#thirty seconds she figures out the guy is white and she goes 'yes my friend Zidane said to call' she doesn't know anyone named zidane

[medusa1597]

i think i just witnessed my grandma discovering that there are white taxis like she had to call a taxi company and they picked up and she hit them with a salam alaikum right off the bat

[atlafan]

Night Shift - One Shot

a/n: back at it again with another Halloween themed fic! This was inspired by an ask requesting Harry and Y/N both work/meet in the ER. Slight twist on it, but I hope you like it! Reblogs and feedback are super helpful! (not proofread)

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut at the end

Words: 6.8K

Becoming a doctor took a lot of hard work dedication. Countless sleepless nights, a large debt to pay back, finding a hospital to become a resident in, and countless seminars to go to, to make sure all practices were up to date. At first, Y/N hated working the graveyard shift. She rarely got to see friends or family, she was getting minimal amounts of sleep because, let’s face it, sleeping during the day never worked out the way you wanted it to. However, she stopped minding it so much when one of the nicest nurses took his turn on the overnight shifts.

Nurse Styles was usually the voice of reason. He could calm any patient down, and the kids in pediatrics loved him. He always had a lollypop ready to go. All of the nurses took turns with the different shifts so it was fair for everyone. He had heard of Dr. Y/L/N, but had never met her. She was newer to the hospital, a white coat, but still baby-faced. Harry really enjoyed being a nurse, he didn’t want to be the person in there doing surgery, but he liked being able to get things started, and ease someone into the more difficult things. He had a way of administering bad news, and easing the pain from it. His broad shoulders were perfect for crying on, and if it was a kid he needed to prep for getting their appendix out, he held their hand the entire way to the operating room.

Y/N was just getting in, putting her things in her breakroom cubby when Harry walked in. He smiles at her, and she smiles back as he also puts his things away.

“Chilly out there tonight.” He says as he puts his scrubs on over his long sleeve under armor. She only looked for a second, his arm muscles were certainly defined. “I don’t think we’ve properly met yet, I’m Harry.” He extends her hand and she takes it.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, lucky for you I’ll be your nurse for the next couple of months.”

“You seem a little too chipper about working overnight.” She chuckles as she gets her white coat on and stethoscope around her neck.

“I don’t mind it.” He shrugs. “A lot of the other nurses have spouses and kids they rarely get to see, so it’s only fair I take my turn on the overnight stuff. I usually take it this time of year anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Halloween crazies start trickling towards the end of September. Think the staff likes having me as extra muscle or whatever.”

Her face pales as she looks at him. She had completely forgotten about Halloween. Last year she worked during the day, but she had heard about all of the nonsense from the entire weekend. Drunk people needing their stomach pumped, car wrecks, people on drugs, etc.

“So, what’s your specialty? You’re not a surgeon are you?” He breaks her from her trance.

“No, I’m not a surgeon, just a regular old doctor. I almost ended up in maternity like a lot of female doctors, but it wasn’t for me.” They both walk into the main area so they can get briefed for the night.

Harry says hello to the other nurses at the desk, and he takes his seat to login into the computer. There was another doctor on the overnight shifts, Dr. Gilles, and Y/N really couldn’t stand him. He was one of those doctors who was sort of rude to the nurses because he had been at the hospital for a while, but he was handsome so a lot of them didn’t even care. He would flirt with Y/N when he’d get the chance, but she didn’t really like it. She’d seen Scrubs, she didn’t need the drama that comes with hooking up with a coworker. Not to mention the guy was, like, forty, and she was only pushing thirty. To some that may not be a big age difference, but it weirded her out nonetheless. It weirded her out more when he’d catch her flirting with some of the younger nurses.

“Evening everyone.” Dr. Gilles. “He says as he walks up to the desk. “Quiet so far?”

“Pretty much.” Nurse Halleran says. “Hope it stays that way. You’ve got a couple of people you just need to check in on.” She hands him a few charts and he nods as he takes them. “How are you, Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Good.” She says as she looks over her cuticles. She feels his eyes burn into her, and she fiddles with some of the pens on the desk. “Nurse Styles, back on the graveyard, huh?”

“Yup.” Harry says with a fake smile. He also did not like Dr. Gilles. He felt protective over the other nurses, and none of them felt uncomfortable by Dr. Gilles, but he was a married man who openly flirted with people, and that kind of behavior just didn’t fly with Harry. “Dr. Y/L/N, one of your patients needs their vitals checked. Young thing, coming down from a bladder and kidney infection.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Harry hands her the chart and she looks it over as they walk to where the patient was sleeping.

Bethany Martin, ten years old, bladder and kidney infection. Another doctor wanted to size her up for an appendix removal, but it was Y/N that discovered that it wasn’t the child’s appendix. The girl had told her the pain had moves from the front of her stomach, to her side, and then to her back. She got major brownie points from the administration for making that catch.

Her and Harry slowly go into the room. Her father was sleeping in one of the fold out chairs provided. He wakes up when he hears the door open.

“Hello, Mr. Martin.” Y/N whispers with a smile. “We’re just going to check on Beth’s vitals, see how her fever’s doing, alright?”

“Sure thing, thank you.” He stands up and goes over to his daughter to help her wake up a little.

“Hmm.” The girl slowly opens her eyes, and then she smiles when she sees Y/N. See, Beth was scared that she was going to get cut open, so she was beyond grateful that she didn’t have to have surgery. “Hello.” She says sleepily.

“Hi, sweetheart, I need to check a few things, would that be alright?” Y/N asks.

“Yes.”

“Hi, Beth, how’s your IV feeling in that hand?” Harry asks her.

“It’s itchy, Nurse Harry.”

He smiles at her. A lot of the kids would call him that instead of Nurse Styles, he thought it was sweet.

“Think we should switch it to your other hand then.”

“Why’s it in her hand and not in her arm?” Y/N questions.

“We had a tough time…this one likes to pull away.” Harry explains and winks at Beth which makes her giggle.

Y/N let’s Harry switch out the IV. She lets Beth hold her hand as she winces from the needle. Once he’s done, Y/N checks everything else. She has Beth roll onto her stomach so she can feel around her back.

“I haven’t been as achy.” Beth says as she gets settled on her back once more. “It still hurts a little though.”

“Mm, I bet. Took us a bit to figure things out with you, but you seem to be doing a lot better. Should only need to be here for another few days. We’ll come back to check on you later this morning.”

“Thank you.” She snuggles back into her blankets and slowly falls back asleep.

Mr. Martin thanks Y/N and Harry before they leave, and she they both go to wash their hands at one of the sink stations.

“Nurse Harry, huh? Do all the little girls call you that?” Y/N smirks.

“Why, jealous?” He bumps his hip to hers before grabbing a paper towel to dry his hands. She rolls her eyes at him, and he chuckles. “The kids just tend to call me that, I don’t mind it.”

“It must ease them a bit more to be on a first name basis, I should remember that. I hate seeing kids in pain, I’m glad she’s doing better.”

“I know it sucks, but I actually like working with the kids more. They at least listen to us. Some of these adult patients…they fight us on every little thing sometimes.” They make their way back to the desk.

“Dr. Y/L/N?” Nurse Stevens says to her. “I’m going on a coffee run, would you like anything?”

“You’re an angel, yes”, she reaches into her pocket for some loose singles, “just a regular with a little cream, no sugar, thank you.”

“Harry?” She says to him.

“Brought my thermos, but thanks Ellie.” He smiles at her and she nods before going on her way.

“She’s the best, I’ve worked with her during the day before.” Y/N says to Harry.

“Yeah, Ellie and I came on together.”

“Oh, really?”

Harry hums his response as he types some notes into the computer. Harry and Ellie had a bit of a past, nothing serious, but they had hooked up on occasion. Being a nurse meant working a lot of long days, and that left little room for a social life or companionship. They may or may not have taken advantage of the beds in the room adjacent to the breakroom a few times, but that was a year or so ago. She had started seeing someone, so they ended things amicably.

“Why just the cream and no sugar?” He asks to change the subject.

“Well, for a while I was doing the keto thing, which is absolute rubbish and I never should have done it, but I got into the habit of not adding sugar to things. I don’t like the taste of black coffee, it’s too bitter, so the cream helps. I don’t miss the sugar, in fact, I can’t stand really sugary drinks in general.”

“Why’d you do the keto in the first place?”

“Oh, I was looking to lose some weight before a wedding I had to go to. I was a bridesmaid so I just wanted to look nice in the pictures, you know? It works when you stick to it, but as soon as I stopped I gained most of it back. Deprivation diets are never a good idea, and I knew it, but did it anyways because it was a quick way to do things.” He goes to say something, but decides against it. Her head tilts as she can tell he’s withholding something. “Go ahead, tell me as a doctor it was stupid of me to jump on a fad diet.” She sighs and leans on the tall desk.

“No, I was just going to say…” He blushes slightly. “Well, I just feel bad that you thought you needed to lose any weight because you…well…you must know how beautiful you are as is.”

She stands up straight. She literally just met this man tonight, what was going on? Just as she was about to say something, Ellie comes back with the coffee.

“Here you go.” She smiles.

“Oh, thank you.” Y/N takes the coffee. “I’m gonna go take a walk to the other nurse’s station, see how they’re doing. Page me if you need anything.”

Harry watches her walk away and he groans with his head in his hands.

“Don’t tell me.” Ellie smirks. “You have a crush on Dr. Y/L/N…shocking.” Ellie giggles and rolls her eyes.

“I just met her, I don’t have a crush on her. But I may have just said something inappropriate.”

“You?!” Ellie was shocked. “Harry, you’re, like, the nicest person I know. What did you say?”

“I just told her she was beautiful.”

“It’s not like it’s a lie, she’s rather pretty. Seems to take care of herself. It’s not an easy thing to do, especially on these shifts.”

“I know! It just felt weird after I said it. I don’t wanna be like Dr. Gilles, you know?”

“Please.” She scoffs. “You’re nothing like him.”

Y/N does her nightly rounds, checking on her various patients. A few people come in that need to be checked right away, but other than that things were quiet. Around six in the morning she and Harry go to check on little Beth again.

“Definitely only need you here another couple of nights. Keep getting those fluids in, and this fever will go away in no time.” Y/N says.

The girl nods at her tiredly before falling back asleep. Y/N helps out with some last minute patients before going to the breakroom to change. Harry was in there taking his shirt off. She tries not to stare as he pulls a sweatshirt on over himself. She wouldn’t have minded a few more moments to examine his tattoos. She knew he had a few just from his left hand alone, but shit, he had them all over his chest and stomach!

“Well, see you tonight. Hope you can get some sleep.” Harry says to her.

“Same to you.” She smiles and goes into her locker.

“I hope, uh, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier in the night…” He rubs the back of his neck.

“You didn’t, it’s fine…I’m just one of those people that has a tough time taking a compliment. Um, it happened to me in school a lot too, like, if someone told me I was smart or something, you know?”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure.”

“I appreciate that, Harry, thank you.”

He nods and heads out. On his way home he realizes he’s far too awake to be able to fall asleep, so when he gets into his flat he takes a sleeping pill, and nestles down with a cup of tea while he watches a little TV. Once his eyes feel tired he heads to bed, getting cozy under his blankets, and eventually passing out.

Y/N does something similar. She definitely takes a sleeping pill before jumping into a warm shower. She pulls her blackout curtains, and gets into bed. Her eyelids feel heavier and heavier as she listens to a podcast, and she slowly falls asleep.

//

Things went on like that for the next couple of weeks. Harry would often assist Y/N on her rounds. He liked that she wasn’t one of those snooty doctors that discounted the nurses, she really seemed to value their opinions, even consulting with them when she needed to. They became fast friends too, often eating together or taking coffee breaks at the same time. She learned that Harry was a couple of years younger than her, and he had been at this hospital for around five years. He explained he liked working at a hospital rather than a smaller practice so he could help more people, and she said she felt the same way.

“Maybe when I’m, like fifty, I’ll settle and open up my own practice. But only because I might not have the same spring in my step.” She chuckles as they both sit and enjoy some coffee.

“You can really sprint when you need to! You were incredible when that guy came in with that allergic reaction the other night.”

“I was internally freaking out the whole time to be honest with you. I was glad to have you there to help me intubate him.”

“Feel like I can do that with my eyes closed now.” He laughs and finishes his warm drink. “I hate to be one of those people, but you’re looking a little tired tonight.”

“Oh, that’s because I never left this morning. I worked all day, took a nap, and then got right back on it.”

“Y/N, that’s not okay. You can’t do your job properly if you’re tired.”

“I know, but we were short staffed, and I was only going to stay a couple of hours, but I got wrapped up with a couple of people. I’m fine, honest, I’ll have a good sleep when I get home later.”

“Shit like that used to happen to me all the time. I’d work sixteen hour days, and then they’d yell at me because I was getting so much overtime, and I’d tell them to hire more bloody people then. It was infuriating. Then you think the place is gonna fall apart without you when you finally do get some time off.”

“Literally! I think that’s why I got stuck here for so long. I have the next couple of days off, though, so I’m looking forward to that.”

“Yeah? Any big plans?”

“No.” She scoffs. “Not unless you consider binging a fuck ton of television while eating a gallon of ice cream big plans.”

“Depends on the show, what’s on the docket to be binged?”

“I’ve been meaning to sit down and watch Ratched. I’ve heard some mixed reviews, but I’m just so intrigued.”

“Mm, nothing better than a show about a crazy nurse.” He rolls his eyes.

“Aw, feeling a little misrepresented?” She smirks.

“Maybe a wee bit. Let me know if it’s worth the watch, though, yeah?”

“Definitely.” She finishes up her coffee and sighs. “Back to it I suppose.”

“Go lay down if you want, we’re not busy.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m catching a second wind.” She stands up and shakes her body out. “See, awake and ready to-“, her beeper goes off, “Shit, some teenagers were just brought in.”

They both hurry out of the breakroom, and go to where they’re needed. Three teenage boys were laying in hospital beds, clearly in pain.

“Alright, what seems to be the problem here?” Y/N says as Harry works on taking their vitals.

“We…fell off the water tower.” One of them says.

She sighs and starts checking for bumps and bruises. She doesn’t ask why they were there, she was sure their parents would rip them a new one for that. A few sprained ankles, and one broken wrist, but nothing too serious otherwise. Y/N gives her instructions to Harry, and tells the boys they’ll need to switch off between aspirin and ibuprofen to help with pain and inflammation. Harry gets the broken wrist into a splint and sling, and gets the others settled as well.  

“Isn’t this a little backwards?” One of them says to him after Y/N’s left. “Isn’t she supposed to be the nurse?”

“Well, considering that she went to school for a lot longer than I did, and probably has a lot more knowledge about the body than I do, I’d say she’s supposed to be the doctor.” Harry says.

“Isn’t it weird being a male nurse though?”

“M’not a male nurse.” He makes some notes on the laptop he was using. “I’m just a nurse.” He closes the laptop and looks at the three of them. “Your parents should be here soon, hope you lot feel better, and be safer out there.”

It wasn’t the first time Harry got a comment like that, and it wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t go to school as premed and then go off to a fancy medical school. He majored in Allied Health in uni, and passed all his tests. That was it, and that was all he wanted to do. There was nothing wrong with that. He was proud of himself. He hoped Y/N was proud of herself too.

//

Flu shot season was in full swing, and there were usually a couple of days a year the hospital did walk-in appointments so people could come in easily to get them. Harry had picked up a shift to administer them. Y/N had come in to be on call so one of the other doctors could have the day off. She smiles when she sees Harry in the cafeteria at lunch.

“Hey, you.” She says as she sits down. “Weird seeing you in the daylight.”

“Could say the same to you. What’s all this about? Don’t tell me you’re working another triple…” He raises an eyebrow at her.

“No, I swapped shifts with Dr. Jollas so she could have the day with her kids. What are you doing here today?”

“I’m on for the flu shots. It’s an easy enough shift to pick up.”

“Get a lot of people in for that?”

“Sure, tons.”

“That makes me happy to hear.” She sighs.

“How were your couple of days off? Did you watch your show?”

“I only watched about two episodes…there was a lot more gore than I was expecting.”

“Y/N…you’re a doctor…”

“Yes, and I can handle small amounts of blood, especially when I’m in the moment helping someone, but there was literally a scene where they were showing how lobotomies were done and a scene where this kid cut off his own arms, so it was a bit much for me. Not something I should be watching alone, anyways.”

“That’s gross.” Harry grimaces. “Don’t blame you for not getting through it.”

“So I ended up just re-watching The Office for the millionth time. It was perfect.” She chuckles. “Are you working all of Halloween weekend?”

“I am.” He nods. “I hope you’ll add some flare to your outfit. The kids like it when we do.”

“Some flare, huh?”

“I have these scrubs that have pumpkins, ghosts, and black cats on them.”

“Hm, I’ll have to think about what I can add. I have some earrings with witches on them, that could be fun.”

“As long as you get into the spirt somehow. We all decorate the nurse’s station and everything. Ellie usually brings in cupcakes too.”

“Speaking of her…” Y/N leans in a bit. “Did you catch the rock on her finger? I’m happy for her and all, but she said she’s only been with her fiancé for eight months. It’s a bit fast.”

“Well, they were casual before they made things official. She was, uh, seeing a couple of people, and then he asked her to get serious and she did.” He shrugs.

“Oh, I see.” She nods and sits back. “I’m not judging or anything, I mean, I guess when you, you know.” She takes a bite of her food, and then leans back in. “Can I ask you something?” She whispers.

“Always.” He leans in as well. Harry be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy a spot of gossip, and Y/N had become his new favorite person to gossip with. It didn’t take them long to become the two bitches that are always talking shit about everyone else.

“Do people use the bunk room to bone?”

His face flushes, and then he clears his throat.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you know everything about this place! I wish it was a singles only room because I swear I saw Nurse Halleran and Dr. Gilles coming out of there, and only one of the beds looked used.”

Harry makes a disgusted face and rolls his eyes.

“I feel bad for whoever he’s married to.” He shakes his head. “Scumbag.”

“Nurse Halleran’s married too! I could never do that. I mean, I’ve been in relationships before, and maybe I’ve thought someone else is attractive, I can appreciate a pretty face, but I would never cheat on my significant other. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Same here. That’s, like, the ultimate betrayal. How do you even come back from that? I get that our jobs can make for lonely lives, but make the time count at home when you can.”

“Does he have kids?”

“No, I think that’s why he doesn’t feel bad about it. She has two kids, though, I don’t know, I only talk to her about work things if I can help it. I miss some of my girls from the day shifts, like, Shauna is super nice and has this really warm smile.”

“Feel like she’s the hospital granny.” Y/N smiles. “I like her a lot too, the few interactions I’ve had with her.”

“How long do you think they’ll keep you on the night shift for?”

“I have no idea, think I’m just paying my dues as the new doctor. I’m getting more used to it, it’s not too bad. If it goes through summer I can drag my bum to the beach and sleep there.” She laughs and so does he.

“Might have to join you for that, I love getting a good tan.”

“It’s a date.” She says, more so as a joke, but from the way he looks at her he may have taken it a different way, so she clears her throat and laughs it off. “Anyways, I better get back to it. Nothing worse than being in the middle of eating and the beeper going off.” She stands up. “Have a good one, Harry.”

“You too.” He watches her walk away, and he sighs.

//

On Halloween, Y/N goes in a few hours early because she was told they let the kids go around the halls to the different nurse’s stations to trick or treat, and she really didn’t want to miss out on it. She puts on her witches earrings, and some spooky pins for her coat, and out she goes. She stops off at the store to buy some extra candy, and puts it in a pumpkin shaped bucket. She smiles when she sees Harry behind the desk already in his Halloween scrubs.

“Excellent effort.” He says, and then taps his finger over his mouth in thought. “Could use a little something extra, though.”

“Yeah? Like what?” She sets the candy down on the desk and he walks around it.

“Follow me.” Y/N follows Harry into the breakroom, and he pulls a bag out of his locker. He has her go into the unisex bathroom wither, and she sits up on the counter for him. “I’m working a double today, I did some face painting earlier for some of the younger kids. Sort of a way to give them a costume for when they walk around.”

“Harry, why don’t you just solely work in pediatrics?”

“Because I did some face painting for the elderly too, now hush. I need to concentrate.”

He takes what looks like a black sharpie out of the bag, but Y/N recognizes it as liquid eye-liner.

“What exactly are you going to do with that? Give me cat eyes?” She chuckles.

“No, you dolt, we’d need hours for that. I’m just gonna draw a little spider web on your cheek, alright?”

“Okay.”

Harry had never been this close to her face before. She got a nice whiff of his cologne, and she liked being able to see the few freckles he had. She notices now he’s painted his nails black and orange, he must really like Halloween. She closes her eyes as he starts drawing on her right cheek. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. A slight gasp leaves her lips when his other hand grips her chin to tilt her head.

“Still just me, don’t worry.” He chuckles. “Don’t get jumpy on me.”

“M’not, sorry.” She sucks her lips into her mouth as his hand moves to the side of her neck. Y/N may or may not be a little touch starved.

“Almost done.” He says just as she was opening her eyes back up.

“Harry, has anyone ever told you how pretty your eyes are?”

“Shut up.” He scoffs, and finishes up. “All done, tell me what you think.”

“I mean it!” She says as he backs away enough for her to hop off the counter and turn around in the mirror. “Oh, excellent job. I especially like that you drew a little spider dangling from the web.”

“It’s my signature detail. Now you look perfect.” They look at each other through the mirror. “We should probably get out of here before someone thinks we’re boning.”

She bursts out laughing at that.

“Good one.” She says and shakes her head.

“It wasn’t that funny.” He mutters as he puts the bag back in his locker.

“N-no, it wasn’t.” She clears her throat. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He nudges her shoulder and they walk back out to the main area.

The trick or treating was a lot of fun, and the kids seemed to have their spirits lifted. Then shit got real when the drunk people started coming in, the people the police had to bring in for psych evaluations, and the people that had too many edibles. It was crazy busy, Y/N had been running around all night. She was given the okay to go lay down for about thirty minutes since she had come in early. She stops short when she sees Harry laying in one of the bunks. He was laying on his side with his arms crossed over his chest. She quietly slips into one of the other bunks, and takes a deep breath.

“You’re awfully loud.” He says.

“Christ! I was quieter than a mouse!” She says, and turns to face him. He opens his eyes and grins at her. “Ah, you were just fucking with me.”

“Obviously.”

“Busy out there tonight. I mean, I expected it, but still.”

“I know.” He yawns and stretches out. “I’ve been in here too long, I need to go back out before I get groggy.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and slowly gets up. “Have a nice snooze.”

“Thanks.” She chews her bottom lip for a moment. “Do you have any makeup wipes? I’d hate to wake up with a smudged web.”

“Oh, sure, one second.” He leaves momentarily and comes back in with a wipe for her cheek. Instead of handing it to her, he sits on the edge of her bunk, cups one of her cheeks in his hand, and uses the other to carefully wipe off the drawing. Her eyes flutter closed and she sighs. “There.” Her eyes open back up and she smiles softly at him.

“Thank you.”

There was something brewing between them, they could both feel it. He’s about to lean in to kiss her, but he hears the click of the door open, and stands up immediately. It was another doctor who was I desperate need of a snooze. Harry leaves, and Y/N tries to relax enough to fall asleep.

They don’t see each other again until the morning when they’re both getting ready to leave. He chews on his inner cheek, trying to work up a little bit of courage.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure you’re probably tired, but…I have these, uh, pancake stencils where you can make pancakes look like pumpkins or ghosts…I thought maybe we could celebrate surviving Halloween together, but I’ll understand if you’re ready to just crash or-“

“I’d love to have breakfast with you.” She smiles as she closes her locker. “I’m gonna go home and shower. Text me your address, yeah?”

“Alright.” He smiles and watches her walk out.

//

Y/N takes a very quick shower so she can freshen up. She wasn’t sure what might go down between them. She felt like she was getting to be a little too old to just be hooking up with someone, but Harry was really great, so she decides to just go with the flow. She heads to his flat after he sent her his address, making sure to buy some orange juice as something to bring over.

He lets her in and she can’t get over how cozy he looks in his sweatpants, graphic tee, and cardigan. She was in a pair of leggings and a sweater.

“It smells so good in here.” She says.

“Thanks, I made some tea too if you want something warm.”

She nods and he pours her a cup. They giggle over the pancakes, and Harry confirms that Halloween is definitely one of his favorite holidays. The two decide it might be fun to watch a Halloween movie, but naturally after a long sift, they fall asleep together on his sofa. She was nestled into his chest with his arms wrapped around her. She would have slept longer, but she woke up to the sound of him snoring. She shuffles a little, but accidentally knees him in the groin, waking up immediately.

“Shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize I was laying on you like this.”

“It’s fine.” He says as he reaches for himself. “I’m good.” He knuckles at one of his eyes, keeping his other arm around her. He looks at the TV screen and sees that something else had come on. “Slept through the movie…”

“Guess we got a little too comfy.” She looks up at him. “Forgot how nice it was to cuddle with someone.” She mumbles tiredly.

“We could…go to my bed if you want, have a proper cuddle.”

“Would you spoon me if we do that?”

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”

She nods yes, so he manages to pick her up, and carry her to his bedroom. She almost didn’t want to let go him when he sets her down, but all is good once he slides in next to her, pulls the blankets over them, and he wraps himself around her. She sighs as his pelvis aligns with her bum, and his arm wraps around her waist.

“Good?” He asks.

“Mhm.” She wiggles against him to get even more comfortable.

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not.”

“Because I’ll get excited, and that’ll make things awkward.”

“Define excited.”

