached hair covered with a knit hat, dark almond eyes, black sweater, plain jeans, and dry lips holding a cigarette which had yet to be smoked.

A smile lifted one side of your mouth and you outstretched your arm, offering the boy the lighter that wasn't even yours.

"Thanks," he muttered, voice rough as the smoke he constantly inhaled. "Want one?" He pulled out another cigarette from his pocket. You didn't care to smoke at the moment but you took the stick anyways.

It sort of became a routine between you and him; smoking in comfortable silence after your work hours in the club ended.

But today was the weekend. Neither of you on shift. Your manager threw a midnight party for all the employees at his place, which ended with everyone passing out around three in the morning.

You decided to sober up from the drinks you consumed by getting some air and found that Yoongi thought the same. You ended up sharing silence with him till the sunrise. A Deja Vu came upon you but you tried not to dwell on thoughts of the past; it was dead anyway.

"You waiting for someone to pick you up?" Yoongi asked, bringing you out of thought. Him speaking up meant it was time to soon neglect this shared moment between the two of you.

"No," You shrugged, eyes averting to the cigarette in your hands. "I walked here. Since it's not far from where I live,"

The blonde hummed; inhaling in, exhaling more smoke. "Sounds tiring." A pause. "I'll give you a ride.. if you want."

You blinked over at him, lazy smile shaping your lips. "First cigarettes, and now rides? I'd say you're starting to like me, eh?"

Picking up on your jesting tone, Yoongi let out a single huff of a laugh, dry lips curling up just slightly. "Listen, do you want the ride or not?"

"I should say yes before you regret asking me and take your words back." You said, teasing grin holding your lips.

"Already regret it."

Chuckling, you shook your head. He didn't have to worry about that; of course you didn't expect him to actually take you home.

Looking up front, you found the sun up in the sky in its full circular form. It burned your eyes to the point of seeing purple spots, but you smiled at the warmth it radiated on you. With sunlight kissing your skin, the breeze didn't seem all that cold anymore. With Yoongi beside you now, your heart didn't feel all that pained.

Sadly, all of this was but for a moment. You just wished you could bottle it and drink it in whenever your heart was missing again.

Sighing, you slipped the unsmoked cigarette in the pocket of your oversized bomber jacket and stood up. Pulling at the hems of your shorts, you slid the hiked-up denim further down your thighs before making it down the handful of steps. The sun was up; the best part of the day was over with and it was officially Saturday. Time for you to journey your way back to your apartment and get a good shut-eye.

"See you Monday." You said, shoving both hands into your pockets. You tried your best not to look over your shoulder at Yoongi. You failed.

The blonde tilted his head, confusion in his eyes.

"My car's not that way," he said before your feet could make a right turn out of the property.

"Oh, I wasn't-"

"You know," The boy rose to a stand, half-stick of the cigarette between his lips. "I meant what I said. I'll give you a ride. You look too tired to even stand."

Blinking, you watched Yoongi walk over, a small smile playing on your face. You held back from saying thank you as you followed him to his car. Giving your thanks now meant that this rare exchange between you and him had come to an end. You didn't want it to end. Not yet.

You told him your address instead.

Settling in the passenger seat, your eyes took in the interior of Yoongi's car, finding nostalgia tucked in the creases of the black leather seats and cup holders. You held back from saying all that you missed about it, but you couldn't keep your hand from touching the old price tag sticker that was on the grey glove compartment. Despite being chipped and washed out of its written price, it remained faithfully glued to the silver handle. You felt surprised that it was still there. It's been six years since it's been stuck on.

Feeling stupid touching the sticker so memorably, you decided to ask Yoongi about it.

Placing his phone into the cup holder, the blonde shrugged and the car came to a start. "I don't remember how that got there, honestly." He said. "Never asked anyone to explain it to me,"

"Oh. I just thought this was your car-"

"It is mine. It's just... I got into an accident a few years back," Yoongi spoke so calmly, so rehearsed, as if he's explained this exact issue so many times before. Hands on the wheel, he guided the car out of the parking and onto the busy road. "Ended up in a coma and woke up a few weeks later with four years of my life erased. Including me getting this car, so.."

You swallowed hard and tried not to let the discomfort in your chest show by expression. "Wow." You breathed, clearing your throat. I'm sorry was there on your tongue, but you figured he was tired of hearing it now. "That must.. really suck." You said instead, earning a small chuckle from him. Though, you didn't find it funny at the least.

"It does." Yoongi sighed. "Four years may not seem like much but it's still a big chunk of my life. Just..sucks always asking my family about what went on in my own life, you know?"

Many forbidden questions rose up your throat again; you were careful not to let them escape. That wasn't the plan.

An exhale left your mouth, heavy and collecting. Eyes focused outside the glass windshield on the cars standing in the other lane.

