#soul looks to the others for advice but its all a bit.....rough still

[calamarispiderart]

conflict resolution...?

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Ten: [The Potato Head Society & The Other Guy, Jarred?]

Summary: Jake helps you shave your head in hopes of keeping your power and control. Facing your own mortality makes you question your faith in a higher authority and Jensen and Jake met for the first, and what you hope, will be the last time.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Mentions of religion

Word Count: 4.2K

Author Note: It's no secret I've been having a little bit of a rough go on this hell-site as of late. But I'm still here, working on this series. Seeing your weblogs, comments and concepts truly mean the world to me. so please, don't be hesitant to share.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“My only real advice for this kind of thing is this.” Jensen sighed as he stood on the steps of his townhouse with you. Coffee in one hand, end of life brochure in the other. Things had taken a rather drastic turn for him in the last few days. After your birthday, his health started to drastically diminish–so much so that his doctors weren’t too sure how much time there was left to combat the cancerous cells spreading through his body. “Go right through it.” Jensen smiled, never once did you ever see his positivity falter. “Like right through it, feel it all, be in it, don't avoid it because the moment you start avoiding it is when it's truly won.” 

Little Sammy held your hand as you stood next to Jensen–he was too young to understand that the man talking to you was dying, hell, you weren't even sure if you understood the significance of the pamphlet Jensen had picked up after your first CCA meeting. He’d told you it was for a friend, little did you know that friend was standing right in front of you. 

The Cancer Counseling Association held biweekly meetings at the hospital. You hadn’t planned on attending when your oncologist, Doctor Morrison, had first mentioned it. But when Jensen said he’d been going almost religiously for three years? You thought, what's the harm? 

The harm was it was depressing as fuck. 

“You go completely in the tough times, feel everything and get out the other end of it all.” You’d asked Jensen something along the lines of how he’d managed to keep fighting all this time and still be so positive about life and all its underwhelming rewards. He was for the most part, a happy guy despite it all. But even the strongest of soldiers have an achilles heel. 

Jensens just so happened to be the fact you were forbidden fruit, he wasn't about to tread on another man's toes. Especially when he was tiptoeing towards the sweet release of death's gentle hands. None of that stopped his heart from racing whenever you smiled though. 

“Many of these things you don't have a choice in.” Jensen continued as his eyes lingered down to little two year old Sammy who stood holding your hand in his. If anything you needed the encouragement to fight this battle for your children. “You know, fuck, whats that expression?” Jensen mulled it over as you chuckled, still standing on the path right outside his street facing townhouse. “Uhh–oh yeah! It's not how well you walked through the fire, but how you walked through it regardless.” 

“I think I'm just barely crawling through the flames right now–” You answered honestly. There wasn't a nice way to say he’d looked better than he did right now, with sunken eyes and skin that looked as if all the life had been drained from his soul. 

So you never mentioned it. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“So—“ The library wasn’t Jake Seresins favourite place to go, but there was someone who made the isles of hard covered literature easier to understand that always seemed to draw him in. Like a moth to a flame. “Did you have a good Christmas?” The silence that followed as you stared across the desk where you were processing returned textbooks had Jake's heart racing, he couldn’t read you and that fact made him all the more nervous. “Or not? If you’re Jewish maybe? Don’t celebrate Christmas that’s cool too I just thought—“ You had to giggle at the college football star standing across from the reception desk with his elbows leaning on the ledge. Your smile was pure happiness, it wasn’t hard to make Jake's heart melt inside his chest—a chest he once thought was hollow. 

“I had a wonderful Christmas, I went home to visit my mum, she always says that if the Christians can steal Christmas from the pagans then us non-religious folk can celebrate too.” You shrugged your shoulders politely as you kept checking off the returned textbooks from students who’d taken them home over the summer. 

“What do you mean when you say the Christians stole Christmas?” Jake Seresin grew up in an incredibly conservative, extremely religious household that attended church every Sunday rain hail or shine. Jake swore his mother nearly spontaneously combusted when he had to stay in hospital overnight after having his appendix removed. It was a Saturday afternoon when they’d presented to the emergency room—poor old Janeen nearly dropped dead at the mere thought of her ten year old missing church the next morning. 

“Lord have mercy upon us, for we have sinned.” Jake could still remember his mother crying vividly when he woke after surgery. Even at ten he knew his mother was somewhat of an overly sensitive soul. 

“Well technically, in order to convert the Germanic pagans who, like, celebrated the winter solstice and stuff—the Christians were like, fuck it, let’s just say that Jesus was born on this day and you can hang tinsel and stuff.” Again, you shrugged your shoulders like it was common knowledge, but as Jake stared down at you with confusion swirling in his emerald eyes, you thought for a split second that maybe this was actually news to the college athlete who’d been following you around for the better half of nine months. Respectfully. 

“You can’t just change someone’s birthday like that? Can you?” Jake, in all his years of attending Sunday services, Sunday Schools, being forced to read the bible and knowing far too much about parting seas and burning bushes, he’d never once been told that Christmas was just a day. 

“It’s kinda like how King James was rewriting the bible on one side of the castle and had witches trying to turn his pee into gold on the other.” Jake was speechless as you looked up at him from your chair, your eyes seemingly swirling with knowledge beyond your years. It made sense that you worked in the library on campus. 

“How the hell do you know all this?” Jake asked through a sheepish smile he couldn’t hide, your intelligence intimated him in the best of ways. You made him want to do better, be better, strive for more in life. It wasn’t that Jake wasn’t smart, he was. But next to you? It was an unparalleled excellence. 

“I uh—I tend to read a lot.” Jake caught the way you faded into yourself, never one to want to outshine others. “Just get lost in here sometimes, books are sometimes easier to understand than people.” Jake could sympathise with that sentiment, he knew what it was like to feel like everyone was watching, judging a book by its cover so to speak. Everyone knew him as the meathead footballer who’s weekends were spent racking up the body count. 

But with you? Jake just felt like Jake. Because that’s who he was to you. Simply and forever Jake. 

“Do you like, not believe in God or something Miss Y/l/n?” Jake asked cautiously. He didn’t want to offend you or come across as rude or anything—he was simply asking a question he thought he may need to know if he was ever going to introduce you to his mother. 

“I find it hard to believe in a world full of stories about Gods and Goddesses from a plethora of different perspectives that there can only be one, if one exists they all have to right? Harmoniously and complacent with the way the universe has fallen to shit without their divine intervention.” Jake had to take a moment to take what you had just said in. He was almost rendered speechless, but not quite. Not Jake Seresin. 

“Damn Honeybee, you’re fucking fearless aren’t you?“ Jake couldn’t help but to smirk as he tried to keep his voice down. “You’re just raw doggin’ life with no religious affiliations.” It was then your turn to laugh. 

“Guess I am. What about you? Do you believe in a God? An all mighty man, or woman, that sits in the clouds and judges your every action?” You asked with a teasing smirk as Jake bit his bottom lip, mulling over your question: 

Did he believe in God? 

“My mother would probably prefer if I said yes, but, the more I look at life without the rose coloured glasses I tend to think perhaps the big guy in the sky is all just some story.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Did you know hair holds memories.” The sound of buzzing clippers echoed off the walls of the bathroom as you sat before the mirror. Jake stood behind you with those big emerald eyes you loved so dearly, looking at you with a sympathetic look of understanding and support. “In some cultures people don't even cut their hair because it would upset the gods.” Jake could see the tears in your eyes as you looked at him through the mirror, understandably rambling to somewhat buy yourself some more time. “Medusa's hair was alive, there's certain styles linked to different cultures and full hair cutting ceremonies in–” If Jake didn't interrupt now you would have gone on forever. You had a habit of information dropping in situations where nervousness got the better of you. Not that Jake ever minded, he just knew if he didn't get ahead of it, you wouldn't stop. That would ultimately lead to you sitting in silence when the information swirling around inside her head had all been said. Panic would begin to rise inside your chest, the air would soon get thin, the room would suddenly get a little hotter and before you could even realise you'd be in the midst of a full blown panic attack. 

The last time Jake witnessed such a thing was when Sam had colic. 

“Honey–” Jake cooed as he turned off the clippers he held in his hand, only to place them down on the countertop to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Noone is forcing you to do this, if you don’t wanna cut your hair we don't have to.” 

“No–” You sighed. “No, I want to do this, it's just a lot.” You tried to explain. “It's probably one of the only things I still have control over.” Jake understood, it would be hard not to. After all, he wasn't heartless. If he could Jake would have taken this all away, he would have given anything, including his own life to take your pain away. “I just hope I don't have a weird shaped head.” 

“I'm sure you have a really nice scalp dear.” Jake chuckled as he massaged your shoulder tenderly. “And look, if you want my professional opinion, I think you’ll make an awesome live action Mrs. Potato Head.” 

“Jacob!” You tried to hide your smile as you felt your cheek heating with a hume so pure it made your heart skip a beat. “You’re cruel!” 

“But I made you laugh.” Jake countered through a shit eating grin, that signature Seresin smile you loved so much. The very one all three of your children had inherited from their father. “That's all that matters, now–let me work my magic alright, I've got you.” 

“You’re probably a worse hairdresser than you were a husband–” It was a low ball, but Jake took it like a champ as he reached out for the clippers. The buzzing was almost immediate as he used the pad of his thumbs to complete the electrical circuit. With the tool now in full gear, Jake chuckled as he looked at you with fake shock and horror casted across his face. 

“Oh now who's being cruel huh?” Jake watched as your eyes followed his hand that held the clippers. “Technically we’re still married Honey, you still have my last name.” He mumbled under his breath but still loud enough for you to hear, seemingly trying to keep your attention on what he was saying rather than the clippers approaching your head. 

But–you moved:

“Should we cut my hair with scissors first?” 

“Y/n–” Jake sighed as he once again turned off the clippers and placed them back down on the side of the sink. 

“No no no I'm not trying to stall, I just don't want you to accidentally scalp me when my hair gets caught up in the shaver.” Jake saw your point, for the hair you did have left it was pretty thick and full of life still. He held the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Not in frustration towards you, but in defiance of his new quest. 

“I'll go ask the nurses station for some scissors.” 

“Thankyou–” Was all you managed to say back before Jake stepped out of the bathroom attached to your hospital room. The Christmas lights still flickered in the dimly lit room, seemingly consuming the entire room in bright blues, greens, reds and yellows. Even in sickness you couldn't help but to lean into the christmas cheers. 

It hit Jake in that moment as he rounded out of your hospital room that he should get you something small to open when you wake up from surgery. The hospital has a gift shop right? Perhaps some flowers and a small gift you could keep with you during chemo. Maybe a book or a– *Thud* 

Caught up in his own train of thought as he made his way to the nurses station, Jake ran straight into someone coming out of the elevator. There were two very distinct things Jake noticed as he came back into the reality around him. Those distinct things being that the man he’d run into was carrying not only flowers, but a small gift. Huh, uncanny. 

“Sorry man, my bad.” The man apologised almost immediately after the mild impact. 

“No worries, I wasn't watching where I was going, my bad, really.” Jake responded with a polite smile his mother taught him about, the kind of smile you give to a stranger after mild inconveniences. “Jake–” Jake reached out to shake the guy's hand, in retrospect he should have kept walking. Jake really should have just let the interaction fizzle out, but he couldn't. He was too polite for his own good when it came to small interactions. 

The most paranoid fantasy Jake could think of would never have prepared him for the name that the man spoke next as he took Jake's hand in his. 

“Jensen–” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Okay, I'm ready.” Neither Jake nor Jensen knew if you had mentioned either one in conversation, so, respectfully, both men chose to play the fool. Neither one really wanted to ask. Neither Jake nor Jensen wanted to be the one to open that can of worms. 

When Jake returned with the borrowed scissors in his grasp–he acted as if he hadn’t just met the man he assumed was the very Jensen in your contacts. 

“Last chance Honeybee–” Jake cooed as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Are you positive?” He asked with a smile so pure it made your heart skip a beat. “I’m all in with you, just say the word and we do whatever you wanna do.” 

There was a momentary pause in the conversation. Jake's questions lingered in the air around you, it was hard not to get caught in the moment, get lost in the emerald eyes looking at you through the mirror. Jake stared you down as you shifted in your chair to look at him. He saw no hesitation in your eyes as Jake followed your gaze, searching for any sign or signal that could indicate that the next few moments were about to be a mistake. 

“Honey—“ Jake tried to heed the warning lights flashing before his very eyes as you closed the gap between the two of you. Jake stood leaning over your right shoulder, looking longingly at your lips. “Don’t do anything stupid now.” 

“Loving you is stupidity—“ Was all you said before you let your lips softly connect with your husband’s. Jake kissed you back with enough love in his heart to knock the wind right out of your lungs. The fleeting moment was broken, however, when Jake pulled away. The idea of another man kissing you on his mind, what was this guy's deal? Jackson? Jason? 

“Come on Mrs Potato Head, hand me those scissors—“ Jake chuckled, hiding his own insecurities about the man he’d unintentionally met in the hall. You took a second to keep up, but as you licked your lips to savour the taste of Jake's signature vanilla chapstick, you nodded and handed him the scissors. 

“I’m ready.” You sighed, once again looking back at your own reflection. “Let’s get this over with.” Change is an inevitable part of life, but that fact didn't make the current circumstances any easy to process. “Do you think that there's gonna be a place for me despite my inability to believe in a higher being?” Jake understood what you were saying, but he didn't have the answers. “I'm starting to wonder more about if there could ever be a life after death.” 

Clumps of hair in small sections fell to the tiled floor around you as Jake worked his hands through your hair. Cutting strands from your head like the local mower man cut grass. It felt like such a mundane task to complete, like this was an everyday run of the mill, average experience. But for you? This was a hard and confronting pill to have to swallow. 

“I’ve spent my whole life not believing in religion, so who am I supposed to pray to to keep me alive Jake?” Jake saw the tears in your eyes as he cut your hair with caution and steady hands, he heard the small but audible sobs that escaped your lips as he switched from the scissors to the clippers. The buzzing all but silenced your cries but Jake knew this was hard on you. The tears that stained your cheeks clearly reflected your sadness, anger and the inner turmoil that had been engulfing your entire existence since your diagnosis.

“You don’t pray to anyone Honey, you’re stronger than this cancer could ever be.” Again, no one ever sits you down and prepares you for this. No one gives you the heads up about the possibility of one day having to shave your wife's hair off in the name of dignity and control. But as Jake ran the shavers across your scalp, leaving nothing but a small layer of fuzz in their wake, he saw just how much sorrow and pain was swirling in your eyes. 

Jake thought to himself in that very moment: ‘I've been needing a haircut for a while now anyway.’ 

With one quick motion and in the blink of an eye, Jake was running the shavers right down the middle of his head. You really had to take a second to process what he’d just done, what your husband had just done right behind you. 

“Jake!” The shrill that escaped your mouth was something unmatched to any emotion you had ever expressed before. “What are you doing?” The image of Jake shaving his head in solidarity would forever be burnt into your mind. 

“You said it yourself–hair holds memories and we can make new ones together.” Jake cooed as he shaved off those golden boy locks you loved to run your fingers through. He suited the buzz cut a little more than you did if you were being perfectly honest. 

With teary eyes and puffy cheeks you stood on weak legs. The simple gesture of a haircut meant the world to you, Jake knew that. He didn't want you going through this alone. If shaving his head with you brought you a sense of solace? He was more than happy to. 

“Looks good–” You smiled as tears ran down your cheeks. Jake reached out to cup your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with the pads on his thumbs. “Mr. Potato head.”

“Consider us the founders of the Potato Head Society.” Jake chuckled as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. In order to cherish you the way you deserved, Jake had to be the bigger man here. He knew that a cloud of uncertainty loomed in the halls, one by the name of Jackson or fucking Jeremy for all Jake cared. But as he stood in the bathroom with you, surrounded in the locks of hair that had once been on your head, he knew damn well at the end of the day it was still his last name you chose to take. “Good thing you don't have an odd shaped head after all, it kinda suits you.” 

“Would you still love me if I did?” You asked quietly, giving Jake an excuse to confess his love. Jake's lips were soon pressed softly and ever so tenderly against your once again in the blink of an eye as gentle hands still worked to soothe your stained cheeks. 

It wasn’t a hard question to answer, nor an easy question to ask—but as Jake pulled away to rest his forehead on yours as he ran the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, you knew it was an easy concept to understand: 

“I’ve never, and I will never, stop loving you Honey.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

For as much as Jensen hated all things hospital related, over his past few years of treatment, he’d come to know these halls better than he knew the back of his own hand. 

From countless radiation treatments, to endless chemotherapy sessions. Hours upon hours of remedial therapies and acupuncture sessions to stimulate nerve endings, Jensen was a man who was just about ready to pull the plug and live out the remaining few months he had, or less, from the comfort of his back deck. 

He’d been poked and prodded, sliced and diced, far too many times to count on both his hands and for what? A few extra months tacked on top of a few years spent battling pancreatic cancer. No thankyou. Jensen had always had an optimistic outlook on life, until his life started to become the same bland halls and the same bland rooms, with the same bland doctors and nurses who all shared the same look of medical sympathy. 

Jesen, for all intents and purposes, was ready to give up his signature status of being the resistant ‘pin cushion’. The student nurses could learn how to change cannula sights on the lady, Paola, who sat in the same chair for every chemotherapy session. 

The last few days hadnt been too hot for the six foot one, brown eyed, brown haired (allegedly) man. His prognosis had been diminishing ever since he got the news his treatment was no longer as effective as it once had been. 

The day Jensen was told he only had a few short months to live before his organs would begin to fail, even with treatment, was the same day he saw you crying outside the local doctors office. The Hermitage centre as they called it. 

The last thing Jensen ever wanted was for his life to be meaningless, before he knew what he was doing? His feet were padding against the concrete as the psalm of his hands began to sweat inside his jean pockets. 

“You look like you’ve just been told you’re dying?”  As the elevator counted up the floors of which Jensen had to take from the ground floor of the Rhode Island Hospital to the oncology unit, he could vividly remember asking you that question. He recognised the look on your face because not ten minutes prior he;d been told the very same thing. 

“I'd start to get your affairs in order, Mr. Hughs “ It hadn't been just a regular check up with his local general practitioner. But it had been the almost final nail in a long awaited coffin. 

As the elevator dinged, Jensen took a few steps out into the bustling hallways of the oncology ward. Within seconds, he was met with a force so muscular it damn near knocked him back a few paces. But the cancer ridden ex fireman squared his shoulders and kept easy on his feet. 

“Sorry man, my bad.” Jensen almost immediately apologies after the mild impact. He assumed that it was him that had caused the slight collision. His special awareness was pretty shot these days. The flowers he carried were almost crushed on impact, however he managed to save the bouquet of sweet peas, peonies and pansies. 

“No worries, I wasn't watching where I was going, my bad, really.” The man responded with a polite smile Jensen could only assume his mother taught him about, the kind of smile you give to a stranger after mild inconveniences. “Jake–” like a slow motion car wreck, Jake reached out to shake Jensens hand. In retrospect he should have kept walking. Jensen really should have just let the interaction fizzle out, but he couldn't. He was too polite for his own good when it came to small interactions. 

The most paranoid fantasy Jensen could think of would never have prepared him for the look of utter betrayal that smeared itself across the blonde headed aviators face as Jensen shook your husbands hand: 

“Jensen–”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog

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[smogfromkortalmombat1]

Warming the ice (Bi-Han and Tomas MK1 fic)

(MK1 childhood Lin Kuei trio - Bi-Han and Tomas)

Summary - Bi-Han feels isolated. Alone. Unloved. Little toddler Tomas can't have his brother feeling that way, and steps in to try and help.

(Hurt/comfort/brotherly love) (~3000 words)

Will eventually be up on my AO3 once the rest of the chapter is complete and I'm satisfied with it all - We are family. - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Mortal Kombat - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Enjoy!

.

“You cannot keep acting like a child.”

Bi-Han lowered his gaze to the pebbled ground beneath him, trying desperately to swallow the bitterness rising in his throat.

“You must be stronger. Smarter. You cannot afford to keep showing these weaknesses of yours, Bi-Han. The Lin Kuei depends on you.”

“I’m sorry.” Ice was forming on the tips of his shoes. A new development of his cryomancer abilities, if he had to guess. It would have intrigued him, had it been at any other moment in time. Now, it only aided to further humiliate him. A physical manifestation of these weaknesses of his. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yet it continues to, despite our discussions.”

“I know.” His head dipped lower, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Rough, sharp canines cut easily through the plump flesh. His tongue tasted copper. “I will better myself.” He bit out, “I will. For the clan. For Earthrealm.”

“It doesn’t look it, Bi-Han.”

Sometimes, Bi-Han felt lonely.

It was a stupid, childish feeling. One he knew he shouldn’t have- shouldn’t even consider at all, really- because how could he be lonely, surrounded as he was by the Lin Kuei? By his family? By the bustling life of the temple and its nearby surrounding villages? 

He wasn’t some isolated outcast, shunned and forgotten by society. He interacted with people every day. He studied with his masters, sparred with the other students, listened to his elders- he was one of the sons of the Grandmaster, for the gods' sake. People knew him. Took advice from him. Respected him. Feared him.

And still, here it lay, deep beneath the surface. That gnawing, hungry emptiness he couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard he tried- and believe him. He tried.

A silent killer- it crept in during the quiet moments. Moments where he was supposed to be relaxing, away from his life as the Grandmaster’s heir. Moments where he was supposed to be happy, living as the boy he was, not as the man he was expected to become. Where peace and joy were supposed to overtake everything in his soul.

When the echoes of his footsteps, and the whispers of his breath were the only sounds of the night. When the only noises were the whistles of the wind, and his fingers flitting through the pages of his books. When he meditated, when he ate, when he lay down to sleep. That’s when it would sneak in. It always knew exactly where to find him, to hurt him most. Wrapping itself tight around his heart, turning the featherlight moment into something suffocating and heavy.

“You’ll always be different. You’ll never fit in.”

“No one could ever love you, you know.”

It gnawed at him, quiet and persistent, gently unravelling the threads of his calm until all he could feel was frustration and doubt. Where he could no longer meditate, or read. Where he could no longer stand the silence that he would crave at any other time in his hectic life. 

He didn’t understand it- this inexplicable sense of isolation that lingered even when he was surrounded by his clan. It made no sense. He wasn’t alone, so why did he feel like he was? Why did he feel so distant, so disconnected from everyone around him?

“You will never belong.”

Maybe this was one of his weaknesses. The ones his master spoke of, constantly chided him about. Maybe this feeling inside of him was proof of his failure to overcome. Proof he wasn’t as ready to fulfil his destiny. Proof he was not as ready as he thought he was.

“You’ll never be ready. You’ll never be enough.”

The thoughts twisted in his mind, feeding the guilt that already festered deep inside. He was supposed to be better than this- stronger, colder, unfeeling- unyielding like the ice he so graciously commanded. He was supposed to be the future protector of Earthrealm, the future leader of the Lin Kuei, the future Grandmaster himself. But instead, he felt adrift. Lost in a sea of emotions. Emotions he should. Not. Be. Feeling.

Something soft and wet landed on the skin of his hand, startling him out of his own head.

He blinked, gaze darting downwards to look at the watery droplet on his hand, and then upwards at the sky high above him. It wasn’t raining. The night’s clouds were sparse- even the few he did see were light and wispy, not dark and heavy with… Oh.

He scrubbed a hand over his damp face with a shaky huff, breathing thickly into his palm. Weak. Weak, weak, weak.

“A Grandmaster does not weep, Bi-Han. He does not shed tears. He is the foundation of his clan, the stones upon which his people walk.”

He shakily exhaled, hunching his shoulders as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He’d never be good enough. He’d never feel content. He’d never feel happy. He’d never feel loved. He’d never-

“Bi-Han?”

A voice startled him from the storm raging inside his mind. It was quiet, muffled, almost overshadowed by the wind. Any normal person wouldn’t have even heard such a small mutter of a noise.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small figure standing at the edges of the courtyard, watching him. Their little hands wrang nervously against one another, ghostly pale eyes peeking out curiously at him from behind wisps of grey, smoke-curled hair.

Tomas.

Panic and shame surged through Bi-Han. How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen?

He quickly straightened, hastily scrubbing a hand across his face as he went, praying it erased any lingering traces of his vulnerability. Tomas couldn’t see him like this. He couldn’t allow him to witness his failures. What kind of older brother would he be if he did that? 

Tomas knew him as a brave, fearless warrior, he couldn’t see him as a scared, weeping child. Tomas looked up to him- relied on him. Needed him to be strong. Tomas depended on him to be a protector, a warrior of unyielding ice, the Grandmaster he was destined to become.

The whole world did, really. Whether they knew it or not.

“Tomas.” He called out to the boy. His voice was rough and scratchy, edged with an iciness that he hoped sounded commanding. He inhaled once more, forcing his shoulders back, attempting to regain his lost composure. “What are you doing out here?”