“You know exactly what I mean, Y/N.” He sighs.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’ll get hard, and it’s already difficult enough to control that around you, so-“

“You can press it against me if you want, I don’t mind.” She looks over her shoulder at him.

“You’re serious?”

“If I wasn’t I certainly wouldn’t have let you carry me to your bed.” She rolls onto her other side to face him. “I like being your friend and all, but I’ve done this with someone who’s just a friend before. I…I feel like we almost kissed earlier…”

“We did. Can we try again now?”

“Please.”

His hand slides to the back of her neck and he pulls her closer to him. His lips still tasted like the syrup they put on their pancakes, and she likes it more than she really should. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip, and he opens up for her. Their tongues swirl around each other, and she tugs him on top of her as she turns onto her back. One of his legs goes between hers, and she grunts when she feels his thigh right on her. She wraps her arms around his neck as their tongues still mold together.

She slips her other leg around his waist so he could lay full between her. He groans into her mouth as he grinds himself against her. A soft moan leaves her lips when she feels how hard he is. She could feel herself throbbing for him. He sits up a little, just to get his cardigan off, and her hands slide up his stomach under his shirt. He shudders from her touch, and he just takes his shirt off too. Her eyes widen as she can finally look over his tattoos.

“This is beautiful.” She says as her fingers trace over the butterfly on his torso.

“Thanks.” He smiles and gets back down to lay on her chest to chest as he kisses her.

He kisses from her lips, along her jaw, and to her neck, all while she’s grinding herself against him. One of his hands finds her hair and he yanks her head to the side so he can get better access to her neck. He licks over the spot just below her ear, and he sinks his teeth in. He sucks on her soft skin, and her mouth falls open. She normally wasn’t super into biting, but whatever he was doing felt really good. When he pops off her she puts her hand over the new bruise.

“That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.” She says to him.

“Kind of the whole point.” He smirks. “Maybe Dr. Gilles will leave you alone if he thinks you’re already getting it from someone else.”

“Not very professional though, is it?”

“That nice white coat of yours will cover it. Wear your hair down for a few days, no one will notice. Or maybe they will, oh well. I’ve never much cared what other people think.”

“That’s because you’re not the one walking around with a mark on your neck.” She pouts at him.

“I could be if you wanted to give me one.”

She bites her bottom lip to contemplate just about every little thing that’s going on between them. She had her legs around him, she was in his bed, and he was shirtless sucking marks into her neck.

“Are…are you going to fuck me?” She asks.

“Do you want me to?”

“Kinda.” She giggles. “You’re, um, really sexy, Harry.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you to say, but ‘kinda’ isn’t exactly a yes, Y/N.”

“Could we maybe just…touch each other? Below the belt?”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

He rolls them both over so they’re on their sides facing each other again, and he pulls her leg up over his hip. She reaches for him first, skimming her fingers along the band of his sweatpants before dipping her fingers him. His breath hitches as she palms him over his boxers.

“You’re okay with this?” She asks him.

“Very.” He grunts. “Go for it.”

She nods and slips her hand inside his boxers, wrapping her hand around his warm cock. She bites her bottom lip as she runs her thumb over his tip, which was already leaking precome, and she slides it down his length.

His hand grips her ass before sliding it around to her front, and pulling her leggings back so he can get his hand in. A moan leaves his lips when he feels her wetness through her thong. He pets over at first, teasing her a little, but she squeezes him a little too tight, and that was signal enough to get the show on the road. He tugs her thong to the side, and runs his fingers along her slit before dipping his middle finger inside her. She squeezes around the intrusion, and then she relaxes a bit for him.

Harry slides another finger inside her, and works them in and out as his thumb takes care of her clit. He leans in to kiss her as they work each other over. She sucks on his bottom lip as she pumps his slick cock in her hand. He finds himself bucking into her grasp, but neither seem to care since she was grinding against his fingers. He curls them up inside her, and that’s when she starts breathing heavily.

“Oh, shit.” Her mouth falls open and she starts pumping him faster. “Fuck, oh my god, H-Harry, it feels so good, don’t stop.” She was nearly gagging for it, and it shocked him to see her falling apart like this just from him fingering her.

“Y/N.” He moans and presses his forehead to hers. “I’m gonna come.”

“M-me too, shit.”

She feels her hand become warm and sticky as she comes around his fingers. She tightens around him to make it last as long as possible, and then she catches breath. She doesn’t want to make a mess of his sweat pants, so she takes her hand out slowly, keeping as much of his come in her palm as she can. They make eye contact, and she licks her palm clean. He does the same by sucking his fingers into his mouth.

“You’re, like, a little kinky.” She chuckles and so does he.

“You literally just did the same as me!”

“I was trying not to make a mess of your sheets!”

“I can wash ‘em.” He laughs more, and then tucks some hair behind her ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking you like me a little more than I thought.”

“A lot more, actually. You like me too?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “I like you, Harry.”

“Thank god, I didn’t want this to be awkward at work.”

“Just don’t try to get busy with me in the bunk room. I will not contribute to that.”

“Listen, when you’re tired and desperate, it’s not such a bad place to get frisky.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She rolls her eyes. “Could I use your bathroom quick? And then if you don’t mind, I would actually love to sleep a bit more.”

“Of course! And yeah, that sounds good.”

She uses his bathroom, and he cleans himself up. He offers some pajama pants a tee shirt, and she happily accepts. She changes and crawls back into bed with him. He spoons her, and rubs at her side, giving her a kiss once in a while on the back of her neck. As she falls asleep in his arms she thinks she had never been so thankful to work on a holiday in her life.

[variousqueerthings]

Daniel LaRusso: A Queer Feminine Fairytale Analysis Part Three of Three

(another massive, massive thank you to @mimsyaf​ )

part 1

part 2

8. Queerness and femininity and masculinity and the colour red and *record breaks*

If we spin the record aaalll the way back to this paragraph: “…looking at what it is girls and women in fairytales have/don’t have, what they want, and how they’re going to get it. It’s about power (lack of), sexuality (repressed, then liberated), and men.” Reading Daniel as a repressed, bisexual boy in a society that doesn’t accept his desires it’s interesting looking at how he moves through the world of the Miyagi-verse, at how threatened other men are by him, at how obsessed they are with him.

He’s out in the symbolic woods and these large boys and men see him and decide for whatever plot reasons to come for him. And they are large and violent and attractive and apart from Johnny again, they don’t have the nebulous excuse of fighting over a girl and even that excuse dies by around the midpoint when Johnny kisses Ali just to get a rise out of Daniel. He’s not trying to “win her back,” he’s not even really looking at her. He’s just trying to get a reaction. They don’t have any of the fighters in Rocky’s excuse either of Daniel being a macho opponent. 

You can read whatever subtext into TKK1 and TKK2 (which becomes especially tempting once CK confirmed that the guys he fought at seventeen have been thinking about him ever since – for thirty-five years), but TKK3 is where it’s really At in terms of obsession and lust and forbidden desires.

Silver is presented as both a handsome prince who saves Daniel and mentors him (where Miyagi is undoubtedly cast in a fatherhood role) and later on becomes twisted into a dark secret that Daniel has to keep, while he turns that thing that Daniel loves (karate, it’s… it’s karate… it’s also men, but it’s definitely karate, because karate makes him feel… things...) into an abusive, violent version of itself.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

But he’s also offering him something liberating. Whatever is going on in that nightclub scene is about something other than breaking Daniel down. Even the bloodied knuckles aren’t just about revenge. It’s about giving him something that he isn’t, in the end, willing to receive, at least not from Silver. In that roundabout, strange way of these feminine fairytales, it’s exploring hidden desires through the metaphor of karate.

Daniel wears red because it’s his colour. In the movies he wears red a lot. Often in scenes with violence in them (the beach/the hilltop in TKK1 and the date/the destruction of the dojo/the final fight in TKK2), but he also has a variety of shirts (and in TKK3 pants) that pop up all the way through the narrative. He wears a red jacket when he accepts Terry’s training, when he punches a guy in the face, and when he tries to get out of the training again (as badly as that goes).

Did anyone consciously think about red’s link to desire, obsession, and violence when they made these? Eh. But is it there symbolically? When he meets Johnny, when he fights Chozen, when he’s in emotionally fraught situations with Terry? Hell yeah.

Probably the most lust-and-violence infused red is that aforementioned punching-board-until-knuckles-bleed bit – not that I thought Terry was going to pull him in for a kiss, because I knew, logically, of course he wouldn’t right? There’s no way… is there? Or later on when Daniel punches that guy and ends up with blood all over his shirt and Terry once more grasps him, euphorically. Blood is violence. Blood is also desire. Red is Daniel’s colour, even though he doesn’t acknowledge it come Cobra Kai. (Maybe he just needs someone else - cough Johnny Lawrence cough - to inspire it in him again).

Daniel LaRusso’s narrative is exploring that most feminine of fairytale tropes: To want and be wanted by monsters and having to hide those desires.

“Maybe this time that strange churning in my stomach that feels like a mix of anticipation and fear will turn out good for me.” - Daniel’s mind.

At the end of the story, Daniel saves himself, with all of the strange mixed narratives around it, and the acknowledgement that the end of The Karate Kid Part Three isn’t satisfying and its aftermath will likely be delved into in the next season of Cobra Kai.

Nevertheless, he saves himself. Not from Silver or Kreese or Barnes, and not entirely, but he makes a decision not to give in to fear (and he continues to try and live by that decision, making it over and over again for the next thirty-five years, even when the return of Cobra Kai makes that difficult for him). 

He doesn’t do it by being the strongest in the land or even through a lucky shot (although that too). He does it by refusing to be like the male antagonists that surround him, by telling them they have no power over him. The narrative isn’t just his getting lost in the forest and all the monsters he finds there, it’s about how he redefines power for himself within that forest. 

He’s a man who isn’t violent, whose victories include helping out a girl whose ex-boyfriend just broke her radio, successfully doing the moves to a cultural dance he’s trying to learn, sitting with his father figure while he cries over the death of his own father, telling a girl that she’s just made her first friend, and breathing a sigh of relief that a tree that got broken has healed. 

Daniel LaRusso is a good boy is the point!

Karate is a metaphor. It can turn into many things: A series of lessons learned about how to be his own man and take care of his own house, a respect for the history of the father teaching him and sharing his home and story with him, fear, desire, masculinity (and the different forms that can take). 

When a tall, handsome stranger offers to teach him karate in the dark, without Daniel’s caretaker knowing how to help him, and twists that karate into something that hurts him - when he reclaims that, over and over, that means something too. 

This man is fine and definitely isn’t carrying the weight of buried karate-based queer trauma - could a traumatised man do this? *stares blankly at a former tormentor as blood runs down his forehead*

9. In Conclusion Daniel Has Kissed Dudes… Symbolically… But We Can HC Literally:

So there’s Daniel and his coded feminine fairytale narrative. It’s all a series of fun coincidences.

1. Ralph Macchio is just Like That

2. Red. All the red. 

3. large portion of his storyline is about lack of power. Yes, he regains that power by the end of the first and second movie through A Fight, but generally he is framed as powerless opposite these almost monstrously physically powerful boys/men. And in the third one it’s barely even about physical prowess (he’d still lose a real fight against Barnes or Silver) and more about regaining lost autonomy off the back of a manipulative, abusive relationship with an older guy.

4. The third movie in particular is narratively a mess, but if reimagined as a fairytale makes a lot of sense (because it’s secretly all about how karate is bisexuality and Daniel gets manipulated through that desire to be better at karate).

5. Queerness and femininity and themes about hidden desires that can only be approached sideways through couching those desires in symbolism: Handshake meme.

6. The fact that the more I think about it, the more feral I am for a Labyrinth AU.

7. To sum up over 5000 words of text: The inherent homoeroticism of wanting to be slammed against a locker by a bully, but extended over three movies and ever-more inventive ways of hurting pretty-boy-Daniel-LaRusso.

Johnny’s not going to be happy when he realises Daniel’s got other ex-rivals buried in his closet...

10. Some Other Stuff Aka The Laziest Referencing I’ll Ever Do

Further reading on trans Matrix

Further reading on masculinity and rape narrative in The Rape Of James Bond

Youtube Video from Pop Culture Detective (Sexual Assault Of Men Played For Laughs)

Some film/TV references in this: Dracula (Coppola), Princess Bride, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Labyrinth, The Matrix, Rocky, Princess And The Frog, Cinderella, Enchanted, Shape Of Water, Swamp Thing, Phantom of the Opera 

Some fairytale references: Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, The Wolf And The Seven Little Kids, Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, Company of Wolves (Angela Carter), Through the Looking Glass, Princess Bride

Also referenced is Alison Bechdel’s graphic novel and the subsequent musical Funhome. Further thoughts on this by @thehours2002​ and @jenpsaki​:

https://thehours2002.tumblr.com/post/650033577171533824/daniel-larusso-and-fun-home-click-to-enlarge

https://jenpsaki.tumblr.com/post/650530225997971456/cobra-kai-fun-home-inspired-by-goldstargirls

My list of Cobra Kai meta posts

I wanted to delve into fairytale movies more, but then I was like “fuck, I have actual work to do,” but I was interested in the ways male and female characters are written in these stories:

The Last Unicorn, The Never-Ending Story, The Dark Crystal, Legend, and Stardust.

The Last Unicorn is an interesting one because she’s not really human, until she is. It’s more like The Little Mermaid (the fairytale, not the Disney film) in tone, and of course there’s a pretty substantiated rumour that Andersen wrote that one as a metaphor for falling in love with another man (who eventually got married). 

Andersen in general is just fun to analyse as someone who popularized so many fairytales and exists as an ambiguously queer historical figure – might’ve been modern-day gay, bi, ace, but we’re just not sure. All your favourite fairytales can be read through the lens of queer loneliness and ostracization. Just like horror.

Anyway I didn’t go into the whole Little-Mermaid-Last-Unicorn transformation bit so much as the Monstrous-Desires bit, but I think there could be something to that too, with monsters representing otherhood and all. Stardust is a kinda-almost-this, except she sticks to her human form and all is okey-dokey by the end, she’s allowed to marry the handsome man and be a star.

The Never-Ending Story has Atreyu and Bastian and because of a lack of female characters, an interesting bond between the two of them, but mainly Atreyu is absolutely a go-gettem Hero Type and it’s just interesting to see how Bastian relates to him as both an audience insert, but also eventually as his own character in that world.

The Dark Crystal contains certain… androgynous elements of feminine and masculine coded characteristics in the main character because of how he’s not human, but also they do have a “female” version of his species that he needs to go save (and bring back to life) by the end, so in a way it’s both more and less heteronormative in its characters.

Legend sees another example of a monster (literally called Darkness and looking like a traditional devil) trying to seduce a princess through promises of power, and she “goes along with it” in order to trick him and succeeds in that trick, but is ultimately saved by the male lead. 

In conclusion: I don’t even have Shrek in this.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Souls of Mischief || Morgan & Caoimhe

TIMING: the recent past

LOCATION: UMWC

PARTIES: @evebrennan & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Two adjuncts square up against the new dean. Is it really a UMWC faculty meeting if everything goes according to plan?

CONTAINS: N/A

Since the dean of the arts and sciences college had gotten his face eaten and the volmugger dean who unofficially replaced him had been sliced and diced, the faculty meeting had to be postponed until summer. With all the deaths and disappearances from the last year, the faculty was able to squeeze comfortably into one of the small lecture halls from the early days of the school, pre AC. They were twenty minutes in and Morgan’s nose was starting to pick up the sour smell of human sweat filling the room. As she slumped deeper into her chair, she found herself thinking that maybe the volmugger dean hadn’t been so bad after all. At least his meeting probably would have been over by now.

She turned to the woman next to her. “Do you ever wish for a fire scare or a cryptid attack during these, or is that just a me thing?”

Humans were captivating for their creativity, and Caoimhe had never encountered anything as terribly uncreative as a routine meeting. Death by powerpoints, a man droning on about grading rubrics and research coming out of New York City. Somewhere in there was a hopeful message about Summer classes and plans for the Fall, but the man’s tone never changed. She felt liable to crawl out of her own skin should it go on for much longer, shifting restlessly in her seat. Typically, in a room so full, there would always be someone to whom Caoimhe was drawn. It was true, meetings sucked the creativity out of everything.

She was halfway through a list of ways she could get out of it, varying from a simple bathroom excuse to complete university meltdown, when a voice piped up from beside her. Ah, better. “Only every meeting. We could make it happen. Any of the above. I prefer bothering them with increasingly outrageous questions until they give up and let us go, personally.” She wondered how long it would take to get him going. If she could get him to give up before the PowerPoint was done. “Ten bucks says if we team up, we could be out of here before he can bring up the next slide.”

Morgan quirked her eyes with interest. Generally, the most she got out of someone was a little indulgent smile (so funny, Morgan; you and your little quips) or a grimace of agreement, because solidarity was the only thing that made these meetings bearable. No one really talked back, much less turned around and offered something back. Morgan scooted closer to the woman.

“Are you serious? Because I can’t tell if you’re serious, and if you’re not serious, I’m going to be really embarrassed when I ask that guy to explain why he chose the font he did for this thrilling presentation and no one jumps in to one up me.” She sat up a little straighter, tilting her head in a show of false interest at the presentation. “If we do make this work, we should give ourselves something nice. As a treat, you know?”

Oh, there was hope for the meeting yet. Caoimhe sat up, finding a grin that didn’t match the less-than-lively meeting topic in the least. She showed more interest in a matter of moments than she had for the entirety of the meeting up to that point, and she couldn’t even be bothered to care. It was so rare that anyone was willing to play along. Most meetings were spent tapping her toes against carpet, or filling quickly sketched staff lines in the margins of her notes. Some part of her felt she should pay attention, given she was new and working on a good first impression, but the meeting was unbearably boring, and there was someone present who was perfectly willing to cause some trouble.

“I don’t joke around when it comes to...joking around.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head around a laugh, turning back to the front. Displayed was a slide reading “2021 Changes,” and she was certain they’d been covering changes for at least thirty minutes. Freedom was imminent. “My vote is ice cream.”

Her vote was anything that wasn’t another staff meeting. She raised her hand, “Excuse me, sorry. I just couldn’t help but notice you’re using the Geometric theme by Slides. It’s an excellent choice, very clean. May I ask why Geometric instead of, say, Plum, or Spearmint?”

It took the New Dean several seconds to realize someone else was talking. He blinked behind his tortoiseshell glasses at Caoimhe, then at his presentation, then back again. “This...was recommended to me by my assistant.” He laughed affably. “And if you’ll observe, as we move on to the next section of the faculty code of conduct, the hexagons make for a very convenient grouping of text, so you can differentiate between the point and the rationale…”  He fumbled with his clicker and brought the next slide up.

“Oh, actually, I have a question about that formatting!” Morgan called. “The color contrast you picked is interesting, but I was wondering why you deviated from black and white. And why the font? It’s not so great for those of us in the back or with visual impairments. Which, I dunno, considering our disciplines is probably a lot of us, right?”

A few women sitting nearby sniggered.

“Obviously I can’t speak for anyone else, but everything you’re saying reads like gibberish to me. And I feel like my professional enrichment is being underserved.”

Ah, the next slide. Caoimhe was only allowed a moment of defeat before her partner in crime piped up, and the Dean’s initial laughter faded into a look of disbelief. The energy in the room changed. People were shifting in their chairs, interest piqued. Caoimhe could see a few burying their heads in the crook of their elbow, or covering their laughter with a hand over their mouths. She had a feeling she was going to like UMWC. Not if every meeting derailed so easily, not if she’d always have someone so perfectly willing to try.

“Oh, my deepest apologies.” There was a pause, then, while the Dean twisted the clicker in his hands and considered his next course of action. Caoimhe could see the red creeping into his cheeks, and she might’ve felt bad for him, if she wasn’t enjoying herself so much.

“There’s actually a site to help with contrast, as well as outlines of the best fonts to use in presentations. For example, Garamond fonts look very professional, yet are still easy to read.” Caoimhe grinned,  “I can send an email, even carbon copy your assistant, if you’d like.”

Morgan turned to Caoimhe as if noticing her for the first time. “Oh, my gosh! Could you? That sounds so amazing and helpful. Barbara--” She waved down a woman two rows up. “You had a student who was color-blind and dyslexic last semester, right? Did you ever figure out what the best format and coloring was for him?”

“No, that was me!” Another woman, Stephanie Shannon, called. Stephanie liked to be an authority on things. It made it easier to correct everyone else. And so, when Morgan happened to call the wrong woman, of course she had to be corrected. Stephanie launched into a long anecdote about her student and the research she did, and which websites were not at all helpful, and so on.

The New Dean tapped his microphone. “If we could turn back to business--”

“I believe Doctor Shannon is still speaking,” Morgan said, unable to hide the glee in her voice.

“Thank you, Professor Beck,” Stephanie said, genuinely touched.

Morgan leaned back in her seat and turned to Caoimhe. “So, the real question is whether we want to see if his face is going to get any redder or if we want to pretend to go to the ladies’ room and never come back.”

Chaos ensued and Caoimhe barely managed to conceal a smile behind her hand. The careful structure of the meeting falling to pieces around them was almost enough to make her stay, but it was still a meeting, and she was willing to bet Doctor Shannon had about as much to say as the Dean did. The deed was done. If she stayed in her spot another moment longer, her laughter would give her away.

A quick excuse and she was tumbling into the hallway, the sound of continued arguing cutting off abruptly as the door shut in her wake. The amount of joy she derived from the dean’s expression as she ducked out was near pathological.

“Professor Beck, was it?” Caoimhe had grown well-accustomed to starting over, to finding her footing in new environments. There was always a nook into which she could burrow herself, even if it was a box-strewn hotel room rented by the week. She preferred it when it looked like this. Like university hallways and bookshelves, drifting notes from a piano in a practice room, and sometimes people. They were always the hardest. They had interests, opinions, smiles and laughter of their own. It was easy to leave behind a bookshelf or a piano. It wasn’t always easy to leave behind people, the rare friend. Professor Beck had jumped in with the same glee Caoimhe had, and she already found herself thinking about what it would mean to leave. “I’m stealing you for every meeting. I’m sorry, it’s just the way it’s going to be.”

Morgan followed her new friend out. People seldom questioned women leaving in pairs, and she’d just earned some much needed goodwill. When the doors to the lecture room closed behind her, she finally let herself laugh, more pleased with herself than she’d been in a long time.

“Why yes,” she said, bowing dramatically. “Morgan Beck, at your service. I am great at distractions, petty theft, and driving away unwanted attention. My knowledge of literature isn’t so bad either.” She laughed again and sidled up to the other woman. “I would be honored, thrilled even, to be your partner in crime for the next meeting. But first, I definitely want to know who I have the honor of being in cahoots with, and if I can steal you for my meetings too.” It had been a while since she’d had a reason to feel happy at work. Since she’d had a real friend she could do shallow simple things with. There was no keeping the supernatural from coming to her door no matter where she went, but a moment of good, a little bubble of fun and nothing now and then, could be worth a lot.

“Oh, Morgan!” Caoimhe stood up a little straighter, grinning. “English professor Morgan? Likes the Cranberries Morgan?” She gave her own bow, “It’s Caoimhe, Music professor, new in town. Also great at distractions, and car sing alongs like you wouldn’t believe.” Suddenly, White Crest didn’t feel quite so daunting. It felt just that little bit more like somewhere she could settle, if she ever found herself in a capacity to do so. Perhaps there was something to the fog, to the way it felt disconnected in a way no other town had managed. Perhaps there was something to letting herself have friendships in the in-between.

There was muffled arguing from behind the door, and Caoimhe descended into another laugh, moving further down the hallway. There’d been some mention of a treat in reward of success, and the rapidly derailing meeting behind them was definitely a success. “Now, as much fun as that was, I’ve already enlisted you as my arm wrestling champion, how could I possibly expect even more of you?”

“Yes! That’s me! And you’re Vivaldi and Britney Spears Caoimhe?” Morgan gaped. She followed Caoimhe down the hall, shoes skittering in a cascade of delight as she avoided the oncoming faculty approaching the door. “Oh, you’re amazing! You’re like the first cool person my age here and you actually give a shit about your students and teaching and you sing in the car too? Do you also sing karaoke? I just--feel like you’re one swooping in here and making everything here a whole lot better. Let me get you something, a drink, or lunch or whatever people with sudden free-time do.” She caught up to herself, hearing the echo of her own rambling and her unchecked enthusiasm in the hall. “Or, um, a rain check. Obviously. But, you really do seem great and this place isn’t kind to great people, especially when they’re isolated. And, you know, selfishly, I really do appreciate having a partner in crime. There’s only so much mischief you can get up to when it’s you against the world.”

“Okay, okay correction.” Caoimhe matched the same excited rambling coming from Morgan. She talked with her hands. Her mother would grab them sometimes, pin them to a table and say her name sharp, but with a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. Caoimhe never did make an effort to fix it. “It’s you and me against the world now, so just jot that one down. Or...at the very least boring staff meetings. We can work up to the whole world part, but I’m dedicated.”

She tucked her thumbs into the pockets of her slacks. She liked the sound of Vivaldi and Britney Spears Caoimhe, and cool person, and lunch between classes. Of someone who seemed just as excited to wreak havoc as she was, who cared about her students, who liked karaoke, and oh. That one wouldn’t be the best idea, but the rest! Caoimhe would happily get behind the rest. “Yes to karaoke sometimes, no to the rain check.” She parsed through the onslaught to address one item at a time, quick and with just as much enthusiasm as the questions had been asked. “You seem great, I don’t rain check great. But reverse it, let me get you a drink, or lunch, or something.”

