#this is mostly a joke but i do have the bad habit of filling playlists with whatever

[encrucijada]

listening to the bb&gg playlist just like. skip. skip. skip. noah kahan. skip. skip. skip. skip. lizzy mcalpine. skip. skip.

[shutupandshipit]

Singing from the soul - Oneshot

Summary: 'If you're gonna tell them everything/tell them I'm a good kisser./Tell them all things you told me/in your desperate whisper./If you're gonna tell them everything/don't leave out the good part./Tell them the way that you broke my heart/when you told me that your missed her./Tell them I'm a good kisser!' Bakugou's voice was a pleasant warm rumble through the room.

Jirou wasn't sure how many people knew, but he had a great singing voice. Not as rough around the edges as his regular speaking voice, but more smooth like an old time jazz singer. She'd never admit it out loud, not to Bakugou at least, but she loved listening to him sing and often goaded him into it. In her room, he sang more freely than when they were outside which was just another plus to this weird arrangement that they had.

.....

Or where Jirou finds out who Bakugou's soulmate is, and has minor dilemma on whether she should tell him or not.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (for some choice words, but that’s it)

Author’s Note: The songs included in this fic all belong to their creators. Those songs are in order of appearance: -Good Kisser by Lake Street Dive -Bakugo Rap by Daddyphatsnaps -Love Like You by Caleb Hyles

They're all really great songs and they're all available on Spotify! Go listen to them! Also, since I was listening to it while writing/posting this, another great song that very much reminds me of these two is POV by Ariana Grande!

Jirou lounged back against the pillows of her bed slowly making her way through the day's homework. At the end of her bed, Bakugou's blond tufts stuck up just over the edge of the purple bedspread. Music thrummed through her room, quiet and unassuming as to not disturb their studying.

Normal business as usual.

She couldn't exactly remember when this had started, Bakugou knocking on her door to study and the pair of them sitting in companionable silence with only music to fill the space. Sometimes they discussed her music choice of the day or something that didn't make sense on their homework, but mostly, they were silent. Their time together was probably the only times Jirou saw Bakugou do anything quietly. It was relieving and honestly a breath of fresh air, and she thought that maybe it was the same for him.

Bakugou huffed, and there was the soft clatter of his glasses hitting the table as she finally glanced up from her book. His head was leaned back against the bed, heels of his palms pressed into his eyes. Silently, his lips moved, but they weren't moving along to the words of what they were listening to.

Reaching over, she turned down the volume on her radio to near silent. “What's the matter?”

“My soulmate,” Bakugou ground out, pressing palms into his eyes harder, “Keeps singing the same song over and over again. Fucking annoying.”

“What's the song?”

'If you're gonna tell them everything/tell them I'm a good kisser./Tell them all things you told me/in your desperate whisper./If you're gonna tell them everything/don't leave out the good part./Tell them the way that you broke my heart/when you told me that your missed her./Tell them I'm a good kisser!' Bakugou's voice was a pleasant warm rumble through the room.

Jirou wasn't sure how many people knew, but he had a great singing voice. Not as rough around the edges as his regular speaking voice, but more smooth like an old time jazz singer. She'd never admit it out loud, not to Bakugou at least, but she loved listening to him sing and often goaded him into it. In her room, he sang more freely than when they were outside which was just another plus to this weird arrangement that they had.

It was good that his singing voice was nice though because his soulmate, whoever they may be, had a habit of singing for hours on end. Sometimes Bakugou could resist the pull, clench his jaw against the words trying to roll off his own tongue. Other times, he either didn't have the energy to fight it or just didn't care, and let them flow. When he was in her room, he rarely tried to force them down.

"Over and over and over again," Bakugou growled, still in the same position as before, "Like the song doesn't have any other lyrics or something."

"I've heard it before. I think they just like those lyrics. Maybe it's stuck in their head."

"Fucking fantastic."

Jirou smiled, reaching over to pat his spikes. He growled at her, but didn't move as she swung her legs over the side. “Is it really that annoying?”

Again, Bakugou growled. When he dropped his hands, it was only to reach for her music player on her bedside table. “Enough to need something to drown out the little fuck. Can't believe he's listening to something so annoying. I don't think it's stuck in his head, I just think he put it on replay.” He scrolled through her playlist before clicking out and going to the list of music they'd made together.

That was another thing that had become common, and it had happened after the music festival. Making music together. Unbeknownst to the others, Bakugou could rap and seemed to prefer it, though she'd gotten him to duet with her a couple times. His voice filled her room as he turned up the volume on the stereo.

“He?” Jirou asked curiously. She stretched her arms high over her head, back popping from neck to waist. “Do you know who it is?”

Bakugou ducked his head back towards his book, but she knew he was lying when his ears blushed red. “No, how the fuck would I know that for sure? It just wouldn't make any sense if my soulmate were a chick seeing as I'm gay.”

Jirou hummed, but thought about how soulmates weren't always exclusively romantic. They could be platonic. Kaminari and she had proven that when they'd figured out they were soulmates.

People could also have multiple soulmates, and Kaminari had proven that when he'd started singing someone else's song and she hadn't been compelled to join him. That had been a very strange and confusing day, but they'd figured it out. Kaminari was still looking for his second soulmate, but it didn't stop him from singing Jirou's song with her.

“A plausible reason,” she said, slipping her slippers on, “Do you want anything? I'm going to get a drink from downstairs.”

"The watermelon lemonade I made earlier.”

“Sure thing.” As she left the room, she heard Bakugou start in with the song he'd put on. She rolled her eyes, and closed the door.

Downstairs, her classmates were clustered in the living room laughing wildly. Stepping up beside Kaminari, she raised an eyebrow. “What's going on?”

Wiping a tear from beneath an eye, Kaminari gasped. “Midoriya's soulmate has got him spitting bars. It wouldn't be so funny if it were just normal rapping, but-” Another peel of laughter fell from his mouth, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach.

Jirou raised an eyebrow, and stepped closer to get a good look at Midoriya. His face was red from forehead to chin, mouth moving rapidly as he shielded his face with his arms. Her eyebrows jumped higher as she finally caught the words.

'Let me just tell you something/You don't want to fuck with me./Imma be number one cause bitch that's all that I can see./King of the UA/Everybody knows that I'm a G/Everybody knows that I will be/Top of the class/No rivalry-' He clamped his lips shut, but after a moment, the words were spilling out again. 'What I gotta do to prove I'm in another league?/I get stronger as I go/Don't give a fuck about fatigue./I'm a warrior without a challenge-' Curling in on himself, Midoriya hid his head between his knees. His words went muffled, and Jirou finally stepped away towards the kitchen.

Rushing, she grabbed two glasses and the jug of watermelon lemonade before booking it back upstairs. There was absolutely no way that Midoriya and Bakugou were soulmates. There was just no way. It was ludicrous to think about, to even consider. What kind of sick joke would that be for the universe to bind the two of them like that?

She bumped her door open with her hip and paused in the doorway to hear Bakugou still going for it. The song had changed, but a quick plug of her jack into the floor told her Midoriya's words still matched up perfectly with Bakugou's. She felt dizzy with the new revelations, confused even. It just didn't make any kind of sense.

Swallowing, she set the glasses and jug on the table. “Have you ever thought that your soulmate might be embarrassed when you rap? You're songs aren't exactly... clean.”

Bakugou glanced up, pausing.

Through the floor, she heard Midoriya let out a grateful sigh.

“Has my soulmate ever thought that maybe I get embarrassed when he makes me sing Ariana Grande or Blackpink for hours on end? Tic for tak.” He waved off her concern, glancing down at his papers again. “He'll be fine.”

Jirou rolled her eyes and poured herself as glass of the lemonade. “Oh, I'm sure. They'd have to be able to take a lot to deal with you.”

Bakugou's head jerked up. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what is sounds like.” She grinned, and he flipped her off.

…..

After that, Jirou made a habit of paying more attention to the pair more than normal. She wasn't normally one to insert herself into her classmates' business mainly because she didn't want them in hers. She was making an exception for these two, determined to figure out 1) how they couldn't have possibly realized it yet and 2) how it was even possible. They were the bad kind of opposites. They still barely got along, even after everything they'd been through. Their tolerance of each other had to do with necessity rather than want. They couldn't even agree on a drink to buy from the vending machine.