Tomas wasn’t allowed in the training yard, by orders of their mother. That much Bi-Han knew- and while technically, Tomas wasn’t in the courtyard, the little boy standing just on its outskirts, his small face peering in past the entrance archway, it was good enough. It gave him something to focus on rather than the uncomfortable coiling in his gut. 

The child didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze dropped to the ground, clearly eyeing the fine-line between outside and inside the yard. His tiny teeth gnawed at his bottom lip, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other. He looked so small, so… innocent.

Bi-Han briefly wondered if that was what he himself looked like, when the elders scolded him.

“I just… uhm.” Tomas’ voice was still whispered, still that timid, uncertain tone. “I saw you sitting all by yourself.” The wind ruffled his grey curls, the hair swirling like smoke from a fire. “You looked… sad.”

Bi-Han’s heart tightened uncomfortably in his chest. He forced himself to remain stern, to keep his voice steady. This little interaction would be over soon, and then he could go back to… whatever he was doing before this. “You should be inside.” He started, “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” 

Usually, Tomas would take that as his cue to dart away, lest he faces his eldest brother’s infamous icy lectures. To run right for his room and right to bed, as suggested. But Tomas didn’t move- at least, not to leave he didn’t.

Instead, he took a step forward. Into the training yard.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han warned, voice low.

Tomas took another step. Then another. Then another- his bright pale eyes never leaving Bi-Han’s own dull brown ones. Small, milky-white teeth still worried the skin of his bottom lip, his tiny hands playing with the dulled, yellow seams of his hand-me-down jumper. This was unusual of the kid- Tomas never defied any rules set for him, even the ones that Bi-Han himself deemed silly and pointless. He found himself silent, watching him wander closer, and closer, until the boy was mere metres away from him.

“Are you…” The seams of Kuai’s old jumper were falling off in little chunks, now, torn away by fumbling little fingers. “Are you… okay?”

Bi-Han almost outright flinched at the question. 

His mouth instantly opened, ready to scold, to fight- to push Tomas away. To protect his image, to reverse whatever memory Tomas now had seared in his mind of his elder brother, weak and crying right in front of him. 

But nothing came.

He couldn’t do it.

Something in Tomas’ gaze- the sincere, too-real understanding. The ghostly eyes filled with concern- it made him hesitate. The harsh words he wanted to say, willed himself to say, never came. The words intended to scare the child away from ever attempting this again couldn’t form. His cold tongue turned soft. 

Tomas took another shy step toward. His small, soft hand reached out to gently touch Bi-Han’s knee.

“It’s okay.” The little boy whispered. He sounded far too old for the age he really was. “It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

His throat tightened. Those words, such simple, stupid words, and yet- yet it hit him. Hard. Harder than any of his master’s criticisms ever had. Bi-Han’s lower lip was trembling, his vision blurring with those god-forsaken tears again, his so-carefully built walls crumbling easily under the watchful gaze of a mere child.

He didn’t know what to say- how do you respond to something that sincere? That honest and truthful? Such pure, disarming kindness? He wasn’t used to it- he wanted to squirm away, run for the hills and never look back- and yet he didn’t. He found himself just… nodding. A small, almost imperceptible motion, but Tomas caught it. Tomas saw it. Saw him.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Tomas’ mouth, a soft, gentle expression that seemed to warm the frigid air around them. A boost of confidence that set the toddler aiming further. Higher. 

Without much hesitation, his littlest brother clumsily climbed up onto the bench beside him, his small hand never leaving Bi-Han’s knee, using it instead to boost himself up with a soft oomph until he was safely onboard the wooden contraption, his own knees dangling off the bench’s edge.

Bi-Han watched him with a mixture of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name. It was unfamiliar. A warm feeling that spread from where Tomas touched him, seeping through his bloodstream to his cold, icy heart. 

Hope, maybe? Love?

Tomas settled beside him, shuffling so he was close enough that he could rest his head against Bi-Han’s side, his other hand curling around his arm, clutching on tight. The toddler didn’t say anything else- he didn’t need to. The message was clear.

“I love you.”

“You belong.”

“You’re enough.”

For a long while, they sat like that. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but soothing, and gentle. The heavy weight in Bi-Han’s chest seemed to lessen, just a little. As if Tomas’ presence was enough to shave away some of the thick burden that he carried. He could feel the toddler’s fingers tiredly tracing the swirling gold pattern on the sleeve of his hanfu. Could see his eyes were half-closed, cheek smushed from where it was pressed against him. He really should be in bed by now.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han’s voice was croaky from disuse, though softer, that icy edge from before long gone. “Why exactly were you out here- in the first place? You know you shouldn’t be.”

Tomas lifted his head sleepily, blinking up at Bi-Han with those almost glowing pale eyes. “I saw you from my bedroom window.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” He snuggled back in, sighing warmly, eyes beginning to close once more, voice drifting into an almost silent murmur. Words that felt like they weren't for Bi-Han’s own ears to hear. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

Bi-Han’s heart twisted at that. He unravelled his arm from out of Tomas’ grip, instead curling it around the boy himself, drawing him closer, into something that somewhat resembled an embrace. His fingers touched soft, smoky hair. “Thank you.” He murmured, the words thick with emotion, “I… I needed it.”

Tomas smiled up at him again, his face tired, but his eyes shining with joy. He pressed closer, little grey hair tickling Bi-Han’s chin as he wormed his way further into his brother, as if he was attempting to merge their bodies together. Bi-Han simply let him.

“Don’t worry.” The little boy whispered, after a brief moment of silence. “I won’t tell Kuai.”

A small, unexpected smile tugged at the corners of Bi-Han’s own mouth now. “Good.” He found himself replying lightly, nodding. “You know I’d hate to lose my reputation as the cool one.”

Tomas giggled softly, yawning. “You’ll always be the cool one. Kuai’s the fiery one, remember?”

They sat there in silence for a little while longer after that, the quiet evening wrapping around them like a protective cocoon. Bi-Han found himself staring out at the empty courtyard, watching the shadows deepen as the night finally fully set in. Normally, this would be the time where that loneliness crept in. Reared its ugly face at him, reminding him of all his fears. All his doubts and insecurities. But tonight was different. With Tomas here- though asleep as he was now, drooling on the side of his very expensive hanfu- it was different. The silence wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t debilitating. It was bearable. Enjoyable, almost. 

It was no longer an enemy, but the companion it should have always been to him. One that allowed him to breathe, to simply exist as himself. Not as the future protector of Earthrealm- not as the future leader of the Lin Kuei, not as the future Grandmaster, but as Bi-Han. 

He could be just Bi-Han today. And that was okay. It was okay because people wanted just Bi-Han. In whatever shape and form he came in- broken or unbroken.

[lampmanliveblogs]

Happy Halloween! I hope you’ve had a spectacularly spooky time! Me? Oh, you better believe I had the most frightening of days! I went to work. I know, I was terrified the entire time.

Nah, but Halloween has never been anything I really celebrate. The closest I got this year was watching that Soul Eater AMV and listening to some ”spooky” music on my way home from work today. If I feel like it, I might watch the Nelly Rapp movie. I’ve got it on DVD, but I’ve yet to watch it. And what better time to watch a movie about everyone’s favorite Monsteragent than on Halloween?

I’ve had a rough couple of days, I won’t lie. I wasn’t kidding when I said work was scary, cause bloody hell’s bells, it’s been A LOT to deal with. I work in this really big department store, an absolute unit of a store, a real superstore. And school’s out for the autumn holidays AND people got their pays recently. You can imagine the chaos, we had checkout lines going on for several meters.

This is all to say that I’ve been super tired and in a bad mood the last few days, so I haven’t had the energy to do much of anything. I did manage to do a rewrite of the story I posted a few days ago and it’ll be below the cut. I feel it’s fitting since it’s Halloween and it takes place on Halloween.

I don’t think I’m gonna publish it officially yet, I might want to take another look at it first… and I’ve given some thought to a potential second and even third chapter. We’ll see.

I still haven’t settled on a title yet.

Comparing this version with the first draft, you’ll notice that this one has been expanded a bit. I don’t often remove things between the first draft and the rewrite, I usually expand on stuff, which is what I did here. I’ll leave a few more notes at the end.

Enjoy!

Lamp Entertainment presents…

[Title]

Vee watched Luz and Camila disappear into the light of the portal. Off to save the Demon Realm from the evils Belos was bound to unleash with his return. The portal closed mere seconds after they crossed the threshold. 

Vee could still feel the scent of the spent magic lingering in the air. It was potent and powerful, but not unpleasantly so. The Titan’s own magic, such a primal, primordial force of nature that Vee doubted she could feed on it if she tried. It’d be a bit like a human trying to eat grass, if grass could also spontaneously explode. A bad idea.

She turned around to begin her walk back to civilization. A small smile played on her lips. Despite the difficulties they were bound to face in that realm, a realm Vee herself was not ready to return back to, she couldn’t help but feel optimistic. If any two people could handle Belos and The Collector, it’d be Luz and Camila, two of the coolest people Vee knew.

Well… they were at the very least in the top three of the list Vee kept of cool people she knew (admittedly, a pretty short one). One person in particular was very high up on that list. They were a stranger that Vee knew very well, a clueless fortune teller. Pretty as a picture, dancing the night away.

Vee felt her cheeks heat up, and she quickly shook her head to try and clear it. She could think about those feelings some other time. Maybe when Luz got back she could give her some advice. For now, she had to focus on getting mom’s car back ho-

Her eyes widened and she shoved her hands into her pocket. She had her phone and… that was it.

”Sho-ot!” she yelled at the sky. The moon looked down on her, it’s cold light coloring every shadow blue. ”Camila still has the car keys!”

Well. That was her good mood ruined. Vee grumbled curses under her breath the entire way back to the town square. The festivities had died down by now, only a few organizers left trying to clean up the worst mess before giving up and going home. She threw the car a dirty look, as if it was its fault that Camila had brought her car keys with her like some kind of responsible adult. Now she’d have to walk all the way home, get the spare, walk back here, and then finally drive the car home.

She stifled a yawn. Maybe she could wait until tomorrow?

Whatever. She had a lot of time to think about what she’d do next.

She walked along the streets of Gravesfield. By now, most trick-or-treaters had trick-or-retreated back home with their bounty. A few jack-o’-lanterns still spread some light onto the streets, alongside the streetlamps and other decorations. The buzz of the last few organizers cleaning up after the festivities at the town square disappeared fast behind buildings as Vee navigated around them.

Her nose was a lot sharper than her ears though and if she took a few deep breaths she could still make out some faint scents in the air. Pumpkin and spice, candy and exhaust fumes from the Haunted Hayride tractor.

In a somewhat ironic twist, because she was so focused on trying to discern those quickly fading smells, she missed the one in front of her. Once she did notice it, she stopped dead in her tracks.

”It’s you!” A voice that was unfortunately familiar to her called out in the night. It was Jacob Hopkins, the man from the Gravesfield Historical Society, standing there, right in front of her.

Vee froze in place. Of course. Of course she had been too optimistic in thinking she wouldn’t have to deal with that man again. When she burst through the doors at the GHS and realized he was gone, she had felt so relieved. Like he couldn’t hurt her anymore. It was foolish, because he was still around. Did she really think he’d move towns because he got kicked out of the history club?

Before she had time to run, Jacob marched up to her.

”It really is you!” he said again. ”I’d recognize those evil eyes anywhere! You’re my demon!” He grabbed her wrist.

”I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and struggled to free her hand. She saw his eyes go wide and realized her mistake. ”Let go of me!” she said, this time imitating Willow’s voice, but it was too late.

”Don’t even bother trying to distort you voice, demon!” Jacob spat. ”I see right through your tricks! Where is the poor woman you had enchanted as your thrall? Did you eat her, you vile creature!?”

”No!” Vee cried. Hot tears threatened to flood her eyes, but behind that lied something else deep within her.

All her life she had been a prisoner, fettered, locked up and sealed away. Then she escaped and was on the run, always running. When she came to the Human Realm she was hiding, always terrified of slipping up and exposing herself. She was always ready, should the day come, to run again. Run, flee, hide, survive.

Not anymore. She has a great life here with a family and friends! Not just surviving, she’s living for something now! Who is Jacob to think he could take that from her? Did he really think he had just cornered the only wild animal that wouldn’t bite?

”Let go of me!” Vee repeated, this time with a hiss as she bore her teeth. Her teeth, which now looked less like the relatively dull incisors and vestigial canines of a human, and more like sharp fangs. The skin on her hands and wrists began to change too, hardening into tough scales while her fingernails turned into claws.

Jacob did look a bit worried when he spotted the teeth. But, be it because of bravery or stupidity (though Vee knew what she’d bet on), he didn’t relent. He held steadfast her wrist, intent on not letting his prize catch escape again.

”As if!” he said, while trying to make himself look bigger than he was. ”I’ll never let you go, monster!”

”Hey!” A third voice joined the growing chaos. Both human and demon turned their heads towards the voice, a voice that was familiar to them both, though more so to Vee. Despite the situation she found herself in, the basilisk felt a wave of relief wash over her. Suddenly, she knew things were going to be okay. Because who would come to her rescue other than Reality Check Camps very own Cabin 7?

Marco, dressed as a Frankensteiner, with his distinctive bangs covering his eyes. It was a wonder he saw anything at all, especially on this dim evening.

Samuel, dressed as a werwolf, albeit a werwolf with glasses. Apparently even lycanthropes are subject to bad eyesight.

And finally Masha, dressed as a witch. They were the spearhead of the trio, just as they were at summer camp. Always the first one to get them into trouble, only occasionally the one to get them out of it. This time, they arrived to help Vee out of trouble. It seemed that even though they were now strangers, Cabin 7 still had her back.

”What’s going on here?” Masha shouted, making Jacob flinch. ”Let go of her, you pervert!”

”Wha-no!” Jacob explained. He might’ve been some flavor of crazy, but even Jacob realized how bad things must look from an outsider’s perspective. And even he realized the consequences of that was not something he wanted to deal with. ”Y-you’ve got it around your back foot! This is not what it looks like!”

”Really? How about we call the police and ask them what they think it looks like!?” Masha yelled back. Marco and Sam stood by their sides, ready to back them up if things got ugly… well, uglier.

”I-it’s not like that at all!” Jacob said quickly, very keen on not getting the police involved. He looked around, as if the fuzz were hiding behind the corners, ready to jump him. ”Listen, uh… Sasha? No, no, was it… Vasha…? W-whatever, it doesn’t matter.” He yanked on Vee’s wrist, making her stumble forward.

”This is no mere girl!” he exclaimed. ”This is a demon! She has come from another world and has been living among us humans for months! And now her allies, the witches have come too! I’ve seen them perform their wicked magics! They’re not here right now, they must’ve gone back to their own world, but who knows when they’ll be back? You must help me contain this creature so we can warn the president! We’ll share the fame and fortune! I’ll even let you collab with me on Mewtube once my account gets restored!”

He smiled manically.

”If you don’t believe me, just look at her teeth! Look at her claws!” He held up Vee’s hand in the light of a streetlamp for the three teens to see.

It was a completely normal human hand with the soft nails so typical of humans. Vee smiled nervously, showing off a set of very normal human teeth.

At some point during his little monologue, Vee had realized that the best way out of this situation was to just let Jacob keep talking, so she had retracted her claws and dulled her teeth.

Masha, Samuel, and Marco shared a few glances with each other. Vee knew them well enough to follow along.

”This guy’s a loon,” Marco’s gaze said.

”I know you said he was a nutcase, but I didn’t realize it was this bad,” Samuel’s look said.

”Yeah, even I didn’t think it was this bad,” Masha said with one stare.

Samuel stepped forward.

”You’re crazy,” he said simply. Then he punched Jacob in the stomach.

Jacob made a funny sound as all the air was forcibly evicted from his lungs. He fell to the ground, holding his tummy, letting go of Vee in the process.

”Come on, let’s get away from this creep,” Masha said, taking Vee’s hand. They gently coaxed her into following then, not that Vee needed much convincing. They led her away from the gasping and writhing Jacob while Marco and Samuel stayed behind to make sure he did’t try to follow.

”Hey, I don’t think I got your name before?” Masha asked in what was an obvious attempt to distract Vee from what had just happened. ” We met at the GHS yesterday, remember? I’m Masha. I offered you a tour of the town.”

”Y-yeah, I remember,” Vee said. In the moment, she hadn’t realized just how fast and hard her heart was beating, or how ragged her breath had become. She took a few deep breaths to try and calm down, force her body to stop shaking. The danger was gone, no need for flight or fight right now. ”I’m Vee,” she said, finally remembering that she had to reintroduce herself to the friend that didn’t know her. ”And, uh… as much as I would like that tour, I think I just wanna go home at the moment,” she said in a feeble attempt at levity.

A small smile flashed on Masha’s lips.

”I saw your friends at the Haunted Hayride,” they said. ”I didn’t see you though. Too scary for ya?”

”I was staying home with mom,” Vee said, so focused on trying to stay calm that she let her mouth go on autopilot. It took her a moment to realize the slip-up and try backpedalling. ”Or, uh, I mean… aw, geez, I misspoke, I didn’t mean to say-”

”Hey, hey, calm down, it’s fine,” Masahs interrupted the panicking basilisk. They had reached a car parked in front of some small store. They opened the door to the passenger seat and made Vee sit down. ”Just take it easy. That creep didn’t hit you, did he?”

Vee shook her head and massaged her wrist. She could feel where he had squeezed her, though that wasn’t too bad. She had spent the better part of her first decade and half alive in chains, a little pain in her hands was no biggie. No, the thing that bothered her was that she could feel the smell of him on her. It was like a brand. She couldn’t wait to get home and wash it off her.

”I’m fine,” she said after a while.

”Are you sure?” Masha asked, sounding a bit skeptical. Not unwarranted, most normal people would probably be a bit more shaken than Vee was appearing. They probably thought she was in shock.

”Yeah, I’m sure, I promise.” Vee gave Masha  reassuring smile, but not too reassuring. ”He didn’t even grab me that hard. I was just a bit shocked. I mean, this was a lot, even for him.”

”Mmmm…” Masha hummed, their thoughts trailing off. ”I knew the guy was unbalanced, but not that he was this unhinged… what was he even talking about, demons and witches?”

”Haha, yeah, I know.” Vee’s laugh was stilted. ”What a nutcase.”

Marco and Samuel came walking back to the car.

”What a wimp,” Marco said. ”After you left he started crying. I think he’s stilly lying there on the ground.”

”Serves him right!” Samuel spat. ”He should be lucky to get off so lightly.”

”I tied his shoestrings together and threw his wallet up on the closest roof,” Marco added. The two boys hopped into the backseat of the car while Masha made it over to the driver’s seat. ”So he’ll have fun with that for a while.”

Vee couldn’t help but smile, the mental image of Jacob trying to scale a wall and falling down too funny not to laugh at.

”Should we call the police?” Samuel asked.

”N-no,” Vee said quickly. While the police might be interested in finding out that a man tried to abduct a girl, they would also be interested in finding out that said girl seemingly did not exist. ”I don’t think its necessary.”

Vee didn’t know it at the time, but she ended up being right. While trying to get his wallet back, Jacob woke and nearly scared the life out of the poor people living in the house. He ended up getting arrested for trespassing. It remains to be seen if he learned his lesson from that.

”Alright, if you’re absolute sure,” Masha said. ”Let me drive you home at least. Or do you have a ride?”

”I’d appreciate it,” Vee said. ”I, ah… missed my ride home.”

The ride back to the Noceda residence was spent mostly in silence, broken by Vee giving Masha directions when needed. Marco and Samuel also formally introduced themselves, unaware that Vee already knew them very well.

Vee had some time to think during the car ride. When Luz returned from the Demon Realm and reclaimed her life, Vee had stopped hanging out with her old cabin mates. With all the new friends in the house, she hadn’t really had the time to stop and think about how much she missed them. But, now they were together again, yet still separated by this new face and voice… it hit her, all at once. How much she missed them and how much she wanted to spend time with them. But she couldn’t, or… maybe…

”There you go, back home, safe and sound,” Masha said as she pulled up the driveway.

”Wait…” Marco said slowly, scratching his head. ”Isn’t this where Luz lives?”

”Yeah, I live here too,” Vee replied. ”I’m uh… well, you see… it’s complicated, but, ah.. Camila lets me live here.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could spot Masha looking at her. They were clearly remembering the comment Vee made before about her mom. They didn’t say anything.

Vee took a deep breath, gathering up all the courage she had. ”Grow a spine,” was the human saying. Vee was a snake, she had plenty of spine.

”Why don’t you guys come inside?” she said quickly, not giving herself enough time to chicken out. She was going to commit to this now.  ”I’d like to give you all a proper ’thank you’ for helping me out.”

There was some hesitation.

”It is getting pretty late and we were supposed to sleep at my parent’s house,” Masha said. ”But I’m sure they’d let us sleep at Mrs. Noceda’s house, right?”

”It should be fine, Samuel said, grabbing his phone to send his parents a text.

Marco shrugged and said ”I don’t care.”

”Sounds like it’s decided!” Ve said, a little too chipper and eager to get them inside. ”Come along!”

She lead them inside the mostly dark house and gestured for them to sit down on the sofa.

”Sit down, sit down, I’ll get snacks,” she said and hurried off to the kitchen. Her friends were left in the dust, looking around the messy living room. It looked like a whirlwind had swept through the house, with boxes of costumes strewn about.

In the kitchen, Vee was washing her hands while trying to work up the courage to go through with this crazy idea.

”Come on, you can do this,” she said while washing the stench of Jacob off her hands. She dried her hands off before gathering the snacks she had promised. This was going to take a while, she might as well give her guests something to chew on while she told them… what she was going to tell them. ”You escaped the emperor’s dungeons and evaded his scouts. You helped fight him tonights for Titan’s sake! You can tell your best friends a secret. It’s not hard. They won’t hate you… yeah! Us weirdos stick together, that’s the Cabin 7 way!”

”Hey, Vee?” Masha interrupted the disguised demon’s personal pep talk and nearly made her shed her skin at record speeds.

”Yes!” Vee almost yelled and spun around. ”Wh-what’s on your heart?”

”Is Luz home?” Masha asked. ”Cause we haven’t talked to her in ages…”

Masha’s usually confident eyes flickered down for a few seconds. It hurt Vee to see them without that characteristic confidence that she admired so much. They must be thinking that their friend Luz had abandoned them, left them for some new, cooler friends.

That sealed it in Vee’s mind. She was going to do this. She might come to regret this immediately afterwards, her friends might hate her, she might have to run and hide again… but she was going to do it. She couldn’t stand lying to them anymore, to cause them any amount of suffering. Not after all the kindness they had done to her.

”Yes… or, no,” Vee said, having taken just a little too long to answer. She grabbed the snacks and lead Masha out the kitchen. ”No, Luz is not home right now. She and Camila are away, it… it was a very sudden thing. Kind of an emergency.”

”…okay?” Masha replied, confusion on their face. They shared another few looks with Marco and Samuel. Vee realized that all things considered, she was acting very suspicious. It was Halloween after all. Someone acting this odd on an evening like this… watching horror films the night before, debating witches and folklore… it’s only natural that the unknown would trouble on a human’s mind.

”I’ll explain, I swear,” Vee assured them, not that it did a whole lot to ease their worried minds. If anything, it just made them more confused as to what was going on. ”But it’s a long story, so you might wanna sit down,” Vee continued and gestured to the sofa. The Cabin 7 Crew collectively hesitated before finally sitting down. Vee dumped the snacks on the coffee table and grabbed a chair for herself.

She felt around in her second stomach. She had absorbed a fair bit of magic from Belos during the fight. Amity and Willow had left plenty of abomination slime and enchanted plants behind. So she had a lot of leftover magic to scarf down on if need be. She could afford to show off a little.

”Have you guys noticed something… off with Luz lately?” she asked. ”In the last two months or so… almost like she became a different person overnight?”

Of course they had noticed, and Vee could tell based on their expressions when she asked that question. She also suspected that they had talked about it with each other. Not only had Luz more or less ghosted them and started hanging out with a bunch of strangers that no one knew, her personality had completely shifted. The Luz they knew from camp was gone… almost as if she had become a different person overnight.

”What I’m about to say next might sound insane, but I can guarantee you it’s the truth,” Vee said. ”All I’m asking is that you listen to me… and maybe don’t be too angry with me… okay?”

More glances were exchanged, glances of confusion and worry.

”Vee… what’s going on?” Samuel was the first one to speak up. ”Is… something wrong with Luz? What happened to her?”

Vee took a few quick, sharp breaths. She was about to go against every instinct in her basilisk brain, instincts ingrained into her very core by countless generations before her. Here goes nothing.

”Luz did become a different person overnight.” Vee was having to force herself not to speak too fast. She enunciated every word, trying to make sure there was no room for misinterpretation. ”Or rather, she became herself. You see, the Luz you met at summer camp wasn’t the real one. It was me. I was disguised as her and took her place. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to, but… well, I think is worked out for the better for both of us.”