Morgan couldn’t fight the way she brightened up at Caoimhe’s assurances. “Okay! Then--” Shoot. She didn’t eat out anymore. Or enjoy most food. “Coffee? I know it’s hot and terrible outside, but we can get something iced. I know where the best places in town are.” And she could actually taste a quad shot latte. “I’ll let you pay this time, but only because it contractually obligates a second outing when I get to pay. And the sky’s the limit there, because while we adjuncts might get shit for pay, I get some very generous supplemented by my unspeakably wonderful future-wife.” She slipped her hands into her own skirt pockets and elbowed Caoimhe, grinning. “I like the sound of that, though: you and me against the department and really boring faculty meetings. Today the arts college, tomorrow the school, and then who knows?”

[keyboard-cowgirl]

Host, Interrupted - beta request

hey so, I'd like to a find a beta reader for my westworld, dolores/reader, wlw fic. It's been a million years since I've had a beta, but I really want one for this massive project. Let's see... you definitely need to be familiar with all three seasons of the show and comfortable reading heavyTM shit. I don't need much (if any) help with the plot. I need error fixes. I'm real chill to work with and I will happily assist you with any project of yours in return. My story is FINISHED. It's 170k words and the first work in a two-part series. Just to give you an idea of what my writing level is and what the story is about, here's the summary. The first chapter and trigger warnings for the entire story are under the cut. (Yes, my fic title is a play on the movie Girl, Interrupted. Yes, that is very much on purpose)

Non-con, suicide, death, murder, violence, gore, holy shit gore, depression, PTSD, self-harm, eating disorder, alcohol abuse, the works, it’s dark guys but *points at source material* *points at self*

Part I: The Devil is in the Details

 “Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world.” ― Jeanette Winterson

 Chapter 1:

 You have the whole train car to yourself. The magnet rail moves at amazing speeds with the kind of grace that feels like you aren’t going anywhere at all, but you are. You’re going to Westworld, the crowning achievement of the tech colossus: Delos Incorporated. The park put them on the map, quite literally after they bought an island in the South China Sea. Some 500 square miles of it is reserved for Westworld alone, the rest is divided between the other parks. You forget how big they are, but none of them are as large as Westworld. No matter how large it is and easy to get lost in, you aren’t going to up and forget why you’re here. You can’t. If you could, you’d have no reason to be on this monorail at all, relaxed into the pristine white seats, sighing at the darkened window.

Minutes pass, and your consciousness has gone somewhere you don’t have to think. A place where there’s no boredom and no worry. You snap to attention when the window lights up to show the interior of the train station. A melody of notes plays from the speaker above your chair. The voice is soft, feminine.

“Welcome to Westworld. Live without limits.”

When the doors slide open, you curl your toes and try to wake them from their fuzzy sleep. Your first steps are tired, unbalanced, and you cover your mouth to hide a yawn. As you walk off the monorail, you glance around the station. It’s just as bright as the train, and you pity the janitors for all the black scuffmarks they have to buff off the tile before you remember that the most tedious labor goes to the hosts.

The hosts – there are a dozen of them, evenly spaced out and waiting to help the guests. But there’s no one else coming off the train, just you. Dressed up and impossibly still, the hosts don’t even acknowledge you. It’s like they’re sleeping with their eyes open. They’re not here for you, but it’s weird that they’re here at all. You scour the area for a safe space when you find your welcoming committee near an escalator.

The two men stay put, but the woman gives you an excited wave.

“Harper!” Your name echoes through the station and you wish she hadn’t said it so loud. Still, you force a smile because this is a friend, and you are happy to see her. You’re happy. You’re happy…

“Hey, Elsie. How are you?” you ask as she crosses the floor to meet you. You barely have time to react before she wraps her arms around you. You can’t get your arms to hug her back, and you tell yourself it’s because she’s squeezing you too tight.

“I’m good, I’m good! How are you? I feel like it’s been so long- but it hasn’t. You lose track of time down here.”

Elsie is rambling, and you find it odd. Elsie isn’t the wordy type. She’s crass, direct, and extremely insightful, but this Elsie is stumbling over herself to make small talk. In a rare display of assuredness, you pat her on the shoulder.

“I’m alright,” you lie. “I didn’t think I’d see you today, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Elsie smiles bashfully, then turns as the others arrive. You recognize the pair she’s with – Bernard Lowe and Robert Ford. One is Elsie’s boss, the other is family.

Bernard adjusts where his glasses sit on his nose before he welcomes you. “Hello, Harper. I hope the ride wasn’t unpleasant.” You shrug. It was nice to be alone after your parents insisted on dropping you off. You can understand their concerns, but you’re not a child. Haven’t been one of those in a long time.

“I wish I could stay,” Robert suddenly interjects. Until this point, you’ve avoided looking at him. He’s an old man now, soon to face the trials of time that a mortal body can’t win. You wonder why he hasn’t died yet. A heart attack could do him in at any moment. Lucky bastard. “But there’s a project that requires my attention.” Go figure he’d leave at the first opportunity. He shouldn’t have come at all, but you let him speak. “I merely want to impart upon you how wonderful it is that you’re here, Harper. Don’t think of this place as a park or a game. It doesn’t have to be that. Westworld,” he raises his arms, displaying the pearly gates to the kingdom behind him, “can be whatever you need it to be. Here, you are awake in a dream.”

You manage a nod, and then his back is turned. His brown leather shoes clop across the floor as he disappears into a service exit between escalators. Seriously, why did he come at all if he was going to leave thirty seconds after seeing you? Maybe some things can’t be mended despite what your mom said.

You, Elsie, and Bernard stew in the silence left by one of the original founders of the park. Dr. Ford is an enigmatic man at the best of times. At the worst, he’s driven by a singular focus to achieve ever loftier goals. His ambition cost him his family once. Really, it’s a miracle you’re here at all, but other, more important people in your life have forgiven him.

“Come on,” Elsie finally says. “Let’s get you ready for your stay.”

As you weave between the sentinel hosts, the three of you leave the train station behind. Bernard takes the time to remind you the rules of the park. He doesn’t have to, you remember them.

“Now, the hosts can’t hurt you. In fact, they’ll do everything they can to keep you from true physical harm.” It isn’t the physical harm that concerns you about your stay here. “The guns are coded to differentiate between human and host. It’s going to hurt if you get shot-”

You clear your throat. “I remember, Mr. Lowe. The internship didn’t end that long ago.”

“Right, right,” he confirms. He plucks his glasses from his face and cleans his lenses as you guys walk into a large closet. Closet isn’t the right word. The place is more like a small storefront. Racks of clothes line the walls and accessories lay in display cases spread throughout. Everything is tailored to be exactly your size, but the collection isn’t fine-tuned to your taste. If it was, the vibrant, lowcut saloon style dresses wouldn’t be here. As you browse, aware Elsie is watching you choose, your mind travels back to the last time you were a part of Delos Destinations.

The internship…

The internship was a means to an end. Just this year, you worked with Behavior, you learned about host coding, and you met Elsie – who mentored you. For three months, you lived underground with the rest of the onsite staff. Everyday was a chore, but at the end of it your grandfather agreed to pay for your master’s degree. Now, you’re back three months later. You aren’t here to work, and you can’t leave until your stay is over.

You select a pair of grey breeches and find a muddy red, button up shirt to go with it. For shoes, you pick the comfiest looking boots you see. Most of your internship was spent in the workshops, but for the next few weeks you’ll be above ground, kicking around in the dust of the “Old West” as imagined by Delos. To hell with looks, you want to be comfortable. You imagine yourself not to care about your appearance, but you still pick out a belt with a holster that matches, and a leather jacket.

When you come upon a case full of guns, you hesitate. The selection of pistols is immaculate, like everything else you’ve seen so far. Everything is so damn clean, and it irks you. The more Delos tries to sell itself as perfect, the more you want to make a mess of everything. You lift the glass cover and grab a silver revolver. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, but it fits in your hand so well. That’s the thing about guns that’s always bothered you. You shouldn’t want to hurt people, and you don’t – for the most part – but every gun you’ve ever held feels like it was made for you.

Elsie and Bernard step out so you can change. When they return, Bernard is back on his tangent of explaining how this trip works. “Now, you’ll start in the center of the park. Sweetwater. Things are tamer there, but there will be plenty to see and do.”

The behavior tech raises her hand to cut Bernard off. “I got it from here, Bernard. I’ll make sure she’s good to go.” Bernard nods and wishes you well before he leaves. With that, Elsie takes a deep breath and adjusts your collar a little bit. “Finally, we’re alone.” You face warms, remembering your past with her. “I know how much you hate this place,” she states. “But I really hope you find some peace here, Harper. You’re gonna have the whole park basically to yourself, take advantage of it.”

You huff and take a step away from your friend. “The perks of being Ford’s granddaughter,” you muse.

Elsie folds her arms over her chest. “Yeah, and if our places were reversed, I’d be taking that old man for everything he’s got.”

You let that statement hang, untouched. “How is it I have the whole park to myself anyway?”

“Brass is going through their yearly audit, and they oh-so-graciously decided to give everyone a three-week vacation this time,” she mocks. “We’re running on a skeleton crew right now, but then the rest of us get to take our vacation whenever we want. I’m thinking Christmas or something else equally inconvenient for management. Maybe every Tuesday for the next 15 weeks. What do you think?”

“Hm, one week for Christmas and ten weeks of Tuesdays.”

Elsie laughs. “Oh, that’s devious, Harper. Love the way you think.”

She’s always been a bit of a flirt with you, but under all her jokes and bravado, you know there’s a brilliant but lonely woman beneath. Unfortunately for her, all you can be is a friend, and probably not even a good one at that. Like right now, how you’re not responding to her. What kind of friend just stands here in awkward silence like this? Where the hell is your mind today?

“I don’t know what all you’re going through,” Elsie muses a moment later, “but you’re not alone, okay? I made Bernard give me this assignment. He and Dr. Ford picked out a lot of the narratives and hosts you’ll come across, but they’re going to be too busy to watch you. I’ll be checking on you from time to time.”

Her sympathy doesn’t feel fake, and that almost hurts. This is the time to push a smile, but you can’t do it. “What hosts? What narratives?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you, but it’s gonna start with a bounty hunter. He’ll take you out to hunt down some bandits. From there, you’ll get the choice to side with the bandits and- and are you sure you want to know this? I feel like I’m spoiling the biggest Hollywood blockbuster of the century.”

You huff out a laugh. You don’t care about spoilers. “Stay away from the bounty hunters and bandits,” you list. “Got it. I’m just not interested in my grandfather’s games.”

Elsie straightens her blazer. “Yeah, but still try to enjoy some of it. Okay,” she tries to psyche you up. “You ready?”

“I hope you’re getting a bonus for this.”

Her hand rests on your back as she guides you forward. “The bonus is knowing I’m helping a friend.”

Your stomach drops. This definitely hurts.

--

You’re on another train. This time, the steel cage rocks beneath your feet and it’s not empty. Hosts are spread throughout the car, planted in their seats, or taking a drink at the bar. You don’t talk to them; you don’t even look at them. You know how real they seem, and despite what your grandfather has planned for you – you’re not interested in what Westworld can offer you. You’ve already got plans, big plans. You’re going to hole up in the nearest tavern and self-medicate until your three weeks are up. You don’t need Westworld to cure you of your ailments. Not that you aren’t sick, you just don’t think it can. Since a young age, the doctors said you had depression. Now that you’re older, 23, they’re not satisfied with the easiest explanation. Now you have another disease.

In a world surrounded by screens and pixels, the experts needed a new term for the bleak existence suffered by the modern man. They call it ‘Tech Fatigue’ but you’re pretty sure it was invented by the Delos marketing team. Medical professionals like to slap that diagnosis on anyone with a designer smart watch and dark rings under their eyes. Rich people – circling their second divorce and an equal number of midlife crises – seek out therapy inside one of the parks. Delos gives the doctors a fat kickback, and bam, the cycle is born. Tech companies like Delos make the problem, the solution, and profit off both. You don’t know that’s what’s happening, but it wouldn’t surprise you.

It’s ironic, really. In order to get away from a world of tech, internet, and social media, you’re taking the first train to the most manufactured place on the planet. In the mile of dirt below you, there’s a whole structure full of tablet-carrying technicians making sure the machines around you work flawlessly. Just because you can’t see the wires, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

You wish you didn’t exist.

Suddenly, the train whistle screams. You’ve pulled up to the station in Sweetwater. As the locomotive comes to a halt, you get to your feet and grab your leather messenger bag. Nothing in that sack is yours. Except for the odd prescription, guests aren’t allowed to bring personal items into the park. You don’t have any medications because you quit all of those a while ago. Still, you need more than the clothes on your back.

You walk off the train between a flurry of host bodies. For the most part, none of them pay attention to you. They go about their loops, avoid you when you step into their path – all except for a man in a grey tweed frock. He tips his hat as he approaches you.

“Miss Harper? I’m Teddy Flood. Your grandfather paid me to keep an eye on you.”

So it begins. You look him up and down more carefully. He looks like he was plucked right off the cover of an old-timey, cringe-laden romance novel set in the Wild West with his chiseled features. But his eyes are kind, and you’re not sure how to ditch him yet so you play along as best you can.

“That’s me.”

“Can I take you somewhere? A hotel to find a room? I’ve got horses saddled for us if you-”

You hold up a hand. “Okay, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Just… go away. Or whatever it is you do when you’re not with a guest.”

He tilts his head. “I’m afraid I can’t abide by that request, ma’am. I was paid to keep you safe, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Of course you are.” Your shoulders sag, weighed down by more than your luggage. “Fine, but we’re not doing any of your… narratives.” You should’ve asked Elsie for more details on what your grandfather and Bernard have planned for you so you could avoid it. During your internship, you worked in a different park. Park seven, the newest addition to six others. You don’t know the storylines of Westworld past what you know about old American history. Admittedly, it’s not much.

With a sigh, you press forward and walk right into another cowboy. The stranger grunts and turns, hand hovering over the pistol on his hip. Teddy steps between you two. When the guy sees that his assailant is a woman with someone to defend her, his hostility fades.

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Though everyone so far has a very natural Southern drawl, the ‘ma’am’ thing is weird. You try to smile in acceptance of his apology, but you know your lips aren’t upturned. You used to be so much better at controlling your expression, your emotions, too. What happened to you?

Confrontation avoided, you continue into town. You almost ask Teddy where the hotel is, but as you become more aware of your surroundings, your question fades. The buildings on either of the dusty road aren’t chic. They aren’t glass and concrete monoliths reaching for the sky. In fact, most of them aren’t even two-stories tall despite the false facade that rises up from the roof like an ornate parapet. Here, everything is made of wood and clay. It’s painted in muted, earthy tones by hand, and it’s like stepping back in time. Horses of every color are hitched on posts outside, and now you kind of wonder where Teddy was going to take you on horseback. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

They’re not real horses, you remind yourself. Teddy isn’t a real man. And nothing in Sweetwater is natural, except maybe for the flies buzzing around a pile of horse dung. Surely, your grandfather isn’t crazy enough to have manufactured insects. Then again, the robotic horses are producing waste that truly, and disgustingly, smells like shit… so anything is possible.

You tell yourself that this whole experience is too much, and you’re going to find the nearest place you can have a drink before you have a panic attack. That place is the Mariposa Saloon. You push through the batwing doors, and Teddy catches them when they spring backwards as he follows you. You told yourself to be ready for the sensory overload you’d face inside, but you’re still slightly overwhelmed. Cigarette smoke wafts under your nose, people are muttering about their card game, glasses are clinking on the bar, and a piano is chiming away in the corner of the room without anyone sitting at the keys. It’s a lot. You can understand how some people would feel alive in a place like this, but it’s not for you.

Still, you push yourself to the bar. Bottles of tawny brown, gold, and clear liquor are calling you forward. You set your hands on the black counter, but the man with the twisted handlebar moustache is serving someone else first. You don’t know why you’re waiting. You’re the only person here who thinks for themselves. You can be as rude as you want to be, and no one would remember it once they were reset. You wait anyway, and one of the brothel girls see it as an opening to take a chance.

The woman’s dress is a deep ocean blue, cut so high you can see the tops of her thighs and the intricate stockings she wears to cover the rest of her legs. You hope she’s going for Teddy, but she stops beside you and grins.

“You’re new.” She reaches up and slowly caresses your face. Between the lace of her fingerless gloves and the warmth of her hand, you’re surprised at how real it feels. “Not much of a rind on you. I’ll give you a discount.”

Turning away from her hand, you clear your throat. “Thanks, but I’m just here for a drink.”

The young woman doesn’t seem too upset by your refusal. “What do you want to drink, darling?” She snaps her finger at the bartender. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, the man finally notices you.

You order a whiskey. When he asks you what kind, you fumble. Did they have different kinds of whiskey in the past? How are you supposed to know?

Teddy chuckles under his breath and answers for you. “Rye. None of that corn homebrew you try to pass off as liquor.”

The saloon girl looks past you and at your tall, handsome company. “Wise choice, Mr. Flood.”

He tips his hat, before glancing at you again. “Nothing but the best for my friend.”

You scowl. “Teddy, we aren’t friends. You don’t even know me.” This is too strange. The bartender sets out two small glasses and fills both halfway. You can’t pretend like this is normal when your normal is leaps and bounds different from the here and now. A drink at home meant serving yourself, and you poured your chilled, name brand whiskey to the top of your glass, then you drank it alone.

Teddy throws his shot back and swallows it all in one go. “I know you better than you think, and I’d like to get to you know more than that.”

You shudder. Oh god, did your grandfather put him for you to… For you two to… You can’t finish the thought. The idea of your grandfather interfering with your sex life is way more than you can handle. Before you even take your first sip, you smack your finger down on the counter – showing the bartender where he can put the whiskey when you demand it.

“Leave the bottle.”

The young woman beside you places a hand on your shoulder and you tense up as she whispers in your ear. “I’m here if you change your mind, beautiful. If I’m not your type, and neither is he, look around. Find something that strikes your fancy.”

You grab the neck of the bottle and pour another shot. Westworld is not for you, you’ve decided. It’s only three weeks you remind yourself. The hat you picked out is making your forehead itch, so you take it off and set it on the bar. Then you hear a loud pop. An older cowboy pushes through the batwing doors, a wash of red blooms across his vest as he stumbles into the saloon.

“They’re here,” he coughs out. “Hector… Escaton and his posse.”

More gunshots sound, and it’s like some miscreant lit firecrackers in the street. The saloon explodes with activity. Working girls scramble to hide behind tables. The bartender grabs a sawed-off shotgun. Teddy puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk before he tells you to get somewhere safe or be prepared to use your weapon.

It’s only three weeks.

[brighternite-a]

and  i  oooop,  here  is  my  newest  baby  like  LITCHERALLY  newest  of  all  my  muses  and  i'm  so  excited  to  play  sun  for  the  first  time  ever  here.  there  comes  a  drama  queen  everyone,  swipe  down,  click  below  the  cut.  once  upon  a  time... ( @agnesextra )

★ APP  !

✨  esra bilgi��, cis woman, she/her    —     agnes street wouldn’t be the same today if it wasn’t eveybody’s bookstore. do you know that suna ‘sun’ sunstörm works there as a bookseller ? they are thirty one and they look like the kind of person who was a prom queen once, whenever i see them, primadonna by marina and the diamonds starts to play inside my head. maybe it is the vibe they give off,  warm brown eyes framed with black kohl strikingly,  a social media profile with a pristine layout, afraid of showing that you are capable of crying, you are well-aware of how salty your tears taste but no one has to know  ; you know ?  ( c, 23, gmt + 3, they/them )

★ STORY   !

tw: pregnancy, kidnapping, toxic relationship, crime ( only mentioned ), guns ( only mentioned )

the beginning of this story is hard to figure out. it perhaps begins somewhere in turkey. and then this baby with huge brown eyes opens her eyes to the world. a brand new world where she was born to be abandoned. but fate is still kind enough to her so that this story continues in sweden, where she is raised with her adoptive parents.

her name is suna but most of the time she gets to be called sun. she grows up in a family where she feels loved. and not only loved, where she feels able to conquer the world too. with a fortune locked in her parents' safe, it's not so surprising that she grows up feeling like she can seize the world. all the opportunities she has to tailor herself, her future, the way she wants to be ; perfectionism easily becomes a personality trait. it's almost like she wants to make something out of the second chance life gave her. that second chance being getting adopted by sunströms. feeling like she owes her family, being the best version of herself is sun's idea of showing gratitude and paying back.

she seeks the best of the best in everything. no such thing in her life is done spontaneously, every step is a part of her grand plan. taste of the success is only common now. she becomes a model at age of nineteen. it only gets better from there. photo shoots, becoming a familiar face from magazine covers, an impressive young lady as she is more than her beauty with her background of education. put a bedazzling disposition, her story to inspire you as an orphan who made it right, and a noticeable swedish accent on top of it ; and sun sunström achieves her peak prima donna condition.

but one can maintain a life without surprises for so long. disorder comes in the form of blind love for sun. and this is the turning point. this is how sun's life gets stuck in reverse.  the two of them stumble upon each other in several events. every single one, he looks at her as if she is the only woman in the room. and maybe that's the one last thing she needs in her life. love's young dream. suddenly, he sees his face everywhere she goes. he is following her like a hound dog. always around her, with his big white smile and idyllic promises of a 'til death do us apart'. alas, red flags are there too. 

( tw toxic relationship, crime, guns ) sun was too blind in love to see it. she took his possessiveness as a sign of dedication. and she loved the idea of this guy being so addicted, so head over heels for her. maybe that would justify how he always wanted her by his side, making her cancel some meetings and expecting her to put him above her job. and when she was finally revealed that this guy who did all he could do to make sun his lover was not an innocent man, she wanted to believe he could change. he was a criminal. an arms dealer. back then, sun thought she wanted him in his life even after learning about that because she was so in love. but now she can see it, it was nothing about love. it was just fear disguised as love.  it was a hard pill to swallow for sun. to see that she is vulnerable and prone to make such big mistakes. it took her a mighty fall in life to realise that.

the truth is, she was only a milestone in that man's life. a trophy he just wanted to keep on his shelf until he wasn't having fun showing it off anymore. ( tw pregnancy ) maybe he could keep playing the game of 'you are the only one in my life' if it wasn't the baby. yes, sun got pregnant from him. when she found out about it, she felt everything at once. crushed under all the sentiment. 'the perfect family', she thought to herself. it was a possibility, right ? a family like her own. and maybe the baby could change him for the better, she heard something similar from the socialite ladies she used to hang out with. the baby being the father's muse. his reason to become a better person. the illusion of him loving her enough to become a better person persisted until the day of her baby's birth. she disappeared from the lives of everybody else she knows and loves, even her brother who she cares about more than anyone was only getting a couple text messages and nothing more. her friends, her colleagues. it was almost like she went missing. the birth of her baby was going to be a secret ; that's what he wanted, and all she wanted was the baby in her arms. --  her first and last memory with the baby boy is having him in her arms.

( tw kidnapping ) she remembers waking up from a dream that day, the night right after giving birth. instinctively, the first thing she wants to do is seeing her son. but the realisation hits when she searches for every single room of the house with tears in her eyes. he is gone with the baby. the acceptance of truth in her life begins with losing her son. truth is she was not the only woman in her life. truth is he planned everything to take the baby away from her and leave her behind the night he learned about her pregnancy. truth is she was not perfect and it was not love. it never was love.  

her career is buried beneath the mistakes of her now. that's why coming back to islesbury and preparing herself for a simulation of a life in which she will be disowned by her family is what she is doing now. working at everybody’s bookstore as a bookseller, far from the glory of her old days. staying with her brother, trying to distance herself from him, and making plans of moving out. it's unusual for her that now she can't rely on the old wealth of her family. that she can't do what she loves the most anymore.

★ CONNECTIONS   !

i saw you once in a magazine cover kind of connection ? which is gonna make her all go "ooooop" since well... she misses those days but she gotta keep her cool.

someone who is annoyed by her ''''saturnine''' vibes.

maybe someone that worked with her before during her model days ?????

a best friend she legit ghosted during her pregnancy and now they are mad about it ( as they should be ). GIVE ME FRIENDSHIP ANGST.

i know we do not have any therapist muses but pls i'd love her therapist :(((

someone who questions where she has been a lot despite knowing not much about her, this is gonna be a bit bad vibes.

someone that hit on her until they found out she is just clearly emotionally unavailable then they become really good friends.

[samwrights]

I Don’t Care - Punk!AU [Kuroo]

Me: *hits a milestone* I should give back to my community by fulfilling requests *posts an Elixir chapter instead*

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your kind words and patience regarding my abrupt hiatus last week. I’m gonna be on a slow roll for awhile with Grandpa Frenchy’s passing and me resuming my normal-ish life as work goes back to regular hours and school will be resuming in less than two months. But I’m gonna do my best to feed y’all when I can.

Remember that if you’re confused with what’s going on, that’s probably because this is the second installment of Kuroo’s Elixir route and need to read the first part which can be found here. Also, artwork is not mine so if we can find the artist, please let me know so that they can be properly credited!

Lyrics that are bolded are sung by Kuroo, while lyrics that are italicized are sung by you and if they are both, they are harmonized.

WARNINGS: Language, implied nsfw, mentions of nicotine and marijuana.

Word count: ~2.9k

Song used: I Don’t Care if You’re Contagious by Pierce the Veil

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

The ball was in your court. That was what Kuroo had said to you last night. What that didn’t entail was the two of you christening every room in your little one bedroom apartment into the early hours in the morning. It shouldn’t have surprised you at all that Kuroo had a quick recovery time; after all he was a cocky little shit and apparently for good reason.