"Mmm, I can imagine," you replied absently. "Experienced something similar, actually. Well, not me, but someone I know -knew."

"How so?"

"Hmm?" You looked back at the blonde, not expecting him to ask.

He glanced your way momentarily, unbothered as always; one curious brow arched, finger tapping on the steering wheel. The second of silence passed too long and Yoongi shook his head, "Nevermind," He said. "None of my business."

Opening your mouth, you closed it right after. There was a war in your mind about whether you should or shouldn't tell him about your first love; a guy who ended up forgetting you because of your stupid decisions. Here you were, not less of a stranger to him, knowing that the next time you'll see him at work things will go back to the way they used to; there was no point, really.

Still. You sighed and started speaking. "He was very close to me. He also had this condition since birth that cut off a few months of his memory, and it was triggered..very heavily after a certain incident." The more you spoke, the more pain you released from your chest. It was as if you were telling him a story that you've carried with you since childhood. "Long story short, he couldn't recognize me when I came to visit him at the hospital, and his parents convinced me it was best if I didn't try; it was too much of a risk in his state. So I didn't. Not even to this day. But.. I don’t know, I should've... right?"

A red light flashed and the car slowed to a stop again. Yoongi kept his eyes on the road up front. "Were you in love with him?" He asked, tone holding nothing but curiosity.

"Yes." You swallowed. "We've been together for two years by that point."

"Then you should've tried. I would’ve tried,” He said. “And if I were him...I would've wanted to know."

You blinked away the burning sting in your eyes and turned to the window again, regret stuck in your throat like bile. "Yeah, I guess." You said. "But it was a lot more complicated than that. And it's too late to start fixing anything now."

"How long?"

"Seven years, I believe." You lied. It was nearing six. You chuckled out of nerves. "Honestly though, I don't even know why I brought all of this up.." You looked back at the blonde with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry for sorta making you play therapist."

Yoongi huffed out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "Well then, sorry for not acting on my part, I guess."

A light laugh left your mouth and the heavy tension in the car dissolved.

Nearing a familiar street, you told Yoongi to take a right turn.

"You know," the blonde said as his vehicle slowed outside your apartment building. "I really don't think that it's too late for you to tell him. Things might not go back to the way they were, sure ...but even if things changed in both of your lives, I'm sure it would clarify a lot of things for him. Just saying."

Hand gripping the door handle, you couldn't help the emotions that welled in you from his words. You felt as if you crossed a line you promised not to cross. You talked more than you should've and if you continued, it was going to be hard to go back to the casual strangership you two had.

Still. You couldn't help asking, "You really think so?"

Min Yoongi, with bleached hair in his eyes and elbow resting on the top of the steering wheel, nodded with his usual timid, pursed smile. Despite his expression showing indifference, you saw something warm that softened in his brown eyes. You looked at him and saw home, saw familiarity.

It hurt because it was only you who saw that; he saw you as nothing but a stranger. It hurt because you wanted everything to be as simple as he told you. But, unfortunately, it wasn't.

Masking the urge to cry with a grin, you unbuckled yourself with your other hand and opened the car door.

"Thanks, Yoongi." You said. Once out of the car, you held the door agape for a minute longer, "If you ever have questions about that price sticker, call me." You winked before closing the door.

After a moment of confusion, you saw Yoongi chuckle through the tinted window, then shake his head as if you didn't know what you were talking about.

You did know.

You were the one who stuck the price tag on there in the first place. Yoongi had scolded you for "loitering" in his newly-purchased car and you laughed because he wasn't really being serious about it; you could tell by the scrunch in his nose that he was only half mad.

Climbing the stairs to your apartment floor, you glanced back, catching a glimpse of Yoongi's car making a turn out of the block. The breeze nipped at your legs and cheeks as you stood, blinking slowly, reminiscing of the past.

A heavy grief settled like hot bricks in your chest, making tears burn the back of your eyes.

You didn't understand why life brought you back to him when you made a decision to leave him in the past. But you really couldn't; just leave him in the past with the rest of your stale memories, like you promised his parents that you would. Even after years of no contact, Yoongi came back so unexpectedly that you wondered if he even existed in your life before these last six months. You thought that keeping your distance would help. That it’d make you immune to seeing him.

It didn't.

Everyone always says that you never forget your first love.

But Min Yoongi forgot you nonetheless.

You'll need to try harder to do the same.

*

⤴ "...not the way real strangers would."

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

ASOIAF RARE PAIR WEEK - DAY 2

The big green monster lurking in the hallway (Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark)

For weeks Theon had tried to find the right words. And now he finally believed he found them, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen was hugging and holding another guy.

Theon bit his lip and looked away while he casually leaned against his locker. For weeks he had been trying to gather enough confidence to ask the most beautiful girl he had ever seen out. For weeks he had tried to find the right words. And now he finally believed he found them, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen was hugging and holding another guy.