Silence. The three Cabin 7 members sat opposed to her stared at her. Confused, bewildered, positively befuddled. Indeed, was this not an incredibly odd thing to be said by someone who wasn’t insane? 

”I… don’t get it.” Marco was the first one to speak. ”What do you mean you ’took Luz’ place?’”

”I know it’s probably a bit hard to believe, I mean, me and Luz don’t exactly look or sound alike,” Vee said, a small smile on her lips. ”But what about now?” she said, speaking with the voice of Luz.

The Cabin 7 Crew sat still as rocks while their brains tried to process what was going on.

Vee giggled.

”S-sorry, but you guys look so funny,” she said, sounding exactly like Luz from camp. She stood up from her chair and spun around in place, transforming into a spitting image of Luz. No, not a splitting image, the original image. Because that was Luz from camp. ”How about now? Do you believe me now?”

Masha gripped the armrest of the sofa so hard their nails threatened to rip the fabric.

”Explain,” they demanded. ”Right now.”

”Sure thing, though it’s a long story, which is why I brought snacks,” Vee said, shifting back to her regular human form, but with a slight adjustment to make her ears more obvious. She decided against reverting back to her true basilisk form just yet. It was probably for the better if she eased her friends into it.

She cleared her throat.

”What Jacob said before was true. Well, kinda…’even a broken clock is right twice a day,’ I think the saying goes. There is a world beyond this one. A world of magic, and witches, and demons. Demons like me. I’m a basilisk.”

Masha raised their hand.

”No, you won’t die if you look at my true form,” Vee said.

Masha lowered their hand.

”That was a rumor started by witches because… well, you see, we basilisks eat magic, that’s how I can transform.” Vee paused to think for a second. Her captivated audience waited with bated breaths. ”You know what, this probably isn’t the best order to take things. Let’s start with Luz, on that fateful day while she was waiting for the bus to take her the horrible summer camp. As she stood waiting, she spotted a strange owl which she followed into an abandoned house in the woods…”

The End… or is it?

xxXXxx

Author’s Notes

…even more of them

The Lampman tries not to worldbuild in one of his fanfics challenge. Level: impossible.

Probably my favorite line in this was ”Did he really think he had just cornered the only wild animal that wouldn’t bite?” though the ”trick-or-retreated” line is a close second, I thought I was really clever there.

You might’ve noticed I changed ”Marco” and ”Samuel’s” costumes around. I have a reason for this, but I won’t explain it. You might wonder about the term ”Frankensteiner.” It’s from the books about Nelly Rapp by Martin Widmark (illustrations by Christina Alvner). Nelly Rapp is a monster agent, a person who deals with monsters and other supernatural beings. Her first mission has her take on the cold-hearted debt collector Robert Steen, a Frankensteiner.

A Frankensteiner is basically a Frankenstein’s monster, a human made up from separate parts  (it’s a kids book, so they never explain exactly where the separate parts come from). They are often kept isolated from humanity and thus don’t develop a connection between their hearts and minds.

After spying on Robert, Nelly finds out that he has two left feet, and that he must be in constant pain from walking. So she manages to trick him into getting a foot massage. With his pain alleviated, he becomes a better person, even getting engaged with the masseuse.

In the next book, Nelly (with some help from her loyal dog London) cures two werewolves from their lycanthropy with vegetarian sausage, the power of laughter, and a strong lamp.

ANYWAY, one of the things I was very conscious about with this story was trying to make sure every member of the Cabin 7 Crew got to do something. It’d be very easy to have Masha be the only one doing stuff since, you know… they’re the only one with a name. Or personality. Also a ship, and fanfic writers love their ships almost as much as they love putting A Guy in a Situation (did i use this meme right?).

I sometimes steal take inspiration from song lyrics while writing. Usually, this is because I happen to be listening to that song while writing. Living in America by The Sounds doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, but it was on while I was editing, so Masha gets to be ”pretty as a picture, dancing the night away.”

A more obvious example is a few lines I stole borrowed from Fear of the Dark by Iron Maiden. ”Watching horror films the night before, debating witches and folklore, the unknown troubles on your mind.” Great song for driving home from work on a dark autumn evening.

So yeah, I would say this story shaped up pretty well. Let me know what you guys think. until next time, take care of the planet Earth, and remember that anything can happen in space!

[bloomyn]

strawberry syrup

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader

summary: your midlife crisis happens rather quickly, and its not midlife, you’re twenty three with a baby whose daddy just left with your best friend. peachy.

wc; 1.1k

part of: pink peonies

alt. ending. ; the one we all deserve

here’s the thing. 

ushijima can’t stand the way atsumu looks at you, and he can’t stand the way you look at him back even more. it’s the thought of his hand around your waist and his hand holding yours while he drives down the freeway that has him clenching crescents into his palms. he sees the way akio looks up at atsumu because ‘that toss was so awesome!’ and for once, he lets himself be disappointed.  

but fear always manages to beat disappointment. 

so he looks away.

-

the jackals win the match to no one’s surprise. even if atsumu was betting on a date with the possible love of his life, wakatoshi had enough respect for the game to understand when a player was in his zone. he just wishes you weren’t the reason for it. 

satori once told him that everyone was allowed to be selfish once in a while, ‘stir the pot waka-chan! sometimes something good comes out of it’

he’s never taken the advice. 

not even when he sees atsumu gift you an msby jersey for good luck. not even when miya tags your campus building in his instagram story with the caption “lunch :-)”

(there's a little glimmer of hope with the absence of the word ‘date’ at the end of the caption)

ushijima learns to breathe in the worry and exhale the possibility that he has a chance, with you. (he’s always had a chance, always.)

-

ushijima learns to be selfish.

que the dramatic lighting please

-

it’s disgustingly stalkerish how he knows your address like the back of his hand. each turn feels familiar and for a sliver of a second it’s like he’s driving home. the sun is caving in on his car and all he can feel is home, with you and akio. 

would you greet him at the door? would akio come running up, excited to tell him about his day at school? or would you let him drive the three of you home from practice, debating on what to get for dinner?

the thought of either has him biting his inner lip.

but the thought of neither has his hands trembling on the steering wheel.

your house is like he remembers, plain but homely, with a few flower pots scattered on the front porch and if he squints hard enough he can see a few paint strokes on a couple of them. 

there’s probably less than 20 steps between the car and your front porch but every step is held down by the weight of his cowardliness so it’s a miracle that you open the door before he can even contemplate doing it. 

“wakatoshi.”

-

it’s the type of situation that only happens in the late night dramas that play on the television when you can’t sleep. the ones you dreamed about in college when a boy broke your heart. and now it’s here. literally standing in front of you. 

“hello.” he says simply. 

it’s rough and gravelly, like he’s been thinking about how to say it. 

“it’s been awhile hasn’t it.”

he nods and you take a step closer, watching the way his fingers curl around the hem of his sweater. his eyes flicker to the garden box on the terrace, it was new.

“would you like to come inside?”

-

for a situation that seemingly needs no apology, there's a little part of you, deep down, that's begging you to say sorry, you're not exactly sure what for but the way he looks at your living room like it's a foreign place makes your heart twinge. his steps are careful, calculated, almost hesitant, as if anything he does seemingly out of line would send the two of you right back to square one, not like you weren't already there.

“akio’s on a playdate, if you were wondering.” 

at the words his head snaps up to meet yours and his excitement at the mention of your son's name has you keening. 

but a simple nod is his reply and you’re back to a silence so strong you retreat back to the kitchen for tea. you can feel the muscles in your inner lip with the way you're biting it and your hands only tremor slightly as you bring the tray towards the living room. he sits there, stoic and calm, as if the two of you haven't seen each other in weeks, not even a spare glance shared between you. 

he breaks first.

“i heard about your relationship with Miya - kun.” he says softly.

oh, you're panicking.

is this why he hasn’t been talking to you either? your toes curl inward, had you been doing the same thing him? the very thing that drew you away from him? the tabloid images are still burned into your brain and the embarrassment is still making its way through your heart. 

“friendship,” you correct instead, “he’s, ah, he’s been a good friend.”

“that’s good.”

you take a seat next to him, were you too close?, no, no , this was a normal length to sit from someone. 

“akio misses you,” you start, fingers picking at your knuckles, “but we’ve just been really busy and i’ve just spent so much time grading--”

“i’m sorry.”

you swear your soul collapses inside of you right then and there. his breath gets a bit quicker and his knuckles crack but other than that you can’t see anything other than the rug you're currently staring holes into. 

“i think you felt like i was leading you on.”

it's your turn for your breathing to get quicker

“i know it looks that way, and i don’t even know how those pictures got published. but i wasn’t, i really,”

he pauses, takes a moment to run this fingers through his hair, and turns to you.

“i really like you. and akio. possibly love if you’ll let me.”

you choke.

even after all these weeks, he’s still got an unimaginable hold on you. he’s too powerful, too perfect to fall in love with, he’s everything you’ve ever wanted and he’s offering himself to you. 

“atsumu was trying to help me get over you, you know.” you laugh stiffly, tilting your head just enough so that the tears don’t start slipping out. you take the opportunity to bring a pillow into your lap and promptly shove your face into it. 

“did it help?”

you swear you can hear the grin on his face.

“you’re goddamn lucky it didn’t”

-

for the first time in years you wake up with two more bodies in your bed. it’s not just your bed anymore though is it?

 there’s a bit of the sun peeking onto the foot of the bed and beside you, akio’s tucked into your stomach while wakatoshis got his arm around you. your son’s mouth is open and drooling on the sheets and his little fingers are wrapped around toshi’s forearm. reaching over to your nightstand you grab your phone and take a quick picture just before akio shifts back into the blankets. it’s starting to get a little stuffy but you can stand it, the view is incomparable anyway.

it’s warm in the house, and you’re full of love. 

[amethysttribble]

General, 10 18 8 2

Thank you so much for this prompt, it got soooo far away from me!

Prompts were: “Do you not remember me?” “You’re weak.” “At least I kept my promises.” “Is that a threat?” (I combined them all into one for Curufin and Finrod)

You know, I originally planned for this to be them screaming at each other, but Curufin decided he'd had character development off screen and wouldn't be goaded. Good for you Curvo!

And I finally got my Finrod voice down the way I want it, and I'm so excited!

Curufin made Finrod go to him, which was rather rude. Inconsiderate, quite frankly. You would think that turning a kingdom’s people against its king and then actively undermining the mission said king embarked and died upon would deserve at least a courtesy call after the fact.

And say what you want about Curufin, usually he was quite good at courtesy. If not always anything deeper.

But he’d been reborn… Finrod would guess it was five years now, and not one visit, not a single hello, no poking his head in official meetings or events where he might not be wanted. Not unless you counted one failed attempt when Finrod was away on business, which Finrod didn’t. And that did concern him, just a little bit. The Halls… he knew as well as anyone the effects of the Halls of Mandos on a soul, even if Angrod did tease him for ‘treating rebirth like a footrace’.

It was very easy to come out from the Halls of Mandos cleansed, but also… reset to zero. Feeling a little hollow, a little empty. A little devoid of any rough edges and jagged bits that truly made a person’s personality.

Finrod had felt stripped bare when he first exited the Halls. And it had been in time to give any advice and information he could, to warn his parents about where Artanis would be, to wish his loved one’s well, to see them off to war and have some hand- any hand- in Morgoth’s defeat. But it had come at the cost… most of what Finrod would consider himself.

“You are not wicked in how you play,” his mother had idly mentioned over a hand of cards once. “I miss that little streak of wickedness to you.”

It had been hard, trying to drag back the pieces of who he once was without letting those aspects lead back towards the mistakes that got him killed. Trying to find the self-indulgent bits without letting them hurt others. Being a little wicked.

Finrod would hate it if Curufin had been reborn only to be utterly devoid of those aspects of his character. So, when he set out to have a little chat with his cousin holed up in the mountains northeast of Formenos, it was with the intent of being a little wicked. He was going to pick a fight.

And he had always been very, very good at picking fights and having it look like the other person started it.

Curufin was easier to rile than most, but also more fun to spar with. That was why- everything else aside- Finrod was still fond of him. The wars of the old days were over, and Finrod would very much like his cousin and friend back.

The joy Finrod got from Curufin’s gobsmacked face when he opened the door didn’t hurt either.

His mouth tilted into an amused, sly smile as Curufin continued to stare, though eventually he managed to shut his mouth. Curufin shifted his stance to partly close the door and stand in the doorway, shoulders coming up defensively. Finrod would have been offended by the wariness had he not known for a fact that Galadriel had smacked him across the face when he first emerged from the Halls.

“Come now, no greeting?” Finrod asked mildly. “Do you not remember me, Curufinwe?”

Curufin let out a high-pitched, strangled noise, and then pushed forward. He shoved gently at Finrod’s shoulder, herding him back and closing the door behind him. Then Curufin made for the grove of olive trees in the distance.

“Let’s not do this here,” he sighed, uncharacteristically subdued, “Aikanaris is working, and I’d rather not crush the bluebells.”

Wasn’t that charming!

“No, naturally, of course not,” Finrod said, jogging up behind him. “But I don’t see any reason why we might be doing anything to hurt your flowers, unless you want to play a rousing game of football, but I think we could still easily avoid them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Curufin groused, coming to a stop in the shade of the trees. This mountain area kept the air cool, but the sun beat down so harshly here. This was a nice little spot, among the leaves with the light weaving between them, the rising peaks in the distance.

It was all lovely, and it seemed a good place to settle down, especially for one like Curufin, who’s been even less keen on the city than his father, and perhaps any of his brothers besides the twins. But this complete and utter isolation… No, it would not do. Even Celegorm had stuck his head from his hiding in Orome’s forests at least once.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Finrod informed him, reaching up to toy with a sunlight illuminated leaf. “It's been so long since we’ve sported together after all. Nargothrond in all her glory still owns my heart, but there was never enough room for such things. I had been considering investing in a sporting atrium, next to the bathing one? But, well, those flames did come up suddenly, and I had other things on my mind.”

“If you want sport, just skip the pretense and choose wrestling,” Curufin said, and though Finrod refused to look down from the leafy veins he was inspecting, he could easily imagine his cousin crossing his arms in indignation.

“Do you truly think,” Finrod asked slowly, finally turning to look at Curufin, “that I am here to hurt you?”

Curufin, his arms as rigidly crossed as Finrod had expected, paused for a harsh moment, glaring. Finrod had to give Curufin this, he never looked away. His eyes, as well, were as well guarded and private as ever, not giving away anything about what he was thinking.

At length, he said, “No. No I do not. But I wish you would.”

Finrod whistled.

“I do believe that is information best kept between you and your wife.”

Curufin jerked as if he very much wanted to hit FInrod, but he restrained himself. It was not a surprise, if Curufin were truly violent he never would have been released from the Halls. But it was nice to see that self-reflection hadn’t totally drowned his fire.

“Begone,” Curufin spat, “begone if you are just here to… gloat or feel superior. I have no time for it.”

“Celebrimbor tells me you have nothing but time, though,” Finrod declared, and rather than further rilling Curufin up as he suspected, Curufin’s shoulders sagged and his eyes softened. How interesting. “Aikanaris I know is working on a new chandelier for the Aqualonde Music Hall, but you wile away your time fitting horseshoes, making tack, and fixing local farm equipment.”

“And why not?” Curufin turned his nose up to sneer down at Finrod, despite being significantly shorter. “It is important work, and I am not above it.”

That made Finrod’s brows furrow. True enough, Curufin had never been one to shy away from the simpler aspects of being a blacksmith. He would say to Finrod sometimes, Just as being a king is more than just sitting in a chair and making grand pronouncements, being a smith is more than just our legendary swords, with that sly grin of his.

But Curufin had always been fueled by one thing: ambition. They had that in common, even if Curufin’s ambitions had not been to be the best- unlike Finrod, with that endless, gnawing drive in his gut that had characterized his younger days- but to simply stand besides who he saw as the best.

His father, obviously.

Finrod couldn’t help but wonder what it meant that Feanor still sat in recrimination in the Halls, while Curufin wondered free, using his considerable skill to make horseshoes.

“True enough, Curufinwe,” Finrod said slowly and carefully, letting his eyes grow half-lidded and a lazy smile creed up his lips. “But you were given a second life to live.”

He could see how Curufin bit his lip to keep from snapping and hissing. Oh, what had he been about to say? Finrod wanted to know.

What he got instead was, “Why are you here, Felagund?”

“Why, to visit with my dear cousin.”

“Orc-shit. Try again.”

Finrod laughed. He tossed his head back and laughed, and Curufin flushed over it.

“Fair enough, fair enough,” he said when he looked down again. “I suppose I am here for the reason you first suspected, though nothing violent. I simply want to… clear the air. To close some unfinished business and accounts with you.”

“Then clear it,” Curufin said, “I have little and less to say to you. Would you like an apology? You can have it, I’m sorry. I tried to tell you as much five years ago, but your sister turned me away.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Finrod insisted, bringing up a hand to rub across his own cheek, where he knew Curufin had been struck. “Artanis… she has not found the same peace as us who passed through the Halls-“

“I know how it works.”

There was a finality in Curufin’s voice that brooked no room for argument. Finrod was happy to drop it, Curufin would know ‘how it worked’ very well, he suspected. After all this time, Maglor still did not look wholly well.

If Curufin accepted the apology, he did not voice it. His inscrutable face was as poised and imperious as ever, making Finrod want to break it open like always. But he did have something he came here the say.

“On that subject, though,” Finrod said softly, being sure to pick his words carefully, “I need you to know, at least in regards to your conduct towards me, there is nothing for me to forgive.”

Curufin narrowed his eyes, and then said, “I’m sorry?” in a tone that sounded almost fragile to Finrod.

“There are no apologies necessary. Not between you and I, or Celegorm and I. I knew… I knew from the moment Beren invoked my oath that we would come into conflict, and I do not begrudge you that. I will not say that I have not had moments of anger, as that would be a lie. I do believe as I lay bleeding out, that was a particularly low moment, and as I thought of the adoring subjects, and glittering kingdom, and grand future to be won that was taken from me, I cursed your name. But I know better than most how the bonds of oaths bind us, and I never- even when it frustrated me- disapproved of people disagreeing with me in my own kingdom. You petitioned my people, and they followed you. That is not a crime.”

Finrod’s hands were shaking ever so slightly when he finished his speech. He had composed it several times, but what had actually come out of his mouth was a wholly new composition, all the same. He knew he’d be playing those words over in his mind all week, trying to make sure they were satisfactory.

Curufin, for his part, might as well have been made of stone he was so still.

Hopefully if Finrod poked, he wouldn’t shatter.

“That being said, everything involving your assaults on Beren and Luthien, and later Doriath, that was most certainly a crime.” Finrod shrugged broadly. “It is also not mine to forgive.”

Curufin gave a rather loud huff of indignation, then looked away. He kicked at the ground, like a nervous child or a bashful maiden. That brought a smile to Finrod’s face.

“Is that what you came all the way out here to say?” Curufin grumbled. “Would you like me to retract my apologies? I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Finrod raised an eyebrow.

“No, I won’t. Say what you want, but I know the truth. It was jealousy that drove my actions in Nargothrond, not anything as noble as a fated tragedy or as pitiful as a binding oath. You know as well as I do,” Curufin said, sliding his eyes over to fix Finrod with a piercing glare, “we all had choices, even within the parameters of our words.”

Finrod gave a long blink.

“Did we?” he asked, words carefully blank.

“Don’t give me that,” Curufin hissed, “You could have fufilled your oath to Beren by sending a paltry force with him, or just gifting him a sword and a meal. You needed not go yourself. But you did.”

“I did,” Finrod agreed, this conversation having taken quite the turn.

“What I never figured out, though,” Curufin said, and the words seems to be spilling out of him now, the control falling away as curiosity took over, “was whether you were suicidally brave or vainly scared.”

Finrod drew in a slight breath and laughed a little, looking back up at the leaves. Trust Curufin to have been the one person who figured him out.

“Mostly the latter,” Finrod breathed out, “I was frightened of what people would say of me if I did not live up to the image I’d created of myself, noble and good and kind.”

“Funny. I’d pinned it on the first.”

Finrod looked down, the question writ all over his face. Curufin cracked a triumphant smile.

He said, “Isn’t it brave to pretend to be better than you are, and succeed in being that good along the way?”

Wasn’t that a thought. A surprisingly positive one for Curufin, but Mandos and Nienna must have had some influence. Celebrimbor, too, given the reports of how truly mended their relationship was.

Finrod knew from experience that trying to be as good as Tyelperinquar thought you were could be a powerful motivator.

Still, Finrod had to confess.

“And did it never occur to you that I might just have been simply naive? That I saw no way out, or that I might have believed just a little bit that we could do it and come home heroes?”

Curufin uncrossed his arms to consider that one. Then he licked his lips and said, “The thought did occur to me, in my lesser moments.”

“Lesser moments,” Finrod mused, but before he could say anything more, Curufin spoke up.

“Why are you here, Felagund?”

“I think I already told you-“

“Because I don’t actually believe you came all the way out here to exonerate me from some guilt I never gave you an indication I was laboring under. Nor do you have any reason to hang around discussing your sins and motivations, if that is the case. So I asked you again: Why are you here, Felagund?”

Finrod hummed to buy himself time, chewing on that thought. He even stole an olive to eat in the meanwhile, before spitting out the pit.

Curufin waited patiently. That had always been his surprising virtue.

“What if I told you, I simply missed you?”

“Bah!” Curufin exclaimed, wrinkling his nose and looking away. He looked so much like a disgruntled cat, that Finrod had to laugh. “You are not half as sentimental as you try to present. Try again.”

“It is true, though,” Finrod chortled, “I have! Though maybe not simply for your charming personality. Perhaps it is simply… I wanted your perspective on the whole affair. You always saw me far more clearly than most others.”

Curufin raised both eyebrows, and then leaned against a tree. The leaves shadowed his face like that, making him look sharper and more sinister. The slight, wicked smile on his face suited him as he shook his head and muttered, “Weak-willed.”

“What was that?”

“I said: you’re weak. Seeking my approval, or maybe my rapprochement. Weak. But do not condescend to me by implying I swindled the kingdom of a fool or coward.”

That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Finrod thought, delighted, but dared not say. He didn’t know why, but it felt too early for such sentiment. Maybe the day sooner than he’d feared, but not yet.

Instead he said, “So I am weak, but not a fool or a coward. I will take that among my virtues, and wear the title proudly cousin, thank you. Not a fool or a coward, I think we have that in common. Perhaps we share the weakness too, but there is a difference between us. At least I kept my promises.”

Curufin scoffed at that, and said, “I do believe part of the problem was me keeping my promises too stringently.”

“No, no, that’s oaths. I’m talking about promises. You promised me something in Nargothrond that you never made good on.”

“And what would that be?”

Finrod took a moment to lean against a tree, let the sunlight stream down onto his face. Then he grinned. He held up his bare hand for Curufin to see.

“You promised me once,” he said, almost giddy, “that you would make me a ring to replace the one I gave Barahir, one that not only rivaled but exceeded that ring’s beauty.”

“Not going to happen,” Curufin scoffed, but Finrod was far from done.

“But Curufinwe!” he cried, “That is why I’m really here, as you keep asking! To make sure you make good on that promise. And if you do not indulge me now, I will just have to come visit again.”

Curufin’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that a threat?”

“Maybe.”

Curufin barked a laugh, and Finrod’s eyes widened in wonder. He had not heard that sound in a long, long time. It made a smile, more real than the other ones, come to his face.

Arda Marred truly had begun to heal.

“Very well then,” Curufin said, sitting up and walking towards the house. He did not gesture at Finrod to follow, but he was not disinvited from doing so either. “We can start drafting designs over lunch. Aikanaris will be furious if you keep interrupting her work with visits.”

Finrod followed behind more than pleased with himself and this trip. He was glad not only to see that Curufin had come out of the Hall still Curufin- if a little reserved- but that this was still fun. Finrod enjoyed the chance to tease and bully and be a little wicked to crafty, wicked Curufin again.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Into the Woods: chapter 1  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Neither you nor Frankie are expecting to run into anyone in the middle of the woods.

Tags: none!! all audiences!

Word Count: 3,054

Note: HE’S HERE!!! Please enjoy the official first installment of the outdoors insta frankie series 🌳📷😍 So much love to the wonderful @yoditorian for coming up with this concept and Frankie’s IG name, and also helping me brainstorm 💗💗💗

Backstory

---

Francisco Morales loves this shit. Walking for hours without seeing another soul, nothing to think about but where to place his feet on the path ahead of him. Assuming he’s following a path at all. These are his woods- the country surrounding the house he’s lived in for years, a place just shy of isolated from the nearest town. They’re not really his, legally. He’s not exactly sure what the rules of land designation entail, but it’s not a national park, and no one has ever chased him up about the occasional wood-chopping or campfire-building he does.