You were going to need to send apology baskets to your neighbors at some point when this was all said and done.

The ball was in your court, he said, and that somehow brought you to the following afternoon with you and Kuroo laying naked in your bed. Both of you were awake, you knew that, yet neither of you wanted to say anything to break the silence. Neither of you needed to—you were both finally home. Nestling yourself further into Kuroo’s blackened chest is what pulled the guitarist from his wandering thoughts, coercing him to look down at your shifting body. “Not comfy anymore?” His voice is thick with sleep still, and probably raw from dehydration.

“Trust me, I am. But we should probably go get ready.”

“Ugh,” the raven haired man groans, “right, we have a show.”

“Yes, honey, we have a show. Time to go make all twelve of our fans happy for thirty minutes.” He laughs heartily at the jab before pulling you on top of him in the most platonic way. Well, as platonic as you could be when you both were completely naked. You take the opportunity to look at him fully. Though his eyes were darkened from the lack of sleep, Tetsurō Kuroo was every bit as pretty as he was the day you’d met him ten years ago—even if his skin was now covered from neck to toe in black and white and bold-colored works of art and you could fit a single digit through the stretch of his earlobes. If anything, it added to his charm in your eyes.

Subconsciously, your fingers travel down his throat, just grazing over the three traditional style roses that cover it, before dancing over the skulls on his chest. As they trace over one of his pierced nipples, he lets out a grumble that’s a mixture of pleased and in warning. “You start playing with me, I’m not gonna stop.” And after last night, you knew that he wasn’t kidding.

“Fine, fine.” You concede, retreating in the form of resting your head on his chest. Silence fills the two of you again, allowing you to recount yesterday’s events that didn’t involve Kuroo impaling you. “You broke up with Nanami.” It wasn’t a question, but he answers it as if it were.

“I did,” there’s suspicion and trepidation in his voice, as if he’s weary of the direction this conversation is going. “What about it?” Searching for reassurance, he winds his arms around your waist, simultaneously goading you into continuing your statement.

“Nothing, I just...” you aren’t even sure what you’re trying to say at this point. “I just feel like a lot has happened in the last twenty four hours and I still need to process everything.”

“I can help if you need me to jog your memory about anything,” Kuroo’s tone is polite—sweet, even—and entirely contradictory with the thrust of his bare hips into yours.

“Tetsu, I’m being serious.” You deadpan, pretending that you didn’t feel that tiny spark in your core from the movement. Last night he may have been able to coerce you with touch, and even more in the long hours into the morning, but you weren’t going to be fooled again. At least not right now.

“I am too.” He adjusts himself slightly again so that he’s cradling you, eerily similar to last night, with you pulled over his lap. Despite the lack of clothing, there’s no humor or deviancy on his face—he’s completely calm and self-assured. “I know this situation isn’t ideal and this definitely isn’t the way I ever pictured us being together,” the sentence doesn’t go over your head—you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bring some sort of pleasure to you, “but all that matters to me is that you want this as much as I do.”

You knew what this was. Kuroo was giving you the chance to back out—to move forward without him if you so desired.

But what was the point of living life without your best friend? Lacking a cohesive thought, you rested you head on Kuroo’s chest once again, letting the guitarist’s steady heartbeat bring ease to you. Maybe you were going about this all wrong. For the last ten years, it had taken everything in you try to mute the feelings that you had for Kuroo, or attempt to pass them off as a deep respect for your guys’ friendship. But that wasn’t what this was anymore; this was your guys’ relationship. “It’s a learning curve,” you start slowly, “but I’m willing to try and make this work if you are.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, babe.”

The two of you move about your day in a way that’s exploratory for the two of you—like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other. In a sense, that was an accurate depiction. Your guitarist makes it a point to make the both of you the first meal of the day, complete with setting the table and even doing the dishes. Showering together for the first time was odd, to say the least. It was an intimate form of learning and exploration that neither of you had ever thought the two of you would be able to bask in. After having lunch and getting ready for the show tonight, to which you learned that Kuroo had brought clothes with him in the event he did end up staying over, the two of you took his car over to Terushima’s house.

“No fucking way,” Terushima balks at the sight of you two briefly sharing a kiss as he holds the passenger door open for you while your other two bandmates are loading up the van. “He finally confessed! Makki!” The drummer calls for his best friend who’s walking out the door with two guitar cases in his hand. Without needing much context, the bassist quirks a brow in yours and Kuroo’s direction.

“You finally told her?” Is all he asks.

“You all fucking knew about this? Man, fuck you guys.” The incredulity in your voice earns a chorus of laughter from your bandmates.

“Dude, I don’t know how you didn’t figure it out sooner. The way he used to talk to you at work wasn’t a dead giveaway?” Makki is laughing, grinning even, despite his usual deadpan attitude. You try to think back to any particular instance, but nothing was as obvious as the rest of Elixir was making it seem. Sure, Kuroo was rather touchy and there was more than one case of his fingers touching your waist from behind while you took orders or made drinks. But there isn’t anything that he said that would necessarily incriminate him—

Oh.

“Now she remembers.” Kuroo jokes. He’d left your side at some point, when you weren’t entirely sure, to help the boys finish loading up. “Told ya, [name], I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Gross, you guys are so cute, it makes me sick.” A roll of Teru’s bronze eyes are accompanied with the slamming of the back of the shoddy vehicle. Knowing it was going to probably be a minute or two, the drummer flitted off with Makki to do god knows what, probably off to go kill a blunt if you were being honest, in preparation for the evening, leaving you to curiously gaze at the cracks in the concrete driveway with a cigarette between your fingers.

“There’s no way you meant that back then.” Your voice isn’t accusatory or judgmental—merely flabbergasted as your guitarist leaned on his car right next to you.

“I did and I still do,” is his response, pulling his own Marlboro Red between his thin lips, “I’ve been saying it since day one and I never stopped saying it for ten years.” His bulky arm comes to wrap around your shoulders, nearly swallowing you due to the difference in stature. Yet, despite his sweet words, something wasn’t adding up.

“Kuroo, you never said anything to me besides that one time you told a regular that I was your future wife.” He shakes his head slightly, a laugh rumbling audibly in his chest as he rolls up the jersey fabric of his long sleeves. Pressing his knuckles together so you can see them clear as day, he responds with,

“Homesick was for you, because you always said how being together felt like home.” And suddenly, you feel like time was regressing as he begins to point out the subtleties you never noticed previously. “All of the roses are for every time I swore I was going to confess,” you knew for a fact that Kuroo had seven roses littered along his skin: three on his throat, one on each hand, and one on each of his pecs. “the lipstick marks are from ‘Contagious’ because I wrote it for you. I’ve been saying it since day one, [name].” 

“Wait, you wrote ‘Contagious’ for me?!” At that admission, you weren’t sure whether or not you should have been pleased or disturbed. There were themes hidden in the song that could be viewed as romantic, but overall the song was quite morose and not to be considered a love song at first glance. Maybe that was the point.

“Oh, baby, you’re so dense it hurts.”

“So how’s everyone doing tonight? We feelin’ good? Feelin’ the love?” You ask into your microphone after the four of you had completed the one fully acoustic song, “A Part of Me”. Who knew that Hanamaki had such a romantic side to him? It was cute, considering the lax man typically didn’t show much emotion except when he was performing. “So, we’re gonna keep the love theme going—“ your eyes dart over to your guitarist who is grinning like an idiot. It seemed that the pieces were finally coming together in the sense that you knew.

You knew that he was dead set on making good on every promise he’d ever made to you and Kuroo was going to make this known to every fan in the rather large audience tonight as he interrupts your spiel. “I wrote this one a few years ago for someone I’d been pining after for years so if you’re in the same boat that I was in, make sure you tell them you love them.” The guitarist chimes in, his goofy, wicked grin only growing wider. “Love you, [name].” The proclamation does not go amiss by you, your bandmates, nor your audience that housed familiar faces that swore up and down they wouldn’t be in attendance tonight. But neither you nor Kuroo noticed the aforementioned stranger—only noticing the sly, subtle grin the two of you exchanged before the guitarist gave a shrill whine of his instrument that started the song.

Even before realizing this song was...written? Dedicated? However you viewed it, this song was for you and before that knowledge had even been made known to you, you’d always found it to be a strange, enticing verbal dance between you and the guitarist. You and Kuroo often teetered back and forth like a seesaw, bouncing between lines as he intended when he wrote it. It only charged the chemical static between the two of you further now that you understood who it was written about.

Bury me in the bedroom where I I can sing you to sleep all night

Considering the nature of the song, Kuroo and you had your eyes locked on each other’s to make sure the two of you were keeping time and tempo with the other. Or at least, that was what you were supposed to be doing. But with the way the guitarist’s hazel eyes were dancing with amusement and comfort like he was aware of some joke you had no idea existed.

I’d rather kill the one responsible for falling stars at night

It amused you, to some degree, just how all over the place this song was. And while you had known that back when it came to fruition, the air was different now. It was wild and fun and laced with underlying feelings that left you feeling alive much like the last twenty four hours had. Though the hesitance that first presented itself yesterday was no longer there—you believed everything Kuroo had said. The years of pining, the futile attempt to move on, even the way he marred his skin as a physical representation of his dedication to you—you believed it all.

Last night she recited every reason she’s fine

In a way, it made you feel a little silly. Silly in the way that you had felt you hadn’t been able to trust your best friend after all these years, like you couldn’t tell him you had been homesick for him. Keeping up a facade for all those years had only served to hurt and distance the two of you for no reason. Now, the two of you were going to heal, going to focus on rebuilding that home as soon as this show was over.

You sing while I drive

Not once did it go amiss, the way Kuroo glanced at you, hazel eyes flickering back between you and towards the barricade in the audience to your right. At first, it seemed nonchalant; like it was an attempt to engage with the crowd as he typically did. But Kuroo was always meticulous and calculating with his actions, and that lead you to glance in the same direction while you sang your respective lines in the second verse.

I would rather spend my life Vacations in bed with you like drunken summer kites

So that’s why he was looking over there. Funny, considering Nanami had explicitly said that she was unable to make it to the show because of some piss poor excuse of her fabricated brother coming back into town. Under normal circumstances, this would have been an awkward situation. But it wasn’t your fault she had been caught in a lie, nor was it your fault that Kuroo had decided to break up with her last night. Well, okay, maybe it was a little. But it wasn’t your fault she felt the need to grace the audience with her present after saying she wasn’t going to show up. It wasn’t your fault she was red in the face as she glanced at the on-stage chemistry between you and her now ex-boyfriend.

To live in life and die

None of that even mattered anymore, and Kuroo made sure to reassure you of that by the silly way he’s grinning slyly as the end of the song nears. For a moment, you look at each of your bandmates to see if they were watching, paying attention to the telepathic messages going on between the four of you.

I don’t care if you’re sick

Hanamaki, though he’s wearing his typical glassed out look, is reciprocating a languid smile—one you were all too familiar with. Makki was the kinda that had your back regardless of the situation, and he made sure his expression reflected it often.

I don’t care if you’re contagious

Looking back at Terushima, you can see the snark and the itch to fight underneath his sweaty, glistening skin. As if he knew what the hidden glances between you and Kuroo meant; as if he knew some shit was about to go down and he was all over it.

I would kiss you even if you were dead

And finally, you glance back at Kuroo as the two of you harmonized the final bridge. Calm and cocky as ever, with red lighting serving to be nearly ominous. Though, it only made the reds of the roses on his skin shine more and serve as a reminder—they were for you. All seven roses from his neck, to his chest peeking from underneath his black tank, from his shoulder to his hand.

So if we’re heading there together you can sing all night

It served as a reminder that no matter what was to come after the show, the two of you would face it together. Even if that meant confronting the entire awkward Nanami situation that you knew was coming. Not that you minded—you were ready to defend Kuroo and yourself from any impending onslaught.

I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin ‘Til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention

As Kuroo belted out his favorite stanza, he locked eyes with you, turning his body to face you entirely. Amusement danced in his eyes, not that it ever left, but this one was painted with something more. Painted with love, painted with lust, painted with home. The guitarist took slow, steady steps matching the rhythm of his words and letting the bass and drums overtake the sound as he grabbed his mic off his stand—an action you mirrored with your own microphone in hand until the two of you were face to face with the reverberation of his last played note floating in the air.

Kiss me while I drive

The song ended with a pronounced yell coming from Hanamaki and yourself before Kuroo places his microphone back on his stand; all but rushing over to you and choking your face in his large, tattooed hands and slatting his lips over yours. In front of everyone—in front your band, your fans, in front of Nanami. He’d made his proclamation in front of everyone and nothing had ever felt more right.

[ Besitos « I Don’t Care » Misery Business ]

Need to start from the beginning? You can check out the prologue [ here ]

Haikyuu!! Tag List

@hihiq​  @tamcitrus​ @yourlocalmemedumpster​ @90s-belladonna​​ @basicallyberry​​

[k347]

Evanstan ficlet

Prompt – "Your wish is my command"

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan

Word Count : 2.5 k

Warning: None. Maybe a bit of fluff

Summary: He was excited for the date. Very much so. But unexpected arrival of a girl at Chris' house changed their plans a little bit.

--------------------------

With his shoes shining extra bright, having fixed his tie & handkerchief in the coat pocket for probably the hundredth time, Sebastian comes out of the black Audi he parked in the corner spot. It's far enough from the mahogany door for hiding, but also close enough so that he can keep an eye on the place. There's still no movement though, so maybe he is still getting ready.

It’s his third date with Chris and Seb is bubbling with excitement and nerves. Yes, the previous two have gone great and he loved walking through the parks and exploring bookstores with the guy. But it still felt like two friends hanging out together rather than two potential boyfriends. So seb decided to take matters in his own hand and give tonight a more romantic cut. This is probably the first actual, proper ‘date’ they are going to have. They'll talk about each other all night and flirt from across the table, have eachother's complete an undivided attention. Reservation made at one of the finest and fanciest hotels in the city, where he plans to wine and dine Chris Evans and charm the fuck out of him. 

He really needs tonight to go just right. Exactly the way it is planned. Wants to make a good impression. Not that Chris doesn’t know him already. But Sebastian wants to come off as the good Boyfriend material instead of being the shy kid in a grown man's body who is still secretive and giggly around his crushes like he's some teenager. He was stuck in the friendzone spot for so long, it's sometimes still hard to believe he has escaped it. They have been working at the same firm for years now. But it was just last week when Seb gathered the courage to ask out the man of his dreams on a date. But more important (and still very shocking) is the fact that Chris indulged him and reciprocated the feelings instead of laughing them off. They’ve decided to take it slow and just see where it goes at the moment. ( Sebastian might have already dreamed of their wedding, pets and future babies though. He has been doing that for a couple of years. Not in a creepy way. He is just the hopeless romantic, thinks of himself as a rom-com lead sort of a person) But tonight he plans to be the best of the best. Create a whole James Bond vibe and make all that extra effort it takes to win over someone as special as Chris. He is dressed in his finest Italian suit and had his hair quaffed perfectly, wearing the best cologne and is present on the doorstep at sharp seven thirty, like he said he would be. Punctual. A good start to being a good date. He rings the doorbell and pulls out his most charming smile, for Chris. Only when the door opens, instead of the familiar handsome bearded face and stormy blue eyes, the visual of an empty drawing room greets him. He turns his head to both sides. Nope. No one. What kind of sorcery is this? Who opened the door, if he can’t see any human in front of him right now?

"Psst. Tsk tsk. Here."

A small, sweet voice reaches his ears. He looks down and finds the source behind that. It’s a little girl. Probably 4 or 5 years old. She has blonde hair and chubby cheeks, barely reaching up to his waist even though she is standing on a platform higher above him. Has a curious look on her face and is analyzing him from head to toe. He instantly smiles after looking at her. Tiny angel dressed in a onesie that has cartoons scribbled all over it. Two seconds in and she is already melting his heart. Damn you baby fever.

“And who might you be?”,He asks leaning down to reach closer to her height.

“I am Stella. Don't tell me who you are. I already know. You're the date guy. Where are your flowers?”, the little lady asks him, tone too judgemental for a five-year-old but adorable nonetheless.

“My flowers?”, He is a bit confused right now.

“Yeah. Flowers. When you go on a date, you are supposed to bring them”, she tells him impatiently and gives a disapproving look, like she’s the adult and he is the kid in this scenario.

“Yeah, Sebastian. Don’t you know simple date manners? Where are your flowers?”, Seb finally hears the voice his ears had been craving for. Chris just came to the door too. Wearing a crisp white button up and dress pants. Tie undone and hair a little messed up, indicating he had been running his hands through them frequently. The kind of thing people do when they are nervous. Chris doesn't show any other signs of distress though, has a playful tone and glint in his eyes, clearly stating that he’ going along with the joke and self imposing in the ongoing conversation.

“Sorry. The vendor was a mean guy. Didn’t give me any. And how many dates have you been on to know all this stuff?”, Seb asks the girl after shooting  Chris a full smile.

“Five”, Stella replies promptly.

“Five? Wow, sounds serious. Who’s the lucky guy?”, Sebastian can’t help but talk more to the little munchkin. She sems fearless and very confident. Unafraid of talking to strangers and making conversations, a quality Seb wishes he had in himself.

“His name is Ethan and he’s boy. Not a guy. But he does remember  to bring me flowers every time”, She tells him with her chin held high.

“Well, maybe we can have a double date next time”, he replies while giggling at the cuteness and she just shrugs like ‘it’s no big deal’.

“Stel, why don’t you go inside and keep and eye on dodger while I talk to Mr. Stan over here”, Chris pats her shoulders and Stella just nods and runs off back in the house.

“Mr. Stan? Really? I love it when you are formal Evans, but I’d prefer to be called Sebastian for the rest of the night. We are not in the office now, remember?”, he asks sheepishly.

“You gotta teach the kids good manners, right? Can’t have them all turning up as uncultured swans like you”, Chris was always that guy in the room who makes sweet jokes and tries to put every one a ease. Another reason why Sebastian loved the guy. Handsome, kind, compassionate, and witty. He truly is the whole package.

“Between the two of us right now, who is dressed more properly and has his tie done in a Windsor knot?Stop making excuses. She clearly has more sass than both of us combined. So if I were you, I’d stop worrying about teaching little grandma manners and start thinking about the wrinkles on that shirt”, Sebastian was never the one to shy away from fun banter either.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. That’s all you wanna say though? No further questions?”

“Oh, I was gonna ask if you forgot to tell me something but you clearly don’t let your guests speak without badgering them about having manners”.

Chris gives him an apologetic sort of smile and says, “I am so sorry Seb, I did try to call you but when you didn’t pick up I figured you were probably driving and on your way here anyway, so...”

“A good answer, but not one for the question I was gonna ask”

“Oh, you mean you were gonna ask me about our daughter?’, Sebastian gives him a dry chuckle. “See that’s funny because you and I never slept together”, Chris explains further, thinking he’s being hilarious right now and Seb has to prick that bubble.

“I don’t find it funny by the least, Chris. And by ‘it’, I mean the fact that we never slept together. Also please tell me you know that even if we did, it is biologically impossible for us to have a kid together”, Seb gives him an incredulous look and that makes Chris laugh out louder than before.

“Oh, pardon me. I am an investment banker, life sciences were never really my strongest subjects”, he apologizes, with a hand on his heart.

“It’s actually more of a common sense thing and honestly you are right now making me reconsider the decision of asking you out for this date.”

“That’s probably a good thing, because we are gonna have to reschedule the date anyway. Stella is my niece, Seb. My sister just dropped her off, couldn’t find a baby sitter at the last moment. So here I am. Stuck in between being the best brother and the most favored uncle at the moment. Ditching a hot guy and a fancy date to take care of a sassy 5 year old. Good Times”, Chris lets out a self depreciating laugh, still looks really apologetic and genuinely sorry which makes Seb’s heart sink even deeper than it already has after hearing the date he was so excited about is getting a rain check. He musters up a smile though.

“It is okay, Chris. Really. I understand”, he tries very hard to sound normal and not let any disappointment he is feeling pour into his voice.

“It’s not though. We decided this together and now I am just bailing on you at the last moment. Cancelling plans on such a short notice. Even though I know how much you planned for tonight and the reservation will probably get wasted. I’ll pay for it if yo-“,Chris starts with another round of apologies and Sebastian already knows the guy wouldn’t stop rambling unless he’s cut off.

“Chris. Chris, stop. It’s no big deal. The Plaza is way too overrated anyway. I guess we can have more fun by ordering a pizza and watching care-bears while waiting for it”, Sebastian suggests. Still a little hopeful that he’ll get to spend the evening with Chris anyway. Doesn’t matter if it’s at a fancy hotel or on a couch at his home. All he wants is to be close to this man.

“You..you wanna come in and spend time with us?”, Chris’ eyes are wide with surprise. He  was clearly not expecting the situation to take this turn. Sebastian instantly feels like an asshole for trying to decide everything on his own.

“I didn’t mean to sound so presumptious, but yeah...I’d like to do that. If you’ll have me?”, he asks for permissson and is half expecting for the door to slam in his face.

“Of course we’ll have you, Seb. It’s always pleasure. Come on in”, Chris moves back, inviting him inside the beautiful place and Sebastian happily accpets the offer.

“Good for you. Because if you had just refused, I was totally planning on setting a camp right in front of your door step to make you feel horribly guilty”, he says while taking off the coat and hanging it up on the rack. He is delighted to hear the sound of Chris’s laugh at his recycled, not-so-funny jab. The date might not have gone where he wanted it to, but it’s definitely going somewhere. And for now, that's good enough.

“Oh and Seb, Care bears is so 1985. Kids these days don’t really watch that y’know?”

“Well I thought CNBC and the stock market channels would be a bit much for her”

“Don’t worry. She knows exactly what she wants. A Disney fan.”

“So I see, she takes after her uncle. Please tell me it’s not Frozen though."

“No, tonight's reserved for Tangled.”

"Hmmm. A bit better. I can deal with that. She has a good choice."

“Takes after her uncle in that regard as well”, Chris winks at him before turning to go into the kitchen and Sebastian’s heart is doing backflips at that simple action.

***

They spend the rest of their night watching and singing along with the animated characters. Building pillow forts, telling Dodger to fetch the colourful balls and mimicking sesame street voices. It’s the best date Sebastian has ever had, even if it was hijacked by a kindergartener and a furball. At the dinner table, Stella tells Chris she wants to sit next to ‘Bastian’ and asks him to cut her pizza into little bites for her. Seb tries so hard to hide the tears that well up in his eyes, though he is sure, Chris caught a glimpse of them. Because right after feeling too emotional, he had gotten a squeeze at his thigh and Chris interwined  their fingers together, skin warm and cheeks flushed red. This looks and feels so much like the future Sebastian had been planning for them. He can’t tell if he manifested that by imagining it hard enough or is fate just being extra nice and kind to him since last week. Either way, he hopes this doesn’t change.

***   

Finally it’s after 10:30 and Chris reminds Stella it’s way past her bedtime, she shouldn't take advantage of him just because he caves in everytime she pouts. He takes her to the upstairs bedroom while Sebastian stays in the kitchen to do the dishes, no matter how much Chris asks him not to do that.

“Please don’t. You’ll only make me feel like a shitty host”

“Please let me, if I don’t, I’ll be the one feeling like a shitty guest”.

Just when he’s done drying off the last plate, Seb hears footsteps coming down from the stairs. He walks out of the kitchen and stands at the very end of it, waiting for Chris to come down.

“She asleep yet?”, he asks when they’re just two steps away from each other.

“Actually no. Said she wants you to go up there and kiss her goodnight too”, Chris laughs but answers with a certain seriousness that tells Seb this is not entirely a joke. Stella actually did ask for him. That realisation warms his heart even more.

“Alright, I can do that”, he starts climbing up the stairs and crosses Chris. Is stopped by a large hand softly reaching out to hold onto his elbow. ‘”You know, you don’t have to, right? She’ll go to sleep on her own in a few minutes anyway. Don’t spoil her too much”, Chris wants to make sure Seb isn’t feeling obligated to do any of this just because of him.

“I know I don’t have to. I want to though. And cuties like you Evans people deserve a little more spoiling every now and then. Let me take care of that”, he smiles and frees his arm from Chris’s grasp. Walks a few stairs further but is stopped in his track again. This time, by Chris’ deep husky voice.

“Hey, Seb?”

“Yeah?”

“After you are done with putting the little madam to sleep, I want you to come downstairs and kiss me good night too. I’ll be waiting in my own room”, Chris is flustered, pale skin turned the loveliest shade of pink at the make but his voice still holds a demanding and authorative tone that manages to make Sebastian weak in the knees.

“Sure”, he says with his own voice trembling and can’t begin to believe his lucky stars.

'Whatever you say. Your wish is my command, Christopher', Sebastian thinks.

 Actually, he might’ve just said it out loud judging by the way Chris snorts then blushes a shade darker and smiles some more standing on the other end of that staircase.

***

[mythriteshah]

Sleepover with the Angels

Thiji’s Angels: the ever-dependable and trustworthy entourage of the Mythrite Sultan’s retinue. These maidservants work tirelessly to maintain the integrity of the Regalia whenever their master is away or otherwise indisposed.  And on occasion, they conduct numerous operations and campaigns across the globe to deal with whatever threats may surface.  Delicate yet deadly, the Angels are the shining example of power and beauty – both of which they have in spades.