And the worst of all: That guy was more handsome, more charming and way more popular than Theon would ever be. He had the kind of smile normal people couldn’t have without paying some dentist millions of dollars to bleach their teeth. He had the blond curls normal people only saw on commercials for shampoo. He wore expensive suits that made him look years older, wiser and most of all richer. And to top it all of: He was also kind and nice to everyone he met.

“Theon?” Robb furrowed his eyebrows while he interrupted his best friend’s thoughts. “How can you pull a face like that after you made it into the rowing team?”

Theon let out a mocking laugh. “Rowing…” He rolled his eyes. “As if rowing can even compete with swimming or horse riding.”

“Why would you have to…” Robb followed Theon’s glance and stopped mid sentence. “O, that’s why it’s important to you.” He curled his lips up into a smile and elbowed his best friend in such a way that Theon let out a soft ouch. “You’re not gonna let Loras ruin your chances with my sister, are you?”

Theon sighed. “Does she ever talk about me?”

Robb didn’t answer, but that in itself was already more than enough information for Theon.

She didn’t want him. Of course she didn’t want him. She could get Loras Tyrell! Heir to the biggest flower imperium in the world! A reincarnated prince charming, with the locks of a king and the smile of a lover.

“I can’t ruin my chances with Sansa.” Theon let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t have any to begin with!”

Robb wrapped an arm around his best friend’s shoulders and shook his head. “You're being dramatic, Theon. Sansa and Loras are hanging out with each other for months now and nothing happened. She’s still as free as a bird and as long as she’s still free, you, the friend she’s known ever since she was still in her diapers, still stand a chance with her.”

“You only say that because you’re my best friend.”

“I say that, because I like the thought of my best friend marrying my sister. Call me weird, call me the odd one out, but I know that you’ll be good to her. She deserves someone like you.” Robb placed an hand on Theon’s chest and then he stepped back. “Come on, bud, gather all that courage and go to her to ask her out.”

“With Loras Tyrell watching me and laughing his ass of because I’m even trying? I don’t think so.” Theon wanted to turn around and walk away, but Robb reached for his shoulder and forced him to stand still.

“You’re coming up with excuses to not talk to her for weeks now! It’s always something.” Robb’s glance met Theon’s. “You obviously need a good friend to give you a little push into the right direction.” He pushed Theon literally towards his sister and when Theon refused to walk further, Robb pushed him again and again. “Ask her out now, or wonder forever what could have been if you’d been just a little braver.” Robb leaned in and his lips were almost touching Theon’s ear. “Good luck.” He stepped back and nodded to his sister. “Sansa, Theon wants to talk to you.” He raised his eyebrows and Theon was on the brink of strangling the Stark boy with his bare hands.

“Hey Theon.” Sansa smiled and she turned towards him. Her red hair was glowing in the sunlight and her voice was even prettier than the most beautiful music Theon could imagine. “What did you want to talk about?”

Theon scratched the back of his neck. All the words he had rehearsed at home were now stuck in his throat and all the flair and jokes he had prepared for this moment were all of a sudden forgotten, gone, erased from his memories as if they hadn’t even existed.

“He’s probably intimidated by your good looks. You should go shopping with Margaery more often.” Loras was the one to interrupt the silence and Theon felt his cheeks heating up.

He should have been the one saying that. He should have told Sansa that she looked pretty. He should have asked her where she had gotten that dress and how much it suited her. But he had not said anything like that. He had not said anything at all and once again it was Loras Tyrell stealing all the fucking glory.

“No, I shouldn’t!” Sansa replied, but her words came out like a chuckle. Her laughing made the butterflies in Theon’s stomach lose complete control. “She always makes me spend way more money than I have!”

“If you’d just accept our offer to let us give you presents once in a while, that wouldn’t be a problem.” Loras leaned a little towards her and Theon shook his head and turned around.

He was only the third wheel in this conversation. They probably didn’t even notice him walking away. And they most certainly didn’t even care.

“Theon?” Sansa yelled after him. “Where are you going, I thought you wanted to ask me something?”

Theon stood still and he took a few deep breaths. At the very end of the hallway he noticed Robb giving him two thumbs up and he sighed before he turned back towards the strong and fierce redhead who kept him up in the middle of the night without even knowing it.

“Come on. We’ve been friends ever since we were in cribs next to each other! It can’t be that hard to ask me anything?” Sansa walked towards him, but Loras Tyrell stayed behind.

Maybe Robb was right. It was now or never.

“Sansa…” Theon faced her and he knew that the veins in his neck were visibly beating. His heart was hammering in his chest like an absolute maniac and the adrenaline and stress hormones rushed through his veins. “Would you want to go out with me?”