So he walks.

It’s a damn perfect day for it, too. Brilliantly sunny with a hint of breeze, rustling the greenery around him and carrying the scents of sun-warmed leaves and late summer flowers. The birds are in high spirits, their vibrant chirping filling the air with chatter. Screeches of alarm, sometimes, too- a side effect of hiking with a giant energetic dog. Frankie watches ruefully as Oso crashes off into the undergrowth again, doubtless chasing down some poor creature.

He slows his pace to wait for her, taking the opportunity for a water break. His heavy pack thuds to the ground. Frankie grunts as he stretches, rotating his shoulders and flapping his sweaty t-shirt away from his back. I should really hike along the river more often, he muses. He doesn’t mind working up a sweat (obviously), but a ready supply of cool water during a long hike does wonders for one’s well-being.

“Boof!” Oso’s deep bark as she returns brings Frankie’s attention to her.

“Yeah? Would you like that, too? A nice swim in the river to cool you down?” He crouches to ruffle her neck fur the way she likes. Oso only pants in answer, blinking at him adoringly.

She slurps thirstily as Frankie pours some water from his bottle into her mouth. He chuckles. “Don’t worry, Osita, we’ll be near some water soon.”

Their goal today is a small pond Frankie had only found earlier this year. It’s a good spot for his campfire cooking, as well as endlessly photogenic. This is marginally important to him, as he attempts to keep a regular diary of his wanderings through instagram. It’s mostly for fun, but like anyone else, he isn’t immune to the particular buzz from his posts unexpectedly getting a high number of likes.

But he had also discovered that he wasn’t the only one with this hobby. There were whole communities of people out there who found peace the same way he did, and they happily gave advice if ever he posted about a struggle.

Frankie pauses again a short way away from the pond to make sure he’s on course. Oso sniffs around excitedly, bounding off again while Frankie checks his GPS. “Huh.” Looking around, he laughs at himself a little when it tells him he’s almost walked past it. He rotates to his left and thinks he spots the telltale gap in the trees ahead. He tucks the GPS away.

Oso barks from somewhere ahead of him. A split second later, a human yelp sounds from the same direction. His eyes widen.

“Shit!” Frankie breaks into a run. In all the years he’s been out here, he rarely sees other people this far from the trails. “Oso!” he yells. “Here, girl!”

Oso isn’t aggressive (unless the situation warrants it), but whatever new friend she thinks she’s meeting won’t know that. Frankie races toward where he judges the noise came from, heart pounding. He bursts through some bushes and is almost knocked down by his beast jumping up to greet him.

“Hey, girl, who was- no!” Oso peels away again across a bit of clear ground, her collar slipping through Frankie’s fingers. He’s barreling toward where her tail wags from behind a bush, when you stand.

Frankie skids to a stop so abruptly his feet slide out from under him. His ass hits the ground with a thud, his rucksack taking only part of the fall. He scrambles upright gracelessly, clumsy with the weight on his back, never taking his eyes off of you.

You stare at each other.

Nothing about this moment feels real to Frankie- you could announce that you’re the dryad who rules this forest and he would believe you, that’s how unlikely your appearance is. Shifting sunbeams dapple your skin, and even from several feet away he can tell that you have the most striking eyes he’s ever seen.

For a second your gaze flicks down to the side. You lean slightly as if something has nudged you, and as you move your hand away from it Frankie realizes you’re holding something.

Shit. He returns to his senses. Is that a weapon?

He’s met people on the trails before, most of them harmless fellow hikers. But occasionally there are some with weird vibes, especially the farther away from the paths you got. He’s fully capable of defending himself, but that doesn’t mean he wants to have to.

“Oso! Here!” Frankie says sternly. Your expression doesn’t change as you watch the dog trot over to him. Jaw set, wide eyes tracking his every motion.

He supposes he can’t blame you for being wary. Or armed. It’s a perfectly reasonable response to running into a strange man in the middle of the woods. He knows he’s not exactly the picture of reassurance. Tall and broad, probably too sweaty to believably claim he’s on a casual hike. He decides to speak.

“Sorry to startle you.” Frankie keeps his hands by his sides where you can see them, resting one on Oso’s head. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

Your tense stance doesn’t relax. “Me either.”

His head tips to the side. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?” He tries to keep his voice slow and soothing.

He can see you assessing him, trying to measure how safe he is. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” Frankie pats the dog’s head in a more formal introduction. “I like to come out here and cook.” Your brow furrows at that, bemusement appearing amidst your guarded features. Before you can respond, he prompts “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

“Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” Disbelief is etched in every line of your face.

Well, when you say it like that.

Foraging. That makes perfect sense. Frankie follows a few of them on instagram. He’s always pleased when he notices the more obvious edible plants and berries, but it’s not usually his focus. His vegetable garden at home takes up most of his efforts. It’s managed to thrive in the years since he started it after leaving the army, and it’s become a source of pride for him to be able to wander out, pick some things for the day’s meal, and head right into the woods.

“Yeah,” he responds. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

Your eyebrows rise even higher at that.

Moving slowly and watching for your reaction, Frankie holds his hands up as he turns, keeping one in the air while the other makes a show of tugging his phone from a side pocket of his pack. He keeps the screen visible as he opens the app, then pulls his arm back in the beginning of an underhanded throw. Poised as such, he looks at you expectantly.

Now you’re almost frowning. Clearly still suspicious, but possibly fractionally less concerned about danger from a man willing to give his phone to a complete stranger in the woods. Hesitantly, you raise your hands to catch it.

Finally Frankie can make out that the thing in your hand in a canister of mace. The sight inexplicably relieves him. Pepper spray is a normal person’s defense, something that anyone might carry to help themselves feel safe. Far from the kind of weapon he would fear from someone angling for true violence.

All of this decided in the space of a second, Frankie gently tosses you his phone.

--

You’re so distracted by delighting in the prolific blackberry bushes which surround your pond that you don’t hear the approaching creature until it’s upon you.

You screech in shock at the massive fur-thing’s appearance, bowling you over from your crouch. It doesn’t seem bothered about wanting you to pet it, only wiggling and sniffing at you enthusiastically. You register the collar around its neck at the same you hear the shout.

“Oso!” That must be its name. “Here, girl!” The dog dashes away, then back, clearly torn about leaving her new friend so soon.

Icy adrenaline douses your system. That was a man’s voice, rough and cavernous. Who knows what kind of person he could be, no matter the earnestness of his dog? Your hands shake as you rip open your bag for the canister of mace you’ve never had to use.

There’s a pronounced rustle and then his voice sounds again, terrifyingly close. “Hey, girl, who was- no!”

Shit. The dog is back, looking at you eagerly, rear in the air and tail wagging like this is an exciting game. You have to choose a course of action quickly. Twisting the safety off the pepper spray, you rise to your feet.

His reaction is almost funny; you think you might have laughed if this was literally any other scenario. Like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel, the man wrenches himself to a stop with such force his feet fly up from the ground. The contents of his bulging pack crunch against the earth, but he barely seems to notice he’s fallen, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time he cycles back to his feet.

You stare at each other.

That’s a man all right. Towering even from this distance, with wide shoulders that help the impression. His eyes are round and stunned, the cap on his head knocked slightly askew and freeing sweat-dark curls to spring around his ears.

Your first thought is that he looks warm. Not temperature warm, although the gleam of sweat on his neck confirms that, too. But approachable warm. There’s a softness to his body that belies the muscle his motions highlight, creases around his eyes that wrinkle brown like tree bark in the sun.

Then his dog noses your thigh, reminding you that you have pepper spray in your hand because you’re in the middle of the damn woods with a potentially threating stranger. You risk a half-second glance down to move the canister away from her face.

You regard the man with stony distrust, fear flushing your face and neck with heat. Confrontation makes the blood roar in your ears, but it gradually quiets as he orders the creature away from you. For several more seconds the only sound is rustling leaves.

He clears his throat. “Sorry to startle you,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

His voice doesn’t sound as harsh now that he’s not frantically shouting for his dog. Still you keep your answer short. “Me either.”

His head tilts inquisitively. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?”

That’s a fair question. He has a right to be curious too. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” The man pats her head, and the dog’s ears perk up. “I like to come out here and cook.” Wait, what? Before you have a chance to process that, he continues. “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

You won’t be deterred. “Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” If this is some elaborate murder setup, that’s not a very plausible lie.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

You’re slightly more skeptical than fearful now. You watch silently as the man turns in place, putting the side of his backpack in your line of sight so you can see him fish his phone out. He makes his actions slow and obvious. The white background of an instagram page glows on the screen as he retracts his arm in a throwing pose. Clear eyes meet yours.

What? This guy is just going to...give you his phone, no questions asked? Taken aback, you can feel the deep grooves of a frown between your eyebrows as you consider.

You’re hesitant to reveal the pepper spray, but if there’s still some possibility this is a trick, he might second-guess attacking you if he sees you’re armed. You ready yourself for a catch.

Which you accomplish, easily, his toss landing the phone right in your hands. The dog lurches forward, but this time man has a grip on her collar and she’s forced to halt with a whine.

“Sorry, girl. We’re not playing fetch right now, okay? Sit!” The man doesn’t even seem concerned with monitoring you, looking down seriously at his dog as he speaks.

You keep one eye on them as you turn your attention to the screen. Frankieintheforest, reads the username at the top of the page. Just a guy out in the woods, continues his bio. Well, that’s accurate, anyway. Frankie, huh? You spare him another glance, matching various features of him to the ones in his photos. A broad hand here, sturdy hiking boots there. Several glimpses of the same flannel that’s currently tied to the strap of his backpack. His face in a few group shots. You click on an image which shows Oso parading around a yard with a grinning toddler on her back. “Ferocious beast carries away yet another victim,” quips the caption. An involuntary smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

There are too many photos going too far back for it to be fake. You turn the screen toward him. “Cute kid,” you comment. “Is she yours?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “No,” the man half laughs. “My buddy’s. I’m just the godfather.” A small smile softens his face as he takes in the picture.

Being named godfather was nothing to sneeze at. You study the man carefully, keeping your face neutral. He seems genuine, his dog keen and friendly. Dogs were a good judge of character, right? Indicative of the character of their owner? He hasn’t demanded anything from you, not done anything threatening beyond just being here.

You glance between him and the phone again. “Frankie?” you question.

He raises one hand in a wave, directing a crooked sort of smile at you. “That’s me,” Frankie confirms.

You offer him your name in return. “Uh, you can have this back now.” You gesture with the phone.

He brings his hands up to catch it, and you thank every deity you know of when your throw connects. You’re at a bit of a loss for what to do next, however. You suppose this means you’re at a truce. But you still don’t think you’d be able to let yourself focus on foraging while knowing there’s a stranger wandering so nearby.

Frankie seems to be thinking the same thing. One hand rubs over the back of his neck. “Well,” he begins. “My plans for today were to sit by this pond and cook over a fire.” He points his thumb to the right, where not far away the reflection of sunlight on water wavers against the tree trunks.

“You can join me if you want.” He shrugs awkwardly. “I’m just gonna collect some tinder and then park it, so you don’t have to worry about me interrupting your foraging or anything.”

Oso finally wriggles free of his grasp and surges forward, leaping across to you with a triumphant woof! “Oso, no!” Frankie stumbles after her, only to stop after two steps, clearly unwilling to make you uncomfortable by getting too close. He looks on helplessly, hands flexing.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. This time you offer her your free hand to sniff, which she does, before promptly shoving her head beneath it for pets. Amused, you comply. Her multi-hued fur is soft beneath your fingers.

“You’re alright, aren’t you, Oso?” You dart a self-conscious glance back up to her owner, but he appears content to let you coo at his dog.

“She’s a good judge of character,” Frankie says simply.

You swallow. Those deep brown eyes linger over you, and this is all just a bit...much. “Right. Well. I’m just going to…” you ease back, hoping to convey ‘continue going about your business.’

“Oh, sure!” He takes a little hop backward. “I’ll be...here.” His hand makes a small circling motion to indicate a limited nearby area. “You’ll hear me before you see me. Or Oso.”

Frankie frowns slightly as if something has occurred to him. “Uh, she might want to follow you around today though. I can tie her to a tree if that would bother you? I don’t usually watch her too closely,” he admits sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s okay.” You realize that you mean it as your thoughts continue to form. “She’ll make for good protection if I meet any more big scary strangers.” You aim the last words down to the dog herself, sending a wry a sidelong glance to said stranger.

He chuckles again, a rasp of a sound like creaking branches. “That’s fair. But I meant it when I said I’ve never seen anyone else in this particular area. You’re pretty safe.” He punctuates his statement with a nod to the canister still in your hand, soft understanding clear in his face.

Your head ducks slightly. “Well,” you say again. ”I’ll..see you around. I guess.” You don’t wait for a farewell, turning to foist your pack back onto your shoulder. You strain your ears for any noise behind you as you flee, but there’s no sound of pursuit.

“Go ahead. Have fun, Oso,” Frankie calls, already at a distance from your quick pace. There’s a distinctly animal scurrying, and then the dog bursts into being by your side.

Your arms wheel as you jump. “Jeez, you are enormous,” you mumble, pausing to pet her again. Discreetly you look over your shoulder in time to see Frankie turn away from you, heading for your pond.

--

Post note: I know pepper spray is like, super illegal in the UK and other places, but it’s not abnormal to carry around in the US so just pretend it’s fine.

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle

[rigelmejo]

So while I’m not fond of Peppa Pig, I do find this discussion interesting. And it did make me go check if I could follow Peppa Pig (I can, easily, I know most of the words if not all - though I’m watching without subs so I might miss a little bit). 

*This is a show that WAS recommended to me, if you want to watch a simple show for kids that’s easy to comprehend - 大头儿子和小头爸爸 (and it is cute, it reminds me a little of Arthur and shows I watched when I was little)  : https://youtu.be/bpO2W9Xaigc

Ok back to Peppa Pig discussion, of all things lol.

So on reddit, someone was discussing how they’d been studying chinese 8 months and still could not understand Peppa Pig. I found the discussion between everyone very interesting. All I really think on my end is like? I also could not understand Peppa Pig (or any shows super well) that early on so it is partly a matter of “you just gotta study chinese for a while.” (The reddit discussion: https://www.reddit.com/r/ChineseLanguage/comments/mk4665/fed_up_with_my_poor_chinese/ )

But also? I am a big believer in “it gets easier the more you practice.” So if you want to do something in a language, try to DO it. And try to keep doing it - because partly yes, you will likely realize you need to learn more words/grammar and the ‘doing’ may just be a catalyst to ‘make you study more’ so that next time you try to DO you know more and its easier. But also, doing it involves building the skills of getting USED to listening, used to recognizing words you studied in a different context, getting used to recognizing and understanding grammar in real time instead of on a delay (like in a textbook when you can slow down and really look at something and figure it out) etc. So partly, how ‘easy’ it is to read or listen has to just do with how often you’ve done it. Have you done it enough that the parts you HAVE studied you can grasp immediately? Or have you done it so little that even things you ‘studied’ don’t click right away - but they might on a rewatch or if you pause and read a subtitle slower, replay a line, etc. The part of the skills you pick up by DOING you really have to just... do to get better.

I found a few responses from people who are years into studying chinese and still find Peppa Pig difficult. And I think in that case, it might be the same situation as my japanese was (studied for 2 years and could still barely read a manga for bare gist). I think partly at that point, lack of understanding has to do with not practicing understanding by Doing. Someone who’s studied a couple years, likely knows a few thousands words+? If they practiced listening or reading regularly for a few months, they’d likely see a TON of improvement. Because they probably ‘learned’ a lot already they just need to develop stronger skills to comprehend what they studied when engaging with shows/audios/novels etc. And if they just ‘wait’ to engage with material until it feels ‘easy’ they may be unnecessarily holding themselves back. Because a major part of ‘why’ it might feel difficult is simply that they don’t practice the skills of USING what they learned. If they practice more, it will get easier. But if they wait to immerse until ‘easy stuff FEELS easy’ when they first try? Then they aren’t challenging themselves nearly as much as they can probably handle...

Like? I’m not that good. I still only kinda comprehend a LOT of things. But that doesn’t stop me from watching chinese dramas I wanna watch in chinese only. And I think a big reason I can comprehend ENOUGH now to follow the plots of shows I wanna watch? Is because when i was 8 months, 10 months, 12 months into learning - i would watch 12 minutes and look up lots of unknown words, or watch an episode and pause to read hard sentences, or make myself watch when i ‘just’ got the gist of an ‘easier’ show and hope that the more i did it the more i’d understand. And somehow, that did work out. (Also it motivated me to keep studying new words in other activities lol, hoping that would make watching easier). Now I’m at a point where i can turn on new shows I want to watch, and watch them, and follow the main gist and pick up some details. Its nice. Its nice and its getting a bit easier each time i do it. And if i had ‘waited’ until ‘easy stuff’ like Peppa Pig was easy? Or until stuff like “Granting You A Dreamlike Life” was easy? I probably would not comprehend this much right now. I tried to watch gyadl like 8 months in and it was pretty rough... even rougher because i only paused a handful of times an episode to make things go faster. But now? When i watch a show ‘about that hard’ that’s mostly slice of life? I can pick up a ton more easily than before. Doing the ‘hard’ thing eventually made it easier. 

So if there’s anything I think about all it, its just... don’t be afraid to challenge yourself sometimes. Sometimes doing hard things makes the ‘easier’ things finally Actually easier. And sometimes waiting until you can ‘understand’ the easy things means just never trying the easy things - when its trying and doing, that will eventually MAKE them doable for you. At least that’s advice to myself ToT I wasted a ton of time in japanese when I didn’t do this, and helped myself a lot in chinese by doing this. I also did it with french even though i wasn’t really aware what i was doing back then.

Some links:

Peppa Pig in mandarin (let me know how much YOU can follow an episode! - if you can... sit through one): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1dhSMSAXxI

Konglongmandarin - a site that teaches mandarin utilizing Peppa Pig episodes. Which, while I do not like that cartoon much, I really appreciate the concept behind this site and its lessons. And I think its a really cool way of making comprehensible input lessons (which I think are a quite easy and Direct way to teach things that click well with my learning style and probably some other peoples’). I am checking the site out currently: https://www.konglongmandarin.com/lessons/

AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER IN MANDARIN - its on WeTV! I didn’t know that! It’s all just free to watch so like?!! I guess I’m doing a rewatch! The downside is these have no subs. The upside is I guess it makes good listening practice since you can’t rely on reading skills. Also, if you’ve watched atla before like me, then you likely have enough context already you should be able to follow what’s going on and pick up some new words: https://v.qq.com/x/cover/m0t0ud0mjg6td5t/v00225ojbpd.html

Again 大头儿子和小头爸爸 - its a show that was recommended to me by a language partner, and its good if you want a show for kids to practice comprehensible input with (I find it a lot more nice to watch then peppa pig but that’s just my preference): https://youtu.be/bpO2W9Xaigc

Two Souls in One - a cdrama I’m watching right now, its really good! Its only in chinese subs rn but I imagine youku plans to english sub it since its on youtube. Its magical premise mixed with mundane reality, a lot of fun identity and gender shenanigans. At my comprehension level its reasonably easy to follow - since most of its slice of life or actor-genre lingo. I think for most people who know 1k-2k common words this should be very doable to watch (just like Granting You A Dreamlike Life was doable to watch and follow the gist of). https://youtu.be/zaX2pdVpmUY

[jjyusmile]

to feel free [social media au] - epilogue

please read under the cut!

pairing: best friend!juyeon x reader

genre: fluff, angst, sometimes suggestive

summary: what happens when your idea of soulmates is corrupted and the fear of losing your soul places walls around your heart?

word count: 1.7k

warning: swearing, mentions of food

taglist: @yeolsbubbles​ @localjisung​ @cgv-kayy​ @elcie-chxn​ @jaehyvnsvalentine​ @s33saw​ @softforqiankun​ @multistan-net​ @lovecn​ @maxiimiliane​ @bbangsoonie​ @younggwingss​ @staysstrays​ @winterbeartaehyungbestboy​

epilogue | main post

EPILOGUE; ‘but what happened’

the way your palms were rough against the handle of the saucepan as the water began to boil. the way your hands shook as you rummaged for the eggs in your fridge, his favourite ramen extra. his.

juyeon.

it was safe to say you were nervous, abundant scenarios flittering through your mind as you imagined his feet scuffling against the stairs as he made his way up. no you weren’t timing how long it took him to wrap his knuckles against your front door. nope. not at all!

but when they eventually did, the looming sound sent shockwaves through you as your spoon clattered on the side.

“just a second,” a shaky breath leaving your throat.

eyes scanning the apartment, you attempted to find something to delay having to look him in the eyes. with everything in place, as usual, you began to scold yourself for even worrying about the way things may seem to him. its usually him making the mess in the first place. memories of noodles being dropped on the floor, red wine threatening to spill over the top of the glass. small reminders of your best friend pulling at the corners of your lips.

you could hear shuffling from outside your door, clearly noting his impatience but caring personalities colliding with one another from the slither of light the seeped in the door frame. he fought the urge to knock again in fear of making you feel uncomfortable.

inhaling a deep breath, your eyes fluttered closed as your still shaking palm reached for the door handle. it was just juyeon. yes, just juyeon. the boy you realised you were unbelievably in love with since you first laid eyes on each other. the dull burn that lit whenever you thought of him began to ignite once again in the pit your stomach. just open the door.

and there he was. like a deer caught in the headlights as you flung the door open, juyeon’s chocolate brown eyes melting into your own like its the first time he is seeing you. the waves on his hair peaking out from under his grey hood, oversized yet hugging his body in comfort. he looked warm, as he always did, and inviting.

who knew how long you had been standing there, eyes flickering across each others faces in fear that this could be a moment that changes everything.

and it was him that broke the silence. “I missed you.”

his eyes were a little glossy, concern washing over them along with subtle hope that he hadn’t crossed the line.

“I missed you too,” another shaky breath, but your words were met with his relaxing shoulders. “do you want to come in?”

he nodded silently, afraid to open his mouth again. when did it come to this? since when did you walk on egg shells around each other?

with acceptance, he shuffled past you, heading straight for the stove to turn it off. “I thought you wanted ramen.”

a soft smile graced his lips as he turned to face you, resting against the kitchen countertop. “we both know that was an excuse.”

he was fighting the urge to come close to you, you noticed by the way his knuckles paled as he clutched to the countertop. so you took your chance, walking closer to him. instinctively, he reached for you, fingers circling your waist as your head met his chest.

his nose pressed against the crown of your head, he inhaled, the light vanilla that lingered from your shampoo flooding him with comfort. and you melted into his chest, unable to stop yourself from nuzzling in. it was as though the last month hadn’t happened.

“I didn’t mean it.” he waited for your body to go rigid, bit you just nuzzled closer. you knew he didn’t mean it. but what you didn’t know was what he was trying so hard to tell you.

“I’ve been trying to tell you something for so long...” he trailed off.

at this, you pulled away, searching his eyes. he was nervous, scared even.

your lips turned up in encouragement, fingers finding his with a light squeeze. he took this as an opportunity to pull you toward the sofa, placing you comfortably as his hands pushed you down by your shoulders; he took his spot beside you. he was far enough away that you missed his warmth already, but close enough for your knees to brush every so often.

with a deep breath, he began.

“what I said that day, it didn’t come out how I had hoped it would. not even because I had drunk my weight in soju...” he paused briefly, fingers fidgeting in his lap, gaze unmoving from the way his fingers knotted together. “... I can’t seem to put into words how I feel.”

“how you feel about what?” an unwelcome shaky breath left your lips again.

it was met with one of his own. until his finally lifted his head to look at you and it was like one of those cheesy scenes in films, where everything around the two protagonists froze in time.

“about you.” this time, your own were glistening. but he didn’t stop there.

“it’s ridiculous, if you think about it. the person I have opened up to for as long as I can remember, the one who knew all my secrets, didn’t know my biggest secret of all.”

you weren’t sure what caused him to reach for your jaw, but suddenly your eyes were fixed on him, unable to look anywhere else as his fingers rested under your chin.

“you know what I’m trying to say, right?” he quizzed.

you couldn’t help it. you knew exactly what he meant. the way his eyes glossed over whenever he was taking in your features, watching you do the things you loved, when he thought you didn’t catch him watching you rather than the film. hints had always been there, you were more afraid that you were reading too far into it. but this time, you were sure you weren’t.

so when your hand placed over his moved to cup the side of your neck, his eyes widened ever so slightly. but the urge you both had fought off for so long was getting harder each moment you realised your proximity; it was evidently the more prominent his breath felt against your upper lip.

you noticed subtle flecks of gold that flittered around his pupils the closer he got, mesmerised by the emotion that swirled alongside them.

“are you sure?” the way his swallowed back the urge to lean in straight away showed, the evident hesitation of crossing the line he had always wanted but knew it might ruin everything.