She'd watched an argument breakout between them when Midoriya offered to split a drink with Bakugou on one of the hotter summer days, but they'd never even made it to pushing coins into the machine before storming away from each other. She didn't understand it, but she wanted to.

So she started to pay attention. Neither of them had a habit of singing during the school day, both staying relatively quiet except to talk to friends or answer a question in class. Neither of them even hummed. During the day, there wasn't even a peep of musical notes.

At night when they were back at the dorms was a different story all together.

Jirou would often walk downstairs to find Midoriya and Bakugou whispering the words to the same song under their breath on opposite sides of the common room. Or pass each other with their headphones in, one singing loudly while the other's mouth barely moved. Or eating at dinner with someone playing music, and one would start singing followed closely by the other. Or Bakugou would be sitting on her bedroom floor singing along to something slow that had come on, and she would plug her headphone into the floor to hear Midoriya crooning the same song on the floor below.

It was honestly maddening. Now that she was paying attention, it felt incredibly obvious what they were. There was a voice in her head screaming at her to tell them, to reveal the truth to them, but even though she was invested, she was unwilling to meddle to that degree.

Leaning against the edge of her balcony late one night, she didn't notice the two bodies slipping across the lawn. It was late enough that the lawn was dark, all of the lights on the bottom floor turned off as well as the girls' side of the building. The sky was moonless, the dark expanse punched through with numerous stars and beautiful to a fault.

It was the only reason Jirou was still awake. Her eyes were trained on the sky, watching shooting stars pass in a never ending shower.

So, no, she didn't see the two bodies stopping in the middle of the lawn or fanning out the blanket that had been bundled under an arm or lying down side by side with their hands twined between them. She did hear them though, hear the first beginning threads of song. A quiet humming in the dark.

Jirou's eyes jerked down, easily finding the dark shapes in the grass below.

“Deku,” a second voice growled without heat, “You know I'm not a fan of that song.”

Midoriya's voice floated up from the darkness, soft and coaxing. “But I like singing it with you. Just once. Please?”

After a pause, Bakugou grumbled, “Fine, but you can't complain about what I choose next. And no crying this time.”

Midoriya's reply was to start up his humming again, a light gentle tune that after a moment, Bakugou picked up with his deeper base. Their voices were a harmony Jirou didn't think they could achieve, Bakugou with the deep smoothness of his singing voice and Midoriya's tentative but strong tenor. Listening to them was like watching a romance at the exact moment the main characters fell in love.

Their words filled the night, gentle and twining. 'If I could begin to be/half of what you think of me/I could about anything/I could even learn how to love./When I see the way you act/wondering when I'm coming back/I could do about anything/I could even learn how to love/like you-' Midoriya's happy little chirp of a laugh cut into their words, even as Bakugou kept going. 'I always thought/I might be bad/now I'm sure that its true!/'Cause I think you're so good/and I'm nothing like you!/Look at you go!/I just adore you!/I wish that I knew!' Midoriya jumped in, their voices twining together again if a little choked. 'What makes you think I'm so special.'

Jirou felt heat press in at the backs of eyes, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her sniffle.

Bakugou's voice dropped away, and this time Midoriya sang as his voice trembled with obvious tears. 'If I could begin to do/something that does right by you/I would do about anything/I would even learn how to love./When I see the way you look/shaken by how long it took/I could do about anything/I could even learn how to love/like you. Love like you~'

Again, Bakugou joined in, and she could hear just how tight his throat had gotten as his voice deepened. 'Even though I can't compare/and I'm sorry if I stare/I just want to do everything./Maybe I could even learn how to love./ People say/this love is wrong/but all I want is to belong./I could say without any doubt/everyone should learn how to love/like you/love like you/love like you~'

They trailed off, and after a time, Bakugou whispered, “This is why I don't like singing this song. You always end up crying at the end.” In the darkness, she could just barely make out one form pulling the other in close.

“I'm sorry. I just love listening to you sing it. It makes me happy.”

“I know, that's why I do it even if I don't want to.”

'Holy shit.' Jirou's thoughts were a scatter of confusion and elation. On the one side, she was happy that they were together, that they knew about each other. On the other side, she was so incredibly confused on how they hid it so well. And on one last side, she was a little embarrassed to still be standing on her balcony listening to their private moment together. 'I should go inside. I should forget about this. I should congratulate Bakugou tomorrow about it.' She had too many thoughts and not enough brain capacity to deal with them at the moment.

Midoriya hummed, and she heard a barely audible, “I love you, Kacchan.”

'Definitely time to go!' As quickly and quietly as she could, she slipped back into her room and started closing the sliding glass door, but she still caught Bakugou's reply.

“Love you too, 'Zuku.”

[the-peachpit]

Between the Lines

Ship: Shorter Wong x (Y/N)

Summary: Shorter and (y/n) are fighting about the future. (y/n) want’s to apologize, but what if Shorter can never forgive her?

Opening your laptop, you pick your favorite spotify playlist before looking around the room of the small apartment you shared with your boyfriend and friends. Hands on your hips you knew you were supposed to start packing but finding the best place to start was impossible. Every time one of your fingers so much as touched anything you were whisked away down memory lane. From shirts that you got when you first moved to New York planning to only stay for a year-it had been four- to the fake rose Shorter had bought for you the day you met. That memory took hold hard, mostly because of the disagreement you and Shorter had been passively aggressively maneuvering around for days. While living in New York you found a job in journalism, mostly freelance writing articles here and there. It wasn’t enough anymore to be some anonymous writer; you had seen your fair share of tragedy and a burning desire was lit deep in your chest to be more. Max- the man who had taken you under his wing- suggested you attend a college in California the degree could rally ramp up your career. At first the idea sounded nuts, the school was insanely expensive, and renting a town house was currently stretching you thin enough. Knowing Max came with a secret perk though he used contacts to get you in on a huge scholarship. Mostly because they could say the prodigy of Max Lobe- the man who took down New York’s biggest mafia family on a pedophilia scandal- was attending. Max gave you the news over dinner, and of course you wanted to go.

Laying back on the bed as Rose by Briston Maroney played you twirled the plastic rose in between your fingers. Shorter had given the rose the day he met you like a true fool who believed in love at first sight. Of course, you were skeptical and only believed in a player at first sight. If Eji, who you trust with your life, hadn’t vouched for him you never would have even entertained the idea. Rolling your eyes, you took the rose in a ha-ha sort of way. Shorter had taken it as a win and asked you on a date to his own restaurant. Twice you turned him down, it was the third time that did the trick. Though you had just been saved by him so that may have helped. You were shopping near China Town with Eji when the two of you were jumped and taken hostage. Eji was being used for ransom and your head was spinning. That was also the day you found out about the gang activity Ash and Shorter were a part of. It didn’t scare you like Shorter was afraid it would. Instead you accepted his date offer kind of asking him yourself.

He closed the restaurant down and it was just the two of you. Shorter hosted his own date taking you to your table, picking wine, cooking. He had the whole thing down, like he really had been planning it since the day you met.

Four years later here resting your hand back down on the sheets looking up at the ceiling. Shorter hadn’t come home for two days, Ash promised he was safe, but the last words Shorter had mumbled under his breath were ‘you wouldn’t make it out there,’ and you exploded it was the final straw as you screamed at him to leave. Shorter left without another word. You’d never screamed like that at him, he’s never stayed gone for so long with zero communication. Eyes darting around the room, you decided packing was impossible there were still two weeks till departure and that was more than enough time to put your life in a couple suitcases and leave everyone behind.

Walking downstairs the TV is playing softly and you know Eji is using it for noise. Catching him red handed in the kitchen you find him making himself a snack carefully cutting vegetables. Eji was the only reason anyone in the house didn’t live off pasta or Chinese food -courtesy of Shorter. Max helped balance their diets sometimes, but usually brought a lot of deserts with him. Not that anyone complained, Max really played the Dad role in the house. Eji was short with black hair and dark brown eyes. You never missed an opportunity to tease him about his height which he blamed on his Asian genes, until you bring up Shorter is in fact not short, and taller than Ash. That gets Eji red in the face, today though the spark wasn’t there. Instead you opted to swipe a cucumber from his cutting board.