He had prepared this entire speech, filled with compliments and witty remarks, with all those little inside jokes only Sansa would understand because she had been part of all the memories Theon cherished.

But the words were gone and forgotten and trying to make up that entire speech here right now would only make the humiliation when she said no worse.

“What?” Sansa stared at him and Theon felt his cheeks heating up.

“I know…” Theon interrupted her before she could say anything else. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m just a childhood friend, the best friend of your brother. I’m no dating material. I’m not handsome and charming and rich and…” He paused. “I hope you and Loras will be happy.”

Sansa frowned her eyes and she exchanged a look with Loras before her giggle echoed through the hallway. “O, Theon…” She closed the gap between them and took his lips between her fingers before he could interrupt her again. “Loras and I aren’t dating and we never will. He’s…” Sansa stuck the tip of her tongue between her lips and she waited until Loras nodded before she continued. “Not really interested in marrying me or any other woman on this planet.” Sansa let Theon’s lips go.

He froze for a moments and he let the words sink in. “So…You and Loras…”

“He’s the brother of my best friend and he’s amazing to talk to, but no, there is really nothing between us and I promise there will never be. Apart from that…” Sansa stepped back. “I already had found my prince charming long before I met Loras Tyrell.”

Theon looked at her, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything.

“My prince charming invited me to play every game he and his best friend played, no matter how bad I was at said game, or no matter how good I was. My prince charming always defended my honor. He never spoke bad about me and when someone else did, he told them to shut up and be nice.” She cocked her head slightly. “My prince charming loved me when I wasn’t even old enough to walk. He loved me when I said my first words. And he still loves me now I’m grown up.” She reached for Theon’s hands and their sweating palms touched each other. “And now he finally asked me out and I couldn’t be happier.”

Theon didn’t dare to ask her to repeat that last sentence. Again and again and again. Until he had heard it that often that maybe he’d believe it. But his heart skipped a few beats and the butterflies in his stomach were now attempting to break out. “Is that…a yes?” He stammered and Sansa pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“That's a ‘yes and I thought you were never gonna ask it’, dumb ass.” She stepped back and shrugged. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

Theon nodded.

“Then you can pick me up at seven.” She smiled once more and then she turned around and walked back to Loras. “Loras? Can I borrow your credit card? I have a really important date and I need a new dress.”

“Of course, Sansa.” Loras linked his arm with hers.

Theon only woke up from his trance when Robb slammed him on his back.

“And that, my friend, is how you do it.”

Theon allowed himself to be happy for two seconds. Then he started panicking again. He had a little more than 24 hours to plan a memorable perfect first date. And he had no idea where to start.

Written for day 2 of @asoiafrarepairs for ASOIAF Rare Pair Week using the trope "Jealousy"

[jae-bummer]

We’ll See

Request: Could I request numbers 10 and 12 with Suho please? <3

10) “I’ll never be able to erase that image from my mind.”

12) Your bias ends up as your blind date

Member: EXO’s Suho x Y/N 

Type: Fluff

You tapped anxiously on your phone, sliding the text conversation you had been sharing with your friend upwards and down again. The blue bubbles flew past your periphery, possibly quick enough to give you motion sickness if you had been really paying attention. Instead, you were busy dividing your focus around the restaurant you had been lured into. 

He’s still not here you texted, gnawing on your lip as you looked up from your phone again. 

After only a few seconds, your cell signaled a text and began to buzz. Be patient. He’s always late. 

7:01pm: Two hours tho??? the waiter is even starting to get antsy 7:02pm: Order another appetizer 7:03pm: If I eat one more mozzarella stick  7:03pm: theyll have to roll me outta here 7:03pm: then quit complaining and eat slower

You let out a heavy sigh before glancing up again, making eye contact with the waiter for the dozenth time. He lifted his brows, a signal of a silent question you had given him an answer to several times. Smiling sadly, you shook your head before looking down and opening your camera roll. Your phone screen automatically filled with small, colorful memories of things you had saved or taken photos of. Tapping on the most recent item in the timeline, you winced at the blurry picture that your friend had sent of your blind date for the evening. 

He was incredibly handsome, but not necessarily your type. Very pretty, with slender facial features, and a smile that was an orthodontist’s dream. His skin was pale, and his hair was even paler. Completing his look with disheveled locks and colored contacts, he was the epitome of everything you knew wouldn’t be good for you. Closing out the photo, you began to grumble to yourself. 

He was probably still at his house, getting ready. Judging by how maintained he looked, he seemed to care over abundantly about his appearance, but you supposed there could be worse things. 

You shifted in the booth that was set toward the front of the eatery, bright and at the center for everyone to see. Knowing your friend had meant well by trying to send you on this blind date, you had to make a conscious effort to not focus your anger towards her. Nervously glancing from the tables around you and to the waiting area not far from your vision, your stomach felt as if it had been filled with stone. The restaurant was absolutely packed with possible patrons milling around. A few had even begun to spill out into the street, anxious to grab a seat at some point. 