But whatever goes on through an Angel’s day, when they are not upholding the good name of the Higuri Regalia?  What activities await them when they are off-duty?  The answer one would find one day when Miss Kaori, one of the newest Angels to join the team, came upon a missive enveloped in an aroma unfamiliar to her.  She gave it to the Head Secretary of the Othard Branch – Yuanji Yuji – who immediately discerned the scent:

“Frankincense.  This is from Miss Susuna,” she deducted. Immediately after opening the letter to read its contents aloud, Yuanji and the others quickly gathered whatever they could within the next bell and made their way to the Shirogane docks, where the Mythril Wavetraders were anchored.  Their sisters from the Aldenard Branch had arrived as well, and their own personal effects and belongings were packed with the rest of the cargo.  Apparently they were already making their way to Hingashi to pick them up long before the message found its way to their mailbox!  Head Secretary Sesena hurriedly brought the others on board and ordered the merchant fleet to set sail for Thavnair.

About a half-bell before sunset, and everyone had arrived at Radz-at-Han, where they unloaded and transported the cargo over towards the Main Branch Headquarters.  There, a familiar face was awaiting them at the courtyard.

“Shiro!!” the Angels gasped.  This was Shiro Reina, their double agent downrange working for the Lion Order. She gave them a wink and took a large sip from the bowl of sake she delicately balanced on her hand.

“ようこそみなさん;点灯しています,” she uttered in her native tongue.

“Uh, care to translate, Miss Kaori?” asked Shishira.

“Shiro-San said, ‘Welcome, everyone.  It’s lit.’”

The Angels cheered and followed Shiro inside, where she would then lead them towards the newly-opened Servants’ Lounge whilst the Wavetraders hauled their cargo inside.  What was strange, however, was the attire the Angels were wearing: they all seemed to be dressed as if they were preparing to rest for the evening.  Nightgowns and nightcaps; slippers and pillows; even plush dolls in the likeness of the Mythrite Sultan.  But what could possibly constitute such a large gathering of the Angels under one roof, let alone all this cargo the Wavetraders were bringing? The answer would be made clear as the doors to the Servants’ Lounge swung wide open, revealing Treasurer Susuna with a *LARGE* glass of her favorite Bacchus Wine in hand:

“Welcome, girls, to our first-ever Regalia Slumber Party!” Susuna declared.  Everyone gave a loud cheer and entered the lounge, where they immediately broke out the food and drink.  “We’ve got a lot planned for this monumental occasion, but first, we gotta pay respects to an old friend.”

All the Angels took a glass of wine (or sake, for the Far Easterners) and gathered around a large portrait of a young Dunesfolk woman on the far side of the lounge.  She had eyes as white as snow, but blank.  Her hair was long and fuchsia with blue highlights, and in the portrait she wore a gown befitting that of a Sultana, her smiling visage bringing the entire picture to life.

Susuna took her place upon the balcony – her preferred perch and seat of power in the Servants’ Lounge – and turned to face the portrait. With a snap of her fingers, the gil which poured from the walls ceased, and all fell silent within seconds.  She then rose her glass to the portrait, and everyone else would follow suit.  Those who delivered the cargo also joined in the occasion.

“Angels and servants alike, we are here tonight to honor one of our fallen sisters: Lady Mamai Mai, whom was posthumously given the royal name of Sor for being the first – and only – Angel to have fallen in love with our master.  She was a young and promising Angel, who had a peerless gift for metallurgy, so puissant that not even the Calamity – which divested her of sight – could deter her mastery.  Only Althyk and Nymeia Themselves would know what events would have transpired have things went different in the Amphitheatre - whose name I can’t recall right now because I’m about four glasses in…”

“Akh Afah, Suna!” Lelena interjected.

“Thank you!  But without you, Lord Thiji wouldn’t have been the badass he is today, so here’s to you, Lady Mamai!  A sister; an Angel; a friend.  We know you’re watching us from on high, with wings you’ve so rightfully earned.  And even though we miss you and your cotton-candied sweetness that you always brought to us, we know your spirit will be with us to join in this celebration.  You won’t be forgotten, and every Angel who has come after you shall know your name, that your legacy may live on through our hearts and souls! Your vision was greater than any in all the land.  And once you’re done rejoicing with us, may you find peace in the aetherial plane. To Lady Mamai!”

“To Lady Mamai!” everyone echoed before finishing their drink. Susuna especially took hers to the head, falling over the railing just as she finished it.  Fortunately, she landed conveniently in the arms of Isja, who gave a playful wink to the Treasurer before setting her back down. With their remembrance concluded, it was finally the hour to commence the festivities.  The slumber party kicked off with a tournament of the popular card game which swept the realm: Triple Triad.  While it was tempting for Shiro, Yuanji, Kaori, and Koyuki, they preferred Doman Mahjong instead, so they played amongst themselves and watched their fellow Angels duke it out on the 3-by-3 battlefield…

Susuna: All right, girls!  Remember: the regional rules are Ascension and Three Open!  Match rules are Plus and Same!

Lilina: What?! Since when?!  I checked the rules for Thavnair the night before and they were Sudden Death and Chaos!  How did they change so quickly?!

Sosona: I remember hearing that one of the noble houses’ aristocrats spoke to some queer Hyur chick standing in the middle of Radz-at-Han the other day.

Luluma: Oh, I’ve heard of her!  Brunette; white dress; red bolero; blue jewel over her forehead?

Sosona: Yeah, the very same.  Fancied herself the “Queen of Cards”.  She seems to plant herself in areas with high foot traffic, but is never seen walking for some reason.  Anyway, the aristocrat paid her to change Thavnair’s rules because she has that much influence over the game.

Lilina: Well, how much did they pay her?!

Sosona: Thirty thousand gil.

Lilina: That’s it?! Suna could practically sneeze out five times that much given how opulent we are!

Susuna: I’ll take that as a compliment!  Now, let’s get to playing!

The tournament finally went underway, and the Angels commenced battle. They gave it their all in the battle of wits and expensive cardboard, but not everyone can be a winner.  One by one did they fall before their sisters through superior strategy and no small amount of luck, but only two would be left standing.  The time of the finals came, and it was down to Himmeya and Isja, who surprised everyone with her burgeoning skill.  The Far Eastern Angels halted their Mahjong to watch the finals match…

Lilina: After this night is over, I’m hunting down that “Queen of Cards” and changing the rules!  Stupid Ascension really cost me this tournament!

Luluma: Lina, you didn’t even make it through the preliminaries.

The other Angels couldn’t help but laugh at the remark.

Sesena: But I didn’t expect Himmeya to come in here with that deck of hers!  Where’d you learn to play like that?

Sarielle: And more importantly, why are all her cards Garlean?

Himmeya: I had a lot of time to play during my time serving the Resistance.  As for the cards, I beat up a few conscripts for them.

Shishira: Uh, does she mean that figuratively, or literally?

Himmeya: Yes.

Everyone paused to stare at Himmeya, who had a big question mark on her face.

Himmeya: What?  They were just hiding out around Gyr Abania at the time and I wanted to challenge them. They didn’t seem very belligerent, so I figured a game of Triple Triad wouldn’t hurt.  Though there was this one guy in the Ala Mhigan Quarter who got all uppity because he beat me, shouting “Glory Garlemald” this and “Unwashed savage” that, so I decked him.

Sarielle: Now I see why she likes hanging out in the Azim Steppe during work.

Veeveena: In her defense, such responses are justified given their history.

Umimi: Seconded!

Kaori: Quite the bloodthirsty Lalafells, I see…

Yuanji: We got to be a little blood-crazy to protect our lord.

Isja: With that out of the way – come, Himmeya.  Let us see who shall walk away as champion tonight!

With the banter concluded, the finals began.  Himmeya put up a fierce offensive with her Garlean deck, but Isja was able to hold her ground with her Primals, taking inspiration from the Eikon Collection.  The two fought with such skill that they were able to reach Sudden Death thrice, with the Ascension rule playing both to their advantage and disadvantage. However, something would catch Lilina’s eye…

Lilina: Wait… I noticed something!  Garuda… Lakshmi… Shiva… Susanoo… Ravana… Those are the primals either Lord Thiji or the Angels have faced!

Isja: Yes.  This deck serves as a reminder of the life our Mythrite Sultan has led to reach the position of power he currently holds.  The strength of these otherworldly beings shall see me through this day.

Himmeya: Respectable, Isja, but you forgot about my trump card – literally!

With a flourish, Himmeya slammed down the final card on the northeast corner that would seal Isja’s fate…

Angels: YOTSUYU GOE BRUTUS?!

Isja: Oh, no… with her lower-left stats now at “A”, that means…!

With Shiva and Ravana surrounding Yotsuyu, the rules of Same and Plus activate, resulting in them both being captured, and a combo that swept the board, taking Grynewaht, Lakshmi, Susanoo, Gaius, and Nael, and claiming the entire board for Himmeya, save for Garuda.

Susuna: And just like that, in an incredible finish, our own Ala Mhigan mauler takes the title of Triple Triad Champeen!

Isja: Well, I suppose one of us must excel at something.

Himmeya: Hahah!  You were a good opponent, Isja!  Let’s duel again sometime!

Isja: Deal.  But this time, it will be on my battlefield: in fashion!

Susuna hands the trophy over to Himmeya: a gilded card with outspread wings, commemorating her place as champion.  With Triple Triad now knocked out, the party would resume apace. First, the Angels set up dummies in a row and showed off their ranged prowess.  Sesena decapitated her target’s head clean with a Shield Lob; Umimi created a breaching wound with her deadly Tomahawk; Kaori utilized her Samurai powers to send a blade of force to slice her dummy to ribbons – the Tachi: Enpi; Luluma and Isja, the resident Lancers, practiced their deadly accuracy through the Piercing Talon technique, skewering their targets with ease; Shiro and Yuanji brought the Far Eastern flair, turning their dummies into pincushions in a flash of Throwing Daggers.

Himmeya, being the only remaining Angel, nodded to the others’ fine work.  Then she cracked her knuckles and concentrated her chi, giving Koyuki the signal to launch a Water spell at the Fist of Rhalgr disciple.  She captured the Fluid Aura into her arms and made a flowing series of movements which molded the waters into tendril-like extensions of her arms, effectively increasing her striking range.  She then utilized this Fists of Water technique to grab the striking dummy by the arms, snapping them with her aqueous appendages. Then she would deliver a punch to the chest and sent it flying.

“Monks may not be good at fighting from a distance, but that’s because they’re too small-minded!” the Fist of Rhalgr disciple chided, which gave cause for the Angels to cheer.  Their evening of merriment resumed with a variety of different activities, from light dancing and music, to combat demonstrations, and even some showcases of the latest fashion designs from the Regalia's think tank, courtesy of Isja. The drink flowed like the Thaliak River, and aided in prolonging the festivities well into the long hours of the night.  Save for Himmeya, who stuck primarily to lemonade, every other Angel had surrendered to the pure inebriation wrought from their rampant revelry - the one affected the most being Susuna, who was sitting atop the gil pile as if it were her own personal throne (which it kind of is).  Her fellow Angels were either resting on the floor, on a sofa, or over the railing on the floor above.

Their time of fun had obviously begin to wind down at this point, at which Sesena stirred from her stupor to speak with her sisters-in-arms...

Sesena: All right, girls.  I think now's the time we addressed the marid in the room!

Lilina: There's, like... four marids around the lounge, though!

Sosona: Idiom, Lilina.

Kaori: What does Sesena-San mean about this?

Umimi: Well, it can't possibly be about why Thavnair's joining the Blitzball Association, so it can only mean...

Sesena, pointing to a Thiji plush doll: Yup!  Our lovable lord and Sultan, Thiji sor Higuri!

Lelena: What of our beautiful lord?  Did something happen to him?

Sesena: Not what happened, but is happening now!

Meriri: The lass is talkin' about our lordship's marital conundrum!

Sesena: Thank you, Consultant of Metals!  So, as you all know - save for you, Miss Kaori, as you are still new -

Kaori: No offense taken.

Sesena: Our Mythrite Sultan's about to reach his twenty-eighth Nameday.  More importantly, this will be his twenty-eighth Nameday spent single!  And while this may not be of much concern to most... the guy needs a Sultana, as much as he may not let that on!

Isja: Who could possibly amount to the brilliance that is our Sultan?  The man has molded himself into a bastion of beauty and power - so much so that even I will admit that I had fallen for him at one point.

Sosona: We all have, Isja.  It's okay.

Isja: Are you certain?

Himmeya: Well, not me.  It was mostly for his impressive combat prowess he showed all those summers ago.

Sesena: It's thanks to Lady Mamai's sacrifice that there is a "No Dating Angels" policy!  He may love us like his own daughters, but it's because of what happened in Coerthas that he doesn't want that emotional attachment to happen again! And at no offense to Lady Mamai, I'm glad that was implemented!

Lelena: I heard you entertained the thought of dating him after a talk with Lady Tahrara some time ago!

Sesena: So?!

The Angels laughed.  However, Shishira went silent, as it was obvious that she harbors feelings for the Mythrite Sultan.  Veeveena took noticed and gave a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Lilina: Even still, he attracts a lot of attention from the females, no matter their race!  I mean, look at him!  Any woman of any race with a love of Lalafells would take one look at him and they'd get hotter than the 4th Astral Moon!

Sosona: Too bad most of them are too busy getting hot from chasing tail.

Sarielle: In all aspects of the phrase, I take it?

Sosona: You know it.  The ailurophilia and herpetophilia’s running rampant across the land, and it’s become a big deal to us as of late.

Lelena: Our Chief Analytics Officer, hard at work!

Shishira: I believe the Sagolii Merchant Queen collects those tails and consumes them as delicacies...

Koyuki: Hm?  How are you aware of this, Miss Shishira?

Shishira: I... may have glimpsed a few things during my tutelage under her.  Queen Chichibi's awfully passionate about collecting them.

Yuanji: She and Sosona have a point, though.  Many people seem to go after Miqo'te and Au Ra for some reason. We of the Far East have especially taken notice of this and it's become a cause for alarm for us, especially when they began adapting our customs.  What is it about the tailed races that makes them so much more desirable than others?  I will honestly admit that even I wonder at times why there aren’t --

Himmeya: Er, Head Secretary, there is no possible way to explain that right now without inciting some kind of riot.

Yuanji: How so?  No one is listening in somehow, are they?

Himmeya: ... Angel's intuition dictates that the matter should be left where it is.

Kaori: I fail to see the appeal.  Lord Thiji is an iconic figure upon merchants and nobles alike.  It was my understanding that many would be attracted to the sight and promise of coin.  Why should race play so huge a factor in this?

Susuna, finally having enough of the debacle, groaned loud enough for it to echo throughout the Servants' Lounge, commanding the attention of the others.  She then shifted her weight ever-so slightly that she slid down from her throne of gil and landed smoothly at the base of the fountain, her full wine glass unmarred.

Susuna: Honestly, girls.  The answer’s right in front of you as if you slipped and fell into Nophica’s massive rack! No more pulling punches here; I'm gonna tell you all why it's not happening.

After taking a moment to gulp down her wine before tossing it aside (Shiro easily caught it so as to prevent it from shattering), Susuna hopped on the fountain and reclined so that her back laid upon the mountain of gil.

Meriri: The answer bein'...?

Susuna: The status quo!

Umimi: "Status what"?

Susuna: Status quo; the current state of affairs.

Isja: I'm afraid you've lost me, Miss Susuna.

Susuna: Don't worry, I've got an epexegesis ready for you!  I, my sisters, Lelena and her sisters, and even Miss Veeveena have been with Lord Thiji since the beginning - before the Angels were even formed!  Ever since the Sagolii Desert shenanigans, Lord Thiji's had te-heh-heh-herrible luck with the fairer sex!  Miss Shishira, I'm sorry -

Shishira: I'm over it.  I was his first crush, and I disregarded it for Memejora...

Umimi: That you had the courage to state this tonight makes you the bravest of us all.

Susuna: And there's no lie here that you'd have been an incredible match for Lord Thiji were things different!  But that's beside the point - somewhat.  What I'm trying to say is this: the Mythrite Sultan's single because the Twelve know it and are keeping it that way!

Sarielle: Oh, my.  She's had so much Bacchus Wine that it's poisoned her thought process...

Susuna: It's the truth!  Because think about it: if Lord Thiji ended up with the right woman, he'd take over the godsdamned world!  He’d already make the Syndicate jealous from the wealth he's amassed, and if the ideal lady were to come into his life and finally become his Sultana, there'd be no stopping the Regalia's sphere of influence from expanding!  Every attempt he's ever had at courting a woman has blown up in his face because there's no one in this world who can handle one of the most elegant men in Radz-at-Han becoming an item!  It's why his twin brother took the burden off him somewhat by making Lady Mimizo a grandsire!

Umimi, giggling: Guilty as charged!

Susuna: It's not uncommon knowledge that the Valide Sultan favors her firstborn the most - he's had the most potential, and has shown it well!  And every loving mother wants to see their children succeed!  But she's still holding out on hope that her firstborn will find someone!

Isja: Not to mention his romantic dream... I heard that, too, was shattered.

Susuna: Thanks for reminding me!  All the crap he's put up with as an adventurer molded him into the martial and magical badass that he is today!  This reinforces my argument; the Mythrite Sultan's a god among men, and he's immortalized himself on numerous occasions!  I bet any of our honorary Angels would also say the same!  But man, did he look so regal in that Sorceress's Knight armor...

Himmeya: I guess dating auctions are out of the question...

Susuna: He'd only entertain that nonsense just to see what the smallfolk think he's worth!

Meriri: The Treasurer's startin' to speak some sense, actually... But the lord's a recluse!  He's so focused on his work that he doesn't have time fer such frivolities!

Susuna: Because he knows that the powers that be have screwed him over so much that it's not worth trying!  With the possibility of a love interest pretty much balled up and thrown out the window, he’s had more time than ever to focus on his work!

Veeveena: Well, it is said that true love comes when you least expect it!

Susuna gave a hearty laugh in response to the Main Branch Advisor's comment.

Susuna: If that were true, then we wouldn't have this discussion!  And Menphina forfend that doesn't come true right as our lord is on his deathbed and some floozy comes barging in giving her teary confessions of love to the man! I only hope that one of us is in the room at that moment to plant one between the bitch's eyes to save whatever dignity remains of the moment!

Kaori: Susuna-San truly is a spectacle to behold...

Sosona: This is honestly her thought process - only slightly skewed when she's drunk.  But I’ll keep it one-hundred just as my sister is: if any of us had the honor of being his Sultana, it’d be you, Veeveena.  No one else is as deadly or as beautiful as yourself.  The heirs you two would sire would be something to behold.

Veeveena: Stop it, Miss Sosona!  I only wish to serve alongside our Sultan!  

Umimi: Everyone here would agree that a flower born of Thavnair such as yourself would be the ideal mate for my brother-in-law!  I had almost sought to abdicate my position as Head Secretary and become Advisor in your stead!

Veeveena: Lady Umimi, you’re much too kind.  Just the honor of being with Lord Thiji is enough to bring fulfillment to my life!  Being an Angel has helped with that immensely!

Susuna: Well, if anyone would have to step up to bat, it’s you.  While it’s no secret that Lalafell have heritage from both clans, The Higuri family’s lineage has been predominantly Dunesfolk for as long as any of them can remember!  And he’s the oldest of a set of octuplets, and he’s an uncle of two, so their line is more than secure!  In fact, by that logic, Lady Umimi should no longer be an Angel, but I’m not gonna argue with long-lost Nymian royalty, either!

Umimi: Which is why I wanted to step down from the position of Head Secretary!  An Angel married into the family would definitely spark a conflict of interest, but I’m only wed to the Regalia’s Adjutant!  

Susuna: Speaking of which, going back to what Sena said about the “No Dating Angels” policy – we’re not. His.  Harem.  Many people will see a bunch of ladies under the same room and start jumping to conclusions over that, only to be proven dead wrong in the end – literally. And this further backs up my point! People think that having all of us under his wing is merely a means of seeing who will earn his favor and putting a ring on it.

Sarielle: And yet I hear Nobles having affairs with their own servants numerous occasions. You would think that individuals of such high social standing would face little issues concerning the pleasures of the flesh.

Susuna: Re: "No Dating Angels"! Calling Lord Thiji’s Angels a harem is an insult not only to the Regalia and its employees, but to Lady Mamai as well! And we’re not gonna dishonor everything she did just to have the public view us as such!  We’re his army of assassin-maidservants, and it’s gonna stay that way!

Lelena, to Sesena: Your sister, the demagogue, hard at work!

Sesena: She’s not wrong.  Even I’m growing concerned over the fact.  While people have begun jokingly referring to Lord Thiji as the Mythrite Bachelor, that as well is becoming something of a trend.

Luluma: Our Sultan can’t help it; everything transpiring around the realm sort of gets in the way of such efforts.  Problems from abroad have escalated thanks to the appearance of those towers everywhere, not to mention factors beyond our control, like people’s preferences.  We may as well start sending missives to prospective suitresses.

Susuna: And hurt the Mythrite Sultan’s dignity?!  Not happening!  Let’s not waste funding on postage for that! Plus I heard they tried making a show about that once...

Shishira: But, it doesn’t even cost anything to use mail.

Susuna: The fact of the matter is that if we force this, the results are gonna be catastrophic!

Sarielle: But we cannot remain idle for too long if we truly wish to assist in his predicament.

Isja: Agreed.  I know firsthand that Valide Sultan would be very cross should he reach his thirtieth Nameday without a suitable mate.

Sosona: Well, I don’t think half-Lalafell, half-Viera children are being brought to the table, if that’s what you’re implying.

Isja: Very funny.  I am perfectly fine serving as his prime model.

Susuna: Look, we just gotta keep doing what we’re doing, and if something finally happens, we gotta make sure that whoever has their eyes set on the Mythrite Sultan isn’t either doing it for the money, is out to kill him, or worse!

Just then, they would all receive a ring from their linkpearls, to which they would promptly answer.

?: Good evening, Angels.

Angels: Good evening, Lord Thiji!

Thiji: I sincerely apologize for interrupting your meticulously-planned slumber party, but a thought had just occurred to me that the season of spring is close to arriving.  We must begin preparations for the fourth Regalia Largesse.  With the strange appearance of the towers, our more militaristic efforts have been curtailed somewhat, which will allow us to focus more on our events.  I have already gotten in touch with our merchant fleet to prepare our reserve stock, for there are still many items we’ve left over from the previous summer we can still offer to the masses.  Until then, however, you Angels enjoy your rest for tonight and the rest of this sennight. We will reconvene later this moon to divulge further details.

Angels: Thank you, Lord Thiji!

Thiji: Of course, my beloved Angels.  Enjoy your party.

The transmission ended and everyone rejoiced once more as the lounge rang with their jubilant cries.  Due to their intoxicated state, however, they did not celebrate for too long until they collapsed to the floor in a comedic fashion.  The issue regarding the Sultan’s courtship would have to wait.

For now, it was time for the Angels’ beauty sleep.

[mx-o]

「NEO CITY」

》 nct ot21 mafia! au

》 warnings ; a lot of suspense.

》a/n: i’m sorry i took so long but i’m back with this little bit for now and will update later in the week with part 2. if you ever get confused or have questions, my asks are always open!

word count: 1.8k

masterlist | previous

four, part one

[beijing, china; jan 16, 10:32]

“hello?” ten answered the phone quietly.

“you’ve arrived, i’m assuming?” taeyong asked on the other line. ten hummed in agreement at him.

“there’s something i need for you to do, but they’re with you, aren’t they? johnny and sicheng?” he questioned again. ten could feel johnny and sicheng closing in on him now. he’d been on the phone too long and they’ve realized something was going on. he had to choose his words wisely. he hummed again, followed by a soft ‘yes’.

“this one is for you and you alone. you’re only allowed to answer with yes or no from now on, do you understand?” he spoke sternly over the line—deeply and slowly.

he hummed yet again, but with ‘mhm’ this time. to be honest, ten was a little scared to speak with the other two around and with taeyong’s tone, he only wanted to ask questions.

“words, ten. use your words.”

“yes, sir.” the other two’s ears perked up at that. they figured out who he was speaking to for the least.

“i’ve sent kun and taeil in my place. i have some business to attend to here. i’ve already spoken to them about this. i’m sure you already know i’m sending yuta along from japan also, yes?” ten hummed quietly, acknowledging the fact. “he was supposed to bring doyoung with him as our financial advisor since i need jaehyun here in seoul. the problem is, however, that yuta told doyoung that he wasn’t needed in beijing since you, him and yukhei would be there and would be able to handle it on your own. and while i agree with that, he’s disobeying my orders.”

ten sighed, taking in the information. the two boys who had leaned in on him had not moved a muscle since. he tried his best to ignore their presence and listen to what taeyong was saying.

“i spoke to mark and he confirmed that two people boarded the flight in tokyo. you understand what you need to do, yes?” taeyong finished. ten gathered that he liked asking questions. nonetheless, he nodded.

realizing the man couldn’t see him, he answered, “i’ll look into it.”

[jan 17, 08:31]

“on your toes, boys,” ten commanded his ‘thai trio’ as he calls them. he put on his brightest smile. standing before them. he turned sharply on his heels, now facing the large double doors of the dining room of one of nc tech’s newly constructed hotels in the beijing area—where one can live the dream. ten didn’t fully understand why they bought a chain of hotels but made a mental note to ask kun when he sees him next, which in any case, is in less than thirty seconds.

he pushed open the doors to the dining area to be met with a beautiful face. she was almost the same height as him, her brunette locks falling effortlessly on her shoulders. she held what he assumed was a menu in her arms, against her chest. smiling at him, she moved aside, making way for the four men, and following them as they walked to the centre of the dining room.

the scent of fresh linens whirred through the room as they walked past all the empty tables to the one at the very middle of the hall. the white tablecloths spread across every table with the sun’s electrifying brightness from the skylight above the entire room, made the space look much more open than it really was. they arrived at the table that sat the two men, dressed in jet black suits and slicked back hair.

the hostess stood at the table and motioned for them to sit down, saying that she would be back shortly for their orders. the table was round, large enough to sit eight people but had been adjusted to seat the six men, and so they were spaced a little further than usual. ten sat first of the four, taking his seat next to kun, with taeil on the right of them both. sicheng sat beside ten, johnny on the right side of taeil, sandwiching haechan between them at the only other seat.