“yes,” it came out as a whisper, afraid that if you spoke any louder it would burst the bubble you had wrapped yourselves in.

with a quiet “fuck it,” his lips met yours - in that moment, everything crumbled away in its entirety. the fear, the hesitation, the worry that it would change everything had dissipated completely.

there was no hesitation, only certainty as he applied more pressure against your lips. you were wrapped up in each other, pent up emotions pouring through every touch. you couldn’t help the tear that escaped.

“I’m so in love with you,” was muttered between stolen breaths, evoking a low hum from your throat. you pulled away to focus on his gaze, slightly light-headed from the intensity of the kiss.

“I think i always have been,” he murmured, head rested against your forehead, thumb coming up to wipe away the fallen tears.

although the previous kiss had put those words into action, it didn’t stop that fire lighting once more. “I love you too.”

and there it was. the smile you had missed more than anything. the one that formed adorable crinkles around his eyes, causing his nose to scrunch up just slightly. he rubbed his nose against yours slowly, trying to savour every part of this moment. the one he had waited for since you were teens.

but in typical juyeon fashion, he broke the beautiful silence. “won’t hanse have something to say about you kissing other guys?”

he squealed as you stood up abruptly to counter attack his remark, defenseless as you leapt at him, both of you falling into the sofa, you conveniently placed on his lap.

“if I didn’t know you any better, I would claim you planned this.” he shot with a wink, placing his palm against your thigh that rested either side of his.

you reached up to take his cheeks between your fingers, squeezing so that his lips adorned a pout. giggles erupted from you at the sight, leaning in once again for a quick peck.

“there was never any hanse,” you admitted. “we met as friends, and gave each other advice on how to handle our own emotions.”

his adorable face morphed into a cocky smirk as he shot back, “so you used your boyfriend to talk about your real soulmate.” 

the way his eyes lit up as he mentioned soulmates was a sight you could look at forever. “something like that,” you replied, shyly hiding in the crook of his neck. he smelt like vanilla, too. little did you know, he had used to spare shampoo you kept at his place because he missed you that much.

the smirk reappeared earning a smack on the shoulder from you, turning quickly into a tickle fight, your giggles mingling in the quiet apartment.

neither of you had noticed the door swing open until kevin’s screams vibrated off the walls, “MY EYESSSSS”

the both of you were like a deer caught in the headlights.

in the doorway stood your best friends, changmin with his hands covering his mouth in shock, and jacob covering his own eyes, as well as kevin’s. something you’d have to pull jacob up on later.

it wasn’t until changmin lowered his hands from his mouth that juyeon loosened his grip against your thigh. “even though I feel lonely as shit, I am so relieved right now.”

it was only when you felt juyeon snuggled into your neck with soft giggles, his hands resting against your lower back, did it actually feel real at all. 

sensing your slight embarrassment, changmin added “maybe we should’ve knocked...”

[berrydoodleoo]

FFXIVWrite 2021: foster

“Well, my dear.” Master Matoya stepped past Y’shtola to look at the new crater in her underground lab. She’d stopped it from filling with water via a handy spell, but repairing the ruined brick and pipes was going to be a more physical sort of challenge. “Regardless of what stories Mr. Kribbet has been telling about my memory, I certainly won’t be forgetting about you anytime soon.” Matoya paused thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever had any student who was such an unmitigated disaster.”

Green eyes hidden by her sodden white bangs, Y’shtola growled under her breath and stomped a foot indignantly. Her wet shoe made a little squish.

Matoya rounded on her, quick as a snake. “And what was that, Y’shtola?”

Her last student, some twenty-odd years past, would have been scrambling at her tone. Y’shtola simply glared out from under her bangs. “Nothing, Master Matoya.”

“What was that? Hm? Can’t hear you when you mumble.” Matoya poked her with her walking stick.

Y’shtola batted it away indignantly. “I didn’t say anything!”

Technically true. Well, her lab might be ruined, but the girl’s spirit was certainly intact. And she had other labs.

“I think I will put you to studying white magic, for a time,” Matoya finally concluded. “At least you’re less likely to blow the roof off the place that way. When you’re grown and safe in your own lab, you can practice more destructive magics at your leisure.”

She turned, and found the girl gaping at her, eyes gone shiny. “What’s this, then?” Matoya demanded, startled.

“Then…” Y’shtola took a deep breath. “Then I can stay? I can -- I can still be your student?”

Matoya regarded her silently. The girl was barely an adolescent, still young and insecure, lost in her herd (or should that be pack?) of older, talented sisters. Perhaps her insecurity, hidden though it was, wasn’t such a surprise. A bit of careful tutelage might help with that, Matoya mused -- tutelage, yes, nothing else, certainly not parenting. Even if her young, overlooked student could benefit from it.

“Provided you do one thing for me.” Matoya stepped forward smoothly. “You almost drowned here, you know. That whirlpool would have sucked you under and held you till you’d stopped kicking if not for my timely arrival.”

Y’shtola withdrew into herself, but only momentarily: “Just tell me what I need to do! I’ll do it!” She stood tall, only her lashing tail betraying her uncertainty. “Is it the spell? Do I need to master the spell? I almost had it--”

“Quiet,” Matoya interrupted. Y’shtola fell silent. “No, it’s not the spell. It’s not my job to teach you forbidden spells, girl, just to fish you out when you go falling in. And if you’re going to keep learning forbidden spells -- and I can see by the light in your eyes that you are -- you need to learn something much, much more valuable than magic.”

Matoya held out her hand. With the other, held behind her back, she summoned the Crystal Eye and drew upon its bottomless strength. Her extended hand shone briefly with silver light, a small shield spell that was powerful enough to make Y’shtola recoil. When the light faded, the girl looked at her questioningly, and then took her aged hand in her small brown one.

“You are going to learn to hold on,” Matoya informed her grimly. “Not just with your hands, but your whole self. All your magic, and all your soul. Beyond all good sense and reason. If you can hold tightly enough to break my shield, I’ll keep you as my student.”

Of course, it was a trick. No amount of effort a child could bring to bear would shatter a shield from the Crystal Eye. But as the girl gripped Matoya’s hand with both of hers, ears flattening and tail puffing as she summoned all of her physical strength and the impressive might of her magic, Matoya figured the trying would teach her a valuable lesson nonetheless.

(When the shield shattered, it left small scratches on the aether in Matoya’s hand, like little bolts of lightning carved into her bones. A careful spell or two, a little mental effort, and they would probably buff right out.

But she kept them anyway. As a reminder.)

~

Thancred had grown accustomed to rough-and-tumble on the streets of Limsa Lominsa. He’d fought his way to the top of his gang and led an attack on the meanest group of slavers the pirate city had even seen before his sixteenth birthday. He was used to tough going.

This … this was something else.

Louisoix snapped his fingers, and with a musical chime, the winds buffeting Thancred fell away. Thancred himself narrowly avoided landing fast-first in the mud, ending up on one knee instead. Panting, he sank back on his haunches.

“Not bad,” his … friend? Mentor? Teacher? Foster father? said. “You got much closer that time. However, I,” he jingled the bells in his left hand, “appear to be the victor once more.”

Thancred couldn’t help but grin ruefully, staring up at the string of golden bells. “Yes, Master Leveilleur,” he agreed. With a grunt, he pushed himself laboriously to his feet, until he could offer a proper bow to his sparring partner. “Maybe next time.”

The old man’s mouth quirked in a crooked smile. “Hope springeth eternal,” he agreed, sounding rather like Urianger. Both Louisoix and Thancred looked to the edge of the field, where Louisoix’s other student awaited his own duel; even from this distance, Thancred could see him fidgeting nervously.

“Hm, well, what lesson shall I impart today?” Louisoix wondered. Thancred stood at attention, waiting patiently. “I believe you’ve heard them all this point. You certainly don’t need the one about persistence in the face of failure.”

Thancred winced. Louisoix didn’t mean it as a barb, he was certain, but it landed like one nonetheless.

“No, not that one. Nor the one about the tree that bends, or the thrush that survives, or honor like an oasis in the desert.”

Louisoix dipped his chin in a nod. Thancred’s face heated, embarrassed and pleased, and he looked away. Everyone else in Sharlayan might see him a shiftless thief, and those who knew his story saw only an arrogant rogue who’d gotten his gang killed, but Louisoix knew what it had all been for. One day the Upright Thieves would stand tall again.

“No, none of that.” Louisoix pocketed his bells, and came forward to rest his hand on Thancred’s bowed head. “Perhaps I will simply say … never stop. Never hesitate. Never look back.” He thought back to the end of their duel, and imparted a bit of strategic advice: “And always be a moving target.”

~

E-Sumi-Yan lowered the old book as he reached the end of the passage. His students -- orphans and foundlings whom he’d helped raise since they were smaller than him, all of whom (even Nanayepi!) would now stand taller than if they weren’t kneeling respectfully -- waited in silence.

“For a time,” the head of the Conjurer Guild said, “this chapter of I-Ohok-Pota’s tale was censored from common texts, as it was believed to cast the Padjal in a dishonorable light. With it’s unearthing came much questioning of Stillglade Fane and the nature of the Light that powers our White Magic. Quite recently, there were even fears that the white mages could be corrupted and turned to monsters. It was within my lifetime, certainly.” He paused. “Perhaps not so recently, then.”

A gentle murmur of laughter trickled through the crowd. E-Sumi-Yan turned suddenly, picking someone from the crowd. “K'selh? Your thoughts?”

K'selh jumped at being so suddenly addressed. “I-- I--”

E-Sumi-Yan beckoned encouragingly. “Please be honest, K'selh. This is a safe space.”

“I … it’s only, stories like that.” K'selh paused. “They really make me question if I’m cut out to be a conjurer! I could never make a choice like that! I … I don’t mean to seem ungrateful to the Guild or the Elementals….”

E-Sumi-Yan nodded. “I understand. Of course, none of you are beholden to the Guild. We offer you this training to help you find your place in the world, not to trap you within the walls of the Fane, or the Shroud. If the conjurer’s path does not speak to you, it would be unwise to embark upon it.” He paused.

“I cannot lie,” he said, haltingly, his seemingly-boyish voice slower and darker than usual. “Such choices come often to our ilk. But we must remember that our lives are given in service to the Light and the common good. Sometimes we must let one perish in order to save the rest.” His eyes closed, and he looked very much like a child. “We do what we must, because there is no one else to do it for us.”

The pause stretched. Attempting to shake the darkness away, E-Sumi-Yan looked up, and it was by sheer coincidence that his and Talia’s gazes locked.

Talia blinked, startled, but didn’t flinch away. Unlike some of her other instructors, E-Sumi-Yan didn’t try to force her to speak in class -- he had an uncanny knack for only calling upon those who felt a need to speak and simply needed encouragement. He seemed almost as startled as she, his silvery eyes briefly unfocused, lips parting on some unheard word.

And then he blinked and looked away. The moment, like so many others before it, passed without a word.

“The next passage begins when the last left off,” E-Sumi-Yan said. He lifted the book, and continued reading.

~

Minfilia says goodbye to the twins and Y’shtola at Mord Souq, before she, Urianger, Thancred, and the Warriors of Darkness go their own way. Alisaie gives her a would-be casual hug, trying to hide her worry; Alphinaud stops frowning thoughtfully at her long enough to force a timid smile and wish her luck.

Y’shtola stands a bit aside, in a little pocket of shadow, blind eyes peering thoughtfully into the endless light. She beckons Minfilia closer, apart from the others.

“And have you made your choice?” Y’shtola asks, without preamble.

Minfilia glances aside, picking at a seam of her gloves. “I -- I … almost.”

Y’shtola’s eyes narrow, her expression fierce as the wind whips her hair too and fro. Minfilia says nothing more. On one hand, the urge to babble is strong --  to let all the uncertainty and agony come pouring out, to desperately hope that someone, anyone, will talk her out of her fate. On the other hand, she can already feel her chin wobbling, and knows if she says anything more she’ll start to cry.

“I see.” Y’shtola straightens. “Minfilia,” she starts, and then hesitates, brow furrowing. “No, that’s not ... I wish we knew your birth name, but I suppose it’s too late for that. And Minfilia is a good name. One you have certainly been worthy of.” She nods, decisive. “Minfilia.”

Minfilia takes a careful breath, only a little sniffle-y, and comes to attention.

“Whatever choice you make, make it with all your heart. Whatever doubts assail you, hold onto your decision with all your strength. I believe there is no end to the things you can do, if only you persist in the doing them.” Blind eyes bore into hers, seeming to peer into her small, unworthy soul. “Do you understand?”

Minfilia blinks back her tears, and tries for a smile. “Yes, Master Matoya.”

Y’shtola flinches and averts her face, suddenly sorrowful. But there’s no time to apologize; Minfilia’s destiny awaits.

~

“But what about you?” Minfilia cries.

Thancred unhooks his gunblade. “Keep moving,” he orders her. “Keep your eyes on your target, and let nothing stop you. No matter what you hear behind you.” He hesitates, head bowing, and for a moment Minfilia thinks she might see her noble knight weep.

He turns away, voice gone choked. “And don’t look back.”

~

The air is quiet and hushed, where Minfilia -- the real Minfilia, not a pretender like her -- stopped the Flood and saved them all. “Whatever happens,” Minfilia whispers to Tally and Vahn, “you mustn't interfere.”

Vahn is plainly heartbroken, expression ravaged, but he nods. It’s Tally whose brow crumples in fierce anger, who kneels and pulls her into a hug. Hard enough to hurt. Minfilia’s composure, which has carried her through so much, falters and breaks at last. For just a moment, Minfilia hides her face in Tally’s white robes -- soft white, not cold and bright like the Light that surrounds them, comfortable and worn -- and searches for the determination and cunning Y’shtola and Thancred told her she had.

My friends, comes the Oracle’s voice, the Word of the Mother, like music. Minfilia gasps, struck by the familiar melody, and turns to find Minfilia -- the real Minfilia -- descending from the air to alight on the ground. She is barefoot and smiling, and it hurts to look at her, for all that she is less bright than everything else around her. Her terrible, shining eyes linger on Tally and Vahn for a long, long moment, her lips curving in a sad smile.

“I knew I could count on you,” the Oracle says to them. And then, at last, she directs her attention to her heir. She holds out her hands.

And Minfilia -- Minfilia steps forward, timid at first, and then with greater assurance -- she rushes forward to meet her, laughing in her amazement -- they are so similar! as if Minfilia was her mother in truth, and not just in her imaginings -- and for the first time Minfilia thinks she might be able to be brave, to go out into the world and be unafraid. And she knows she has made her choice at last.

[thesolotomyhan]

Narcos México: Dating them would include: (4/7)

I low key feel so insecure because my headcannons be hella long, I’m so sorry in advance because I may have gotten carried away on this one😅. Enjoy!

Let me know if you want to be added on the tag list! ❤️

Tags: @fandomnerd16 , @visintaes

Warnings: NSFW!

Ramon:

My ramoncito is such a hot head and filled with heated emotions, impulsive if you may

You were the wrecking ball that crashed into his life when he first met you,,, but in a good way

At first, when he would try to talk to you, he would stutter his words out to you, his palms were sweating, and it suddenly felt like the room was 200 degrees,,, he was getting BEYOND frustrated with himself

He honestly doesn’t even know how he asked you out or even why you agreed to go on a date with him but either way it was the best thing he’s ever done

Ramon rambles on to no end about you when you’re dating, te presuma el cabrón

“Te lo juro, mi mujer está bien pinche guapa, mi muñeca es un ángel de Dios”

Ramon’s kisses are the literal definition of passion and lust, like wow

I just know Ramon would sneak up behind you to pick you up when you come visit him at his house,

You’re just talking to Enedina or something and next thing you know, you feel someone excitedly pick you up and twirl you around

“Mi princesa, que haces aqui?” Wow

The other thing that comes to dating Ramon is the need of patience from you, he’s not one to openly talk about his worries even if he trusts you with his whole heart

Every time Benjamin is worried about Ramon’s attitude, he’s calling you to come talk to him

Because you’re always successful in talking him through his doubts and anger issues,

all you have to do is bring his eyes to focus on you and soothe him with words until he can actually think straight

The puppy eyes he gives you when you tell him you love him with your alma and that it’s going to be ok🥺

Jesus, the sheer amount of gifts this man will give you is just out of this world

Like it’s not even a surprise anymore to his family when a truck load of roses and other fancy shit arrives one day, they’re all like, oh yeah Ramon’s going on a date with his novia, right?

He does it because he can’t get over the way your face lights up, it makes him feel proud that he’s the only one able to do that

Ice cream and antojito dates are a must, ok 🥺👉👈. , don’t look at me

He loves taking you to club dates too, like he’s the definition of “live life to its fullest”

That and because he’s just embobado with the way you dance and how close y’all would dance together

Like can you imagine, dancing to the beat of the music with your ass grinding up against his hips as like your reaching behind you to grab hold of his hair,, and his hands are on your hips— lord, Ramon fucking lives for that

“Mira lo duro que me haces sentir, princessa” ok- Let me leave before I get carried away

I just know, all the dates he takes you on are always fun and it’s where you both lose track of time

Soft!Ramon is what I live for, I can see after your dates end, he’s leaning his forehead on yours and smiling at you🥺

He can’t let go of you

, it makes him so fucking happy when he wakes up in the morning with you cuddling into him, it’s how he always wants to start his mornings

Look, Ramoncito seems like the one not looking for marriage or that soft shit like Benjamin.

but when it comes to you, his heart just fucking ruptures with passion and el amor verdadero, he can’t help it

He can’t even begin to think about even losing you to some cabrón, and him not being the one enjoying your presence

your the only one who has truly captured his heart without even trying and he never wants that feeling to go away, I’m sobbing

So he definitely fiddles and secretly looks into engagement rings👀 with the help of Enedina’s advice because we all know she would be so excited that Ramon found someone that makes him sane and truly loves him

“No la quiero perder, Dina, no se que haria sin ella”

I can’t, you make him so SOFT that even everyone in his family pitches in to help convince him propose to you- they love seeing you two together-

***overprotective***

Even if someone just looks at you the wrong way,; or for making a bad comment towards you,, he’s already 0-100 real quick and pulling his gun out

This man causes so much disruption because no hijo de la chingada is going to get away with disrespecting you

You know that once scene at Roxanne where Chapo and Cochi were bullying Francisco and then all hell broke loose,, yeah now imagine like Cochi trying to get a rise out of Ramon by “jokingly” catcalling you- oooop

“¿Cuándo vas a prestarme a tu vieja, Ramón? a lo mejor puedo chingarmela mejor que tú”

Oh no, no no no,, you’re already trying to grab Ramon’s arm as he does a full 180

Red, that’s all Ramon sees as he’s already swinging and hell breaks loose once again-

Even though Ramon would just love to kill Cochi right there for saying that, he can't, but he’ll get it one of these days 👀

Anyways-

Ramon loves to pick out outfits with you as well, he likes giving his opinion about which outfit would slap and would go along with his,

he wants to make people jealous about how hot Ramon’s mujer looks, like the fucking smug look he has on his face as he walks in with you

He has pride in how only he gets to touch you the way he can while others can only drool and watch from afar

Ramon is always having his hand resting on your waist or your ass, and you can’t tell me he would not give an occasional squeeze or slap to your ass, like this bastard would

Ramon would be one to have you sitting on his lap all the time with his arms wrapped around you, making you laugh as he lightly kisses your neck-

In the end, Y’all are just a fun af couple, attached to the hip and inseparable, I’m in love

NSFW:

Oooooohhhhh boy, does my man have SO many kinks, but we’ll get to that in a minute

He’s one to never turn down a blowjob from you, like the intense gaze he’ll give you as he sees you gagging on him

This man loves his pleasure, he’s desperately thrusting into your mouth as he lets out the loudest groans all the while tangling his hands in your hair- ok

Ramon fucking lives for seeing you in his bed

From the beginning where your smiling up at him, naked for him and pulling him down to get him to do something

To the end of the night when your whimpering and trembling after he’s done with you, like damn

The roughest sex happens with Ramon

I’m gonna say it…. Because it’s the truth

Ramon will eat you out until you can’t even speak right and your trying to weakly push him away

This mf will laugh into you as he forces your legs open and fingers you-

“Sé que puedes hacer uno más, solo uno más para mí bebé”

As he’s forcing you to look at him as he harshly rubs your sensitive clit-

Ramon has to see your facial expressions, he has them engraved into his memory and he also just loves seeing how he can make you feel, the way your soul leaves your body-

Jesus, this man is never fucking quiet, and that goes for you too, he hates seeing you trying to be quiet

“No te calles, no, dejen que nos escuchen”

He has a way of making you feel that he’s touching you everywhere and that, just by itself makes you lose control of yourself

-Overstimulation-

At the beginning, Ramon is setting a pace where he’ll try to go slow and hard at first because you can’t tell me that this man also loves soft sex 🥺

but damn, he can’t hold himself back, nopeeee, not right now with the way you’re desperately groping him and saying his name

Ramon starts to tear off your bra and panties because he feels like he’s going to explode if he’s not inside you in the next 2 seconds

You’ll pull him down to kiss him as he pushes into you, wow

God, his thrust game, his hand game, everything,, is just over the top

He’s not letting you catch your breath after your orgasm before he’s changing positions and pounding you again, not losing momentum

You’re literally shaking and begging him to stop from all the pleasure but you just go back to moaning as he picks up the pace,,,,

You’ll have tears of pleasure rolling down your checks as you feel him spread your legs even more, the emotions, I’m here for it

Ahem* my next point ,, choking kink, you know my man has one,

He has you laid out onto his bed beneath him as he adds a bit of pressure to your neck as he grips your hip with the other hand

Like shit, his fucking hand is so big, it just easily latches onto your neck-

Possessive af alright, he wants you to be screaming his name so it’s the only thing on your mind

He just needs to feel you and claim you all over again as his mujer

“Puto Cochiloco, hijo de su reputa madre, piensa que te puede hacer gritar como yo puedo”

you know he’s taking his frustration out on you after that encounter, he needs reassurance that only he can make you cum the way he can

Angry/Frustrated sex would be the only time he’ll let you roll your head back, because like wow, you’re always screaming his name out as you grip onto the bed frame

Fuck- when he’s thrusting from behind you, doggy style

He’ll pull your hair as he growls into your ear about who you belong to as he sneaks his hand in between your thighs again-

“Quien es tu papi?”-

And unlike Benjamin, he’s not one to hide your night of passion

He’s marking you up in the most visible fucking areas and always laughs when you scold him in the morning when your trying to cover them up

The Soft Sex, yeah, he only does that when he’s celebrating something with you, like either it’s your anniversary your birthday or something like that

The eye contact is a must in this situation, alright

He’s never looking away, like he’s looking up at you as he just devours your core and he holds your hands near your hips

Fuck, the softest but hardest thrusts as he grips your hip and lifts your leg to wrap around him

And this man still manages to give you multiple orgasms, doesn’t matter if it’s rough or the softest sex, he’s still doing it

overdosed on sex is what happens with Ramoncito

But he would be one to pepper kisses everywhere and praise how good you were for him-

The best feeling in the world for him is waking up to you sleeping on his chest with your clothes scattered all over the room- aight imma just head out

[katsuflossy]

Best Worst Night Ever?

Pairing: Pro Hero Midoriya Izuku x Black reader

Genre: Fluff

TW: Sexual assault, obscenities, Drinking, throw up, cops, um pubic lice?

A/n: This is my thank you for 500+ followers!! I sadly have limited time to do any fics but I squeezed in a day to finish a lil WIP I had which is this!! I just watched Hercules and couldn’t help making this so please enjoy!!

BIG PSA: I am in no way romanticizing or poking at sexual assault. The story is inspired by Disney’s Hercules. 

Taglist: @sunset-novice-writer @goatsenpaiultimate

The Tokyo club district may be Midoriya’s most hated areas he has to patrol. Nothing attracted him here, in fact, the area repulsed him. The last time he stepped foot into the club was for Denki’s 21st. That night ended early for him due to an incident involving throwup that cost him his shirt, pants, and custom shoes. Ochaco still sends him apology gifts from that night. But even before the incident, the top pro-hero felt no pull towards club life. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. Someone always was pushing him in a shuffle to ruin their liver or to grind on strangers. Not to mention he is a pro-hero so there was a reason All Might never appeared in nightclubs – it’ll eventually turn into an unofficial meet-and-greet.  

So why was he assigned to watch over the district during one of the most popular summer nights? Simple, crowd control. Deku was one of the only pro-heroes who could sway a crowd to his will. His spirit could’ve reached anyone even if it was a simple crook or a drunk valley girl and his presence in the Shibuya would bring more foreigners to the club scene hoping to see the number one hero. 