Feeling your face grow warm, you became painfully aware of your presence as you caught eyes with one of the men propped in the corner of the lobby. Lounging against a wall with a book fit snugly between his fingers, he had glanced up from his pages just in time to meet your gaze. You lifted your brows and grimaced, immediately turning away from the small exchange and looking down toward the table. Your neck and cheeks were fully ablaze by this point, causing you to begin rummaging through your bag in an attempt to gather yourself. As soon as you were calmed down, you would vacate the booth, and try to put this terrible night behind you. 

“Excuse me,” the waiter croaked, having suddenly appeared during your moment of mortification. You tilted your head upwards in surprise and nodded briefly. “The restaurant is becoming fairly busy, and I was wondering if you would like to order before I’m assigned more tables?” 

“Oh,” you whispered. If it was possible, you felt even worse than you had previously. “I...uh...I um...” 

“I mean..I know you’ve been here awhile,” he continued nervously. “And you must be getting at least a little hungry. I know you didn’t want to start until your date got here, but in this situation, may I suggest-”

“Sorry, I’m here,” a deep voice said breathlessly from behind the waiter. 

Your eyes grew wide as you strained your neck in an attempt to see him. Sliding out from behind the server and into the booth seat across from you, he set his book down on the table and grinned sheepishly. He refused to meet your eyes as he looked up at the waiter, a dark blush continuing across his cheeks.  

“Uh...” you trailed, furrowing your brows in confusion. 

The waiter adjusted his focus from you and to the man that had appeared. “I’m sorry sir, didn’t you just request a table?” 

“I didn’t see that my date had already arrived,” he nodded confidently. “This is a blind date, you know, so we haven’t been able to exchange telephone numbers yet.” 

“Ah, yes, very good then,” the server nodded. “What will you have to drink?” 

After the stranger had put in an order for a water without lemon and an appetizer you hadn’t even seen on the menu, you allowed yourself to openly stare at him. 

“So...” he hummed, tapping his fingers cautiously on the wooden surface separating the two of you. “I’m Junmyeon.” 

Your jaw fell slightly ajar as you gaped, your thought processes spiraling in dozens of directions. 

“And what should I call you?” he croaked, clearing his throat shortly after he attempted the words. 

“Who are you?” you finally managed. You shook your head as you realized how rude the question sounded. “I mean...well...yes, I mean, who are you?”

“Your date for the evening,” he chuckled. 

“You don’t look anything like the photo my friend sent,” you said quietly, mentally pulling up the picture in your head. The man before you was absolutely gorgeous. While you were initially impressed by the angles in his face, you quickly became enamored with the warmth in his eyes. The chocolate colored orbs were not only pleasant to look at, but held so much more to them than a simple view. There was something kind there, something gentle. He was interested and his gaze proved it. His plush lips pulled around a small smile as he watched you, watch him. 

“What do you mean I don’t look like the photo?” he smirked. Running a hand through his dark hair, his face began to contort in thought. “Wait...you thought I was really your blind date?” 

“Well...yeah...” you trailed, tilting your head. “Aren’t you...? Why do you sound so surprised?” 

“I...I’m not your date,” he whispered, immediately breaking eye contact with you. His eyes feverishly searched the table, an action he seemed to do when he was nervous. “I just...I thought your friends had cancelled on you...or that you actually knew who you were meeting. I’m not the guy you were expecting...so I apologize.” 

“Oh,” you managed, beginning to nod slowly as the realization dawned on you. “For a second I thought she just sent a really outdated picture.”  

Junmyeon cracked a small smirk as he glanced up at you through his lashes. “And you were going to have dinner with me anyway?”

“It is a BLIND date,” you laughed. “I was just expecting someone to show up...”

“And before me...no one did?” Junmyeon sighed, his face becoming sympathetic.

“Nope,” you hummed, chewing on your lip. Being stood up was embarrassing enough, but actually acknowledging it made your stomach turn. You weren’t wanted by someone you hadn’t even met. How much more pathetic could you get?

Junmyeon watched you quietly, a perfect stranger weighing in on your struggle. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, lifting your brows.

“Don’t,” he repeated. “I can see the look on your face. Whatever you’re thinking isn’t the truth. Some people are just terribly inconsiderate and that shouldn’t weigh on your self worth.”

You were left speechless for a moment, hardly expecting a reaction like that from someone who didn’t even know you.

It definitely spoke to his character. 

“I don’t know you,” he hummed, eerily echoing your thoughts. “But I’ve ended up as your date for the evening, so I intend to know you. And I would prefer for my date to have as great of a time as possible.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you trailed. “What were you doing with your night...to where you could completely clear your plans and have dinner with a stranger?”