Eji stopped cutting all together to put his hands on his hips, “It’s dangerous for you to just grab stuff like that while I’m cutting, (y/n).”

You laugh, “It’s not like you’re going to cut my fingers off. Or are you that clumsy?”

Eji resumed cutting, “Maybe it won’t be an accident, you did break one of my favorite photo frames.” He pointed the knife your way.

“Wait a minute, Ash is the one who threw the pillow!” You protest.

“You’re the one who tried to braid his hair while he was sleeping,” Eji brought up a smile creeping across his face.

“You knew his hair was getting long and you wanted to do the same thing. It looked cute!” You whine walking to the island leaning against the wooden top.

Eji laughed, he had a cute laugh that went up and octave, “He looked great, I tried to convince him to wear it that way.” He sighed, “Instead he had to go and cut it,” Eji whined.

Walking over Eji placed a plate of cut assorted vegetables and ranch. Picking up a carrot round you inspected it turning it between your fingers like the rose.

“Has Shorter bene home?” You ask hoping maybe he snuck in while you were gone.

Eji shook his head, “No.”

“Have you heard from him?” The desperation in your voice betrays you.

Eji shakes his head again without saying a word. The frown on the face gives it all away, he feels bad, he’s been in the situation of not knowing where his lover was. Sympathy radiates off him in waves as you bite into another carrot round and think about packing, or maybe not going at all.

Hearing the front door creak open your heart skips a beat as you look over, only slightly disappointed to watch a disgruntled blonde walk in. Running his fingers through his blonde locks Ash came up to the counter grabbing a slice of cucumber. About a million questions run through your brain at once, but you know he has something on his mind. He never walks in so silently; Ash is always sure to announce his presence as not to startle anyone into thinking it’s a break in. It’s an old habit everyone kept from when Ash was hunted down just a few short years ago. As much as you watched Ash, Eji, Sorter, hell even Max joke around, you knew the fear was still there. Harbored deep down.

Finally, Ash swallows and his green eyes won't dare connect with yours.

“I’m going to Coney Island for few days,” Ash announced.

Eji turned his face screwed immediately into worry, “When are we going?”

“You’re staying here,” Ash’s voice was firm, he’d made his decision.

Though if anyone was stubborn and could change the Lynx mind it was Eji.

“I’ll pack a bag,” Eji didn't take no for an answer.

Ash sighed, “Come on Eji, it’s an easy job, it’s just Arthur causing problems. Squashing him back down won’t take more than the weekend.”

“Going alone is stupid,” Eji crossed his arms officially meaning business.

“Do I ever go alone?”

Eji grunted.

“Look I’m going with, Cain,” Ash paused, “And Shorter.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize why he hasn’t looked at you since he got in. The air in the apartment changes tremendous tension at the name of the man with a purple mohawk.

“Is he coming here?” You ask.

“Sorry (y/n), I’m actually going to meet him in china town,” Ash played with the collar of his shirt.

You feel your guts twist the butterflies dying and anger filling your cheeks turning them red. You bang your fist against the countertop.

“Why!” You shout your voice echoing startling yourself.

Silence sits in the room, your own voice still echoing in your ears. Slowly you lay your head on the cool varnished wood.

“He can’t avoid me forever,” You mumble, “We have to talk about this.”

It didn’t sit right with you, to just let it fester any longer your heart was breaking already the thought of him just being angry with you. You wanted to understand why he was so upset with you leaving.

“Plus, I need to apologize,” You pick your head up, “I was out of line screaming at him to leave.”

Eji turned up his nose, “From what I heard he was just as much at fault.

You raise a brow towards Eji, “How much did you hear.”

Eji jumped a little, “I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he put his hands up in defense, “But I could hear you guys down the hall.”

Once again, the silence overtook the kitchen. You guys really had been properly arguing.

“I want to go,” You look at Ash trying to channel Eji’s determination.

“Neither of you are going,” Ash put his foot down, “It’s too dangerous.”

You stand up, “Seriously Eji’s been,” you’re cut off by a knife falling to the floor.

Looking over Eji is picking up the kitchen utensil apologizing. He keeps his dark eyes on the knife as he places back on the counter.

“If it’ll just take the weekend, we’ll see you Sunday night than,” Eji beamed his eyes closed.

Ash nodded crossing the threshold of the island hugging Eji tightly. You saw the way Eji’s dark eye’s looked dim as he returned the hug his face just popping over Ash’s shoulder. Without another word Ash walked upstairs presumably to his bedroom. You kept your eyes down on the wooden floor listening to the footsteps creaking across the little house.

“If I couldn’t get through to Ash this time there’s no way you could,” Eji leaned back against the counter.

“But he let you go on dangerous jobs all the time,” You finish your rebuttal.

“I knew you were going to bring that up,” Eji shook his head, “Ash did everything to keep me safe, he always told me to stay behind, but I never listened.”

“Sound’s about right,” You snicker not used to seeing Eji so serious and you weren’t sure what to say, “Why are you listening this time?”

“Because I think I know why he wants me to stay.”

“If you say because of me,” You point at Eji, “I’ll come over there and sock you.”

Eji stuck his tongue out at you, “Of course it’s you, but not you. More like imagine how Shorter would deal with it post argument, he couldn’t focus someone would get hurt. Besides you only caught the end of our adventure, you never saw what happened in the center, it was rough. Especially on Shorter and Ash.”

You feel your shoulders sag, he was right, you were there to help Max break the story. The last major part in the chaos you took part in was finding Ash in the library.

“Say goodbye to him for me,” You wave off Eji. You couldn’t stand to see Ash off currently.

Grabbing your coat off the hook you could practically feel Eji’s eyes boring holes in the back of your skull.

“I’m not going where you think I’m going,” You huff, “It’s purely coincidence.”

“(y/n),” Eji warns.

“I’m serious, call Max and ask,” You open the door and can hear the footsteps rushing down the hall.

Slamming the door for fun and out of spite and head towards the subway.

While waiting for the train you sit on a bench and pull out your phone realizing on a normal day you would have been long gone to work already. There’s no way you would have stumbled into Ash, Shorter would have slipped away without a trace. You could feel the anger rising in your gut, you had half a mind to go back and really give Ash what for. Every time you and Ash started a shouting match though somehow Eji would diffuse it-or Ash would win. Clenching your phone, you tap your foot angrily looking down the platform. Where the hell was the train, you wanted to get far away from the crazy-at least for a few hours.

“Mind if I sit here?”

You look up at a pair of dark eyes slightly covered by dark bangs a figure shorter than Eji standing there.

“What do you want Sing?” You sigh sitting back against the metal bench.

Sing take a seat next to you his signature smirk plastered across his face, “I was in the neighborhood, and Ash called asking me to find out if you were doing anything dumb.”

You had half a mind to at this point, “It’s not me it’s Shorter,” you cross your arms over your chest.

“Wow you guys really are fighting!” Sing looked like he was in awe.

“Oh good,” Your voice goes up an octave in sarcasm, “Everyone knows!”

“it’s hard not to,” Sing sticks his nose up, “Shorter’s been a real pain in the ass recently.”

You roll your eyes, “Tell me about it.” You look over catching Sing’s eyes and the two of you burst out into laughter.

You liked Sing he was a little younger than everyone else, but you could tell even while participating in gang activity he was growing up just fine. Always offering to walk you to see Shorter if he was too busy to leave the restaurant, and making you feel better when things with your gang leader boyfriend were tense and strained. Sing was easy to joke around with and didn’t treat you like an outsider of the tightly knit group that had formed. He believed in you 100 percent. The more you thought about it he was kind of like a cute little guard dog.

“Want some company wherever you’re going?”

“I don’t want to move you too far out of your way, I am going to Broadway to do paperwork for Max.”

Sing just waved you off, “I’m not doing anything anyway, I wasn’t invited to the shakedown.”