“you’re a minute late,” was the first thing kun could say to great them all. typical, ten thought.

“i’m sorry, hyung. i was a little delayed by these three here. you see, they all somehow called ‘dibs’ on the front seat. but it was clearly mine,” he joked with his elder. he laughed delightfully. it was airy and sweet, much like kun himself.

qian kun was one of the initial investors in neo culture technologies. he’d been friends with taeyong for a long time before, as he visited south korea often with his family when he was young. no one is completely sure, but most of the company believe that he’s the reason neo culture even exists as it is today. he was persistent and always was looking out for his brother, and well—his investment. like a lot of the other ‘founding members’, he worked hard to reach where he is now. kun was the director of all drug and narcotics operations for all of the region. technically speaking, he held the same amount of power as taeyong did, just in his division.

“i remember back when we were still young and stole taeyong’s car that one time, we all fought over who could get the front seat. i guess things don’t change sometimes.” taeil chimed in, holding his arm out on the table, toying with his wine glass and letting out a light chuckle. the light from the skylight above them made taeil’s faded orangey-brown locks look a little more golden than usual. the sunlight was the reason the moon shone anyway, wasn’t it?

moon taeil was the stone-cold softie at nc tech. he was one of the two rare people who taeyong held more respect for. both taeil and johnny were the only two people older than taeyong and it showed in the way they were treated. both him and johnny rose ranks easily and was also always the ones their CEO would come to for advice. taeil, however, was kept nearby. he had an insane mind for war tactics and had a knack for things that involved a fight. it’s not quite the personality that suits his features. he was gifted, to say the least—nimble fingers that wrapped easily around the handles of guns, small lips that hid the glints of mischief that shone through the darkness, perfectly round and sharp eyes that ever missed a target. moon taeil was as celestial as the name suggests, and taeyong noticed that the moment he laid eyes on the elder.

it was easy to fall.

“hyung? you stole a car? i never thought you would ever do that!” the youngest jumped at the opportunity to learn about his seniors and all the bad things they’ve done.

“oh no, channie-ah. you see, that was taeil hyung. we all knew if any of us had done that taeyong would’ve blown a fuse. he just likes to include us in his childish endeavours since he misses his youth so much,” ten defended himself. taeil scoffed at the mention of him missing his youth. it was true, but he’d long forgotten about that.

“ya! don’t lie! you were just as much a part as any of us,” kun piped in again, defending taeil. they all laughed at the comment. truth is, everyone except donghyuck knows the story. it was one of those memories that had made them as close as they are now and something they bond over often.

“but we all pinned the blame on taeil anyway,” he finished, quickly taking a sip of his water, and looking away from the death glare taeil shot his way immediately after. all defence down the drain, they all chimed in with their laughter again.

it was a blissful moment in retrospect.

their conversation had gone along smoothly, laughing about old memories as they waited for their orders. but even amidst the chatter and banter, there was still that little bit of suspicion in sicheng’s mind about all of this.

honestly speaking, did ten, kun and taeil need to be here? this was a regular transaction that was supposed to occur just like normal. did taeyong suddenly doubt sicheng’s ability to do his job on his own? and why the hell was yuta flying in too? none of this made any sense but he couldn’t exactly right out ask them about it.

“why are you guys here?” sicheng asked, picking at his steak with his fork, not looking at them. the table fell silent. there goes not ‘right out’ asking about it.

“i’ve been wondering that too, since i don’t usually follow my shipments. that’s a winwin thing, not me,” johnny added.

ten lowered his fork from his hand, placing it down with a clank. kun and taeil looked up at them both—unreadable, while poor donghyuck just reached for his water glass, pretending to drink from it to avoid the situation.

“i hadn’t even thought about that part. so, tell me, does taeyong not trust us anymore? or do you not trust us?” sicheng continued. he looked up at ten, meeting his eyes and leaning into his seat, waiting for his answer.

“this has nothing to do with you—” ten started, cutting himself off to glance at kun for an answer. he sighed in defeat, not knowing how to explain this. his weakness for sicheng gets to him easier than he thought.

“what ten is trying to say is that it’s none of your concern why we’re here. we’re following orders just as you are, that’s all,” taeil spoke calmly.

sicheng tensed. none of this sat right with him. “am i not allowed to know why you’re on my ass about this shipment? obviously there’s something else that i need to know about it if you’re here, am i wrong?”

“it’s not—”

“ten, don’t,” kun stopped him again.

“what’s going on here, seriously? do you not trust me? us?” sicheng asked again, calmer this time. johnny held off on the questions, knowing how ten would react just by gauging the situation.

ten turned fully to kun now, eyebrows furrowed, and shoulders raised. what was he plotting?

“hyung, we should at least—”

“no, ten. you’ll be disobeying orders too,” taeil stated plainly.

“too?” johnny and his damn good observation skills.

“so, we’ve done something wrong?” sicheng’s persistence had become a bore to them now.

“winwin, remember who you’re speaking to,” taeil warned.

he murmured a soft ‘sorry, hyung’ while bowing his head. he knew very well that he was pushing his limits, but he needed to know. he wracked his brain for answers for the past day and a half and he just couldn’t stop now.

“hyung please, just tell me. does taeyong not trust us anymore?”

“it’s not you he doesn’t trust,” kun started, exasperated.

“it’s not who, who doesn’t trust?” a new voice spoke, emerging from behind donghyuck—who’d been ‘drinking’ water this whole time.

“nakamoto.”

next

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 1: Bad To The Bone]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist! :)

This kid is going to be the death of me.

“Eli Fitzgerald Hardy, DO NOT drop that frog!” The words launch from your throat like loosed arrows. Do you sound scary, commanding, authoritarian? You hope so.  

His defiant glare glints wildly beneath dark russet curls. His lips twist into a maniacal grin, revealing small white teeth. His grip noticeably loosens around the wriggling green frog. Maisy, paralyzed by fear, is wide-eyed and whimpering softly in her chair. Eli is standing, looming over her. The room is unnervingly silent as the other students watch in horror.

“Eli, don’t!” you plead.

It’s too late. The frog tumbles from his opened hand. The panicked amphibian lands in Maisy’s frizzy red hair and instantly becomes tangled there. Maisy is screaming, you are screaming, everyone is screaming. Well...everyone but Eli. He points and cackles as you sprint to Maisy’s side and try to pull the frog out of her hair.

“Honey, don’t cry, it’s going to be okay!” you shout over the children’s shrieks as Maisy sobs, her face a frantic shade of pink, her freckled cheeks glistening with tears. At last you manage to free the frog, swiftly carry it to the open window, and let it leap from your palm into the bushes. You wipe your hands on your skirt, your brand new skirt, the skirt now marred with tears and amphibian slime and muddy frog footprints. And have I mentioned that you fucking hate frogs?

“It...was...on...my...HEAD!” Maisy heaves, waving her hands in disgust. The other children are trying to comfort her.

“Maisy, sweetheart, the frog is all gone now. Here, let me fix your hair for you...”

You get Maisy cleaned up and settle the class. Then you turn to your worst nightmare, your arch nemesis, the smug lurking face that keeps you up at night. He’s smiling in the shadowy corner of the room by the coat closet, prowling there like a wolf.

“Eli, come over here please.”

“Yes Miss Teacher.”

“I do have a name,” you say, but halfheartedly. No matter how many times you’ve introduced yourself since the school year started three weeks ago, the students always lapse back into calling you Miss Teacher. One of the many hazards of first grade.

Eli obediently approaches, but his smile never dies.

“Now, that was a very unkind thing you just did to poor Maisy. We don’t want to scare our friends. And we don’t want to bring outside animals into the classroom. They could have germs, or they could bite someone—”

“Frogs don’t have teeth,” Eli points out astutely.

You sigh. “Be that as it may, we cannot drop frogs on our friends. And I think Maisy would really appreciate an apology. Isn’t that one of our class rules, making sure we apologize if we hurt our friends’ feelings?”

You turn to the other students for support, and they nod enthusiastically.

“Can you do that for me and Maisy, Eli?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maisy, I’m sorry I dropped the frog on your head.”

“That’s alright,” she replies, wiping her drying eyes. Such a prodigiously sweet child. They hug, the conflict seemingly forgotten. But Eli shoots you a mischievous smirk; he may have Maisy fooled, but you’re a bit shrewder. He’s not really all that sorry, and he’s likely already planning his next act of terror.

After you escort the kids to art class, you sit behind your desk and flip through the emergency contact notecards until you find Eli’s. The first person listed is his father. This is unusual; mothers are almost always the primary contact, especially in this neighborhood. Trophy wives stay home with the babies, dads trot off to their law firms or production companies to rake in the six-figure salaries, those are the unwritten rules. But dad is first on Eli’s card: Benjamin Whitaker Hardy. Actually, there’s no mother listed at all. You drum your fingers thoughtfully on the desk.

You dial Mr. Hardy’s number with your iPhone. It rings, but no one answers. At the tone, you leave a message.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy.” Benjamin Whitaker Hardy, what a pretentious fucking name, he’s a too-important-to-deal-with-his-own-kid corporate desk job guy for sure. “This is Miss Y/L/N, Eli’s teacher here at Dolphin Cove Elementary. I’ve been wanting to speak with you regarding some of Eli’s behavior in class, and I haven’t had much luck with the notes I’ve sent home.” Probably because Eli’s trashing them or burning them or casting voodoo spells with them or whatever demons-in-training do. “I’m hoping we can connect sometime soon and find a solution that works for everyone.” Perhaps an exorcism? “I look forward to hearing from you! Goodbye for now.”

You hang up, sip your Coke Zero, and check your watch. You have fifteen minutes of freedom remaining. You glance out the window to see if the frog is still in the bushes. Blessedly, there’s no sign of it.

After art is reading and writing, then it’s time for the kiddos to go home. You make sure no one forgets their folders or backpack as you corral your class into a semi-orderly line and follow them out to the pickup area. Buses and cars wait patiently as students trickle out of the building and scramble to the vehicle doors, shouting excitedly about the events of the day. “Mommy, I got a gold star in social studies!” “Nana, I had pizza for lunch!” “Mom, Maisy got a FROG dropped on her head!”

Winston—a shy, gentle boy with huge black-rimmed glasses and chubby arms full of library books—stumbles as he sprints for his bus. “Ow!” he moans, spilling his books across the sidewalk, clutching his left knee.

“Uh oh! Win, dear, let me help you.”

You rush to the boy’s side, lift him upright, and brush the dust off his pants. Oh fuck, if he goes home scraped and dirty I’m going to catch hell from the nanny. As you kneel next to Winston, there are footsteps behind you, and then a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“Hi, hello, sorry, Miss Y/L/N...?”

The mysterious voice is jarring: British, sophisticated, impossibly smooth. You are frozen for a moment, then you whirl and rise to your feet. He’s young, really young. Far too young to be a parent in a district where most people don’t start having kids until their late-thirties. He’s blond, green-eyed, fit. And he doesn’t look anything like an attorney or film producer. He looks like a goddamn J.Crew model. Wait, what did he say? Oh yeah, my name.

“Yes, I, uh...that’s me!”

He’s restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot, wearing an expertly-tailored black suit, impatient, arrogant even. “I think you left me a message earlier. I’m Eli’s dad.”

You blink at him. “You’re...his father? Not his tutor? Not the nanny?”

Benjamin Whitaker Hardy narrows his eyes at you. “No.”

“Oh.” This is not going quite the way you’d planned. “I’m sorry, I just...he doesn’t have an accent, and there’s not much of a resemblance, I didn’t make the connection. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Yeah, he takes after his mother.” Mr. Hardy peers irritably around the pickup area, his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. He’s clearly inconvenienced by this conversation. “Sorry I couldn’t pick up my phone earlier, I was at a...” He waves his hand flippantly. “A work thing.”

You find your words in a rush: “Well I wanted to speak to you because your son is clearly extremely gifted and highly intelligent, but he caught a frog at recess and then dropped in on a classmate’s head and it was all pretty traumatizing for the girl, and he has an unfortunate habit of doing things like this, on Monday he tried to glue Winston to his chair, and last week he told Brayden that hamsters don’t go to heaven when they die and Brayden was inconsolable for hours, and then there was the time—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him.”

That’s all? Really?! “Mr. Hardy, I don’t mean to be overbearing, but this is quite a persistent problem and I’ve been hoping to speak with you at length about it and I really think it warrants a more detailed discussion—”

“Right,” he cuts you off in that posh British accent. “I actually have to run, but I’ll be in touch.”

I bet you will be. “Look, Mr. Hardy...” You lose your manners, just for a second. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man—there are lots of fantastically important people in this city—but you’re also a father. And I get the sense that your son is dealing with some very serious challenges at home that are causing him to act out here. I can’t fix that alone. I need your help.”

Mr. Hardy stares at you, stunned, simmering. Eli bolts out of the throng of students and collides into his father’s suit-clad legs, clasping them and giggling. “Hey, buddy!” Mr. Hardy gushes in a strikingly tender tone, ruffling Eli’s hair. Then, incredibly, his face softens as his jade eyes flick back up to you. “I get it. You have a job to do. And I bet you’re pretty great at it.”

He extends his hand, which is strong and perfect and meticulously manicured.

“Ben,” he offers.

“Y/N,” you reply, shell-shocked, as you grasp his hand.

“I really do have to rush off, though,” he says apologetically, already turning towards a black Lexus.

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll chat soon.”

“Cheers.”

You watch as Ben and Eli jog to the Lexus, disappear inside, and speed off, weaving hazardously through minivans and Land Rovers and buses. You tap your shoes—electric blue flats—against the sidewalk, pondering as laughing children breeze by.

“Awesome,” you whisper to yourself. “The dad is probably a demon too.”

[heartofsnark]

A Hope County Christmas (Part One): The Resistance

Notes: Yes, this is late for Christmas and yes, that means the second part is gonna really fucking late for Christmas. But in my defense, I didn’t get the idea and started writing it until the 26th. It was originally suppose to be just one part, but it got real long and I lost some steam in the second part, so it’s gonna take me longer. So, have this and I’ll post the second part....maybe before 2020. I’ve been talking about my Deputy a lot over on my personal @morbidchild182 but this is the first writing I’ve posted with her. I’m still developing her and working on how I write the characters, so. 

Summary: It’s Christmas time in Hope County and as one might suspect, it can be hard to find any Christmas spirit to spare with Eden’s Gate waging their holy war. Junior Deputy Dahlia Hale fully suspects this holiday will be spent just as every last day has been spent since they tried to arrest Joseph Seed. But, between the Rye’s incurable optimism and the Seed’s...fascination with her, she can’t say she expected this. 

Word Count: 3032 

Warnings: Drinking, play fighting, dumb jokes, dumb christmas shenanigans, Ship Tease between Eli and my Deputy, Some sappy bullshit thrown in for good measure. There will be like Yandere Polyseed bullshit in the second part

A harsh cough echoes in Dahlia’s chest, a hacking noise and her lungs constrict. This is her first winter in Montana and it’s absolutely kicking her ass. Eden’s Gate could only hope of making her feel this shitty. Though, to her surprise the peggies haven’t been particularly active lately.

The Seed brothers are originally from Georgia, the deep south just like her, and she wonders if they’re as badly impacted by the cold as she is. Her leather jacket, uniform shirt and tee shirt under it are doing very little to keep out the chill as she rides her motorcycle through the Holland Valley wilderness. Nick and Kim called her over the radio asking her to head over. She’s hoping everything is alright, she’s not sure how much help she’ll be when she can barely feel her limbs.

She parks her motorcycle by the porch, pulling off her helmet and cringing as the cold air hits her face. There are little twinkling Christmas lights across their porch and the roof, even a few strings around the hangar. They’re beautiful, but a part of her worries about it just drawing in angels.

Dahlia rubs her hands together, trying desperate to regain some heat. Her red and irritated nose suddenly feels wet, is her nose running on top of everything? She goes to rub it away, but there’s a fleck of ice clinging to fingers. Something wet pats against her head, is it raining? She looks up towards the sky. Soft white flakes are drifting through the sky.

Snow.

It’s snowing. She’s only seen snow in movies and TV shows, the white puffy flakes touch her cheeks. Ideas of catching snowflakes on her tongue or having snowball fights flicker through her brain, but she disregards it immediately knowing she doesn’t have the time for horseplay.

“Something interesting up there, dep?”

“Huh,” she startles for a minute, seeing Nick standing on the porch and staring up at the sky, “no, sorry, I just, never seen snow before.”

“What, seriously?”

“Louisiana doesn’t get a lot of snow, seen a few hurricanes though.”

“Shit man, that’s just depressing.”

“As is most of my life.”

“Well, come on in.”

“Sure, but, uh, Nick, do you think the lights are a good idea? Might draw-“

Her voice catches in her throat as she steps into the Rye home, it looks like a Christmas wonderland. A giant ornate tree, Christmas music playing on the radio. A tall tree that the top of which nearly scrapes the ceiling, though it’s bare for some reason. Friendly faces all around; Jerome, Mary May, Grace, Sharky, Hurk, Adelaide, Xander, and Jess in a corner hiding away with Cheeseburger nestled at her side. Peaches is getting ear scratches from Sharky. Everyone except Jess is wearing obnoxiously colored Christmas sweaters.

“Those peggies have taken so much from us, I’ll be damned if they’re taking Christmas too,” Nick declares and she can’t help but smile at his determination.

A few barks ring out and before Dahlia knows it two dog paws have landed on her waist, Boomer demanding her attention. He’s almost as bad as John.

“Hey, boy,” she coos scratching behind his ears and laughing as he gives her a few kisses.

“Deputy,” Kim makes her way over, Boomer moving so she can give Dahlia a big hug, “I’m so happy you could make it out here, I know you’re busy with…everything. It means a lot.”

“Uh, what’s exactly going on, I thought you guys needed my help with something?”

“It’s a trap, Rook,” Jess calls out from her corner and Kim rolls her eyes.

“It’s a holiday party, we have one every year and we aren’t letting the peggies ruin it, here.” Kim hands over a white fluffy sweater, the less ugly of any of the ones she’s seen on her friends. When she unfolds it, she sees a little polar bear face with a sprig of mistletoe by its ear.

“Uh…”

“It’s Christmas, everyone has to wear a Christmas sweater.”

“Except Jess, she threatened to bite me,” Nick says, shooting a slightly fearful look towards the woman.

“I mean, I’d be happy to bite you too, hon,” Adelaide calls out with a flirtatious wink, Kim rolling her eyes as Nick visibly cringes.

“Please, dep, just put on the sweater.”

Dahlia shrugs her shoulders, if her wearing a damn sweater will make them even a little bit happier, it’s more than worth it. The couple has endured enough bullshit with Eden’s Gate, the least she can do is wear a damn sweater. She pulls off her leather jacket and uniform shirt.

“Woo, take it off!” Sharky yells out, grinning like a dumbass and Dahlia’s face flushes red, shooting her favorite pyromaniac a death glare before she tugs the sweater on over her tee.

It’s large, white, fluffy, and feels completely out of place on her. She feels like she looks odd without an outfit that’s at least ninety percent black.

“I can’t stay long,” Dahlia warns as she ties her hair back in a stubby ponytail.

“The lord does permit days of rest, Deputy.”

“Good for him, but I got shit to do,” She tells Jerome as she meanders towards a place to sit, eventually settling somewhere between Sharky and Jess, back tight against a wall and knees pulled up to her chest.

“You deserve a day to take it easy, here,” Kim hands her a mug of eggnog, an odd smell coming off it. It’s probably fine. She takes a drink and the burn of rum hits her, she nearly sputters. Kim laughing at her.

“Can’t handle your booze, Rook?” Grace asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Firstly, I legally can’t drink, secondly this is barely fuckin’ eggnog at this point.”

“Eh, who’s gonna arrest you, you?”

“You’re old enough to risk your ass for us, you’re old enough to drink,” Mary May says, taking a swig of her own drink.

Dahlia shrugs, she did drink a little when she was a minor, but stopped when she became a cop. Based on principle alone. But, fuck she’s never actually liked the taste. She’s not convinced anyone really does. At that same time, Nick steps into the room a Santa hat tilted on his head, where he’s stretched over his cap. In his arms are movies, games, and more booze.

“Ol’ Saint Nick!” Sharky yells out and a chorus of groans follow his stupid joke.

“Figure, we’ll watch a movie, get everyone in the spirit, before we play some games.”

“You mean get everyone drunk,” Kim teases, the only one not drinking the spiked eggnog.

“Same thing.” Nick grins and shrugs as he puts some Christmas movie in, Boomer lays against Dahlia’s side as the bullshit movie starts to play.

“What the hell is that woman doing?” An extra looks directly at the camera.

“Who the fuck talks like that?” The acting is awful.

“Oh god, child actors.” The child acting is worse.

“I’m like, pretty sure that’s a federal offense.” You can’t just look through someone’s mail.

“Eh, who hasn’t committed a federal offense.”

“Most people Sharky, most people.”

“Wait that’s the plot, getting her uncle a girlfriend, oh my god.” The plot is stupid

“Ooh, I wouldn’t mind him stuffing my stocking.” The main actor is easy on the eyes.

“Addie, no.”

“Wait, why the hell did he say it was done, if he hadn’t started cookin’ it yet?”

“Fantastic question.”

“What? What? What?!” This makes no sense.

“Holy shit, Adelaide in five years,” Dahlia blurts out when a perverted granny shows up.

“Five years!? How old do you think I am, Rook?!”

“No comment.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty.”

“She’s your aunt, Sharky.”

“Shut it.”

“Is she an elf? Oh my god, is she a fuckin’ elf?”

“Did she just realize she looks like she dressed in the dark?”

“She took her glasses off, so she’s no longer ugly, ‘cause…y’know.”

“The audio is so bad, holy shit, what are they even saying.”

“That looks awful.”

They’re about halfway through the movie, everyone finding every chance to chime in some comment about the crap on screen. She’s drained two mugs of the spiked eggnog, her cheeks red from booze and laughing. Dahlia’s lost count of how many cookies she’s crammed into her mouth.

The movie finishes and she no longer feel like she’s in any state to take on a cult. Not drunk, but tipsy as all hell. Judging by the flushed cheeks around her, no one is any better off except Kim who once credits are rolling suggest making ornaments and decorating the tree.

Trusting drunk dumbasses to decorate the tree, brilliant.

It’s a disaster. Of course, it is.

Jerome makes some decent angel ones, but the religious aesthetic of anything has been ruined for everyone lately. Mary May’s Santa is holding a beer. Jess’s just has ‘Fuck Off’ scribbled across it. Xander and Adelaide keep trying to have sex puns about crafts, too drunk for any of them to be subtle. Grace’s gun ornament is surprisingly well done, but not particularly Christmas-y. Nick’s attempt to make a plane looks like a lumpy disaster. Hurk and Sharky keep trying to put a dick and or flames on everything. At some point someone throws glitter.

It was her.

Sharky tried to draw a dick on her star, so she started throwing glitter at his dumb face. Now there’s glitter everywhere, the Rye’s home will never be free of it. Also, there’s gold glitter glue on her hands and hair where she tried to push it back, because tools are for fools.

Then her radio crackles to life, ah fuck, she tries to rub the worse of the glue off onto her jeans before grabbing it.

“Hey,” she manages to slur even the shortest word and everyone her is snickering.

“Deputy, it’s Eli from the Whitetails.”

“I don’t know any other Eli, you don’t have to clarify, Mountain Man.”

“Right, uh, sorry. Heard about the Rye’s party, knew you were over that way. I, uh, wanted to make sure you weren’t running yourself ragged.”

“Wanted to check in on his girlfriend,” Wheaty teases in the background and Dahlia’s face flushes brighter red, not from the booze. Everyone around her starts to laugh

“Don’t you have something else to do?” Eli retorts and she can practically hear the embarrassment in his voice.

“Don’t worry, Eli, I’m at the Rye’s being supplied with way too much booze.”

“That’s good, well not good that you’re getting drunk, not that I care if you get drunk, I don’t think. I just mean it’s good you’re with friends and y’know what, I’ll stop talking.”  

She can’t help but laugh, he hasn’t been this awkward with her since he talked about shaving his beard and wondering if it made him look crazy.

“Hey, maybe next time I’m in that area, we can see if we can convince Chad to make some Christmas grub and have a little celebration at the Wolf’s Den?”

Why did she make that offer, she didn’t even want one celebration, why is she doing this? It’s so impractical, why the fuck would Eli want that? She pushes hair back out of her face, she’s so stupid.

“That sounds nice.”

“It does? It does. Cool.”

“Well, uh, Merry Christmas, Rook.”

“Merry Christmas, Eli.”

The radio call ends, and Dahlia lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, all eyes are on her. Some confused and others smirking at the little exchange.

“Never knew you liked ‘em older, deputy.”

“Fuck off.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that to your hair either,” Jess tells her, smirking. Her bangs fall back in her face and Dahlia sees the gold glitter glue now clinging to the dark locks.

“God damn it.”

“Looks like you were too distracted drooling over your mountain man,” Jess mocks Dahlia with an overly sappy voice. Dahlia smirks back, revenge already in her mind.

“Aww,” she cups Jess’s cheeks in her two-glitter glue covered hands, “that was so cute of you.” Dahlia smears it down Jess’s cheeks leaving a mess.