“I eat dinner alone often,” he nodded. “I’m a musician...and I’m constantly surrounded by people. Sometimes...it’s just nice to not worry about entertaining someone.”

“Lovely,” you muttered, taking a sip of your water.

Junmyeon let out a hearty laugh. “But with every situation, there are exceptions...some people are worth entertaining.” 

“And how do you know I’m one of them?” you asked, tilting your head. You couldn’t lie, you had enjoyed the brief conversation you had shared with Junmyeon thus far. If you had to have a fallback date, he sure as hell did the job well. 

“Your eyes,” he said softly, his face stern. “Your smile. The way you chuckle when you think I’m completely full of sh-” 

“I’m sorry, but are you Y/N?” an unfamiliar voice rasped to your right. Both you and Junmyeon turned to the unexpected guest, but you were the only one to let out a gasp.

Before you stood your intended blind date, the guy your friend had actually sent for you to have dinner with. He looked surprisingly similar to his photo, just less blurry. He was taller than you had expected, and much more thin. With bleached hair perfectly pushed back from his face, it was more than apparent that he had put on makeup that evening. You weren’t necessarily against the look, but it made him appear just a little too perfect. He adjusted his stance as he waited for you to speak, annoyance coating his every feature. 

“Uh...yes,” you finally whispered, looking toward Junmyeon at a loss. 

“And you are?” your blind date asked, directing his question at Junmyeon. 

“Junmyeon,” he hummed happily with a short nod. 

“He was keeping me company,” you continued quietly, cutting your eyes at the intruder. “You know...because you’re almost three hours late.” 

“I thought we were meeting for five,” he chirped. 

“It’s 7:30,” Junmyeon laughed, shaking his head. 

“So I’m a little late,” he groaned, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “But I’m here now.” 

“Correction,” Junmyeon nodded. “I’m here now. And I believe this booth is a little snug for three.” 

“I...um...what?” the blind date stuttered, looking at Junmyeon in surprise. He turned his attention back to you, completely at a loss. “Why...you...would rather have dinner with him than me?” 

“While I know neither of you,” you sighed, trying to keep a smile from showing on your face. “I have to say I prefer a guy who shows up a little closer to the arranged date time.” 

“What she means is,” Junmyeon nodded. “You are dismissed.” 

Junmyeon smiled warmly toward the man before patting him lightly on the arm. “It’s alright though, I’m sure there will be many more dates in your future.” 

The stranger stood there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as if he had something to say, but couldn’t quite verbalize it. 

“Have a good evening,” you said quietly, hoping the words would incite him to leave. After a few more moments of awkward silence, he spun on his heel and stumbled out of sight. 

“I think he swallowed his tongue,” Junmyeon chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I will never be able to erase that image from my mind,” you giggled, pressing your palms against the table. 

Without a second thought, Junmyeon lowered his hands and set them lightly atop of yours. Maintaining eye contact, you could see his face begin to grow red as you simply analyzed each other. 

“You really have a wonderful laugh,” he whispered. His eyes danced across your face, analyzing every small feature. You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. 

A complete stranger throwing his all into a date he had stumbled upon. 

“What made you decide to sit down here tonight, Junmyeon?” you asked, afraid of an honest answer. 

“Well...” he trailed, lifted his hands from yours and tapping on the table absently. “I looked up from my book and I met your eyes. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how beautiful you are, I mean, you own a mirror, but something about you caught my attention. I wanted to say something. I wanted to get to know you. When I saw the waiter come up and begin speaking, he motioned to the absence of a dinner partner, and I saw how upset you looked. I didn’t know exactly what happened...but you needed someone...and in a way, I think I needed someone tonight too.” 

“Did someone let you down as well?” you asked, your heart a flutter just from his answer alone. 

“Daily,” he chuckled. “But I get used to it. It’s nice to talk to someone completely new. And someone who is not in the industry or concerned with my career...or how it will effect them.” 

“It’s nice that you’re a musician,” you nodded, giving him a warm smile. “But honestly, whether you can carry a tune or not isn’t what infatuates me.” 

“Oh, so you are infatuated?” he grinned. 

“That’s an awfully heavy word for only knowing you for fifteen minutes,” you chuckled. “Maybe I should be more careful with my choices.” 

“It’s okay,” he smirked. “You can be infatuated with me.” 

“Give me a few days,” you hummed, cocking your brow. “Then we’ll see.” 

[betweenbeatriceandbaudelaire]

Top 10 underrated ichihime moments - Part 2

Part 1 

5 )The hand reach 

Come on could Kubo be more obvious ? 

This right here refers to the Tanabata legend which is often referenced when it comes to ichihime ( this post will explain it to you ) . I mean here you have two not yet lovers reaching out to each other in the sky ? Come on . 