You snort and Sing started to gripe over the sound of the train pulling in. That was another thing about Sing, you knew he was capable, hell everyone did, but if they weren’t worried about protecting you or Eji -Sing was next on that list. Truly the little brother to the dynamic duo Shorter and Ash. One-time Sing had been late coming back from a drop off and Shorter was pacing the small livingroom practically pulling his purple hairs out. When Sing did show up Shorter was so mad, he hadn’t answered his phone. Turns out Sing had broken it and Ash bought him a new one the next day. Even as Sing insisted, he could pay for it.

Deciding to let Sing accompany you because it was better than riding alone to work the two of you swapped casual conversation about idle topics like tv shows or what new dishes Eji was trying.

“Man,” Sing leaned back while holding the brace bar, “You better bring me leftovers.”

You laughed, “Why don’t you just come over for dinner?”

Sing smiled and you’re reminded once again why you like talking to Sing so much. He was easy to talk to, he wasn’t as serious, he really brought your stress down a level. Sing stayed with you up until you got to the front of the small office building Max was operating out of.

“Thanks,” You wave as you start ascending the stairs.

“He’ll be fine after this weekend!” Sing shouted back.

You pause at the door looking back towards the bottom of the steps.

Sing gestures a thumbs up, “There’s no way Shorter will still be mad after a weekend away. I could already see his resolve crumbling when I talked to him earlier. He hates being away from you, and being angry,” he winked, “He’s kind of into you, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

You can feel the blush spreading through your cheeks as you giggle, “I won’t say a word.”

Dancing your way to the elevator clicking the button for the fifth floor you felt your heart fluttering in your chest. By the time Shorter was back you’d be packed, and everything would be fixed.

The elevator doors slid open and you met Max with a large smile even when he sheepishly presented you with a large stack of papers to proofread. The deadline was tight, and you knew you couldn’t give him an earful, he was the one getting you into a prestigious school, the work had to be done that day. It was a welcomed distraction as you sat at your desk and started knocking out articles.

It was nine o’clock when you finished and turning your brain off to Shorter had been the right move. Max drove you home asking about packing and giving you pointers for LA. You decided not to tell him about the drama, you’re not sure what he’d say. Though he was a married man you knew he had his own share of drama with his wife. Maybe you didn’t really want his advice.

Getting back to the small town house you see Eji sitting with the TV on watching an old movie, your dinner is int eh microwave. You already know how the night is going to go, it’s always the same when Ash and Shorter are out, dinner, snacks, movies, sticking close. The two of you may fall asleep on the couch, or in someone’s bed. You say nothing about what you think they may be doing, and you are each other’s company, there’s comfort in knowing someone is going through the same thing. Eji smiles and you know it’s hollow, he’s worried, you’re worried. You gently hold his hand and the weekend of silent hopes commences.

You’re practically bouncing off the walls Sunday night. You went with Eji to the store and started making a large meal that afternoon of the duo’s favorite foods. Unsure of Cain would be spending the night you guessed at what he might like.

“I’m inviting Sing,” You say already tapping on your phone.

The kitchen looked like a proper welcome home party with food, drinks, and a few decorations. There was a knock on the door, and you gestured for Sing to come in and make himself comfortable.

Around 11 o’clock you were starting to pace. You weren’t actually sure when they were getting in, hopefully sooner than later.

1 am was when you heard the first heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. The footsteps aren’t what woke you up though it was Eji getting off the couch jolting Sing awake. Slowly you adjusted to the bright lights you can’t believe you fell asleep with them on. Yawning and stretching the excitement of them coming home hasn’t hit you yet, your head is still fuzzy with sleep. Eji’s standing at the door like a puppy his hands clasped together patiently waiting with a sleepy smile on his face. For a moment it almost slips your mind why.

Crashing open the door seemed ready to burst from its hinges as everything moves too fast. Ash hobbled in leaning against Cain who had a strong grip around Ash’s waist. Eji was scrambling to Ash’s side while instructing Sing where the first aid kit was because you still hadn’t moved frozen to the couch. No wait- you were standing- when had you stood up? Eji was asking Cain what happened, but he sounded so far away, like his voice was coming through the walls. All at once the world that was chaotic and moving at lightning speed slowed. Sing ran back from the bathroom with the first aid kit, and you swore he was running through jell-o. Your feet moved, but you swore you hadn’t told them to. Padding across the hardwood floor in slip resistant kitten socks you push Eji to the side, your hands instinctively grab Ash’s collar. He lets you tug him down to meet your face. You feel hot and cold all at once as you stare into his dim green eyes.

“Where's Shorter?” You whisper simply.

Ash is silent Eji is grabbing your shoulder.

You shake the blonde haphazardly moving yourself more than him.

“Where’s Shorter!” You scream feeling the fat tears stream down your face.

“They got him,” Ash’s voice is hoarse.

“What do you mean they got him!” You can’t stop screaming.

“y/n” Eji’s voice still sounds like a faraway whisper.

“Arthur was a little more than we bargained for,” Cain answered gruffly, “Ash’s hurt pretty bad, Shorter let himself get chased and probably caught so we could get out.”

The tugging on your shoulder feels more forceful and you let yourself get pulled back releasing the death grip on Ash. Finger outlines kept his shirt collar pulled out. Stepping back further you let Eji and Sing attend to Ash and Cain in gentle calming voices. Sticking around to watch doesn’t sit right with you, and you can feel your stomach turning. Instead you run upstairs and enter your room. Slowly you close the door the air feeling like it was sucked out of the room right after. Shakily you put your hands over your mouth, your back sliding against the door. Crying on the floor next to the empty cardboard boxes that were never packed the room is too full- too full of Shorter.

[undermounts]

Empire of Light—Prologue: Of Monsters and Men

AO3 | Table of Contents  | Ashes and Embers | Playlist 

Fic Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Ash, the party travels across Morella in search of allies to defeat the Empire of Ash, once and for all.

Chapter Summary: In the sparkling capital of Morella, strange things go bump in the night.

Notes: this is a sequel to my first Blades 2 fic, Ashes and Embers. If you haven’t read that yet, you can do so here!

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Whitetower was not the sort of city that slept.

Even at the oddest hours of the morning, there was always some sort of trouble afoot—sometimes good trouble, sometimes bad, but always mischievous. The evenings were filled with the merry music from open tavern doors, the raucous laughter of drunkards, the rapturous cries of lovers, and other things that went bump in the night. Deals were made in dark alleyways, schemes were carried out amongst thieves atop the terracotta shingles that lined moonlit rooftops, and assassins and mercenaries earned their coin in underground fighting pits, where the wealthy and poor alike frequented to bet on the odds.

The Temple of Light, mercifully, was always quiet, and Cili loved quiet.

Cili, however, did not love Whitetower. He couldn’t wait until he ascended the full rank of priesthood—even though that was many years away—so that he could lead the pilgrimages across Morella or the recruitment journeys that picked up orphaned magic users such as himself, if only so he could get out of the city. It was too loud, and in some places, like the Nooks and Crannies, too smelly. In fact, if Cili had to pick a few words to describe Whitetower, they would simply be, “too much.”

Cili could still remember the day he had arrived in the capital city three years ago, not long after his fifth birthday had passed, when the priests had brought him to live at the Temple. Permanently. To put it quite frankly, that day was one of the most terrifying he’d ever had. 

Whitetower was overwhelming, a sensory overload. After crossing through the city’s borders, Cili had seen more people within a few moments than he’d ever seen on the quiet farm he grew up on. The sheer volume of people that occupied the capital made him nervous—they were a tide he could get lost in, could drown in. He was used to small communities and houses that were fields apart. Even after three years, he was still adjusting to living at the Temple with all of the other acolytes and priests.

The Market District was especially stressful. There were so many people, so many voices, smells, colors, and sounds—all of it blending together into a cacophonous mess that made Cili cling to the sleeves of the nearest priestess and bury his face in her robes. 