A sigh escaped his lips as his fingers massaged his temples. Midnight announced its arrival through the train station nearby yet the soft pulsing from each club around collectively buzzed out the PSA automated message. His eyes strained to stay open as he passed the reds, blues, and greens of Shibuya’s active clubs. He stretched for the fifth time in the hour, the cracks of his back emitted little result to the weighty feeling on his body, like the humidity within the night. Tokyo was sure hot that night

Hot indeed it was. 

Izuku was on his twelfth attempt to suppress a yawn until his ears caught on to a female scream barely breaking through the night. He questioned whether the scream was fearful or...playful, remembering one specific night he interrupted a couple in an alleyway. However, the scream rang out again, pushing the pro-hero to the source and silently cursing himself for second-guessing. His ears led him three blocks up, beside the infamous Harlem. The red club light glared in Deku’s eyes as he tried to register the bodies in front of him.

Muted red scattered across your body front forward pressed against the bricks of the building. A tall, skinny man pressed his body against your own, restricting your thrashing from knocking him in the nose or somewhere much more sensitive. Your cheek pressed harshly against the rough texture you were forced upon as you glared at the perpetrator.

“Why don’t you just let me carry you home, babygirl?” The liquor and weed wafted from his mouth, singeing your nose hairs as you thrashed harder.

“Like fuck, you green bitch! Get the fuck up off me!” He sneered in response, ignoring your demand as his hand brushed your leg, trailing to the hem of your skirt.

“Stop! Let her go!” Your eyes snapped to the open end of the alleyway where the voice rang out. You wasted no time to take the distraction as you used your stiletto heel to stab his foot. He shrieked as he recoiled from your body. You took the time to turn around and kick him in his crotch, bringing the molester to the ground. 

“You fucking slut!” As he attempted to get up, Deku zapped in front of him, grabbing his elbow as he slammed him against the opposite wall. The man had his breath knocked out of him in an instant before passing out due to the impacting force. 

The alleyway stayed quiet for a few seconds, processing what just happened and how quickly the man crumpled against the wall. Your eyes furrowed and your fist clenched, walking up to the passed out body before commencing in a swift kick after kick adding stomps to his stomach. 

“That’s what yo filthy ass get!”

 “The next time I see you, I’m putting one ‘tween yo eyes cause you lucky I wasn’t packing tonight motherfucker!”

“If you had put your grimy hands on me further I would’ve bit your ear off like I’m fucking Mayweather in this bitch.”  

Midoriya, grabbed your upper arm, snatching you away from the bruising body on the ground, mortified by the profanities spilling out from your mouth.

“P-please stop, the police are on their way and they’ll deal with him.” His pleading stopped you momentarily. Believing that you were calm, he released the hand from your bicep only for you to get one more stomp in. He attempted to grab you again before you raised your arms and stepped away from the man, satisfied by the pain-filled groan he let out. 

Not saying a word to the pro-hero, you went to pick up your phone, which skidded from you as the molester wrestled you against the wall. The young hero also spotted your clear handbag at the corner of the alleyway, assisting you as you dialed your friends’ numbers on your phone. Your back faced him as he approached with your purse. You clutched your phone tight as you cursed into the phone, freezing Midoriya in his spot. 

“You fucking bitches! Not only did y’all not tell me y’all were leaving the fucking club, y’all not answering the phone and still posting ugly ass pictures on snap. I knew I should’ve never fuck wit y’all stank ass hoes in the first place. And Charlotte? Suck my fucking dick from the back! Hope that nigga you let hit tonight gives you crabs, dumbass bitch!” 

You slammed on the send button in the group chat, giving your ‘friends’ a piece of your mind, forgetting about the audience that was behind you. 

“U-umm…” You whipped around at the sound of the male behind you, still pissed off about your friends ignoring your call. 

“Yes?” Your attitude fell a little when you noticed how handsome the man in front of you was. Freckles peppered the tops of his cheeks, deepening the blush he sported in miscellaneous places on his face. Scars did nothing to deter your attraction, in fact, they made him more alluring, giving a rugged look to his chiseled features. 

“I believe this is yours?” He held out your clear mini handbag revealing the few yens you had and your Fenty Beauty lip gloss. 

“Thanks.” You took it graciously before reapplying some of the gloss that had come off due to your ‘encounter’ just as the pro-hero actually looked at your appearance. 

Your plump, glossy lips reflected the red club lights so sinfully. His eyes noted the beam of light shifted at the slight lift and drop of your lips. Your skin compared to the softest velvet and satin as the red light refracted on the shimmer of perfume you wore. May he mention that you smelled like euphoria? Or what he may interpret as that. His eyes traveled down your outfit, a pink skirt slit on the side peeking more of your thigh and leaving the rest to imagination. As for your top, the fluffy pink bikini top had his mind on haywire, noticing the sheen on the curves of your—

—He blinked, removing the haze from his mind. He had to say something to you, like his soul begged for a minute of your time. Denki’s voice popped in his mind, “Be cool guys, after a DID (Damsel In Distress), lay it on little by little. Ask her for her name, then if she’s safe, be a sexy gentleman.” Swallowing the thick ball in his throat, he went with the advice.

“Are you...a-alright Miss?” His hand went to his nape, rubbing the end of his undercut as a blush grew on his face. You smiled at his flustered attempt.

“(Y/n). My friends would call me (N/n) at least they would if I had anymore.” You couldn’t help your eyes to roam his physique, noting the rippling muscle under the black and green suit. 

 “So? Does a name come with my hero or should I start calling you Hercules?” A warm feeling traveled through his body, making its way to his face, burning his cheeks a brighter red. He bashfully chuckled. 

“I-I’m uhh...uhh uh...uhh” You raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his brain malfunction, smirking to yourself at how cute this was. 

“Are you always this articulate?” His eyes widened realizing the babble was not coherent as he jumped to answer your question.

“Deku! My—” He coughed at the fine pitch in his voice, brain bringing up the “How to be Cool Manual” made by Denki as he readjusted his vocal placements.

“—My name is Deku.” A light chuckle escaped through the air as you smiled at his notably lower than normal voice. 

“Hmm, Deku? I think I prefer Hercules.” You joked before your teasing was interrupted by a loud groan coming from your forgotten assaulter.

“So? H-how did you get mixed up with the...uh?”

“Nigga who don’t know what the fuck rejection is?” You looked at the crumpled man again, having the thoughts to step on his globe head again. Deku’s eyes widen as if he read your mind, holding his arms out to stop you. You raised your arms, showing no harm before retelling the night’s events.

“Some bitches and I decided we were going to go to Harlem and I was the designated driver even though it wasn’t my car. Haven’t stepped into the club yet and they already drunk off of the entrance drinks. Lightweight bitches but they wanna chug down all the martinis in there. So one of them got a hookup and left without saying shit to anyone and the other was fucking faded—”

Deku flipped through his brain to remember what the definition of faded was.

“—my guy, like bitch was puking up in the stalls. So the third girl, almost as drunk as the other bitch, took the fucking car and ditched me. Didn’t tell me when I could’ve left this place cause in there was lowkey trash. All fucking mainstream pop, and few trap songs. But anyway, this pants-suffocating-my-balls ass nigga was preying on me the entire night and you know how men are. Saying 'no' means 'yes' and 'fuck off' means 'take me I’m yours'.” Your hands clasped together as you bat your lashes up into the sky. You quickly dropped your dreamy acting gig as quickly as you made it. Deku stood confused, chivalry and respect rolled off of his body as he did not know what the female interpretation implied.

“Don’t worry, ask rock-a-bye-baby here when he gets up.” Deku’s laughter halted as the sounds of sirens rang through the air. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Mr. Deku. It’s been a real slice.” You waved at him before turning to leave. Deku panicked, rushing to grab your forearm. You raised a brow at his actions.

“W-wait! U-um the police would like a victim report so he can g-get full repercussions for what he did to a l-lovely lady like you. Heat flooded your cheeks as you mulled over what he said, lovely lady?

“U-um sure, it’s still fuck 12 though cause they didn’t do shit.” You turned around again only for the pro-hero to turn you back around, completely facing you. 

“W-what?” You looked at him, wide-eyed at his boldness as he cupped your cheek. His finger swiped the side of your soft lips, almost dipping into the shimmery, inviting pool before retracting from your face. 

“Y-you had s-some lip gloss smudged on your face.” Deku’s eyes remained on your own as you tried not to melt on the spot. All you could do was simply nod as the police cruiser pulled up by the entrance.

“Well thank you, ma’am, he won’t trouble you any further.” You nodded as the officer went back into the car, the man in the back sleeping quite peacefully for someone who’ll wake up behind bars. Your fingers typed in the address for your apartment, which was a 20-minute walk from your current location. You sighed as your feet, sore from standing in heels all night long, trudged down the street. However, a certain green-haired hero refused to let you go. Thanking the officers in the car, he rushed to your distancing figure.

“(Y/n), wait for me!” Deku waved you down, not breaking a sweat as he reached your figure.

“Deku, I’m sure you have somewhere else to be, so thank you and–” 

“I’m a hero. My job is to make sure everyone is safe, including you. So please, let me walk you home.” His eyes were unyielding. He refused to take any other answer than a yes. You nodded your head, smiling at his chivalry before walking again.

“Alright Hercules, tell me why did you become a hero?”

And so the 20-minute walk seemed like only five as you and Midoriya talked about your childhoods, struggle, and funny memories. Your feet finally touched the doorsteps of your apartment after Deku carried you halfway through the journey. 

“Thank you so much for saving me, even though I had it in the bag.” Laughter broke from the pair into the twinkling sky of the night.

“I’m sure you did.” The lighthearted atmosphere trickled into the sewers of the streets as the pair realized that their time was coming to an end. Deku began to panic, he wanted to see you again, there was no doubt as Denki’s voice invaded his head once again, “Go for the kill bro! Go for the kill!” The young hero grabbed your arm before you turned to leave.

“Umm (Y/n), I know you had an awful night but I- I would like to see you again!” His forwardness stunned you, not expecting the man to be this bold. Your heart sped up and you attempted to keep your cool.

“Sure, you got your phone on you?” He pulled out his phone, handing it to you as his excitement built. A smile stretched across your face, unable to contain your happiness as you returned the phone to its owner.

“Alright Deku, Imma fuck wit ya.” You fist-bumped the hero before leaning into his face, making the daring move to press a kiss against his cheek. 

“Bye Deku.” You unlocked the door of your apartment, entering the vicinity before waving at the scarlet faced hero, who, still absorbing what just happened, waved back aimlessly. As you closed the door, your knees finally buckled for the first time in the night. You slumped against the door, smiling to yourself, not knowing the number one hero was doing the same thing. 

[undertalethingems]

(about the bad ending) Are you going to be posting more bad endings in the future? Its just because you said it was bad ending 1, so does that mean there will be a bad ending 2?

I hadn’t written any additional bad endings at the time I’d posted the first, but, I have a tendency to start new ficlets as ideas come to me--and i knew that if i wrote one bad ending, there was a chance i’d write another... which was correct. Here it is, playing with what may have happened had Papyrus taken Undyne’s final attack instead.

Unexpected Guests: Bad Ending 2

1.5k; once again, warning for major character death.

In the hesitation between Undyne's spears falling and Sans taking action, someone else acted instead. Too many spears connected, but not with their intended target.

Papyrus let his brother down the last few inches to the ground roughly. Sans caught himself on his elbows and stared up, his eyes sharp and breathing fast. Papyrus drew back up to his full height, turning to hide the shredded state of the back of his shirt. His attack, staring with empty sockets, staggered a few steps before vanishing with a soft fizzle.

"Wowie! There's no doubt! You're very strong, Undyne!" he blustered, and Undyne pulled a nervous smile. "It was... even more than I expected, which is very impressive!"

Sans saw something drip from his ribs.

"I'm... going to... go do a thing now..." Papyrus continued, "but don't wait up! I'll be a while! See you guys later!"

He turned away, took a few faltering steps... and dissolved.

Undyne shrieked. Frisk felt like they were going to be sick and sat down hard; they briefly caught Sans' darkened expression, but the next time they looked up he was gone. It was a while before they felt like they could stand, but as soon as they did they staggered over to Undyne. She'd dug her claws into the soil, and was shaking with grief and rage. For a moment, Frisk hesitated--then carefully put their hand on her shoulder. She startled, and for a moment the two just looked at each other.

What could either of them say?

Frisk couldn't hold back their tears any longer, and lunged into Undyne's side to hug her. She went stiff, and didn't return it--the most she managed was placing a hand on Frisk's head as they sobbed into her shirt. And they stayed like that for a while.

"hey."

They looked up to see Sans standing a few yards away.

"Sans, I'm--" Undyne started, her voice rough, but he held up his hand.

"gonna stop you there. already have a pretty good idea of what you were gonna say... apologies aren't really your thing. and i don't wanna listen anyway, so i'm doing us both a favor."

"Sans..." Undyne said, but didn't seem to have any plans on what to follow with.

Sans looked to the spot Papyrus had last stood. "my brother... was really cool, huh? he always was looking out for me. he knew if i got hit by any of those spears... well... that'd be my dust on the ground."

Undyne grimaced.

"hey, it was an accident, right? you just got mad, and..." Sans trailed, his eyes blinking out briefly before he continued. "well. let me give you some advice. next time you're in a friendly battle... take a cue from my brother, and use some restraint. no matter how hard or easy the fight was... he'd always hold back. because he knew not everyone was as tough as he was."

Undyne grunted, but didn't seem to have anything to say for herself. Sans' words had struck just as deep as any of her spears.

"anyway. just something to think about."

Sans turned away, and there was a long span of quiet before he looked over his shoulder at them, eyes darkened.

"... you should leave, undyne. i, uh... can't say you're welcome here anymore."

"... I get it," Undyne replied tersely, standing. "You want me to take Frisk?"

Sans shrugged. "don't know why they'd wanna stay. but they can if they want."

Frisk frowned. "I'll stay. At least for a while."

"Okay. Uh... just call if anything comes up. Uh... see ya, I guess."

She gave Frisk one last look, then jogged off. A dense silence settled on the yard, and Frisk turned their attention to Sans, who was still standing some distance off. They got up and began to slowly walk over, but stopped as Sans glanced over his shoulder at them.

"... sorry this happened, bud. you really ok staying here?"

Frisk nodded. "I didn't want to leave you by yourself."

At this, Sans turned to face them properly, his gaze warm. "heh... thanks kid. that means a lot."

Frisk closed the remaining gap to hug him, and he ruffled their hair loosely. But he pulled away to shuffle to the fine pale gray powder that now dusted part of the lawn, and folded his legs under him to contemplate it. Frisk joined him, and waited awkwardly--wondering if he would speak, or if they should ask their question.

"never thought it'd be like this, y'know?" Sans started, his already muted voice even softer. "always thought he'd... well... i guess he's the kind of guy you can't picture dustin' 'cause he got old, y'know?"

Frisk managed a smile as they shook their head.

"nah... thought it'd... thought it'd be..." he trailed. Frisk caught his eyes vanishing. "To be honest, I thought it'd be you."

Frisk went still, breath catching in their throat.

"... was it?"

Frisk shook their head quickly. "He beat me way more times than I ever beat him. He was really strong."

Sans managed a short laugh. "yeah. he was... he was so cool..."

Frisk fidgeted with the end of their shirt. Now seemed like a good time... "Do you want me to reset?"

It was Sans' turn to go still. It was a while before he answered. "... that's up to you."

"But... it's not fair. I worked so hard to make sure everyone made it up here, so they could be happy and together. If Papyrus is gone... then that's not true anymore."

Sans made an odd sort of sighing sound, and Frisk realized the tenseness around his eyes was him trying not to cry. They leaned over, resting their head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm weakly around theirs. It took him a while to gather his thoughts.

"kid... you're... it's up to you. pa... papyrus had some good times up here, and, we'll... we'll get through this. i... it'll be ok, bud, if you decide not to." He paused to draw a shuddering breath. "but... knowing there's a way to undo it... don't think you can blame me for wanting him back more than anything right now."

Frisk shook their head. "I don't blame you, I miss him too. We all will, and Undyne... I don't think she'll ever forgive herself. They were such good friends... Like I said... It's not fair."

Sans sighed. "sounds like you've made your mind up, huh?"

They nodded again. "I don't want it to be like this."

"guess you better get on it, huh?" Sans joked mildly, and Frisk managed a smile.

"I'll do everything exactly the same, I promise," they said softly, then added with a bittersweet smile, "except for this."

"heh. that's real considerate of ya, kid."

They smiled at him, then closed their eyes and reached within.

They woke up in a bed of flowers.

They reached Snowdin, and noted the brothers had changed just a little from the runs they'd done before. They didn't say or do anything different, but it seemed like they were never far from one another, and Sans seemed to put just the slightest bit more enthusiasm into gushing about how cool and tough his brother was. They made it through the cozy town, battled--and then "dated"--like usual, and carried on to Waterfall.

Frustrated, Undyne roared. Frisk winced, and braced themself--they were almost to Hotland, if they could just last a few turns longer they'd be able to run. But they could only take a few more hits before they'd have to do all this again--oh, ow, one more hit. Even if they could reset, dying never felt good. They checked their pockets--yep, they were out of food. This was it.

Sensing she was close to victory, Undyne raised her hand aloft as she summoned a huge array of spears and spoke. "No escape this time. You're finished."

She dropped her hand, the spears fell, and Frisk whimpered as they closed their eyes.

Nothing happened. Frisk waited, then took a chance and opened their eyes. They winced--a spear hovered mere inches from their face, and the rest were only just behind it. But they looked past the glowing magic, and saw Undyne staring at them.

She looked... perplexed. Like even she didn't know why she'd stopped the attack. She grimaced, and flexed her hand to call the spears off. They shimmered out of existence, and Undyne assumed a rigid pose before summoning a spear back to her hand.

"... Sorry. I got... carried away. But you know I have to finish this."

Frisk realized their soul was back to being red, and they flashed Undyne a weak smile before taking the chance to run. They'd be friends again soon. For now, they needed to get away.

It was clear Undyne didn't remember what she'd done, but somehow, Sans' words had stuck with her anyway. Maybe what she'd done was something even a reset couldn't erase completely.

Frisk couldn't help but be a little grateful.

[sparklingchan]

Tipsy Turvy || Choi San(Ateez)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Choi San

Word count : 5k+

Warnings : Cuss words , alcohol , hangover , mentions of over drinking, not proof read.

Genre : Fluff , a tiny bit of angst , romance , friends to lovers au.

Description : You have a complicated relationship with San , and the alcohol in your system makes it worse ( or better).

Author's Note : So with all honesty , I have NO idea how people behave when drunk so I searched it up and wrote this 90%  based on that ( and 10% on  my friends’ advice). I hope at least one of y’all get the horrible pun in the title  -_-

Please do reblog , like and comment if you like this. My DMs are also open so if you want to gimme a review , feel free.

Enjoy!

The coffee in the cup must have gone cold by now, because the moment you touch it’s surface ,you don't feel the same sting as you did a few minutes ago.

Not that it tasted good anyway. You're almost glad you didn't have to drink it but maybe, right now, you could use a sip or two to spare yourself a few seconds of peace.

"The coffee is wonderful, isn't it? It's my favorite one." The man in front of you - Mike - needs to seriously give you a break, or else there will be blood on the streets. Literally, "I'm glad you like it."

Does he not see the clearly disgusted look on your face ? Or was he so sure you'd like this drink just because he ordered it without even asking you?

"Yeah ,its fine." You sigh , touching your lips to the mouth of the cup and then putting it back down. You're not drinking that already tasteless and now cold coffee. No way.

"So ,y/n, since we're expected to give our parents an answer after this date, I'd like to know about your opinions first . And please be honest. I would hate to upset you." He says , scratching his chin .

Your eyes widen at the unexpected string of words. This is the first time since this stupid date began that he actually asked your opinion on anything.

"Well," you begin, your mind filling up with tons of words that you'd waited patiently to let out , "Marriage is a big decision. At least for me. And this is all too fast. I just hope we have enough time to know each other before our parents set the date."

He nods his head , “ I agree, I agree. Its important . Right."

You furrow your brows. His reaction seems very forced. Like he really didn't agree with you , but for the sake of it , he's agreeing.

"And what kind of qualities do you look for in a man,y/n?" You want to roll your eyes at the question but you pull your lips up in a smile, not quiet touching your eyes but enough to convince him. You wonder why he was trying so hard to save a date that had been going downhill from the moment he sat down in front of you. You guys clearly didn't like each other, and the spark was missing.

A spark you'd only ever felt with one person.

"Its difficult to describe ideal types but yeah,I'd like someone who's compatible with me and loving and well.. obviously respectful." You say. Mike chuckles at your answer , as if amused by it, "I was expecting you to say you wanted someone who's rich and handsome like...me , honestly. But it's alright." You wonder if he actually hears himself because he really sounded like a self absorbed piece of shit right now. And you'd really do anything to escape from this date.

"Well , I guess not. " you reply with a chuckle. In all honesty, you yourself don't know what your ideal type is. It's not about the conditions or requirements that a person fulfills. It's not a job , it's a connection. You can't confine people to certain criterias. It defies the whole purpose of that connection. And even if you did have qualities you looked for in a man , everything would always end up pointing at only one damn person. You push his images away even before they can surface into your mind.

"So anyway, as I was saying before the coffee arrived , my dad bought this really pretty yacht for me last month and it's super amazing to - " and you shut him out completely while he continues blabbering and you quietly sip the disgusting coffee in front of you.

You really want to groan now. Like on his face. Putting emphasis on how draining and boring this whole conversation is for you.

But all you do is smile and nod.

You were going to reject him the moment your parents set you up on a date with a ' nice and charming bachelor '. What side of Mike did they find even remotely nice or charming? You would never know. But one thing is sure now ,you will at least not have to deal with your parents pestering you for marriage after you reject Mike.

The weather is extremely humid today , despite it having rained in the morning so without a doubt , you'd spent your day indoors , reading a book and drinking unhealthy amount of fruit punch.

"Are they still upset ? " your parents should have seen it coming ,really. The rejection was as inevitable as the rising of the sun every morning or the setting of the sun in the evening. Yet , your parents are pretty disappointed at the decision even after three days since that stupid date. You , on the other hand are happy to have gotten rid of Mike - even if it meant your parents being angry.

Your younger brother , Jongho ,sighs into the phone, " What do you think? They really thought you'd finally marry now."

You don't really blame them though. Not at all. That's what they were always taught ,weren't they? Graduate high school, finish college ,get a good job and get married. The full circle.That is all they've every known yet you find yourself upset at the fact that they didn't consider your unwillingness to this marriage ( or any other marriage) at all. You're just barely starting to work ,you cannot throw away all of that to be a good wife and daughter in law. Sure Mike is the son of some rich man who does business with your father, but economical relationships cannot be a basis for a marriage.

"Well, I can't help it . I'm not marrying that asshole at any cost. " you huff , " He is so creepy and weird. Let mom and dad stay pressed. I don't care."

"Is it just because you didn't find Mike interesting or something else?" Jongho asks.

"I guess? " you reply, scratching the back of your head.

"You know , y/n, I understand that you don't want to get married and whatever but we both know there's a solid reason behind it and I am sick of you denying it all the time." Jongho is too honest for your liking. Too brutal , no sugarcoated words. Just the truth.

And the truth stings.

"Shut up." You grumble, fiddling with the book in your hands , legs dangling from the edge of your bed, " I told you not to mention it ever again?"

"Y/n, you love him. Okay? You have loved him for seven years now . It is high time you shoot your shot or else you'll end up with some rich asshole who doesn't give two shits about you!"

He's right,of course he is. His words are not really an opinion or a vague prediction of the future. Those are facts. But hearing him say all that out loud makes your blood turn cold in your body. Fear creeping through every inch of your skin , making it hard to think clearly.

"I don't think it matters if I love him or not. I gave up on him. We haven't spoken much ever since college ended. " you say.

" You didn't give up. You just ran away instead of acknowledging it. There's a difference." Jongho replies , " And for your kind information it's only been six months since college got over. You need to stop talking like it was twenty years ago or something. "

You chuckle at his last phrase, grateful that he's trying to uplift the weirdly tense mood. "I don't think I can do it , Jongho. I want to. I really do but I don't think he likes me back." You admit.

"You're delusional if you think he doesn't like you back, y/n. All the late night car drives, movie dates , eating unhealthy food late into the nights - San loves you too. Obviously he does."

You sigh ,running your fingers over the rough page of the book in your lap. 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' The words read out. The tightening of your chest increases.

"He was just being nice." You mutter.

Jongho sighs loudly from the other side , "Okay , believe what you want . I can't handle both you and mom-dad together, okay? Spare me your bullshit. Bye."

Wow, talk about being a rude, disrespectful child !

You are usually not the one to point fingers or put blame on other people , but you really despised your best friend right now. And you have every right to do so. Your best friend is the main reason why your parents are so desperately trying to get you married and see you settle down and have kids and whatever. Jisoo is the epitome of every good quality all parents desire in a daughter. She's perfect. Even more than that sometimes.