Jess’s green eyes narrow, a weaker woman might freak out at the anger shown in them. But, Dahlia knows too well that there’s a hint of mischief there, it’s all in good fun. The Junior Deputy pulls her hands away from the Survivalist’s face.

“No killing in the house,” Kim warns and that’s all that’s said before Jess is launching over the table to try to grab Dahlia who’s already dropped down and jolted under it, the two switching sides before the deputy breaks into a run.

Their movements are clumsier and slower than usual, booze slowing them down. Dahlia takes the stairs two at a time, giggling as she tries to evade her friend. Jess’s hands nearly latch onto her sweater and Dahlia promptly jumps over the stair banister, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“No breaking your ankles in the house!”

“Sorry, Kim, oh god!”

Jess is on Dahlia’s back, bringing her down to the ground and laughing as the deputy collapses under her weight. She’s trying to put her in a headlock, as Dahlia attempts to wrestle out of it. The entire party laughing at their horseplay. She swears she hear Sharky or Hurk saying something about needing a mud pit, but she’s too focused on play wrestling to yell at the perverts.

Her radio crackles again and through the struggling Dahlia manages to answer it.

“Rook, heard the Rye’s invited you over for Christmas,” Whitehorse’s voice comes through.

“That they did,” she struggles to respond as she’s using one hand to fend off Jess.

“Hey, sheriff!”

“He can’t see you waving Nick.”

Dahlia cracks, a fatal mistake as Jess uses it to get the headlock.

“Good, I was worried about you, Rook, thought you’d be running around while everyone else took the day off. I know shit’s tough right now but taking time to celebrate the little stuff is what’s gonna keep you going. Merry Christmas.”

“You guys doing anything special at the jail?” She asks as she tries to squirm away, finally just giving up and trying to stand up with Jess on her back and arms around her neck. It’s a piss poor excuse for a piggyback ride, but whatever.

“Virgil’s trying to get someone to cut down a tree, Tracey ain’t having any of it.”

“I can do that.”

“You’re not chopping down a Christmas tree, Rook, Jesus Christ,” Tracey grumbles in the background.

“You’ve already done more than enough, hell, if it wasn’t for you…well there are a lot of people who wouldn’t be here to see Christmas this year. Enjoy your party.”

“Yeah…Merry Christmas.”

Dahlia feels her eyes sting, she doesn’t expect praise or even acknowledgment of the things she’s done. It still seems so foreign, the idea that she’s actually saved people. That people are here, alive and safe, because of her actions. She can never see herself as a hero, but to some people she truly is.

Jess’s arms on her loosen, before the woman just hops right off of her. A soft smile replacing the mischievous little grin. She squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, a silent understanding that Jess is one of those people. If not for Dahlia, she’d be spending this Christmas in a cage, if she was lucky. But, now she’s spending it in a rare moment of joy and peace.

“Come on, we gotta decorate the tree..”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Jess and Dahlia rejoin the party, feral energy out of their system for the time being. The tree looks like a mess. Everyone’s ornament a disaster and the whole thing looking like an incomprehensible disaster. Nothing goes together. None of it makes sense, but it has…character. Dahlia goes to hang her own bad star ornament after hanging the last bit of tinsel. But, it’s nowhere to be found.

“Here,” Kim hands it to her, but the sloppily coated star no longer has a string, instead on a little cap to be used as the tree topper. It’s an extremely sweet gesture, but…

“I can’t reach.” Dahlia makes a show of trying to stretch her hand up to touch the top of the tree, only to come up embarrassingly short.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha bromigo,” Hurk declares before hefting Dahlia up onto his shoulders, she can’t help but laugh, but places her messy star at the top of the tree. Hurk putting her back down with ease.

“It’s certainly…different.”

“It always an adventure to see how it turns out every year.”

“I’m sure it.”

Another crackle from her radio.

“Who’s calling now?” Nick asks, taking another drink of eggnog.

“Eh, probably just Dutch checking in,” Dahlia answers it, “don’t worry, I’m at the party and I’m taking a break for Christmas.”

“That’s wonderful to know, dep-yoo-tee,” John’s voice sobers her, like a bucket of ice water’s splashed in her face, the entire party going silent as he drags out each syllable.

“The fuck do you want?”

“Easy now, Little Miss Wrath, I haven’t even done anything and you’re already foaming at the mouth.”

“Yet, you haven’t done anything, yet.”

“Someone who doesn’t believe in prophets, claiming to know the future, how ironic.”

“Get to the point, Johnny Boy.”

“I do hope, you’ll be more patient once you fully join our family.”

“You got five more seconds before I hang up and get back to drinking. One, two,-”

“While we don’t celebrate Christmas quite the same as sinners do, the holidays still marks an important time of togetherness.”

“Good for you…Can I go now?”

“Me, my brothers and sister like to spend this time of year together, as a family.”

“I’m gonna blow my brains out from boredom, Johnny.”

“A family dinner requires the whole family, dep-yoo-tee, even the members who’ve yet to accept their role.”

“Are…are you threatening to kidnap me for Christmas dinner?!”

“Depends, will you come of your own volition?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then, I’m afraid you leave me no choice. I’ll be seeing you shortly, dear.”

[slideseok]

but if it’s you (a.)

↳ Pairing: choi san x reader

↳ Warnings: angsttttt, it’s only sort of fluffy in the beginning and then boom,,,, angst

↳ Word Count: 1.8k+

↳ NOTE: this is another part of the angst ATEEZ soulmate au series that I’m doing. I meant to post the Wooyoung one but this one just popped into my head and I wrote it in a day so,,, enjoy!

He never meant to fall in love with you.

It wasn’t something that really happened all at once. His feelings sort of just all fell into place.

San first realized he was in love with you the day he brought you home and you didn’t laugh at his bed full of stuffed animals.

You did the exact opposite when you walked into his room, arms full of notebooks and your physics textbook, and turned to him completely serious before telling him, “I’m going to need you to hold me back or else I’m jumping on your bed as soon as I can put my stuff down.”

San only stared at you incredulously before bursting out in loud laughter. He’d half expected you to make some slick comment about how he was ‘too old for stuffed animals’. But your response was one that almost made him cry, he was laughing so hard.

He’d met you at the beginning of the semester, sitting together in the back of the class at the top. As your professor started over the syllabus, you’d both bonded over the fact that neither of you had met your soulmates yet and the fact that the girl three rows in front of you still had the store tag hanging off her shoulder.

By college, it was common for a person to have met their soulmate.

Most pairs were born with matching tattoos that could be anything in the world. San had once known a boy in middle school who had a tattoo of a palm tree going up the entire length of his arm. Or soulmate pairs are born with a string of words printed on the inside of their arm. These words were usually the first words that each soulmate said to each other.

Both San and you had supposedly been born with the latter and had yet to meet your respective soul match.

Not that that bothered either of you.

As the year flew by, lunches were spent together sitting outside under trees as you laughed at each other’s friends while sharing a bag of doritos. Weekends were spent alternating between houses or at the park where you threw bread for the ducks and giggled with each other.

Slowly but surely, you were falling in love with each other.

It didn’t seem to matter that you each had a string of words on your arms. You weren’t going to let one sentence define who you fell in love with. It was normal for most kids to meet their soulmate by the time they were eighteen, yet here you both were in your early twenties.

San wasn’t torn up about it. How could he when he had you.

You who didn’t laugh at his unhealthy amount of plushies. Who always shared your textbooks when he forgot his own (which was often). Who laughed at his cheesy jokes no matter what.

Yes. San was completely and totally in love with you.

And you were of course completely and totally in love with him.

And that was okay.

Luckily for the both of you, San was an upfront and blunt kind of guy. So it didn’t take long before he was spilling his guts about his feelings to you.

And from there, the relationship blossomed.

Just regular meetups at the park turned into dates where you both spent sharing kisses and starry-eyed gazes that had anyone blushing and looking away. Your weekends became filled with outings at the skating rink or just quietly sharing a book in a deserted part of the campus library.

Of course you both got odd looks. You were both grouped into the small category of people who didn’t have a soulmate. So seeing the two of you together on campus, completely in love, raised more than a few eyebrows.

And your parents were a different story all together. At first, your father was a little wary of San. Any dad would be when meeting the love of their daughter’s life. But he soon to like him. Both he and your mother had figured you’d given up on ever finding your soulmate, so they thought that it was good for you to finally have someone in your life that treated you as you should be. Soon enough, the printed words on your bodies were forgotten and life moved on.

At the end of second semester, San asked you to move in with him.

Which started a whole new series of apartment hunts that were close enough to the campus yet far away enough to not be seen by any of the nosy classmates who always felt that it was necessary to poke their business into your lives.

Eventually, you both settled on one a couple blocks from the school and that was still close to the park you both frequented.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was luxurious enough for two broke college kids in love.

Life was good for the two of you. It was absolutely perfect.

Until fate decided to shatter the little bubble you’d built around yourselves.

It started out as an innocent day. You'd both woken up, you fixing breakfast as San took a shower as usual.

It was an off day for you, classes not starting till later in the day. So you kissed San on his way out, promising to meet him at the campus cafe for lunch as you set about cleaning out the bathroom cabinet that you’d kept putting off.

Finally taking a break, you’d stopped and gotten dressed after a quick shower.

The walk to the cafe wasn’t long. It was sort of in the middle of the way from the campus to your apartment, so it took no time to get there.

Beating San, you ordered both of you your drinks and settled into the booth towards the back. It had a clear view of the door, so you’d be able to spot him when he came in and it was also in the area you both liked to sit in for people-watching.

Being a little late, it took only a couple of minutes before San appeared. His slightly tired look disappearing altogether as soon as he spotted you. The bright smile you gave him was one that never failed to send his heart into overdrive.

You both talked about your days so far. He ranted about the annoying boy who always made loud jokes in his calculus class. The giggle you gave as he tried imitating the boy’s ‘dolphin laugh’ had blush dusting his cheeks as he couldn’t help but watch you fondly.

You were absolutely beautiful in a pair of leggings and one of his huge hoodies that swallowed you whole. The cafe lighting lit up your eyes and made them sparkle as you listened intently to whatever he was talking about at the time, no matter how stupid.

Eventually, the time came where you both had to part ways.

San gathered up his things for his next class as he watched you throw away the cups and you both headed to the door.

Outside, he hugged you. Arms wrapping around your waist as you threw your own over his shoulders. Pressing his forehead with yours, he couldn’t help but grin as your cheeks darkened at the close proximity. He only grinned even harder after placing a small kiss on your lips.

“I love you,” you told him, voice small.

“I love you more,” San didn’t miss a beat replying as he pulled back and let his hands drop.

You snorted before checking your watch.

“Yeah right. You better get going or you’ll be late. I’ll see you later, lovely.”

San pauses, quickly brushing aside the weirdly familiar words before waving after you as you started walking away.

“Bye babe. I’ll come pick you up and we can walk to physics together.”

The thumbs up you shot over your shoulder assured him that you heard as he headed back to the university.

Making it to campus, he only had a couple minutes before class started as he rushed down the path that lead to his chem class.

Barely missing crashing into someone else on the path, San stumbled to get out of the way, completely missing the slight tingling on the inside of his arm as he rushed out an apology and continued with his half-run half-walk to get there on time.

With only a couple seconds to spare, he finally slides into his seat as he settles in for the next, long, two hour class he’d stupidly signed up for.

It’s thirty minutes in. San was in the middle of writing down notes that he barely heard his name being called.

Looking up, whispers spread throughout the class at the two grim-looking police officers standing in the doorway.

Grimacing at all the eyes, he quickly gathered his stuff, barely making it down the stairs without tripping on a stray book sack before reaching the door.

“You Choi San,” one of them gruffly asks.

He only has time to nod his head before they’re heading out of the room and down the hall, leaving him to trail after them.

And while they were both gruff and hadn’t said any other word to him, he still caught the glance exchanged between the two and the pitying look the other shot him on their way out.

At last, they reach an empty classroom, in which they pull him into and tell him that it would be best if he sat down.

Then they’re forced to tell him, that the girl he’d only just seen less than forty minutes ago had been in an accident and had been hit by an oncoming vehicle.

The officers watch on as he crumbles into himself. It takes a second as their words settle in, but then he’s out of the chair, insistent.

“It can’t be!”

“I just saw her almost an hour ago,”

“You have the wrong girl, she was just-,”

And San is forced to come to terms that the girl he had been oh so in love with, is dead.

He leaves school early, dragging his feet with tears in his eyes. The whole way back he can’t help but pause at every four-way and wonder if your body had laid there lifelessly just thirty minutes before.

It isn’t until he goes to bed that night, face puffy, changing into the one hoodie you loved to steal the most from him that he sees it.

The sentence that used to be printed in clear, black ink on his arm is no more.

In its place, is a long, thin white scar that stretches just from his elbow to his wrist.

“Where the words written on the inside of your arm are the last ones your soulmate will ever say to you.

Masterlist.

[eternaljouska]

Redamancy, Chapter 5 - Lee Jihoon

Pairing: Husband!JihoonxReader

Genre: Angst, the tiniest amount of Fluff

Chapter: one | two | three | four | FIVE | six | seven | eight | nine | end | epilogue |

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: My beta recommended Heavy by Linkin Park ft. Kiiara to go with this, and I approved (It would fit the next chapter so much, I feel like.) Also, Happy Jun The8 or The8 of Jun~

--

You wake up to the sight of Jihoon’s back. And you are a mix of candy floss and gutter water. The latter dominates.

Well, you guess gutter water is a much better breakfast than a bowl of frogs.

You separate yourself from the bed to clean up a little. In the process, you find yourself inspecting the two toothbrushes in the glass, white for Jihoon and blue for you, he told you last night. As you brush your teeth, you can’t tear your eyes away from the white toothbrush, your mind giving the owner a visit. You wonder whether you’ve been very demanding. And you wonder why Jihoon’s been very pliant to your wants. The thought follows you to the kitchen as you prepare one of Jihoon’s favorite meals for breakfast.

Considering how busy your head is, in addition to your still-imperfect hand and shoulder, you finish the dish in record time. You take a lunchbox from the kitchen cabinet and fill it with Kimchi fried rice. You don’t realize you were doing it until you set the breakfast and the lunchbox atop the dining table. Little do you know, that lunchbox is meant for Jaemin. His class ends before lunch, but he always complains about the cafeteria foods. He once said that they are so below his standard, which is determined by his least favorite food that you make—which is anything contains broccoli. Since then you always pack him lunch or snack to eat on his break. And apparently, your body seems to fall back into that habit, even if you don’t remember having it.

“Oh, you remember?” Jihoon emerges out of nowhere with a question that you assume was born from the sight of food you laid on the table.

“Uh? This? You guys have always requested this for breakfast,” you answer, reminding him of the fact that you used to cook for him and his members whenever you could.

“Oh, right.”

He takes a seat in front of you as you serve him his rice. You notice that he keeps eyeing the lunchbox even after he said his thank you. You want to say something about it, but you don’t know what. So you just watch him and eat in silence. As if on cue, the silence is interrupted right after Jihoon places down his chopsticks by the ring of his cellphone. He frowns when he sees the contact name lighting his screen before he excuses himself from the table. You don’t even nod, still watching him quietly—observing.

When Jihoon comes back to help you clean up, you ask, “Do you have to go?” After you hear your own question, you feel like some whiny kids. “I mean… You can go if you have to.”

Jihoon halts on his way to place the plates to the sink. “No, I told them I’ll send everything they need through email. I’ll deal with things from home,” he said as he continues his steps, answering you without catching your searching eyes.

You know that the company doesn’t fully support the idea. You saw that in Jihoon’s face when he hung up the phone. And you know that his staying home working is not that much different from him being in the company building. Company studio or home studio, they’re all the same. “You can go, really. Don’t… Don’t worry about me.”

He is silent—calculating, you guess.

“Here.” You take the lunchbox and give it to him. “I’ll clean up. Go, they’re expecting you.”

Jihoon eyes the lunchbox again. He’s been looking at it throughout breakfast. He’s figured it’s for him, but you shouldn’t have any idea that he needs to go out before the phone call. You shouldn’t know that someone’s expecting him in his studio. Unless you did not know, yet you have expected him to be gone in the first place.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the lunchbox from you. “I’ll take a quick shower first.”

And then I’ll be gone if that’s what you want.

Jihoon comes out of the meeting late in the afternoon with a sour mood. The CEO was plastering him with how he needs to be more responsible a second after he expressed his sympathy towards what’s happening to his wife. Jihoon can’t understand. It’s true that he hasn’t finished the previous plan, but his total submission should’ve been enough for at least two more comebacks, and yet he already has a new comeback plan shoved onto his plate.

He wishes he had stayed home instead. The company is easier to deal with when he doesn’t have to face them directly. He runs his finger through his hair in agitation. It seems to him like that’s one of the only emotions he’s left with after your accident—or maybe even before that. He feels like a bomb waiting for someone to press the detonation button or pick the wrong wire. And he might know just who that someone’s going to be.

“Why are you here?” Soonyoung asks him, every syllable of his words is laced with something more like venom rather than curiosity. “She’s just back, what… yesterday? Do you forget that this was exactly what made her end up in the hospital?”

Jihoon refuses to match Soonyoung’s fervor and answers matter-of-factly, “She’s okay with me going back to work. There are a lot of things I need to take care of anyway.”

“Is she really?”

“Yes, she’s kind of the one who told me to go. I was just going to use the home studio, but she told me to go.” His tone is defensive, but Soonyoung won’t accept that.

“And you just agree? Why do I feel like you want to get away from her? That’s what you’ve been doing since as long as I can remember,” he scoffs, and Jihoon doesn’t say anything, drawing out a sigh from the older man. “Why are you like this?”

And the bomb goes off.

“Why am I like this? You know nothing, Soonyoung! Nothing! She asked me to go. Maybe she also wants to get away from me. She even has my lunch packed! How do you think I feel? Huh?” Jihoon is tired of the blames he put on himself. He doesn’t need his members to do the same—to say the same things he’s been repeating in his head, to ask the same questions he’s not capable of answering. He needs the answers from you. He needs to know what to do, what you want. He needs to know that you want him, as much as he does. But he can’t even ask you that. Not when it’s obvious to him just what your answer is.

“I know what you’re like, you fool,” Soonyoung says, reeling Jihoon’s attention back to him. “You’re waiting. She’s waiting. And this waiting game won’t end if nobody does something. You guys used to understand each other, just like that. No words, no nothing”— Soonyoung places his hands on Jihoon’s shoulders—“You are my best friend, but so is she. And she’s hurting. You think you’re the only one who’s miserable from her amnesia? She is, too. And we are, too. She’s waiting for you. After all this time, that’s what she does,” he pauses and lets out another sigh when Jihoon refuses to look at him. “Don’t you love her?”

Jihoon’s head snaps up at Soonyoung’s question, searching for his eyes, before he nods weakly.

“Then fucking own it! All she ever does is loving and taking care of you. You said you’re sorry, but that’s all! Fucking do something about it, Jihoon. There are other people who’re willing to take your place, and the only thing preventing them from doing so is that it’s fucking obvious you’re the one for her. You know better than anyone what happened with her ex, and now you’re doing just the same.

“Is she dying the only acceptable reason for guys like you to tear yourself from work? To pay her any attention? I fucking swore I’ll beat you up if you ever hurt her, and I would’ve. But Seungkwan stopped me because only the sight of you sleeping beside her made her smile for a whole week. She’s happy with you”—he then scoffs—“on the rare occasion that you’re actually home. You said you want to make up for everything, then do it. She’s alive, Jihoon. And in her current state, she still manages to remember that she loves you—she loves you. You’re fucking lucky, you know that? Go, that house is your home, not this building or your studio. Go home, Jihoon.”

Jihoon is following Soonyoung’s advice by walking straight to the elevator on the lobby, but before he even enters the slow-working confinement, someone stops him. “Jihoon-ah! I’m sorry that CEO Han’s being insensitive to your case, and, uh, I pr-probably is about to do the same right now. I, uh, I was asked to arrange a meeting for you and, uh“—Jihoon is tapping his foot, plainly irritated to the man’s way of speaking—“it’s going to be in two hours from now,” the man finally finishes. He is Mr. Kim, the manager of Pledis’ new boygroup whose comeback they were discussing in their previous meeting.

Jihoon furrows his eyebrows and answers shortly, “I’m going to go home.”

“Ji-Jihoon-ah! Wait!” The man grabs for Jihoon’s hand to stop him from getting into the elevator. “They’re preparing for their mini concert these two weeks. There’s no other time. They’re already on their way here from a fansign. I was already not there with them to settle this comeback issue here. So, please, let me keep my job.” Jihoon looks at him in apprehension.

He really doesn’t like to be the reason for someone’s unemployment. So he gives in with a sigh, “Can they be here in thirty minutes? Or an hour? I really need to be home early.”

Mr. Kim stutters, “B-but they’re coming from Wonju, it’ll take them at least an hour and fifteen minutes. And- And I thought you might want to eat lunch first. I-“

“I don’t care about lunch. Just… Send them the rough comeback plan and ask them to study it on the way. I want this one to be a quick meeting. I’ll be in my studio. Call me as soon as they’re here.”

“O-okay.”

Waiting for time to pass without doing anything turns out to be such a pain in his arse. Jihoon tried to write, but his mind’s only capable of generating words full of sap and desperation. So he stopped. He’s been toying with the phone in his hand, pondering what would happen if he calls you. He feels ridiculous, like he’s back in his twenties. He’s about to jump into the pool of reminiscence, but a knock in the door yanks him away from the edge just before his feet leave the ground.

He opens the door to the face of one Mr. Kim. “I’m- I’m sorry, the boys are here.”

Jihoon doesn’t understand why Mr. Kim is always so nervous around him, and even after the meeting finishes roughly three hours later, the man keeps on apologizing profusely to him, going as far as walking Jihoon down to his car in the basement. He drives away as he watches Mr. Kim’s waving hand grows smaller and smaller in size.

It’s almost ten when he arrives home to you walking back and forth near the kitchen and biting your nails anxiously. Jihoon never gets the chance to process the growl in his stomach or the fact that he forgot his untouched lunchbox in his studio until the delicious smell of your food reaches his nose. He also never gets the chance to process the fleeting seconds between him catching your eyes to when you’re catching his body in an embrace.

“You’re home,” you whisper into his chest.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” Jihoon doesn’t even notice the pet name coming out of his lips as he circles his arms around you tightly, relishing every nanosecond and willing it to stretch to infinity. His heart gears into overdrive, and he’s dizzy from the rush.

“Nothing,” you answer, your voice small. “I just… I just thought…”

It’s not nothing.

For most of the day, you’ve been in the Haven, trying to read books in one sitting and salvage your withering plants. You didn’t remember those poor plants from your short tour, too excited to swallow everything in you forgot to revel on the taste of details. In the middle of mending your white primrose, you noticed two circles of dirt on the table, indicating two missing pots. You paused your action and frowned, eyes roaming around the perimeter until you spotted two broken pots around one corner of the greenhouse, the plants have long since died.

You cleaned the mess with the broom and dustpan you found in storage that’s also filled with your gardening equipment. Lily of the valley, you thought as you picked up what’s left of the previously beautiful flower. The structure of the carcass was very telling, and the flower itself is held very close to your heart for you not to recognize it.

And then you heard it.

A shriek so raw and agonizing that you dropped the flower and jumped at the sound of it. It woke the wasps inside your stomach, and you staggered backward, eyes wide and hands trembling. Another sound followed: something solid met the concrete and broke. You placed one of your hands on your chest, a vain attempt to control your heart and lungs, and the other groped behind you for the table’s foot. Once you had a grip around it, you slumped down and leaned on it for support. Someone wailed as you hugged yourself. Then you saw a pot flying from behind you, and you closed your eyes and screamed. Timidly, you opened your eyes and saw that it had missed the corner where the brick wall meets the glass, falling on top of the already-broken pot.

It’s white, the lilies of the valley.

You shuddered as the vision plays again and again. The woman screamed and screamed repeatedly, her agony permeating your skin, and you spluttered your pleas. “Stop. Please, s-stop. Please.” It took all of your willpower to control your breathing. You prayed for you to breathe and for her to stop, and suddenly you’re in the living room. You gasped and tightened your grip on the table’s foot until your knuckles turned white, the room was spinning. You’re sitting down, but you’re falling. Then you heard another voice intercepted the woman’s voice, lighting a candle through your fogged mind. You took solace in that small fire once you’re able to label the owner of the voice. “J-Jihoon…” you whimpered. You saw his back walking away from you, so you tried once again, “Ji…” But his response was the slam of the door that took away the oxygen and fire within you.

And you became one with that woman in the harmony of agony.

“Y/n?” Jihoon coos, his hands already cupping your face without your knowledge. And you back away in surprise.

“I’m- I’m sorry“—you clear your throat—“Let-let’s just eat.”

--

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Thirty-Four → in which Friday goes off-book

“The ocean looks so pretty today.” Solitude said, as she gripped Nick’s hand and toddled ahead of them. 

Friday nodded, skipping over some stones and walking along the gray line of the coastal shelf. “It’s always pretty after a storm.” 

“Do you think there were any other castaways?” Lilac asked, taking Sunny’s hand to help her over some driftwood. 

“I dunno. Probably not, they usually show up first thing.” Friday narrowed her eyes, squinting through the light fog. “Unless that’s a boat.” 

They looked ahead, seeing some kind of figure on the edge of the shelf. It was hard to say what it looked like, only that it was large, and square and ragged. 