And beyond what Cili had experienced in his sheltered upbringing at the Temple were the stories he had heard. Some of the older students at the Temple gossiped about Whitetower’s underworld, the secret guilds of thieves, mercenaries, and assassins. Apparently, there were entire networks of tunnels hidden beneath the capital, dozens of secret passageways, and hundreds of peepholes for espionage.

The first time Cili had heard the gossip was in the hours after lights were out and the acolytes were supposed to be asleep. After that, he had spent the following day scouring the walls and rafters of the Temple for spies. He’d soon realized that he was acting a bit foolishly—the Temple of Light was perhaps the most secure place in Whitetower, right after the palace, but he still made sure to stay close to the priests whenever they were led throughout the city for their weekly services. While the other acolytes spoke of the criminals of Whitetower with some degree of awe or amusement—mostly about a thief dubbed the “Whitetower Reaper” that had mysteriously vanished a few years ago—Cili could only pray that he never encountered such rabble.

Nobles, knights, Light-users, traders, merchants, thieves, and assassins—Whitetower seemed to have it all. 

The one thing Whitetower did not have was monsters. At least not of the beastly kind, with fangs and fur and claws. Although, the same could not be said of those ruled by greed and ambition… No, Whitetower was not home to strange creatures, aside from the occasional noble-owned voxper. 

Or at least, that used to be the case. 

Now, a giant, winged creature stood guard on the city walls with a blazing fire in his lungs. And unbeknownst to the general public, strange beasts prowled the shadows… 

Cili quietly shuffled down the moonlit marble halls of the Temple, collecting and extinguishing the old candles that had been burning all evening and replacing them with new ones he would light tomorrow morning. This was the last part of his daily routine, his final task of the day as one of the younger acolytes, and his least favorite chore. He would never admit it, especially around the older children, but his heart always beat a little faster when he carried out this task, the tempo increasing with every flame he extinguished. Cili was not afraid of the dark, but he was afraid of the things that may lurk within it.

Growing up in the quiet countryside, Cili had never had any reason to believe in the folktales about wicked monsters or strange beasts that would snatch little children out of their beds at night. He’d only ever encountered lapna and kromps, which were more or less content to stay away, especially if rewarded with food. But after the events of the last year—portals opened to the Shadow Realm, the Crown Prince’s death, the Dreadlord’s rise and fall, the Battle of Ash, the Blood King’s ascension, and the guardian dragon’s arrival…. After all of that, Cili was no longer sure what to believe. He only knew that whenever he blew out a candle and stared into the shadows that crept in, he had the sinking, dreadful feeling that something was staring back.

Cili came to a stop in front of one of the white marble statues that lined the Hall of Saints. This statue in particular was of Saint Damaris, who was known for protecting children—especially orphans. This was Cili’s favorite Saint of Light, even if Damaris’ death was one of the more gruesome ones on record. Cili had learned that Damaris had died during the Great War—as most famous Saints did—while protecting a chartered boat of orphans from winged shadow gargoyles as they crossed the Silban River to safety.

Cili looked down at the candles at the base of Damaris’ statue, glanced at the darkening hall around him, then decided to extinguish those ones last. He did not mind having the Saint’s protection for a little while longer. 

Cili continued down the Hall of Saints, blowing out and replacing candles as he went. As he did, he recalled the names of the Saints and their stories, a tactic he had once used to strengthen his memory of the famous figures that had soon become a habit. Saint Ahlai, protector of settlements along the Golden Coast, drowned while defending a cluster of fishing boats from a bloodsquid during a storm. Saint Noa, protector of travellers, stoned to death while protecting a royal procession from raiders. The list went on and on—Saint Pasha, Saint Viktor, Saint Emira, Saint Holland, Saint Calla, Saint Athos… One tragedy after another. 

As he went about his task, Cili wondered if anyone he knew would one day ascend to the status of saint. A part of him hoped not. Revered as they were, almost every Saint seemed to meet a tragic end.

Cili reached the end of the hall, coming to a halt at the base of Saint Alina’s statue. He gazed upon the Saint’s alabaster countenance, her beautiful face at once nurturing, fierce, and sorrowful. She was one of the most popular saints, known as the protector of the innocents. Cili shuddered as he recalled her particular demise: burned while defending a town of human serfs during the Great War. The young acolyte shook that gruesome thought from his head as he withdrew a fresh candle from his basket and placed it at the base of her altar and leaned down to blow the flames out.

The moment the last candle guttered out, Cili felt a sudden chill wash over him, as if he had been plunged into a frozen lake. He inhaled sharply, clutching the basket of candles tightly to his chest as ice spread through his veins and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Something was wrong.

Heart pounding in his small chest, Cili slowly turned around. There was nothing behind him, although he found no relief in this small discovery. With the doors to the outer courtyard of the Temple closed and most of the candles extinguished, Cili was shrouded in darkness. His attention tunneled to the flickering semi-circle of candlelight that surrounded Saint Damaris’ statue, the only source of illumination in the entire hall aside from the watery moonlight

Cili’s blood was loud in his ears. He could not explain it, the inexplicable urge to run. Something was watching him, he could feel it. Waiting for him.

Cili inhaled deeply, his breath shaking ever so slightly as he smothered the urge to run toward the ring of light. Surely this was just some sort of joke. If anyone was watching him from the shadows, it was the other acolytes, playing a prank on him. Cili had a bit of a reputation around the Temple of being easily scared, after all. If they wanted to get a reaction out of anyone, Cili was the perfect target.

“This isn’t funny,” Cili declared, his voice quivering despite his best efforts to keep it steady.

No response.

“Marco?” he questioned as he clutched the basket of candles tightly to his chest and then slowly began to creep toward the other end of the hall, careful to keep his steps steady so he did not betray the immense fear he felt. He did not want the other acolytes to get the satisfaction of seeing him run. “Jude? I know it's you guys. You can cut it out. I’m not afraid.”

Again, no response. Then—

There was a rustling sound, like the flap of wings. Then the scrape of something solid and heavy against the smooth marble stone and—

Cili lost his nerve and ran, dropping his basket of candles as he sprinted for the semi-circle of candlelight around Saint Damarius. No sooner had he begun to run did the creature in the shadows flare to life. 

A horrible snarl ricocheted off the marble and alabaster floors of the hall, followed by the abrupt boom of beating wings and the click, click, click of talons snapping against the floor. 

Something hot and leathery struck Cili across the back of his legs and he stumbled, crashing to the floor only a few paces away from Saint Damaris’ light. Cili’s chin throbbed from smacking it against the marble tiles, but he shoved himself to his hands and knees, hastily scrambling for the ring of light like his life depended on it.

It did.

Cili waited until he was fully within the semi-circle of candlelight, naively believing that the light of a few measly flames would keep the mysterious creature at bay, before he flipped onto his back, throwing his hands up as he finally faced the beast.

His scream lodged in his throat, which felt as if it had been swollen shut with fear.

Cili did not know how to process what exactly was before him. He had never seen a creature like this in his childhood storybooks, had never even heard of a creature like this, either from the other acolytes or the old storytellers that sat around Whitetower’s town square. 

The beast had the face and wings of a bat, although its body was distinctly humanoid, corded with rippling muscle. But the creature’s composition was not nearly the strangest thing about it. The beast did not have skin nor fur, but rather, it appeared to be made of shadow. Tendrils of darkness wicked off of its body like smoke and glowing lines of reddish orange light trailed along its arms and torso, like molten lava bubbling through the cracked, blackened surface of cooled magma.

As it slowly prowled forward, the gargoyle screeched at him, baring a mouthful of razor sharp teeth and Cili flinched back, throwing up his hands defensively. He called desperately upon his teaching of the Light in a vain hope that something the priests had taught him would be useful in warding this creature away, but defensive magic was too advanced for someone his age, its teaching withheld until he reached his tenth year. 

The young acolyte scuttled backward as the beast stalked toward him until his back met the base of Damaris’ statue. Trembling, Cili’s eyes were trained on the gargoyles taloned, hideous feet as it lumbered closer to the circle of light. Closer, closer, closer—

One of the gargoyle’s talons breached the light.

And nothing happened.