"How's your husband?" Your question doesn't sound very genuine - the words slipping out of your tongue like they were being forced out. But Jisoo seems to let it go.

"He's good , really good. " She replies ,taking a sip from the only can of cola you had left in your fridge. She passes it over to you.

"How lucky ." You mutter , taking a sip of the same drink.

"I know what you're thinking ,y/n. I know your ass is upset about everything that happened with Mike but things take time. Okay? I married early because I wanted to." she says, reading right through you like you were a book she'd read millions of times ,"If you don't want to marry , don't. Stop blaming yourself for not finding good guys." " I wonder if I'll ever find anyone even remotely nice, Jisoo. The only few guys I've been set up on dates with are not my type and well , Mike ... I don't know. We're just not compatible." You complain , " And besides I'm so terrified of marrying a guy I barely know."

Jisoo sighs , "Then marry a guy you've known for a long time."

"Who are you talking about?" You frown. You know exactly who she is talking about but you want to hear her say it. Say his name which you dare not even repeat to yourself when alone.

"Choi San ,of course. The love of your life ,your sun and stars , your sweetheart. " she says , her dreamy eyes widening to exaggerate her point.

You slap her arm hard , almost a little too hard. But you're convinced that she deserves it. "Ow !" She yells ,rubbing the sore area on her arm.

"That name is forbidden in my vicinity." You say.

Okay ,maybe now you are the one who deserves a slap. On the cheek. You couldn't believe that his name still fills your stomach with butterflies and causes your heart to beat so fast that you feel dizzy even though you claim that you're over him.

"No, it's not, y/n. Come on ,dude. You're still not over him. You will never be unless you confess and face the supposed rejection on your own. Only then you'll find it in yourself to seek other guys , unless that's not what you want." She jabs her finger on your shoulder softly , "That, or you can marry San himself. It's very simple ,really."

Now that she put it that way ,it sounds even more complicated and it sends your mind to a voyage into the sea of memories that you rarely even acknowledged anymore( or at least ,you tried to).

San's pretty eyes and alluring smile , the soft hold of his hand on your arm as you run to the movie halls just five minutes before it closes , the warmth of his hugs that you so dearly loved , his silky black hair that you've wanted to touch on so many occasions and the day you were sure he had leaned in to kiss you but your annoying brother decided to call just at that exact moment. You almost wish you could go back to your university graduation day , and wait a little longer for him after the event got over and tell him that he meant the world to you. More than he could ever imagine. You really wish you had waited that day.

"Jongho has this stupid theory that he likes me too. He's making me even more confused. " you say.

"At least Jongho has more brain cells than you. That kid deserves an award or something." Jisoo replies , chuckling.

"He's not a kid. He's just a year younger than me and you." You deadpan. Great, your best friend and brother are now on the same team.

She rolls her eyes , "Yeah , you are a kid too. Only a kid acts so naive and stupid when everything they've ever wanted is right there in front of them. Hell, even a kid would realise that San loves you !"

Jisoo talks a lot , but her words are never empty or vague. She says whatever she wants to and has to. And she is always able to make a point. But you're a dumb bitch who likes to pretend she's still not in love with her childhood sweetheart and is looking for love somewhere else.

"Anyway, can we go for a drink?"

"Glad you finally asked." Jisoo grabs your arm and drags you out of the house.

Your favorite bar in the entire world has to be the one you've been going to since you were in high school. From your first time drinking to vomiting in its toilet after having way too many vodka shots , from dancing with your friends to crying alone in a corner , that place has seen it all.

Coincidentally( not really), its Jisoo's favorite bar too.

"Okay, y/n. I think you should stop now. That's enough."

Coincidentally also ,you happen to not have a good alcohol tolerance yet an endearing desire to drown your sorrows in those glasses.

"No, I'm not even properly drunk." You whine ,your words only barely making sense to Jisoo. She grabs the glass away from you.

"Come on , let's take you home. " she tries to pull you from your seat , "Can't believe I thought it was a good idea to drink on a weekday."

"No, no, Jisoo. " you resist , pushing her away. " I want to..stay. here. I like it here. It's so warm and cozy . If I go home, I'll cry. I hate home. It's so ugly. Ew. This place is so pretty ."

Your vision is so blurry that your brain can't even form clear images anymore. You see Jisoo's form after squinting hard enough.

"You won't cry. I'll take care of you, y/n. Come on." Jisoo is so insistent you have to hold yourself back from punching her. Her lucky ass would never understand how much in pain your heart is in. And how much the alcohol helps in forgetting all that even just for a few minutes.

"You go home. I'll stay. I'll stay here for as long as I can. Away from all you blood suckers." You slur. And then giggle for no apparent reason.

Jisoo heaves a sigh ,sitting beside you. "Are you going to come with me or do I have to call San to pick you up?"

That was a threat. Jisoo always uses the same one and somehow, it always seems to work. Not today though.

"Hah! Joke's on you ! He doesn't care about me." You point at her face , giggling again.

San? Taking care of you? Funniest joke of the year.

"He does ,y/n. You know he does. What are you being like this?" She asks , rubbing your hand comfortingly. "I see the way he looks at you."

"He probably has a girlfriend already. He always posts romantic shit on Instagram. " you say ,resting your chin on your arm.

"He doesn't have one. I know he doesn't. He probably posts all that for you." She says.

You want to believe her but your brain feels fuzzy and foggy now. Like the sky on winter mornings.

"I want to see San, Jisoo. I miss him. I miss him so much. " you keep muttering under your breath , "Take me to him. I miss him."

Jisoo stares at you - wide eyed and slightly annoyed. Your low alcohol tolerance will get you into serious trouble one day.

"We can see him tomorrow. Let's go home now. Now." She pulls your arm again.

You push her off , "I said I want to see San ! Right now! Take me to him!"

You have never yelled at anyone while in a drunken state before so the sudden increased volume of your voice scares Jisoo. She let's go of your arm.

"Okay, will you come home after meeting San?" Jisoo asks ,taking her phone out to call a cab.

"Yes. No. Depends. I never want to be away from him." You say. "Take me to him , please. I haven't seen him in months. Years. I don't remember how long. Do you think he'll recognize me?"

Shaking her head , Jisoo makes a mental note to never take you out for drinking again.

San lives a few minutes away from your own apartment, but with traffic sometimes it takes almost an hour to reach his apartment.

Today must have been your lucky day because the traffic was almost negligible. Although you don't remember the journey to his house , you do remember his familiar voice greeting you and Jisoo like he had almost expected you both to arrive at his door this late at night.

"She was throwing a tantrum that she wanted to see you. So I brought her here. I hope it's not a problem. " Jisoo says in her sweet voice that she uses on everyone but you and her husband. You scowl.

"Hey, I wasn't throwing a tantrum! " You hit her arm again , but she puts on the fakest smile when San looks at the both of you with a confused face.

"And she's not very sober right now." Jisoo admits ,sighing. San presses his lips in line , observing you as play with the hem of your tshirt and your eyes are focused on his face. You never had so much confidence in a sober state. He knows this because he's seen you like this a million times before and hopefully, if all goes well tonight , he might see this state in the future too.

His stomach does a back flip when you stick out your bottom lip in a cute little pout.

"It's okay. She can stay the night here. I believe you have something important to tell me ,y /n?" San asks, titling his head.

You nod , beaming with happiness. Your eyes never leave his perfect face and his beautiful black hair which he decided to tie in a small ponytail tonight and his toned arms and his breathtakingly sweet dimples as he leads you inside, bidding goodbye to your bestfriend. Jisoo must be very relieved right now ,you think.

"Do you need a glass of water ,y/n?" San asks you , as he takes you gently by the arm to his bedroom. His alert eyes are always on your steps ,making sure you do not trip on anything.

"No. " you giggle. You're so happy to be with him alone at last that you can barely contain it . "I missed you ,San."

He laughs at your words ,shaking his head in disbelief as he makes you sit on his warm ,fluffy bed.

You've always wanted to sit there.

"Waoowww , this bed is so soft. " you swing your legs up and down with a big grin on your face , "I want to sleep on this bed. Oh my god ,awww."

San sees you lean down against the headboard and laugh at the ceiling, pointing out peculiar patterns . You look very content right now ,he notices. Your flushed cheeks , big , curious eyes , messy hair , yet he thinks you look beautiful like this - raw and natural and pretty.

"San! Sit with me, come here." You say , patting the empty space beside you.

San obliges without a question. He pushes you gently to the other side of the bed , himself settling beside you , careful not to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.

"What it is that you wanted to tell me ?" San questions, his fingers reaching upto your forehead to remove the strands of hair that cover your eyes.

"Promise me you won't be mad. " You hum into his touch ,wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around his body and snuggle into his chest. But even with alcohol in your system ,you know better than to do that.

"I promise." He replies with a toothy grin. His head leans on the headboard beside yours , his beautiful brown eyes drilling into yours ,making your knees go weak and heart flutter. And if it were possible to replace all blood from your body with physical adoration for Choi San ,you would have done it already. "Pinky promise?" You ask again ,lifting your right pinky up in front of his face.

Sighing , he connects his pinky to yours then pressing your thumbs together, "Pinky promise."

You take a deep breath then as naturally as ever ,the words you've always wanted to say roll out of your mouth , "I like you. "

San's breathing gets stuck in his throat , his whole being as if swallowed into a black hole for a few seconds. He stares at you like you were suddenly someone he'd never seen , never heard of before. Like you were a stranger that caught his eye in the mall. Like a gemstone he'd found while digging the ground. Like a precious falling star on a cloudy night.

"I-I mean we have known each other for sometime now. It's normal that you like me. As a friend." He stammers.

You roll your eyes , " I did not mean as a friend ,you idiot. I meant I like you as a man. You're so stupid, gosh." You punch his arm.

His heart skips a beat. He'd always known deep down his heart that this confession would happen one day or the other - but he had always hoped it would be him to say it first ,not you. His ego is a teeny tiny bit hurt.

"I know you don't like me , " you whine , your excited tone now suddenly switching into a sad one , " I know you won't date me."

San frowns at this new melancholic side of yours.

"Why would you think that?" He asks.

"I just know ,okay?" You say ,tears filling your eyes , " And that's why I agreed to an arranged marriage."

"You must have met someone nice then?" He takes his hand in yours.

Jongho was right - you love him. So much that it hurts to look at him ,knowing that one day you'll have to marry a man who isn't him. It hurts like someone is pressing a hot metal rod onto your skin.

You start sobbing.

"No! Of course not ! I don't want anyone but you! " You yell , a little too loud , " But my parents are still insistent about it. How do I tell them that I can't marry anyone else because I'm so in love with you?"

That's another new piece of information for San. But this one makes his heart drop into the deepest pits of his stomach , making him go numb for a few seconds. You were almost taken away from him, just because he'd always put your relationship in a complicated situation. You had almost held someone else's hand on the alter. You had almost ended up in someone else's arms.

The image of you with another man nauseates him and he decides to stop being a coward . Right now ,right at this moment .

"I like you ,too, you idiot." He says , not quite meeting your teary eyes." Don't go find anyone else. I'm here. I really am ,y/n."

His sincere voice washes over you like the first showers of monsoon - refreshing and enchanting. You feel like melting into a puddle under his gaze.

"I wasn't planning on anyway. " You sniff and rub your tears away. He leans in closer to your face , rubbing your cheekbones with the pad of his thumb. And you , being the shameless person you are , stare at his kissable, pink lips. If you lean in a little more , they'd touch and you could finally kiss him. You really want to . Would he mind ?

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead , pulling you into his warm embrace.

"I want to go to sleep and wake up like this every morning." You mumble into his chest , your hand playing with the hem of his t-shirt. "We will. I promise." he replies. The thought itself makes him feel warm inside , "I'll talk to your parents about the arranged marriage thing. They love me more than they would any other guy out there."

Your parents in fact do love San. Whenever they met him , they'd be filled with praises for him. Although a little jealous , you could easily see why San was so easy to like.

"You smell so nice." You say abruptly , drowsiness slowly taking over you , your eye lids getting heavier by the minute.

San's chest vibrates as his laugh fills the room , "Thank you, y/n."

"Will you be here when I wake up? You aren't going to run off, right? " You are just spewing out random sentences at this point but he doesn't complain either way. He likes this honest and vulnerable side of you.

"I'll be right here. Don't worry. " he whispers ,running his fingers through your hair , "But I'm pretty sure you won't remember anything tomorrow ."

You laugh, a big hearty laugh as you finally find enough courage to lightly wrap your arm around his torso. "I'll remember, San . I never forget."

San rubs your head soothingly , smiling to himself, knowing that even if you forget about it in the morning , he'll really be there to remind you of it. He'll be there by your side, as he always has been.

Every hangover is like a cycle that includes pain , regret and a promise to never drink so much again yet you somehow always seem to be struggling with the last one.

And the inevitable headache that follows makes you feel like someone had thrusted millions of knives in your head.

It hurt. Badly.

You stir in your position ,groaning at your throbbing head.

"Woah , good morning , sleepy head." San purrs into your ears , his early morning voice sending chills down your spine.

Wait. San? Choi San? With you in his arms? On a bed?

You sit up at the speed of a lightning bolt , breaking away from his warm embrace and crawling to the farthest corner of the bed. You look around the room , your heartbeat in your throat , taking in the unfamiliar surroundings that reminded you of what you might have done while in a drunken state.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your eyes scan San, his sleepy face pressed to the pillow and his lips curved in a smile. His white t-shirt hangs loose from his shoulder, exposing the skin near his collarbone and his black, messy hair covering half of his face.

And even in panic mode , your first thought is that he looks ethereal with that early morning glow. Is this what being whipped really means?

"Y/n, don't tell me you forgot what happened last night. " he says ,visibly annoyed. He forces himself up in a sitting position as he runs his fingers through his messy hair.

You look away from him , adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to recall last night's episode. Surely ,you didn't sleep with him since both of you are fully clothed and you didn't feel sore anywhere. Thankfully.

"Y/n? " he calls you again but you don't reply because your brain is way too occupied at the moment.

You remember the sound of a very weird combination of words leaving your mouth last night and an even weirder combination of words leaving his. And that's when it hits you - you had confessed to him. Full on movie style. All those years of daydreaming and trying to keep everything a secret gone into vain , your heart placed naked in front of him.

"Oh fucking hell." You hold your head in between your hands ,closing your eyes.

Maybe this was all a dream and if you focused hard enough ,you'd wake up in your bed , alone and yearning for the man supposedly in front of you. But that would still be better than this.

"Y/n, it's alright. You don't have to be embarrassed. " San says, inching closer to you.

You sigh. It's not a dream and you have to face him now.

"I-I'm sorry for whatever I said last night. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable at all. I don't know what had gotten into me." You say, rubbing your forehead.

By now , San is kneeling right in front of you, his galaxy filled eyes never leaving yours.

"I should be sorry , you idiot." He says , gently tapping your forehead ," if I wasn't such a coward and had confessed to you earlier , everything would have been different now. But better late than never , right?"

You gulp hard.

Now is the time to wake up , y/n, I'm going to be super pissed if this turns out to be a dream, you wonder to yourself.

"So..what you're saying is - "

"I like you , yes. Not as a friend , not as a classmate. I like you as a woman and if you agree to this ," San leans in dangerously closer , "Then I'll like you as a girlfriend, too."

You didn't need time to agree to this. You didn't need a second thought. You only need a small tug at your heartstring , which happened everytime you see his eyes focused on you and only you.

"Yes." You say.

His face breaks into a massive grin as he wraps his arms around you , with yours around his torso. You can feel the fast beating of his heart against your cheek as you snuggle into his chest .

"Thank you. Thank you so much." He whispers into your hair. Your cheeks are burning red by now but it's alright. It's a good type of burning. You can come to like it in the near future.

You don't know how long it is before he finally decides to pull away , much to your dismay.

"I'm going to make breakfast . Are pancakes okay with you?" He says , his arms by his side but his body still close to yours.

"Yeah. Obviously. " You loved his pancakes, as a matter of fact. Once, Jongho had even forced you to confess to San during your college years just so he could eat those delicious pancakes whenever he wanted to.

"Okay. You can go freshen up in the bathroom by then." He then unexpectedly takes your face in his hands , inching closer to yours with every passing second, " Don't miss me too much though."

You pout, playing along , " I already do."

And just like that , he presses his soft , luscious lips to yours, enveloping them in a quick kiss.

"Bye." And just like that too , he runs away into the kitchen , avoiding confronting what had just happened while you are left frozen and shocked and petrified and all synonyms of those words in the English dictionary.

But you hear him hum his favourite song softly from the kitchen and your shoulders relax.

Relax , y/n , you tell yourself , it's just San and he is your boyfriend now.

[porcelain-blue]

Embrace the Entirety of the World

When Wei Wuxian comes back into the world, the first thing he registers is pain. It’s a sharp, aching thing, a body filled with bruises and the gnaw of an empty belly. He sits there, for a while, letting it wash over him; the nausea, the headache, the rasp of rough woven cloth under his fingers. It is so much , so distinct, sound and smell and touch a dizzying input where there had only been numbness and nothing before.

He is alive. In his marrow he knows how rare of a chance this is, how short and how fragile a single soul in a single body actually is, how easily lost, how infinitely precious. He is dead but now he is alive, and it feels like there is nothing he cannot do.

He breaks out of that shack with gladness, eager to leave the stink of human excrement and neglect, and inhales deeply, noting the thickness of the humid air, the sound of faraway chatter of a bustling household. He smells dust, and animal, cooking not too far away, and the sensation of it all almost overwhelms him once again, and it feels like something inside his chest clicks , a setting of a phantom bone behind his sternum. Or perhaps it breaks. He feels untethered, unmoored, feral. An animal thing, more beast than human, more sensation than cognition.

When he calms, he spares a thought for young Mo Xuanyu, and makes a mental note to set an offering and perform rites on his behalf. He thinks with a pang that Mo Xuanyu was never treated well enough to ever understand the nature of the gift he had given Wei Wuxian. He will, however, honor those last wishes cleaved into his forearm.

So he saunters into a mystery, absently enjoying the feeling of packed earth under the thin soles of Mo Xuanyu’s boots, and within a few xichen night has fallen and the Mo family is sundered by corpse limbs. Wei Wuxian commandeers a grumpy donkey, marvelling at the stubble-rasp of the animal’s flank under his palms as he makes his way down the mountain, thrust into the gaping maw of the world once more.

When Zidian coils around him and wrenches, he cannot help but grin to himself, a small thing full of bloody teeth. He feels delirious, and everything hurts white-hot, but the feeling-sound-crackle-smell of Zidian is so familiar that it feels like home. If he closes his eyes, the purple of Jiang Cheng’s robes may as well be Yu-Furen’s. Their rage feels the same, physically.

Lan Zhan’s hand is so tight around his wrist that he can almost feel his bones shift, and he hisses at the pain even though it feels good, in a way, to be anchored to this plane of existence.

Later, when he flings himself behind Lan Zhan’s body, the first thing his brain registers is how fine the weave of his robes are, smooth but sturdy under his fingers, the faint threads catching against his rough skin. It’s a weird, incongruent detail that he can’t get out of his head, even as he shamelessly flirts his way out of getting dragged back to Lotus Pier (he cannot, not right now, not like this). Lan Zhan’s voice is deep, deeper than he remembers, and the thrum of it catching his hearing sends the hairs on his nape standing, skin prickling in an uncomfortable awareness.

Later, in the Jingshi, his old friend spread under him staring steadily as he asks him to go back to his own bed, Wei Wuxian feels like the light was never like this when he was last alive, liquid and colourless; that shaft of moonlight cutting through the crystal shape of Lan Zhan’s irises is almost vicious in its beauty. His breath catches, but he plasters a bright smile as he plays the part of shameless, predatory Mo Xuanyu(as though a boy so young and starved could be anything but vulnerable). But all Lan Zhan does is jab a pressure point that makes him go limp and tingly, and all he can focus on is the sharp, clean smell of incense, and the furnace-warmth of Lan Zhan’s terrifyingly strong golden core under him. He sinks into sleep and it’s only a little scary, to go back into darkness and quiet, but the warmth and weight of Lan Zhan’s hand draped on his waist is always there, at the edge of his awareness, and he slips off into the first sleep of 16 years.

As they journey Northwest, Wei Wuxian lets himself go, trails his hands on walls and scuffs his feet just to feel the dirt squish under his shoes. He lingers at stalls, more so than he would have before, touching everything and looking. He buys rouge from a merchant and dabs into the soft, pressed powder with his pinky, marvelling at the texture. He dabs a little, on his lips, for fun. No more than a passing fancy, but in this new body and new life, Wei Wuxian is determined to honor ever passing fancy, feel every sensation he wants to. He thinks, privately, that he has earned it.

Lan Zhan makes an aborted movement at him, when he sees the pigment on his face, makes like he wants to press his thumbs against his lips to wipe it off. Wei Wuxian waits, head cocked to see what Lan Zhan will do. Lan Wangji, however, has never died and been reborn. He is, as always the paragon of self-control and dignity. He would never acknowledge any passing fancies, so he flexes his hand from his fist, and turns away. Wei Wuxian stares after him, not knowing what that was about, beyond the knowledge that Lan Zhan has been denying himself every single day they have been travelling together.

It bothers him. He knows that Lan Zhan is not a person given to doing whatever he wants, but something about the movements, the heavy weight of his gaze, something makes his teeth itch, and Wei Wuxian convinces himself that it is merely concern for his friend, a desire to see him happy and a little more free. I must give him my advice! He thinks privately, amused and mischievous, keen to start a new plan into action.

So he catalogues every time Lan Zhan makes a strange movement, every time those eyes rest on him a little too long. He wonders how long it will take for Lan Zhan’s resolve to break, and he makes sure to repeat every action that catches the attention of the venerable Hanguang-jun.

He dabs the barest suggestion of pigment on his face. Sometimes his eyes, most often his lips, just to see the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears pink when he turns away. It eventually seems tha Lan Zhan is intent on watching him, though, so Wei Wuxian simply loses himself in the joy of being here.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says for the first time, and his blood quickens as he registers the joy of being called, to have a name and to be recognised. The cadence and tone of that voice, and the warmth of those large hands on his calf over his curse-mark feel so real he cannot lose himself in his own traitorous, quicksilver mind.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, tasting the words on his tongue as they leave him, intentional, seeking their owner.

When Lan Zhan moves to pick him up, he does not squawk, does not struggle. He reaches up and loops his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and lets himself be carried, because why not?

Why not live in the moment?

What does it matter, what it looks like, when a man carries another man?

Nothing matters, except feeling safe and warm and grounded, here, pressed up against GusuLan white, the fabric smooth against his skin.

Lan Wangji is still trying to map the parameters of this new Wei Ying. He is much the same, of course, even without hearing the hollow scraping whistle of a bamboo flute butchering the one song he has kept close to his heart for years, Lan Wangji thinks that he would have been able to place Wei Ying before long, through his mannerisms, through the cadence and easy drip of his words.

But something seems looser, in this new Wei Ying. The boy he had fallen in love with so long ago had always been a creature of action and reaction, all whim-chasing wrapped around an unbending moral core. But then, that boy was gone and in his place was a man unyielding and exhausted, and Lan Wangji had almost forgotten what it was like to hear a clear laugh dancing about him.

But apparently lying dead for 16 years and coming back had done something to Wei Ying, and he seems all at once more carefree and young than he has ever seemed, and also still, wise, in a way that he never seemed to achieve before.

He no longer cares about the gaze of others, truly does not mind them instead of the knowing-and-defying that Wei Ying had been known for. Lan Wangji had admired him for that before, but now, knowing about the censure and the tightrope dance Wei Ying had had to do within the bounds of what was socially acceptable, Lan Wangji feels something flutter in his chest, some tight tension from before melting away, bit by bit.

Wei Ying buys rouge with his money, and he knows that this is probably part of a plan to catch him out, to obfuscate his true identity (as though Lan Zhan has ever been so unobservant as to miss all the tells that make up the creature that is Wei Ying.), but even after Lan Wangji reveals what he knows, Wei Ying continues to play with the pigment. He ends up buying this new Wei Ying a box of lip paper, and watches curiously as Wei Ying opens the box, fishes out a sheet of vermillion delicately, and places it between his lips. A press, holding it there for a while, then his mouth parts, and oh, he is beautiful.

Wei Ying has always been beautiful to Lan Wangji, and it was no secret that his old body had many admirers. But even now, in the fine-boned features of Mo Xuanyu, it has always been the light in those eyes and unbreakable spirit that Lan Wangji had been drawn to. But the truth of the matter is - and of course, lying to oneself is also forbidden - that Wei Ying, returned after 16 long years in a new body, with wide guileless eyes and lips stained the same red of his underrobes- Wei Ying is lovely, and Lan Wangji wants nothing more than to dart forward and taste, to see if that sweet smelling paper also would impart flavour, or if Wei Ying’s lips would be the only thing to discover.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! I don’t have a mirror, so you’ll just have to tell me, does it look good? I know you think I’m shameless, but what do you think?”