Kubo is not being subtle at all with his references to Tanabata and that is amazing . That being said this moment is also great because it kinda symbolizes the way ichigo and orihime act around each other . During the course of the manga there were so many moments were ichigo and orihime wanted to reach out to the other but didn’t allow themselves to . I mean basically this moment represents the way they act around each other . Trying to reach out but ultimately not being completely able to do it and in the end not ending together . Next moment on the list perfectly illustrate what I’m trying to say here .

4 )Ichigo tries to apologize to orihime

They both look so miserable here it’s hurting me . 

Anyway as I was saying pictured above is one of the many many many many times ichigo and orihime wanted to reach each other but didn’t allow themselves to . I mean if they both didn’t put barriers between them and the other they would be able to speak freely what they want to say . 

Ichigo probably wants to say something like “ It hurts me to see you hurt orihime and I believe it is my fault you got injured so bad and I will train relentlessly until I’m strong enough to protect you and make it so that you won’t ever be hurt again” Well this dork when rukia pushed him into talking he said all of that by “ Next time I will definitely protect you” which is amazing because this sentence contains all the things left unsaid too . 

And Orihime probably wants to say “ Ichigo I’m sorry I was a liability to you . It tears me apart to see you hurt and I wish so bad I could be strong enough to protect you and take your pain away” . 

Instead ichigo cannot even get the nerve to finish his sentence “ it’s nothing” and orihime tries to fake a smile and minimize her injuries to try to erase ichigo’s guilt over her being hurt “ It doesn’t hurt one bit”. 

I mean it’s killing me because THESE KIDS DON’T TALK TO EACH OTHER FREELY . They want so bad the other to be happy and safe and they would both literally give everything to attain that goal but they’re both so shy and awkward and believe they aren’t good enough for the other to ever return their love that they forbid themselves to let that love show . They always held back when they are together . In every single of their interaction there is this desire to reach out but at the same time this limit they fix themselves . They can help and protect the other , and tease and hang out with the other but they ALWAYS forbid themselves to go too far . To make their feelings known . There is always this willing restraint to their interaction which makes shipping them excruciatingly painful . 

They are both so modest and have such huge self issues they never believed they deserved the other . I’ve seen ichiruki shippers saying ichihime “felt fake” because a lot of big steps in their relationship were provoked with outside help ( ichigo promising orihime he would protect her because Rukia pushed him into doing so , Nell saying to Orihime ichigo needed to hear her cheering for him , urahara making the dress, renji telling ichigo to confess ) . BUT THAT WAS THE POINT . Ichigo and orihime are biased in the way they see the themselves and their relation with the other . If you left them to their own devices they would carry on loving the other from afar because they both believe the other deserve so much more than themselves . They need other people to help them recognize the clues of mutual feelings as such . 

Ichigo and orihime are such a great match because they are both self sacrificing  . That is at the very core of their being . Ichigo basically risk everything he has every single battle he had to do in order to protect other people and orihime does the same ( going to Hueco Mundo to protect her friends ) . I mean they are both extremely different in term of personality because like ichigo is “ a punk” and has a harsh temper and orihime is bubbly and eccentric but they’re the same to their core where it really matters . They both would give everything to protect others , they both are deeply compassionate people , they both lived great tragedies as kids which shaped their adult selves . Ichigo and orihime are very much alike where it matters : values . That’s why ichihime was SUCH a slow burn ship because they both suffered self esteem issue and we saw them get closer and more playful with each other only once those were resolved ( at the end of the fullbring arc ) . 

Sorry I kinda strayed away from the point here but ichihime moments cannot be appreciated in a vaccuum . Ichihime is not a ship made out of very big love declarations and life turning moments . It’s a ship about two people who grew together side by side during their formative years so each ichihime moment has no value in itself it can only be appreciated when it’s linked to other ichihime moments and placed back into the context of the 686 chapters of Bleach . 

3 ) Orihime’s memories being changed by Tsukishima 

Well this moment is not per se “ underrated” because the fandom does like it but I feel like this is such a HUGE moment for ichihime , and while loved, this moment isn’t as talked about as the fandom as it should be . 

I wrote those tags a few years ago before ichihime became canon and honestly while part of it is a headcanon I still stand by it .  This was the first time ichigo realized orihime could be taken away from him for real . Before when she was taken away ichigo knew that by being strong enough he would be able to rescue her . His struggle was wether he was strong enough or not . Here it is different . Ichigo is already strong enough to defeat Tsukishima but even defeating is no guarantee his friends will go back to normal . Let me remind you that ichigo , OUR ICHIGO who showed mercy to all his adversaries including Aizen was ready to kill Tsukishima if it mean it had a tiny chance of bringing his friends back . I mean actually KILL . This tells you how shaken ichigo was by this . 