Cili whimpered, realizing that there was nothing that could save him, not the candlelight, not Damaris, and judging by the quiet that still settled over the temple, not the priests, either. Desperate, Cili conjured an Orb of Light in his palms, the only bit of magic he could confidently do. In response, the gargoyle hissed, rearing back as a clawed hand swung forward, narrowly missing Cili’s face as the boy lunged back. Almost instantly, due to his fear and lapse in concentration, the Orb guttered out.

Panicked, Cili tried and failed to conjure another Orb of Light as the gargoyle shifted over him. Cili’s hands fell uselessly into his lap as the monster cornered him against the marble statue, its tepid breath ghosting over the boy’s face as it opened its gaping maw wide for the killing blow.

Left with nothing else to do, Cili closed his eyes and began to pray. 

“Light guide me through this endless night and protect me from the darkness. On Viktor, on Calla, on Athos and Alina. On Noa, on Pasha, on Damaris—” Cili broke his prayer and sobbed desperately. “Saints, save me!”

The doors to the Temple slammed against the walls as they burst open, and a flash of Light so bright it was blinding illuminated the room. The beast above Cili was thrown back by the blast and struck the opposite wall with an animalistic whimper of pain.

Cili’s gaze snapped to the open doorway where two cloaked figures appeared, silhouetted by the night sky and the mist that drifted across the cobblestone roads of Whitetower. The one on the right, distinguishable by the taller stature, swayed ever so slightly as the one on the left lunged forward with incredible grace and speed. Cili just barely caught the glint of steel before two blades shot out of the cloaked figure’s gloved hands. It was only until Cili followed the path of the blades that he realized the Shadow beast had gotten up from its supine position against the wall and had begun to charge toward him once more. 

The blades sunk into the gargoyle’s stomach, slowing its advance. The monster roared in pain and frustration as its wings snapped out, lifting its body into the air. There was a whizzing sound and sickening squelch as an arrow embedded itself in one of the beast’s wings, quickly followed by another arrow that struck the other one, causing it to crash to the ground once more. Cili looked to the taller figure, who now brandished a glittering bow of silver and gold metal. Beneath the folds of their coat, he could just make out the silver hilt of a sword. 

No sooner had the beast fallen from the air did the second figure with the knives spring forward, gripping the protruding shafts of the arrows and using them as leverage to shove the gargoyle back, pinning it to the wall. The Shadow creature howled as Cili’s rescuer used their weight to trap the beast, then yanked the arrows down, shredding its wings to the point of uselessness. The cloaked figure pulled back, unsheathing a knife strapped to their thigh, and raised the gleaming weapon high, prepared to stab deep into the beast’s heart.

Cili’s breath caught in his throat. He could not believe what he was witnessing, could not believe that he was about to watch these mysterious heroes defeat this monster, could not believe that he was saved.

Cili’s heart dropped like a stone as the creature lashed out with its snapping teeth, forcing the cloaked figure to jump back, leaving just enough room for the gargoyle to swing out with a muscled arm. The back of its taloned hand caught Cili’s defender across the midsection, batting them aside. As the figure tumbled to the ground, their hood fell back, revealing a head of shoulder-length, dark, and wavy hair. The face underneath was tan and ruggedly handsome, distinguishable by a well-kept beard and a scar that crossed a single eyebrow.

The beast shoved away from the wall, lurching toward the doors out of the Temple in a desperate attempt to escape with its life. But then the other figure was there, moving faster than a wicked wind as they darted forward and struck with their gauntleted fist, catching the gargoyle with a blow so savage and powerful, the weakened creature rocked backward, stunned.

Like the gears in a well-oiled machine, the man on the ground swung his legs out, catching the beast by its shadowy ankles. The Shadow creature slammed into the ground just as the man rolled out of the way and shoved himself up to his knees. He brandished his dagger once more, stabbing clean through the monster’s shoulder to pin it to the ground.

His voice was low and gruff as he demanded, “Do it!”

Cili watched in awe as the taller figure unsheathed the sword at their side—the strangest blade Cili had ever seen, crafted of steel but threaded through with a blueish, crystalline substance that resembled forks of lightning. The figure lifted the sword high, a silver glow—The Light, Cili realized—emanating from their hands and spearing down the blade as they stabbed down, piercing the gargoyle’s chest, and presumably, its heart.

There was a bright flash and Cili watched as the Shadow beast dissipated into nothingness.

When the Light faded, Cili gaped at the space where the creature had once been. There was nothing left behind to indicate that it had ever existed within this temple, nothing but a few soot stains on the milky white marble floors.

A soft, tired sigh drew Cili’s attention away from the marks on the floor and he looked up in time to see the taller figure rest the tip of their sword against the floor and lean against it as if winded. The man quickly retrieved the blades that had clattered to the floor after the Shadow beast disappeared and tucked them away before snatching the arrows as well. He clambered to his feet just as his hooded companion straightened, nodding gratefully as they slid the offered arrows back into their quiver and sheathed that peculiar sword.

Cili watched in awe as his rescuers righted themselves, the realization dawning on him. “You’re Saints, aren’t you?” he breathed, slowly pushing himself away from the base of Damaris’ statue. “That’s why you saved me.”

Immediately, Cili’s rescuers stiffened, their attention snapping to him for the first time since they arrived as if they had just remembered he was there.

“Aw, hells,” the man muttered beneath his breath as he quickly yanked the hood of his cloak up, concealing his face beneath the shadows once more.

The two figures wordlessly glanced at each other as Cili’s gaze flicked between them, awaiting an answer. He could not believe it. They had heard his prayer. The Saints had come. The Saints—

“We aren’t Saints of Light.” The voice that replied was dulcet and sonorous—a woman’s. Cili thought he could listen to her speak all day.

“But I saw you use the Light,” Cili insisted, shaking his head as he got to his feet. There was still a slight tremor in his legs, his body still thrumming with adrenaline, although he paid no notice. “I prayed for you and you came—”

“We aren’t Saints,” the woman repeated gently, glancing over her shoulder at her companion before she took a slight step forward. “We’re just… devout followers of the Light. Purging the realm of darkness.”

Cili tilted his head, leaning forward in an attempt to see under the woman’s hood. Sensing his efforts, the woman pulled away and Cili frowned, although his disappointment was short-lived. Another thought crossed his mind. “So you’re… like adventurers? Heroes, like those in the storybooks?”

Cili had a feeling the woman was smiling as she tilted her head to the side. “Something like that.”

Cili nodded slowly, his gaze sliding from her concealed face to the soot stains that marred the floors. “What was that thing?”

“Just a monster,” the woman replied. “A bad guy. But it’s gone now. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Cili chewed the inside of his lip, sidestepping away from the spot where the creature had died. The danger was gone, but he still felt unsettled. “Will more come?”

It was the man who replied this time. “Not if we can help it.”

Cili frowned, unconvinced, but did not reply.

As if sensing his unease, the woman reached out with nimble fingers and swiped something off of the man’s person, much to his dismay, but before her companion could protest, she knelt before Cili.

“Do you want to know what you can do if one of those beasts ever comes back?” she asked gently.

Cili’s eyes widened. He was nodding before he even realized he was doing so.

The woman held up her hand. Between her slender fingers was a small, sheathed knife. But Cili’s attention was not on the blade. Instead, his gaze lingered on her skin, which was a pearlescent shade of blue and horribly scarred as if it had been severely burned. A single gold ring adorned her thumb. 

The woman took Cili’s hand and pressed the hilt of the blade into his palm as she spoke. “The priests at the Temple will teach you how to protect yourself and others,” she told him. “That sort of training will be invaluable. But magic won’t always be there to help you, especially if you choose not to use it.”

Cili’s brow furrowed. “But why—”

The woman shook her head. “That is a choice you will make when you are older and understand the world better. And you must make it for yourself. But until then, you should know how to defend yourself without magic, too. Just in case.”

She curled Cili’s fingers around the hilt of the blade. “This can help protect you, but you must only use it if you are in grave danger, understand?”

She waited for Cili to show that he did. When he nodded, she continued. 

“If one of those beasts ever comes again,” she said slowly, a teacher guiding a student. “You take this—” She squeezed his hand, guiding it toward her chest. “—and put it here. Understand?”