Lan Wangji reaches forward, plucks the box out of Wei Ying’s hands and stows it away in their shared travel bag. He pauses for a moment, glancing at the graceful bow of those lips, then back at those wide, happy eyes.

“Wei Ying has always looked good in red,” he murmurs.

Wei Ying blinks for a moment, surprised, before breaking out into a smile, wide and soft and sweet, vermillion stained.

After gathering the juniors like ducklings, they head into town, and Wei Wuxian keeps tugging them aside to look at stalls in the marketplace, nagging at them to eat more food and buy souvenirs for their friends and families.

“Why are you so frivolous!! You’re so embarrassing!” Jin Ling huffs, red faced and embarrassed that Wei Wuxian is currently trying to shove some tanghulu into his hands.

“Aah, Jin Ling, that’s where you’re wrong!” Wei Wuxian says, brandishing a stick of tanghulu at him. “It’s not frivolous to slow down and enjoy things! It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, there are snacks to eat. You should listen to me! I’m very wise!”

He laughs at the disbelieving looks on all their young faces, and turns to Lan Zhan, who is regarding him with his usual steady stare. He poffers the tanghulu, and Lan Zhan pauses for a moment, before accepting the offering, biting delicately into the candied hawthorn before pulling it off the skewer. He chews thoughtfully, and swallows, and the sight of that pink tongue darting out to lick the remaining sugar off distracts Wei Wuxian into silence.

Lan Zhan hands the skewer back, flicks his gaze up at him, before murmuring, “ Be strict with yourself .”

Wei Wuxian blinks, and vaguely registers Lan Jingyi nodding in agreement with Lan Zhan. But he laughs, and counters airily, “‘ Embrace the entirety of the world ’, Lan Zhan! That was always my favourite rule, you know. After all, how can you fault me! I’ve died once, and am fortunate enough to be here to eat candy and play around.” He smiles, feeling his eyes crinkle, and pops another candied berry into his mouth.

He drinks slowly, now, luxuriating in the feel of smooth liquor on his tongue, the slide of it down his throat. He stops asking Lan Zhan to join him, after the first few times had left his heart pounding and desire pooling in his belly. No, it wouldn’t do to act when Lan Zhan was vulnerable, when he would not remember anything.

He feels like honey, thick and slow-moving. Lan Zhan is a steady presence across the table. He wants-- well, he wants many things. He sits with those feelings for a while, sifting through them like pebbles covered in mud, washing them clean until they are smooth in his hands.

He weighs each desire, thinks about their cost, and whether his heart can take the cost. He thinks of his battered heart, weighed against the steady golden gaze looking at him, always looking at him, and thinks he knows which way the scales tip.

He sets aside the jar, ceramic clinking onto the polished wood of the table. Leans forward, far enough to smell sandalwood and jasmine. He moves slowly, eyes never leaving Lan Zhan, telegraphing his movement enough such that Lan Zhan could easily back up, move away, give his answer therien. But Lan Zhan is still as a rock under a waterfall, worn smooth with patience and time. He looks at him, lips slightly parted and cheeks dusting pink.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, the syllables sweet on his tongue.

“Wei Ying.”

Had the sound of his name ever sounded so sweet, so fragile and tender? There is nothing different about the way Lan Zhan says it, Lan Zhan has called his name like this for years, but only now, with his mind clear of resentful energy, clever of all the trappings of his past life, can Wei Wuxian hear the tender regard and warmth that Lan Zhan imbues into the characters of his name. The way his lips catch on Wei , the deep breath at the back of his throat- Ying , I love you , it says, soft and tender. I love you without ever asking for anything back , it says to him.

He finally reaches his destination, hands landing on Lan Zhan to balance himself; the left on his shoulder, the right on his knee. He is warm under his palms, but he does not move, save to shift a little to place his hand near Wei Ying’s right, fingers ghosting the side of his wrist. A steadying presence.

He presses forward, brushes his lips against Lan Zhan’s own, swallows the slight hitch-exhale from him, lips pressing together in earnest now. Lan Zhan’s lips are soft, plush, yielding. Wei Wuxian licks into his mouth, taste joining smell-touch-sight-hearing , five senses to catalogue the entirety of Lan Wangji, mapping out the start and end of his being.

Lan Zhan makes a rough, wounded noise under him, and they shift against each other, finding purchase on the seat, Wei Ying crawling into that firm lap as he pushes himself close.

“Wei Ying,” he gasps, broken and in disarray, fragile hope in his eyes as he glances at him, darting, taking in is eyes, his mouth, looking like he wants to drown in Wei Wuxian.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I’m here now, I’m alive, I’m alive.”

He repeats that phrase, whispering it into Lan Zhan’s hair, into his skin, into his lips again, an affirmation, confirmation of the impossible made fact. There is proof, evidence, all five senses and the events of this puzzle falling around them to prove that Wei Wuxian is here , cradled in the lap of someone who he lives, who loves him.

Wei Wuxian kisses him, his Lan Zhan, his zhiji, his beloved, and feels like he has come into the world anew, born again for the third time, the fibre of his being pulled apart and knit together into a new configuration that wraps around another.

[legolaslovely]

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A/N: Hello friends! Happy happy Fili Friday! I am very excited to share this story based on this ask that took on an insane life of its own! Thank you to the anon for sending the lovely idea in and for giving me permission to run with it! The Fili heart wants what the Fili heart wants.  This is based on this video = the dance scene from Tangled! I listened to this while writing if anyone wants to know! It’s fun!  Listen guys, my impatient ass is counting this as a slow burn because the end is just so comfortinggggggg and fluffffyyyyyy so I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Word Count: 4,270

Warnings: ... none?

Summary: Based on an ask! I’m not telling any more!

Link to the photoset below

It was only after months of rough traveling that Thorin decided to stop and spend a full day and night in a village along the route of the quest to Erebor. This much needed break came just in time for you, and more specifically your pack, which had continued to wear with every step you took and at this point, started to look as though a warg’s teeth had got a hold of it. You had been waddling around with its one serviceable strap slung over your shoulder for days and if you didn’t buy at least a replacement strap soon, you were sure you’d end up shrinking- hunched to half your size by the journey’s end.

Luckily, though this village was quite small, it did have a rather extensive market. As soon as Thorin made clear the details of the company’s overnight plans, you set out to comb through the many tents in the square. Most of the crafters fawned over the princes and king, leaving you free to browse without distractions. It didn’t take long for you to find a leather shop that boasted gorgeous weaponry, armor and tools. 

You were running your fingers over a strong leather strap, enjoying the geometric designs so common in classic dwarvish craftsmanship, when Fíli spoke from just over your shoulder.

“Will this do? I know it’s a bit larger than the one you have, but I think it will serve you well.”

The pack he was holding was extremely fashionable and even from the outside, it was clearly quite handy. Though it was currently empty, the sturdy leather still held it’s strong boxy shape. From the top and sides fell straps and hooks for your bedroll, canteens, weapons, and tools and what’s more, the design almost perfectly matched the strap you’d been admiring. The leather was tastefully embroidered and stamped with sharp triangles that weaved and folded into one another to wrap all around the body of the pack. Such a commendable creation was overwhelming and left you silent. 

“I should have asked first,” he said. “I’m sure I can return this one and we-you can pick out one you’d like. I shouldn’t have-”

“Fíli,” you said, taking the pack from him. Despite its size, it was light in your hand. “It’s beautiful. But I’m sure it was expensive- I mean, not that you don’t have the... I just... you didn’t have to- oh! I’ll pay you back. Here.”

You wanted to crawl into a whole. Who were you to talk money with the prince of Durin’s Folk? All the same, you were sure he expected you to pay for it. Maybe he’d merely grabbed the best pack for you before it was gone, bought by someone else. He was simply doing you a favor, watching out for you as company members do. You dug into your ripped pack for your coin purse, though you knew you wouldn’t have enough money. Mortification was rolling through you and if you allowed it, tears could have gathered in your eyes.

Then a hand covered yours.

“No, (Y/N). I don’t want anything from you. This is a gift. Come over here, we’ll transfer your things.” He led you over to a bench on the edge of the square.

“I can’t accept such a thing,” you said, sputtering. “I- really, this is too much-”

He took your torn pack from your shoulder and set it open on the ground before he moved to the new, pristine one, holding it still for you. “(Y/N), you need a good pack. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”

“I can go buy one. Actually, I was just going to buy a new strap to mend this one-”

“(Y/N),” he said, lifting your fallen chin with gentle fingers. “Please accept my gift, hm? I want to do this for you.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, accidentally shaking away his touch. 

He hummed and gave you the soft smile he so often sent your way. As you transferred your belongings into your new pack, you marveled at the many pockets and layers you found inside. There was a place for everything you’d brought with you- food, bathing and eating utensils, blade sharpening and repair tools. Apparently, Fíli was entertained by your ogling and when you looked up to the sound of his low chuckle, he was shaking his head at you. But you knew it was fond.

“I suppose I’ll see you at the inn then,” he said. “I have a few more things to look for in the market, so-”

“May I come with you?” you asked. “Everyone else is driving me mad. Even your brother is haggling with the archery merchant! I can’t bear it.”

“Of course,” he said, holding a hand out to you and lifting you to your feet. “Did you hear Dwalin at the ax vendor earlier?”

“ ‘What am I meant to do with this blade? Do they think I have time to hack through a warg’s leg?’ ” you mocked.

“I said it would be a good challenge for him,” Fíli said, leading the way back to the tents. 

“What did he say to that?”

He leaned to your ear. “You don’t want to know.”

As Fíli studied the tables of the shops, running hardened fingers over knitted scarves, lifting bars of soap to his nose for a sniff, taking in the shine of intricately decorated blades, your attention was pulled to the other end of the market. A fiddle in the corner slowly creaked into tune before erupting into a jig that was wealthily accompanied by a lute, a whistle, and a cajon drum. The shoppers barely paid the musicians any attention, but your feet couldn’t help but tap to the deep thumping of the hand drum. 

The music reminded you of home, but instead of sending you into a bout of homesick blues, the tune lifted your spirits and brought back fond memories of dancing around a crackling fire during crisp summer nights. Even the dance steps that you hadn’t performed in years came flooding back to your mind and soon, your feet. Heel, toe, hop ‘n turn. Kick, ball change, circle round. Not a soul in the small village’s plaza around you seemed at all moved by the music and though you itched to dance, you turned your bopping head back to the tables.

It seemed your yearning to enjoy the music hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You let out a surprised noise when an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand yanked you to spin around. Only when the tents stopped revolving around you were you able to focus on a bright grin and messy, brown hair.

“Kíli!”

“I know you want to dance, lass. Come on.”

He led you, hopping in time with the speeding fiddle, to the center of the square. Together you circled through the gathering crowd with precision and speed like a pair of bumblebees through a lush garden.

“Kíli!” You heard Fíli’s voice. “Not so fast!”

But Kíli spun you around him, yelling, “She doesn’t need your protection all the time, brother!” 

You laughed- even now the brothers bickered! But it added to your amusement. However, as Kíli lost himself in the fun, he also led you too close to the market tables and captivated audience members and you soon wished Kíli would heed his brother’s advice. 

You squeaked his name in fear as the fabric of your trousers caught on the corner of a display table of glass trinkets. It was clear he paid your worries no mind. Instead of slowing his lead, he chuckled lowly in return and tightened his grip on you, balling your tunic in his fist before he whirled you around him once more.

“I gotcha, (Y/N),” he said. 

Then the music shifted. You raced out of his arms into the open, unobstructed space where he could stand across from you like an opponent ready to lunge. 

“I love this song!” you cried as the fiddle weaved into a familiar tune- one that filled your heart with melodies and memories of adolescence. Your nerves seemed to disappear, as did the years since you’d learned the traditional dance of the dwarvish culture, and every nuance of the jig came flooding back to your memory. 

“Kíli! Remember the steps?” you asked as you hopped around him, hands on your hips and head turning side to side. 

“Not a bit!” he said, attempting to keep up with you anyway. 

Your sight grew blurry with laughter as you watched his stuttering feet, but when you looked up, you saw you weren’t alone in the dance. Others from the village had joined in. You were now surrounded by a hive of hoofers, some forming graceful and evolving formations, others giggling and stepping on unsuspecting toes. All was just as it used to be when you celebrated feast days in your own home town.

The musicians played louder and faster, encouraged by the participation and indulgence they saw before them. The sound of echoing claps brought your attention to the edge of the crowd while you continued your dance with the well known steps. There, Gandalf was grinning at you, lifting his hands to applaud you. Beneath him stood Bilbo, hairy feet tapping, hopping, and stepping in place so as not to get trampled by the sturdy, and quite passionate dwarves. Even Thorin and Dwalin seemed a bit beguiled, but as your head swiveled round you couldn’t find the dwarf you were looking for. 

You leapt on top of the large stone fountain in the center of the square, skittering around its edge and looking for a golden head of hair. But it was nowhere to be found. Even your frolicing heart sank a bit at the thought of Fíli missing this fun. 

“Kíli!” you cried as he bounced past. “Where’s your brother?”

He gave no answer and instead knocked at the back of your knees, plucking your legs out from under you. You fell from the high fountain, too startled to scream, but not too surprised to give Kíli a good smack on the shoulder when he caught you. Through the village plaza he raced, carrying you in his arms like a dangerous bird through the whirlpool of bees. You hid your face in his vest as he narrowly missed a few of the villagers, only opening your eyes when he set you safely on the ground. Before you, Thorin and Dwalin shook their heads, sporting deep smirks and cocked brows. 

Lucky for Kíli, by the time you turned around to catch him, he had vanished, safely hidden in the crowd of dancing dwarves. A bright pat pat came to your ears, sounding just over the music and when realization of its origin dawned over you, you grinned. “Are those… tapping toes I see, Mister Dwalin?”

Dwalin shared a look with Thorin. “I see no such thing, little lass.”

“Come and dance,” you said. You took his hand, finding it before it could disappear behind his back, and pulled. He didn’t budge. 

“Find yourself a different dance partner, (Y/N). There are many here,” he said, sliding his hand from your grasp. 

“Come now, Mister Dwalin,” you said. There was a twinkle in your eye that he recognized. It seemed you had learned a few things from Kíli in your weeks of traveling together at the company’s caboose. “Don’t be boring.”

“Oh, I’m boring, am I?”

“Yes!”

You had no time to run from him. One moment you were standing firm on the ground, the next you were in his arms being spun like the wheel of a wagon. The sky reeled, puffy clouds blurring into long white circles and dancing dwarves into blears and blobs of color. You screwed your eyes shut to save your frenzied mind, but it plainly made the dizzying effect worse. 

“Dwalin!” 

You screamed over the music, but the sound seemed to evaporate into the swirling air around you. Even when your feet eventually touched the flat ground, you were still twirled by your hands, shoulders, and waist. Just when the tormentor had finally relented, a familiar, smooth voice distracted you just enough for one foot to trip over the other and send you hurdling to the ground. Luckily, someone caught you.

“Are you all right?”

You opened your eyes to a blur of gold. It was Fíli who had caught you and you now lay in his able arms, helpless to stand. 

“I called Dwalin boring.”

“Oh, not your smartest idea, lass,” Fíli said, slowly moving you upright. 

You held his shoulders as your head continued to spin. “I think I may need a moment,” you said.

Fíli chuckled. “Let’s go sit, hm?” He led you to the fountain, watching just one of your wobbly steps before deciding to lift you in his arms once more and carry you to the stone seat. It was a smooth wave of movement you didn’t at all mind enduring. Once sat, he smoothed your hair behind your ear, marveling at your lips that were still grinning, even as you rocked back and forth in the aftermath of Dwalin’s “dancing.”

“Where were you?” you asked him. 

“Why? Did you want a better dance partner than Kíli?” he asked. You just saw his wink.

“Your brother is a good dancer!” you said with a slap to his shoulder. “He just dances to his own beat.”

Presently, Kíli was arm in arm with Bofur, skipping and hopping through the other dancers with precious little grace. You waved as they passed. Bofur barely made it past the fountain with Kíli’s dangerous lead. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“If you can call that dancing,” Fíli chuckled. His form had finally stopped swaying in your vision. “When you can stand on your own again, I’ll have to show you how it’s really done.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Why do you think I was looking for you in the first place?”

As the afternoon passed, other members of the company shopped through the market with notably lifted spirits. However, as the sun slid through the sky, it stretched gangly shadows of the pair who still made their perch on the fountain in the middle of the village plaza. Though you protested, sure Fíli had many other things to do rather than sit and listen to the music with you, he remained by your side, clapping to the beat as his feet collided with your swaying boots every once in a while. 

It wasn’t until the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon that Kíli ran back into the square calling for his brother.

“Fíli! Have either of you moved all afternoon? We’ve been waiting for you at the inn.”

Fíli sputtered and stood, pulling you to your feet. “No, I lost track of time.” He sandwiched you between him and his brother as you followed Kíli through the small streets to the inn. A heavy hand on your new pack kept you close when dwarves filled some especially crowded pathways. 

When the inn came into view on the far end of the lane Kíli turned over his shoulder and said, “There are taverns full of beer and food all over this village and you two spend the entire day sitting on a rock in the sun!”

You shook your head. “I would much rather spend the day outside in the sunshine than in a dark bar, getting a sore belly from too much ale and smelly dwarves.”

Kíli, of course, had something to say about your reaction but you didn’t hear his reply. You were too distracted by Fíli leaning to your ear and running his fingers past your hand. 

“And I’d much rather spend the day with you than anyone else,” Fíli said.

Before you could discern his exact meaning, his hand found your back and led you through the door to the tavern. The moment you stepped through the threshold of the bar, he seemed to disappear, joining his uncle and helping to make the arrangements for the company’s overnight stay.

He stood tall next to Thorin- shoulders back, hands on his belt before one rose to shake that of the inn owner as Thorin dropped a few coins on the counter. Despite the months of travel, his clothes and hair were neat, even shining in the low light of the dark tavern. He turned over his shoulder and immediately found you watching him, giving you a high browed look as if he caught you stealing a treat from the kitchens. 

“That’s a nice pack, (Y/N).” Kíli’s voice interrupted your long distance facial feature conversation with Fíli. 

You hummed. “Thank you.”

The first thing you did when you reached your private room was bathe. You were given a large tub full of steaming water and fresh soap- no fish, plants, sharp rocks or sweating dwarves in sight. It should have been the most soothing event to occur in the past weeks. However, instead of relaxing and sinking deep into warmth and peace, your mind whirred and your body remained tense. Before the water had even run cool, you leapt out of the tub and dressed to run across the hall.

The hair by your neck was still damp and curling by the time you knocked on Fíli’s door. But it was Kíli who answered. You should have known they’d be sharing a room.

“Is Fíli in here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bath. You want him?”

“No,” you said, jealousy rising and peaking above even your frustration at your endless jitters. “Will you just tell him I wanted to speak with him?”

“It’s not about the pack, is it?” Kíli asked.

“What? No-”

“Because he just wanted to give you something he knew you needed. It doesn’t even really count! He’s told me how badly he wants to make your gift, but there aren’t exactly any forges he can take advantage of while-”

Fíli’s voice stopped him. “Kíli! Who are you talking to, brother?”

“(Y/N)!” Kíli answered.

“(Y/N), our (Y/N)?” On the other side of the open door, you could hear water slosh onto the floor accompanied by Fíli’s incomprehensible grumbling. Then he peeked around the door with a sheepish smile. You could just see the soaked ends of his hair sending streams of water down his bare chest. “What were you two talking about?”

“The pack-”

“I just wanted to speak with you,” you said over Kíli. “Not right now. Later. When you’re… ready. I’m across the hall.”

Fíli nodded, forcing a smile that looked more like a wince. It didn’t reach his now stormy eyes. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Take your time,” you got out as he slammed the door shut.

Before you stepped back into your own room you heard Kíli cry out, “What! What did I do?” 

You closed your own door quickly, not wanting to eavesdrop any more. But it didn’t stop you from thinking about what Kíli had said. Had Fíli wanted to make you a pack once Erebor was reclaimed? Why would you need it then? Maybe Thorin was planning to ask you to travel back to Ered Luin once it was safe to lead the people back to the mountain. Imagine a trip free of wargs and orcs, you thought. 

You jumped when the door vibrated with his knock. 

“Come in, Fíli.”

You had never seen his hair loose and untied before. Its waves fell around his face like sweet rays of sun and the dripping ends left sheer wet clouds on the chest of his tunic. Did Kíli usually braid his hair? Had their mother taught them the traditional styles? Or did Fíli do it himself, never needing to ask for help with something so trivial? You were sure you could manage it. The braids weren’t so intricate and they were similar to yours if you thought about it. Which you often did.

He was looking at you with that “caught ya” grin again. “What did you want to talk about, lass?”

You turned, digging through your pack that was laid out on the bed. “Not so much talk,” you said. “I wanted you to have these.” In your hands sat the strap you had been admiring from the market. While you were alone in the morning, you’d paid to have it fashioned into a scabbard and a matching pair of bracers. It was simply coincidence that the pattern on your new pack happened to match these gifts you’d picked for Fíli. “I saw the engraving and immediately thought you’d like it. I know your bracers were torn by the trolls a few weeks back.”

He looked at you before he took the gifts. You couldn’t quite place his expression, you were sure that even after months of traveling together you’d never seen it before. He flipped the bracers over and could have seen his reflection in the shine of the buckles. They were immaculate and new- obviously made this morning- however they seemed comfortably broken in as if they’d been worn for days previously. He could imagine what custom gifts like these would have cost you.

“I can’t take these.”

You waved his hands away. “Fíli, please accept my gift,” you said, repeating his words from earlier in the day.

He ran his rounded fingertips over the familiar triangular etchings and hummed. “Thank you, (Y/N). They’re perfect.”

“You like them?” you asked. Your nerves were starting to build again, as you took one of the bracers from him. “Are you sure? I was wondering if these straps were long enough. I can go back to the seller in the morning and get them adjusted-”

His hand covered yours. “They’ll fit fine.”

“And you like them? They’ll be of use?”

“I love them.” He set the leather pieces in the seat of a chair by the door. “However, I believe there is still one thing you owe me.” His eyes shined. Mischievous. He too had learned a few things from his little brother.

“Oh?”

You let him lace his fingers in yours and wrap an arm around you. “I never got my dance.”

“Ah,” you said, melting into his embrace. “And I suppose you’ll tell me we don’t need music?”

“You read my mind.” You could just feel his thumb waving back and forth against your tunic as he seemed to tuck you into the crook of his elbow. “And just for you, I’ll go very slow. Can’t have you getting dizzy again.”

“My hero.”

He hummed and held his cheek to yours. His skin was so warm- not from the bath, not from his soft, thick beard blanketing the side of your face, but just from Fíli. He glowed. Finally, you were close enough to feel the beams radiating from him and you couldn’t stop yourself from burrowing into the heat, eyelashes tickling his skin, nose nestling into silky, clean hair. You bathed in his sunlight, blinded to anything other than his arms around you and chest supporting you, his lips caressing the side of your head. 

“Dizzy?” he asked.

“A little.” 

“Me too.”

He only just rocked you back and forth, barely swaying as if to merely keep up the pretence of dancing. Safe in his arms, he led you along to the melodies of your beating hearts, steady breaths and unspoken confessions. You leaned your head on his shoulder and that tiny movement seemed to break a spell. Fíli’s voice, however, brought a new kind of magic.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what Kíli meant?”

You breathed out a laugh, sending cool air over his neck that made him shiver around you. “I was going to let you tell me when you were ready.”

“(Y/N), I’ve been ready.” You lifted your head, but he tightened his grip on you, keeping you close to him. “The pack was meant to be a courting gift- a proposal. But you deserve much more than that. I want to make something for you with my own hands. Something grand and gorgeous that you could love forever and would possibly begin the greatest adventure of our lives.” He swept tender fingers through your hair and held your cheek, feeling his own warmth still radiating from your skin. “But I don’t know how long it will be before I can do that for you and I don’t want to wait that long. I don’t want to wait another moment, so I’m asking you now. Will you allow me to court you?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes.” You turned your face into his hand and kissed his palm. “But Fíli, of course I want to treasure something you’ve made for me and have it with me always, but what matters to me is being with you. I don’t need gifts. Only you.”

You saw his radiant smile before he pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. The tip of his nose nuzzled yours and then settled. The two of you shared the same air for long, peaceful moments, before he went digging into his trouser pocket. 

“Wait,” he said, drawing away. He pulled out a hair piece, the one he wore on the bottom of his backmost braid, and held it flat in his palm. “I have this. I can secure a courting braid with it, though it’s a tad unusual.” He took your chin in his fingers, running his thumb back and forth. “It can be a placeholder.”

Pride bubbled in your chest. You kissed him. “A placeholder.”

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