I believe here is the first time ichigo said to himself that he has lost orihime for good . In a way seeing orihime healing Tsukishima and opposing him had the same effect on him than orihime seeing him with a hole in his chest during the Ulquiorra battle . That’s the moment they’ve said to themselves “ that’s it , they’re gone, I’ve lost them” . Of course ichigo having a hole in his chest seems much more definitive than having orihime’s memories changed that’s why ichigo looks like part of it still can’t fully believe this is happening . He looks like he keeps repeating to himself “ this can’t be happening” but it is his reality now and it is happening . This moment shook ichigo to his core and made him realize orihime being by his side was not granted . 

And we see ichigo’s behavior towards orihime changed after this moment . He allowed himself to be much more closer to her after this . Of course because he regained his powers after this arc and feels he’s strong enough to protect her now but also because he knows what it feels like to have orihime slip away from him so he treasures more the time he spends with her . 

I love this moment and to me it is one of the turning point of the evolution of ichihime as a pairing and I wish the fandom would recognize it as that . 

2) Ichigo reflecting on the compassion shown by orihime 

So for this one I will quote this post because honestly this is exactly what this scene is about and I could never express it better myself : 

“It also helped Ichigo grow as a protagonist to see how she dealt with it. I think Ichigo’s always been so empathetic, but when it came to her he turned very unforgiving. Like “oh they all deserved it I couldn’t care less!” (and they did),when she didn’t feel that way towards them herself. Seeing her compassion made him question his own attitude, and I really think this is often forgotten.”

I mean honestly I could add stuff but this is so succinct and so on point there’s really not much for me to add . Ichigo and orihime grow side by side and they both admire the other so of course they are inspired by the other . 

Also you can notice that in his mind ichigo sees orihime’s back while he is talking about her face so he should be remembering what her face looked like at that moment . But I believe this is a parallel of Orihime often seeing ichigo’s back during battle .Kubo’s been lovely enough to make us a cute little montage of all those times . 

Orihime sees his back because he’s in front of her and she’s trying to catch up . Seeing his back from afar like that shows her admiration for him . Often he is taking up all the space within the panel to further the idea that what he’s like in her mind . Here we have ichigo watching her back . He is the one watching from afar , admiring her . Ichigo always admired her strength and resilience but most of all her compassion . And while Kubo showed up very often orihime admiring ichigo because he is the main character and because Kubo chose to make the reader see through orihime’s point of view A LOT , we do not have a lot of moment where we see that this admiration goes both way because we rarely have ichigo’s insight . Often we see his battles through someone else point of view ( like the Bach fight was seen through orihime’s point of view ) . But sometimes we get to know what ichigo is thinking and what he is feeling and during those times Kubo always takes the time to remind us just how much of a good person ichigo is . Here for example he is reflecting on orihime’s compassion and during the fight against Aizen he was reflecting on Aizen’s loneliness . Ichigo is deeply compassionate and so is orihime . And this is the quality they admire the most in each other . 

1 ) Ichigo and orihime biting their tongues during the Fullbring arc

I already made a post about this moment here but let me put things back into context : 

Ichigo lost his powers during 17 months and was absolutely miserable being powerless because it meant he couldn’t protect his friends anymore . When Ginjo came and give him a chance to get his powers back he took it immediately but he didn’t tell his friends because he wanted them safe and protected because this time if they got involved in supernatural stuff he wasn’t strong enough to protect them . Despite this Chad decides to bring orihime to heal ichigo during his training . 

Chad tells him ( and us by the same occasion ) that he knew he didn’t want orihime to be involved in this because he didn’t want her to be in danger . But ichigo says nothing and just makes this face : 

A few chapters later orihime heals ichigo despite knowing that her healing him just means he will ultimately gets hurt again . She then smiles this sad smile : 

When they make those faces both are biting their tongues and not saying what they want to say . Both want to protect the other SO MUCH and if they had their way they would make it so the other would never be hurt again . But they know what they want is not the most important . They must let the other want what they want ( community reference y’all ) . 

Ichigo knows orihime wants to help so badly . So even though her being here means she might get hurt he says nothing and accept her decision because he respects her and her wishes . 

It’s the exact same with orihime . During those 17 months powerless orihime must have been relieved to see he was safe . But she also saw how miserable he is . She knows him so she knew he would gain back his powers because he is a protector at his core . So even though helping him regain his powers means he will get hurt again she just smiles and say nothing . 

They let the other want what they want . 

Because their whole relationship is based on respect and love . It doesn’t matter what they want . What matters is that the other is happy and fulfilled . And this moment , while not groundbreaking in itself manage to sum up everything that is good about ichihime . Love , respect , tenderness . 

-------

So here you go people , I hope you enjoyed it ! Don’t hesitate to comment with your own underrated ichihime moments or anything you might want to say !