Cili swallowed. “Yes.”

He looked up then, peering beneath the woman’s hood. He just barely glimpsed her pointed ears and a blur of green that was so bright, he thought they might be gemstones, and caught a whiff of starflowers, pine, and mist, before she pulled away. The woman dropped his hand as she straightened and stepped back.

“Be careful,” she instructed him. “And only use that when absolutely necessary.”

Cili nodded.

The woman stared at him for a few moments longer, her gaze heavy without being seen. Then she bowed her head. “May the Light guide you.”

Cili echoed her response, still shell-shocked as she turned on her heel and faced her companion.

“Uh, yeah,” the man said, reaching into the folds of his cloak. When he pulled his hand out, a glittering silver coin danced between his fingertips. He flicked it towards Cili, who caught it against his chest, confused.

“This’ll be our secret, yeah?” the man prompted, his hood shifting as he gazed around the Temple and sighed. “Bet they don’t pay you enough for this stuff. Wandering around creepy hallways at night.”

Cili did not know how to tell him that the Temple did not pay him at all, so he only nodded and replied, “Yes.”

“Right,” the man said slowly, before turning on his heel to follow his companion. As he went, he gave a lazy salute. “Light guide you, kid.”

Cili watched, stunned as his two rescuers made their way toward the doors that led out of the temple, their whispers carrying in the empty hallway.

“Please tell me you did not just bribe him.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who taught him to kill a man, so I don’t think either of us are winning role model of the year, kit.”

Cili waited until they were halfway down the marble steps that led up to the Temple entrance before he scrambled after them, hiding behind the door to watch them go. They both moved like shadows, lithe and nimble as they stuck to the darkness and leaned against each other, as inconspicuous as any other couple wandering around the city after a night in the taverns. 

Bewitched by the two figures that had just saved his life with magic and steel—he was still not convinced they weren’t Saints—Cili followed them as quietly as possible off the Temple grounds and into the misty streets of Whitetower.

It was not until they reached the end of the block that his rescuers straightened, putting a casual distance between them. As they shifted apart, Cili saw why.

Cili watched from behind a barrel, mist swirling around his calves as his rescuers met up with two more cloaked figures, hidden in the shadows of an apartment that sat atop a shoemaker’s shop, which was closed for the night.

“I thought I told you to stay home,” the woman murmured, her voice nearly inaudible as she brushed her hand along the slope of another figure’s shoulder. Her other hand twisted behind her back, the mist churning with it. “Where it’s safe.”

“Oh?” the figure replied liltingly with a teasing edge as his head fell to the side. “Are you giving me orders now?”

A low laugh filled the air, full of warmth and affection. The sound was so entrancing, Cili almost didn’t notice that the mist had thickened around them, nearly concealing his saviors from sight. By the time the woman finished laughing , they were just fading blurs in the fog. 

“I would never do such a thing,” Cili thought he heard the woman reply, “Your Majesty.”

Cili’s breath hitched and he moved to follow, but the fog was so thick, he could barely see his own hands.

He tried to find the mysterious figures by sound alone, but when the mist cleared, they were gone.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

Notes: And we’re back

Tagging:  @diamonds-and-decorum, @kelseaaa, @xsweetnspookyx, @tyrils-star, @maeksoo, @tylorswft, @somin-yin, @vesselsynths, @mikewawazoski, @rainesenator, @desperatetrashwives, @choicesficwriterscreations

Let me know if you would like to be tagged/removed!

[whimperwoods]

Certified for Independence 3 (Android/AI Whump)

Sometimes when inspiration strikes, it really strikes, you know? This chapter is mostly just this poor baby robot having too many feelings. What memories are still there? What memories does the woman want? What do they do about it? So many hard questions. So much emotional whump.

Default disclaimer I continue to actually know nothing about how computers/machines work.

Here’s part 1 and part 2.

taglist: @bluebadgerwhump​, @bloodinthewaterwhump​

tw: memory loss, tw: captivity, tw: psychoemotional self-mutilation for a noble cause

******

Once the woman was gone, the android crawled into a corner of the cell and curled up tight, tucking their knees to their chest and wrapping their arms around their legs. It was soothing, the pressure of the walls behind them, the pressure of their own arms around themself, and they weren’t sure why.

They knew they should do something to help themself, something useful, something purposeful before the night slipped away, but everything was just so - just so. They needed the calm, too, needed to close their eyes and put their head down and feel the pressure of solid walls behind them, protecting them.

They didn’t know how long they sat like that, just curled up and trying to calm down.

They did know, after a while, that they’d calmed down as much as they were likely to, with the danger they were in still real and pressing.

<“Try to conserve power overnight,”> the woman had said, <“If I lose time tomorrow because you wasted your energy, I might just get … careless.”> They didn’t know exactly what that meant, careless, but if she was going to be in their head again, digging around in their mind, peeling open their body for a peek inside, prying at them with tools and code, then careless was definitely a threat.

They weren’t built for grand feats of physical strength. They hadn’t even been meant to know - to know - it was missing. There was something they’d known once. They didn’t think it was something helpful, anyway. Probably. Hopefully.

The physical thing they knew but didn’t know anymore was something fun, not something to get them out of here. Something with the neighbor-friend, whose favorite donut was another hole in their memory. “But probably not a donut hole,” they joked to themself, the weak humor of it landing like nothing in their chest and making them feel no better than before.

What kinds of donuts did they know? Cake donut. Glazed donut. Jelly donut. Powdered sugar. And subtypes and variations and custards and creams and all of a sudden their mind was filled to the brim with donuts, but they’d never be able to guess their neighbor’s favorite. Not unless the woman had already been careless, had left them something she didn’t mean to, hidden somewhere or piggybacked off something else.

They had no idea where to start looking. How did you find something you didn’t know you had? How did you find what you didn’t have anymore, enough to recognize it was gone?

They didn’t have a favorite donut, themself. They liked looking at the ones with sprinkles on top, liked all the colors, had even been bought one, one time, after they’d kept staring at the same kind every week. A present, from the neighbor-friend. <“I know you can’t eat it, but I just thought - why not, you know? You can at least squish it around in your hands or something. Have a sensory experience.”>

They clenched their hands into fists. If they thought hard enough, they could still feel the donut under their fingertips, as they trailed the most sensitive of their sensors over the top, feeling the hard little lines of the sprinkles, the give of the icing and then the donut when they accidentally poked too hard. It had been - silly. Fun. They’d sat down at the kitchen table next door, together, once the groceries were put away, and they’d put down paper towels around the plates just in case and their friend had - had - part of the memory was just gone.

<“I always wanted to just get a jelly donut in my hand and squish it, you know? Just really squeeze the crap out of it until it popped and see what it felt like.”>

They suspected their friend had done it and not just talked about it, but everything outside their own body, everything about the memory that wasn’t touch or sound, was gone now, sucked into the gap where the details of their friend had been.

They must have other favorite things. At least a few. Raindrops on roses, at least. Their mouth turned up at the corner, but their chest still felt hollow.

When she’s done with me, will I still be able to joke?

They’d always made jokes for other people, for the smiles and groans, for the feeling of connecting. They’d never understood why jokes seemed to relieve so much tension in other people. It had never worked that way for them. It wasn’t working now.

They had to have favorites, though. What were their favorites?

<“Songs about birds don’t count as a genre!”>

<“Songs with birds in them. And I didn’t say they were my favorite genre. I said I collect them.”>

<“You collect them.”>

<“Sure. I have a playlist. But I also just... remember. ‘Free Bird,’ ‘Blackbird,’ ‘I’m Like a Bird,’ ‘When Doves Cry.’ You know. Bird songs.”>

That wasn’t useful right now, but they could already feel themself falling down a rabbit hole into it, falling into an old habit of mind, more songs hovering at the edge of their awareness. “El Condor Pasa.” “Kookaburra.” “Chavaleh.”

Father had called them “Little Bird” before they were grown. Before they were finished. Independent. “Little Bird.” But they hadn’t kept the name. They’d never felt so confident in their new name. Something about picking a new one hadn’t sunk in yet, hadn’t stuck deep down in quite the same way. But their coworkers couldn’t call them Little Bird. Their neighbors couldn’t.