Lilac picked up Sunny, pushing her hair back, and Nick grabbed Solitude, while Klaus and Violet each grabbed one of Friday’s hands. They approached cautiously, and realized that the object was not a ship, but stacks and stacks of books, wrapped together with green straps. Water and damp pages trickled out from all sides, and as they approached, they saw a foot hanging over the edge, an eye tattooed on the ankle. 

“Olaf?” Sunny asked, but her siblings shook their heads. 

“If I climb onto Nick’s back,” Violet said, “We can hoist Sunny and Soli up.” 

“Lilac could stand on me shoulders, if that won’t hurt her,” Nick said, “And Klaus can get on yours, Vi. We all know he sucks shit at climbing but he can probably hold for long enough to get Sunny up.” 

“Thanks for that, dick.” Klaus said. 

“I can probably climb.” Friday said, moving a little farther down the wall. “I’ve climbed trees before. What’s this thing made of?” 

Klaus started. “Friday, these are books.” 

Her eyes widened. “These are books? They all have stories in them?” 

Klaus nodded, smiling. “That’s right! But let’s find out who’s on top first, before we start grabbing books, okay?” 

Friday nodded seriously. “I’ll check around the back to see if anything fell, while you guys check out the person. I’ll just be over there if you need me.” 

“Let us know if you need anything.” Lilac said, and Friday nodded and ran around the corner. 

“Okay, girls, let’s go up.” Nick said, handing Solitude to Lilac. Lilac climbed on his back and lifted Solitude, while Klaus struggled onto Violet’s and lifted Sunny. The two girls climbed on top of the books, and immediately recognized the woman laying there, in a damp dress of dark velvet. The foot hanging over the cube was bent in a strange way, but she otherwise looked unharmed. 

“Kit!” Sunny called to her siblings. 

“Kit Snicket?” Lilac shouted. 

“No, Kit Kittredge.” Solitude sighed. 

“What the hell is Kit Snicket-” Nick began. 

And then they heard a chilly, familiar voice squeak, “Yes?”

Lilac threw her arms in front of her siblings, only for Violet and Nick to grab her arms and push her behind them. 

A figure stepped out of the mist to greet the children, and Sunny and Soli frowned down the book tower. It was Count fucking Olaf, wearing a streaked red dress, and a pile of seaweed on his head to resemble long hair. 

“Holy fucking shit, dude.” Nick said. “This is low even for you.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Olaf said in a high-pitched voice. 

“What is going on?” 

The Baudelaires jumped and turned; through the fog was coming a crowd of islanders, who had been ready to storm scavenge. They looked in confusion at the group, and then Lilac said, “This is Count Olaf!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” said Olaf. “I’m Kit Snicket.” 

“Yeah, no.” the Baudelaires jumped as Friday stepped back with them, staring over at Olaf. “You’re Count Olaf, and I thought I told you to go away.” 

“Friday!” said Dr Kurtz. “We’ve been looking all over for you! You weren’t with the sheep-” 

“We can talk about that later.” Friday said nervously, and Solitude noticed a bulge under her dress that hadn’t been there before. “Firstly, this is Count Olaf, the bad man.” 

“No, I’ve never heard of this Count Olaf.” said Count Olaf. 

“Dude,” said Larsen, “You’re clearly in some kind of dumb disguise. If Friday says you’re Count Olaf, then you’re Count Olaf.” 

“Why, of course not!” 

���Why is he dressed as a pregnant woman?” said Professor Fletcher. 

“Because I am a pregnant woman.” Count Olaf said. “My name is Kit Snicket, and I’ve been looking everywhere for these children.” 

“You’re not Kit Snicket!” said Ariel. 

“Kit Snicket is up on this pile of books,” Violet said, reaching up to help Sunny down from the top of the cube, as Nick grabbed Soli, “She may be hurt or ill. But this is Count Olaf!” 

“Well,” said Brewster, considering, “Ishmael did suggest that we stop listening to you, because you were spreading lies. And your friend is on a pile of books, which are bound to lead to trouble.” 

“However, he also told us this Count Olaf was a wicked person.” Fletcher said. “And we should always help the injured.” 

“Let’s get Ishmael.” said Omeros. 

“How can you get him if he doesn’t move?” Nick asked. 

“We’ll put his chair on the sleigh and have the sheep drag him here.” said Sherman. “Friday, you stay to guard, and we’ll be right back.” 

“We should get some more coconut cordial, too.” said Madame Nordoff. “My seashell’s almost empty.” 

“Stop drinking that shit!” Nick said, but the islanders just shrugged him off and wandered away. In a few minutes, the colonists were nothing more than faint shapes on the misty horizon. 

“Don’t worry, Baudelaires. They’ll get rid of him.” Friday said. 

“Or us.” Lilac said worryingly. 

“But you haven’t done anything wrong.” said Friday. 

“Neither have I!” said Olaf, in his high-pitched voice. 

“Please, please stop.” Klaus said. “Please just shut the fuck up and go die somewhere.” 

“Oh, I don’t think you’d want me to stop pretending.” the villain said, still in his false voice. He reached behind him, and then pulled out the harpoon gun, with its bright red trigger and one last harpoon. “If I were to say that I was Count Olaf, instead of Kit Snicket, I might start behaving like a villain, rather than a noble person.” 

“You’ve never behaved like a noble person.” Klaus said. “And that weapon doesn’t scare us.” 

“You only have one harpoon, dipshit.” Nick crossed his arms as Solitude let Babbitt onto the coastal shelf to explore, “And this island is full of people who aren’t huge fans of weapons.” 

“Yeah, that shit is useless.” Friday said. 

Olaf raised his eyebrow. “Why, Baudelaires, you’ve corrupted this young girl’s language.” 

“Go to hell.” Friday said. 

“Oh my God,” Violet put an arm around the girl, “I’ve never been prouder of anyone.” 

“You’ll be prouder of me when I get my first book!” Friday practically buzzed with excitement. “You know, Ishmael said it wasn’t a good idea to teach us Island Kids to read, but Professor Fletcher taught us in secret.” 

“Ishmael forced you all to stay illiterate?” Violet asked. 

Friday bit her lip. “He doesn’t force anyone. But everyone agrees with him.” 

Sunny wandered over to her, and then took her whisk out of her pocket. “Whisk.” 

Friday smiled. “Good to see you still have that, Sun. I thought it’d be nice if you had something to help you cook. You’ll keep my secret, won’t you?” 

“Of course.” Lilac said, kneeling in front of her. “But you shouldn’t have to deal with Ishmael’s- hold on.” She looked over Friday’s shoulder. “Olaf, don’t wander off, we still have to kill you. Violet, use your knife if he moves again.” Olaf groaned and turned back, and then Lilac continued, “As I was saying, you shouldn’t have to deal with Ishmael’s rules, no matter what pressure the people put on you to listen to him.” 

Friday bit her lip. “I love learning, Baudelaires, and exploring, but I don’t want to rock the boat. Ever since my father’s… whatever happened to him, my mother has wanted me to be safe, which is why we left the world far behind and decided to stay on the island. But the older I get, it seems the more secrets I have. Professor Fletcher taught me secretly to read. Omeros taught me secretly to skip rocks, even though Ishmael says it’s dangerous. I secretly sneak out to meet you all every day.” She reached into robe, and smiled. “And now I have another secret, just for me. Look what I found curled up on the other side of the books!” 

Count Olaf had been glaring silently at the children, but as Friday revealed her secret, he let out a shriek even more high-pitched than his fake voice. But the Baudelaire orphans did not shriek, staring hard at the long, thick creature, dark as a coal mine, that leapt forwards and immediately pounced upon Sunny. Normally, this would cause the Baudelaires quite a bit of distress. 

But instead, Solitude let out a shriek of pure joy. “Incredi!” she yelled, and Babbitt leapt on top of the snake as it wrapped around the youngest Baudelaire. 

The other Baudelaires beamed. “It’s the Incredibly Deadly Viper!” Lilac said in amazement. 

“How did it get here?” Violet said. 

Friday stared at them and then blinked very, very slowly. “That thing I was holding,” she said, “Was called what?” 

“No, no, don’t worry.” Lilac put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a misnomer, which means it was given a very wrong name- by our Uncle Monty, actually.” 

“It’s one of the least deadly and most friendly creatures in the animal kingdom.” Klaus said, smiling as Sunny hugged the snake wrapped around her, biting it affectionately, and Solitude ran up to join in, staring at the snake in pure wonder. 

“I don’t know much about the animal kingdom.” Friday moved to sit beside Sunny and Soli and the snake, watching with interest. “There’s so much of the world I’m missing by living here.” 

“The world is a wicked place,” Count Olaf said quietly, and now it was the Baudelaires who shuddered. 

But only a few seconds after that, they saw the approach of the sheep. The mist had cleared a little, and Ishmael, still sitting on his white chair with his feet covered in hunks of clay, was being pulled on the sleigh, with all the rest of the villagers behind him. But as they approached, they realized something else was on the sleigh; the ornate silver birdcage from the last storm. 

“Count Olaf.” Ishmael said in a booming voice, as soon as his chair arrived. He stared down at the villain scornfully but also carefully, as if memorizing his face. 

“Ishmael,” said a disgusted Count Olaf. 

“Call me Ish.” 

“Call me Kit Snicket.” 

“I’m not going to call you anything.” Ishmael said. “Your reign of treachery is over, Olaf. You’ll be locked up immediately.” 

Jonah and Sadie lifted the bird cage from the sleigh, set it on the ground and pushed open its door. With a nod from Ishmael, Weyden and Ms Marlow wrestled the harpoon gun from Olaf’s hands and dragged him into the bird cage, shoving him inside. 

Sunny’s eyes lit up, as the Incredibly Deadly Viper unraveled itself and slithered behind her. “Karma.” she said, eyes sparkling. 

The villain fit in the cage, but just barely. “This isn’t fair!” he said. “I’m Kit Snicket, a pregnant woman, and you’re locking me up and leaving those treacherous children out!” 

“Oh, fuck. Forgot they hated us.” Nick whispered, just as the islanders turned to look at them. Some of them were glaring, while others looked merely curious. Ishmael’s gaze was unreadable, but the children felt cold as he looked at them. 

“We’re just here to help Kit.” Lilac said cautiously, standing up straight and pushing her hair back. “We don’t want any trouble.” 

Before Ishmael could speak, they heard a gasp. Miranda, Friday’s mother, stepped forwards. “Friday!” she shouted. “Get away from that snake! It’ll hurt you!” 

Friday, still sitting beside Soli and Sunny, glanced to the Incredibly Deadly Viper and shook her head. “No. The Baudelaires said it’s friendly.” 

“They’re treacherous, Friday!” Miranda said darkly, giving the children glares. “Get away from them, too. Come here!” 

“Yes, Friday, come back.” Ishmael said. “I won’t force you, but I think you should stick with us from now on.” 

Friday stiffened, her eyes going wide with fear as she gazed onto the crowd of islanders. She glanced from them to the Baudelaires. Slowly, Lilac grabbed Violet’s hand, squeezing it, and said, “It’s your decision, Fri.” Nick and Klaus nodded, and Sunny leaned on Soli’s shoulder and stroked the Incredibly Deadly Viper, who still had Babbitt cuddling on its head. 

“It’s my…” Friday repeated, staring at the sand. 

“Friday!” Miranda shouted. “Come here!” 

Friday sighed and stood up, taking a few steps forwards. She looked at her mother, and her mother’s outstretched arms, and then out at the crowd. Watching her. Waiting for her to listen. 

And then she stepped back. 

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Miranda’s eyes widened. “Friday!” 

“I think I want to stay here.” Friday said. “I want the books. And the snake. And the Baudelaires.” 

Ishmael turned his eyes to the girl as her mother gasped. “Friday,” he said, “Don’t rock the boat. Books and snakes and those children- they’re dangerous.” 

“I think,” Friday said sternly, stomping her foot. “I want to stay here. You all can go if you want.” 

“Friday!” said a young boy- Omeros. “You know this place’ll flood tomorrow for Decision Day!” 

“So I won’t be here for that.” Friday shrugged. “But for right now, I want to stay here.” She looked over at Ishmael, and then said, “You can’t force me.” 

And then she spun on her heel and ran for Lilac, throwing her arms around her and hugging her tight. Lilac started, surprised, but she hugged the girl back, and then turned to glare at Ishmael. 

Ishmael looked a bit like he was struggling to keep calm and maintain control of the situation, which made the Baudelaires very happy. “Friday,” he said, “I strongly suggest you get away from these children.” 

“She made her decision.” Nick said. 

Ishmael turned to glare at him. “I think you’ve all been putting thoughts in her head.” 

Lilac gripped tighter to the girl. “Lay a hand on her and we’ll beat you senseless.” 

“Oh, please do.” said Olaf from his birdcage. 

“That goes for you, too, asswipe!” Lilac shouted. 

“Are you threatening our facilitator?” gasped Alonso. 

“We just want to be left alone.” Klaus said. 

“If you’re threatening our facilitator,” Miranda said darkly, “Then we’ll have to find birdcages for all of you.” 

Nick stepped back, and Sunny bared her teeth, and at that moment, Friday ripped herself away from Lilac, and said, “I’m sorry! I made a mistake!” 

The Baudelaires gasped quietly, and the Islanders looked relieved. Ishmael even looked smug. 

And then Friday leapt across the shelf, jumping beside the toddlers. There, she picked up the Incredibly Deadly Viper, letting Babbitt slide onto Solitude’s head, and then she ran back to stand in front of the Baudelaires. 

“This isn’t a friendly snake!” she shouted. “It’s called the Incredibly Deadly Viper! It only listens to the Baudelaires, so if you try to trap them, it’ll attack!” 

The colonists gasped and stepped back, and Solitude ran forwards and started imitating the viper’s hisses, hoping to look like she was talking to it. It cocked its head curiously at her, but that did enough of a trick that Miranda looked like she might pass out, and Willa immediately pushed someone in front of her. 

Ishmael just gave the snake a look. “That snake is harmless.” he said. “It used to live here, actually, when-” 

He cut himself off, his eyes going a bit wide. Seeing this reaction, Nick stepped towards Friday, putting a hand on her shoulder. “When? Go ahead, Ishmael, tell us when.” 

Ishmael opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then he said, “You know what? You Baudelaires remaining here will be punishment enough. This area will flood tomorrow, and you and Count Olaf will be off of our island forever, unable to rock the boat. Friday, when you are done playing with these scoundrels, we will welcome you back. Would you like some cordial before we leave? Perhaps your shell is empty.” 

Friday stared at him, and then passed the snake to Nick. Then she took her shell, and, while looking Ishmael dead in eye, slammed it onto the sand and stomped on it. It crashed into tiny pieces, and the remains of the fermented coconut milk spilled into the water. The colonists gasped, and Miranda grabbed tight onto her own shell and backed up. 

Ishmael stared at the broken pieces, and then over at Friday. 

And then he said, “We should leave.” 

The islanders slowly turned the sleigh around, leading the sheep, and Ishmael off. Miranda stopped behind the group, watching Friday carefully. “Friday, come on.” she pleaded, holding out her hand. 

Friday just stared at her, and then she said, very slowly and clearly, “Manatees are herbivores.” 

Miranda was silent for a moment, and then she turned and followed the colonists away. 

There was a tense silence, and then Friday turned around and threw herself back at Lilac. The eldest Baudelaire hugged her tight, and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay. You did good, Friday, you did so good.” 

Violet came closer, and also put her arms around the girl, followed by Nick and Klaus, and finally Sunny and Soli. “Good job, Fri-girl.” Violet whispered. “Good job.”

[daydreamindollie]

m.yg | The Innocent and The Sinful

Fragments Series: Just another incomplete written piece/plan/idea - not edited, not proofread, just raw writing w/ my notes 

|| opposites attract oneshot series ||

A/N: Yoongi’s one, I actually dusted up quite a bit so there aren’t any notes, just pure writing. I was ready to write an extended, very steamy scene in this but I guess that intimidated me and made me mentally shut down when writing this knowing that I had planned such a scene for the future of this oneshot. Don’t get me wrong, I was really excited to be writing smut for the first time...but, I also get nervous really easily and I’m a perfectionist+procrastinator - not a good combination! 

WARNING: May contain some conflict and violence nothing 

✚          ✚          ✚

The probability that two drastically opposing worlds should collide was highly unlikely, even more so the fact that they should harmonise under aesthetic melodies, and yet, despite this common perspective, it seems as though the path of two repelling ways of life magnetise along their way, and consequently, cross directions.

Such an innocuous stammer within one's path appears as irrelevant as the frequent act of unnamed strangers brushing shoulders, but an interaction must never be underestimated as the world's way of making an individual's tilted stage right again, can be a very peculiar thing.

☆

A night out with the usual gaggle of friends was well underway, falling upon its second hour the instant the clock ticked past eleven thirty (evening).

It was clear from the many blokes, who flashed ill grins upon catching the glint of uncertainty in your eyes, that this was an unfamiliar atmosphere for you, and suddenly, your friends' offer for free food and subsequent peaceful nights-in, no longer seemed worth-it as the sweat of discomfort tickled your brow.

"You look very tense there sweetpea!" Jia, the usual 'mother' of the group and your roommate, shouted from beside you, barely succeeding in overcoming the suffocating blare of music, "Have a drink and lighten up!" she encouraged, being strangely negligent to the obvious consequence of alcohol, especially in your circumstance. Not only were you a lightweight but everybody else within your group was drunk beyond the line of no return and someone needed to be responsible. 

It wasn't going to be Jia, definitely not - leaving only you.

"No thank you Unnie, I think I'll just go out for some fresh air." hefting a heavy sigh, you flashed a reassuring smile before making your way out. A clearing of the mind requires a cleaning of the air.

☆

"You're telling me," Yoongi stressed, an influential figure despite his diminutive build, "that nothing can be done to solve this." his voice hard and his eyes cold, a visible shiver rattled the spine of his unfortunate man of business.

"I'm sorry b-" the man attempted, only to be talked over by a booming voice.

"'Sorry' isn't going to fix things you little bastard, now, if you don't want my men coming after you, and the people you care about, then you better shut that bullshit-talking mouth of yours and get things done because I don’t pay you to hear crap fall out your asscrack of a mouth - got it?" the fire in his eyes was raging and untamed, hoping to rampage and set ablaze all that dared confront it - the poor man before him being the first victim, with licking flames already setting his toe-curled feet ablaze.

"Y-Yes S-“

"Now get the fuck out of my sight." once the stammering man had finally left, pudgy face sweating bullets of liquid fat and spindly thin hair clumping at his expansive forehead, Yoongi turned to his men. There was evident stress knotting his usually undisturbed brows. "I'm going for a smoke. I'll be back in thirty minutes.”

☆

Hissing at the bite of your stiletto heels, you attempt to savour the crisp night air without grimacing at the filth surrounding you, only able to fully disregard it by tilting your head towards the star-dusted night sky. Slowly, your mind began to clear and a small smile pinched your flustered cheeks, bad experiences truly brought out the good in all the little things - much like the majestic beauty of the night.

So spellbound by the charm of the late evening, you were innocent to the approaching danger, coming at you in the form of an intoxicated, stout man, drenched in a scented smog of liquor. He had no real intention of anything ill and would've let you be if he hadn't drowned himself in the immoral fluid beforehand.

Now, all acts and thoughts were unfiltered and ethics were cleared off his table of prioritised considerations.

At the sight of your figure, hugged tightly by the dark fabric of your dress, an animalistic growl of unadulterated desire left his chapped lips and, noticing your impervious state, he strides forward carelessly.

Taking a chance on his luck, he smiled satisfactorily when he stumbled into your frail figure and smirked at the vulnerable squeal that left your delicate lips when his heavyset frame fell onto yours and forced you against the cold brick wall.

☆

Regardless of Yoongi's pronounced reliance on nicotine during times of distress, he never truly liked the act of smoking; he always grimaced in the seconds leading up to lighting the cancer stick before inhaling a breath.

Another thing that he absolutely detests, in spite of his criminal line of work, was the sight and racket of harassment, especially now, when his wick of tolerance had already been burned up to only a hair's breadth from the night's deficient chain of events. Using up the last of that wick, Yoongi could only stand for less than a minute before he stuffed the cigarette back in its packet and approached the inebriated attacker.

"Hey, asshat," he grumbled, waiting for the man to turn before landing a heavy blow to his jaw, knocking him out cold with the propelled force of his frustrations. It was definitely a good way of de-stressing and Yoongi would have taken up boxing if he wasn't so indolent with the burdens of his position. Hence why, when Yoongi knew the harasser was down for the count, at just one hit, he stepped away and finally lit his cigarette - he probably wouldn't finish it completely after such relief. 

He didn't care for the girl the man was molesting, he only wanted peace and quiet when having his smoke but probably secretly wanted to punch a man as well - any man - after such vexing news was delivered to him tonight. For that reason, he didn't pay you any mind and selfishly savoured the silence as he took a drag. 

This man was something unworldly to you. He had taken on a bozo twice his size and won with just a single hit, now, he was lighting a cigarette, going about his business as if what he had just done was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Stepping closer and scrutinising his anatomy within the moonlight revealed how truly exquisite he was. His lean, ample limbs were garbed in a fitted black suit, darker than night and appearing silky under the rough stare of yellow street lamps. 

Supple ivory skin stretched over the features you were able to see bare: his face, neck and hands. The milky expanse of his nape silently pleaded for the sinful mark of bruising kisses, unsatisfied with the ink of a spiralling tattoo that climbed three delicious inches up the side of his neck, leading your mind to darkly ponder where it starts under the collar of his shirt. The hand he had holding the cigarette had long fingers with bulging veins decorating its back, leaving a simply intricate ring to embellish one elegant finger. His mysterious eyes were half hooded by a shadow containing undisclosed secrets that you yearned to acquaint yourself with, loving how the breath of smoke he exhaled spiralled into distinctive art before disappearing. 

Building up the courage, you stepped further forward, "u-umm..." you timidly began, “Thank-"

"Go home." he blatantly hissed, not sparing you a glance and, instead, took the time for another puff. Your morals weren't as such, however, because you needed to thank someone whose actions were worth appreciating, but as you stuttered to protest, he brushed you off once more.

"C-can I at least buy you lunch?-“

"Look, I didn't do it to help you, I just wanted some peace and quiet. Now, if you have half the brain that I think you do, then you'll take this chance to get the fuck out of here.”

Naturally, you were hesitant but complied with his harsh command. You didn't think any less of him because of his confession; it doesn't change the fact that he saved you from a traumatising experience, so he still deserved your proper gratitude. He wasn't willing to accept it and it's his decision whether or not he does, yes, but you were determined to repay him.  

☆

It was unusual for you to frequent a bar, even more so if the bar was the one where you were physically assaulted at. Your behaviour was very suspicious and your friends were quick to catch on, confronting you the night you're about to leave your shared apartment once more. You always left at the same night, at the same time with the same intentions in mind - you just need to see him again. 

"I'll be leaving now," you announce, slipping into your heels as your reflection stares back at you with satisfaction. 

"Babes, you've told us what happened to you that night, right?" your roommate confirms as she stood beside the door, causing you to raise a brow as you gave a reassuring nod. "Everything?" she pressed as you gave another nod, “Then…why do I feel like you're leaving one very crucial detail out?" her eyes are piercing you judiciously as you struggle to maintain a calm demeanour.

"Jia, I've told you everything," you promise a white lie. 

"Oh really?" the stare she sends you is chilling, "Because, it doesn't really make much sense if the first time a girl goes out in forever, gets harassed and suddenly makes it routine to visit said bar on the same night, at the same time, weekly!" avoiding her eyes, you attempt to cover your endeavours, "Well?...Did this guy threaten you or something? (Y/N), you know that I'm here for you." the hard front she puts forth slowly wore down with concern until only watery agony was present in her eyes.

"I-It's not like that Jia.”

"Then please tell me, Sweetie. You know how I hate being kept in the dark about these things." clearly, the stress was getting to her and you felt extremely guilty for causing such strain on her everyday deliberations; she already had many other things to reflect on, she didn't need you forcing more stress atop that. You remember how you told her your altered story of the night - one where there was now a mysterious, cold-hearted stranger saving you - and she was close to tears, apologising for not being a good enough friend, proven in her failed act of saving you. "I''m not here to judge you...I'm just concerned. Please tell me so that I'm self-assured that you'll be fine…and that I don't need to stalk you just to make sure you're safe." it was a joke that you embraced with a half-hearted laugh, encouraging you to tip the scale in favour of her apprehension. 

"Alright...I'll tell you," and that, you did. As promised, she didn't judge you but put forward her own advice, the lines of stress no longer creasing the space between her expressive brows. 

"Is he so handsome that you have to go so badly?" she jests, her enquiry still half-serious. 

"Very!" you giggle. Staring up at the clock on the wall, you gasp, already half an hour late.

"Sorry for keeping you but I'm thankful that you've finally told me." 

With a hug and a quick farewell for the night, you were off, taking care not to fall in your adequate stiletto heels. 

☆

It was the same scenario. This had become so routine that you were running through the upcoming events of the first few minutes into the club in your head. Everything flowed like clock work, which would be - to a normal person only wanting the norm - perfectly fine but you didn’t crave the norm, you were craving, yearning, and pleading to a non-existent god that he be there tonight. And yet, what should you do if he did show? In his mysterious, slender frame, enveloped in it’s cloud of mysterious musk that you were only barely able to savour briefly in your even more brief encounter. That night seemed to occur eons ago and it was eating you up inside. 

please remember that this is, unfortunately, not going to be continued as it is a part of my ‘Fragments’ Series, where I just post works that I have discontinued, maybe still in its drafting/notes-infused stage. I know it might seem like a pointless series but I’m proud of all my works and love to share more than I should.