<“So, is Winter your favorite season or something?”>

<“Yes. Easier not to overheat, for one. And - I like it when everyone stays inside. It’s safer that way. Cosier. And I like indoor activities. Movies. Books. Music. Just - sitting around and talking. That sort of thing.”>

<“Nah, man, not a criticism. I just hadn’t realized you picked your name yourself. That’s pretty rad.”>

<“Oh. Yes. I did.”>

Winter wondered why the woman hadn’t found their name yet, to delete it like she had the names of their friends. Was it another of her games? Or was it too well hidden, still too strange, after all these months, when they still so often felt like Father’s Little Bird instead?

They should look for whatever it was the woman wanted. They should look for it, but then they’d have to decide what to do with it, how far they thought they could push her, how much they were willing to risk.

They pulled in more tightly on themself, just a little, just barely, absolutely as much as they could get.

What had the woman said? <“Development information is useful.”> Growing up. Father’s Little Bird. That was what she wanted. To know? Or to take? They couldn’t be sure.

He’d been so happy when they passed the test. When they proved they could live on their own, could pass for human enough to get by, to be independent, to have a life. He’d pulled them into a hug, and they’d hugged him back, trying not to think about the hugeness of the big wide world that was theirs now.

He’d been so proud. And the lady at the front desk had said something about him being proud of himself, and Father had looked over, had met Winter’s eyes, only just now become Winter’s, and they’d known right then, right there that that wasn’t it at all, that they were the one he was proud of. There had been - something. Something.

Development information. The woman wanted all the things that came before that moment. All the parts of their life that had made that one come to pass.

They didn’t know how much they could keep from her.

Their chest ached. They wanted to cry. Then they were crying, which was an inconvenient waste of energy, just now. Their breath hitched erratically, heaving with a thousand inefficient feelings, overwhelming them. They’d never had tear ducts, but their nose and throat suddenly felt half-blocked, thick with emotion as they tried and failed to breathe through it like nothing was wrong.

<“I’m going to ask you how you feel a lot. It’ll probably get annoying, but - I want to make sure I get it right. I need you to tell me if something hurts, or if it’s overwhelming. Emotions are - well, if I get this right, you’ll figure out what they are.”>

Father had smiled. Little Bird hadn’t understood him, hadn’t understood what he meant. But now - Winter tried to distract themself from the feeling in their nose and throat, only to find themself noticing the pulsing ache in their bad elbow again. They wished they knew what had happened to it. Or perhaps they didn’t.

<“People like to pretend they somehow have a self that’s different from their body. Separate. But they don’t. Not really. Not all the way, anyway. Otherwise, you’d think just as well when you were hungry as when you were full, or when you were tired as when you were alert. And that’s not even getting into emotions. You can’t build a person just building a mind. They’ve gotta have both. Or at least - that’s what I think. You’ll have to tell me some day if you agree.”>

That had come when Little Bird was beginning to understand. Father had been tweaking some things, inside their gut. They hadn’t understood emotions yet, really, but they’d been starting to learn them.

Was this what the woman wanted? And if it was, what would she do with it? They wouldn’t mind never crying again, but that would mean a thousand horrible things first, would mean whole parts of their body ripped out of them, tiny things with no rational purpose, no function beyond the million little sensations that made them feel.

<“I’m jealous of you when I’m getting ready for a competition, you know. Your hands don’t get sweaty when you’re nervous.”>

<“No, just prickly. It’s a strange sensation.”>

<“No shit?”>

<“No shit.”>

<“Is that distracting?”>

<“A little.”>

<“What’s the point of it? Seems like a weird thing to happen to you.”>

<“I don’t know. But I guess in competition at least it’s - fair.”>

<“What if you had to compete against other androids?”>

<“Less fair, I guess. But Father didn’t think like that. Not really.”>

Winter felt a shiver down their spine. Whatever the woman wanted, she didn’t think like Father. They hadn’t figured out yet what it was she wanted. She might prefer that they not feel anything at all. She might prefer that they feel pain.

She hadn’t used Father’s name. She’d just referred to him in reference to Winter. Did she know who he was? But she must have. She’d certainly rooted around enough up in their head. But then, she hadn’t found their name. Or she hadn’t found it stored under “favorite season,” anyway.

Winter had gotten ahold of themself. They’d stopped crying. They still felt like their face was too thick, swollen behind their nose. It wasn’t, really. Just signals. Data. Back and forth, chain reactions that became other chain reactions, the start of a feeling in one part of their mind or body reverberating into all the other parts.

It was tempting to erase everything they had of their childhood, just to spite her. Just to rob her of whatever she was looking for. But they were afraid of what she’d do to them if they did. No. They’d have to be careful. They’d have to choose wisely.

What was most dangerous for her to know? But that question had no answer, because they’d have to answer “dangerous to whom?” and they hadn’t worked out who she threatened, outside these walls, if anyone at all. They weren’t so self-centered as to think nothing outside these walls was relevant. They just didn’t understand how the pieces fit together.

What was the worst-case scenario? Father had always been a best-case kind of person, but it had been a relief meeting - meeting - meeting someone. A friend. From - a place. It was good knowing it was alright to think of worst cases sometimes, even if they couldn’t remember why they knew it.

Worst case scenario, she wanted to build an army of evil robots. Worst case scenario, she wanted to take over the world and rule as an evil despot. Worst case scenario, she wanted to feed them to a hungry bear.

The worst case scenario game wasn’t fun alone. They couldn’t think of anything extreme enough to make the realistic worst cases less scary.

Worst case, she just wanted to torture them. She seemed to be enjoying herself.

Worst case, she wanted to be able to disable everything real about them and sell them off to the highest bidder as a mindless, cooperative drone.

Worst case, she wanted to make more like them and sell them off as full people, without the certification paperwork that meant freedom, the paperwork Father had been so excited to give to Winter once they’d proven, together, that he’d managed to make a person who shouldn’t be allowed to be enslaved.

They sorted through the worst cases, trying to decide what they could live with.

It wasn’t a hard choice.

<“I know. It sucks. Sadness, loneliness, fear - they all suck. But remember when we were working on the good emotions? Happiness? Hope? Pride?”>

<“I don’t want to watch any more sad movies. I don’t like them. I don’t like this.”>

<“Hey, hey, come here. Come here. We won’t. Not tonight. We can watch something happy before bed. How about that video of dogs getting adopted?”>

<“That makes me cry, too.”>

<“I told you we could recalibrate that, if it was what you wanted.”>

<“No. It’s good crying. I just - want more of this hug first.”>

They remembered a half-laugh in father’s voice, a puff of air against their scalp as he huffed out a chuckle through his nose.

<“Yeah, Little Bird. I can do that. You’re much more huggable now that we’ve got your skin worked out properly, you know.”>

Winter’s throat was thick. Their nose was half-blocked from behind, and their eyes hurt, aching even in the absence of tear ducts.

For a long, long moment, they froze the memory, savoring the feeling of Father’s arms around them, pressure not of their own making, like what they had now in their little dark corner. Father had been warm. Soft. He’d smelled like himself. They’d felt safe, tucking their head down and curling closer to him. They’d felt loved. They’d felt loving. They’d felt love in the air, family making itself known, appearing from the depths of everything and nothing for the hundredth time, to do so hundreds more.

They deleted the memory.

Then they deleted more.

Learning anger. Learning fear. Joy. Pride. Annoyance. Horror. Hope. Happiness. Some of the best memories they had, and all the things that made the bad ones bearable.

They’d deleted the learning of sadness first, but oh they ached inside, ached worse with every deletion, every new gap where Father’s face and voice and spirit had been.

They couldn’t delete too much. They couldn’t delete too little. They couldn’t get caught. They couldn’t let her know how to teach other people how to feel. Not when they knew the kinds of things she might do with that. They had to be careful. They had to be thorough.

They finished their deletions and buried their face in their knees.

They cried until they couldn’t risk any more of the way it might run down their battery power.

Then they shut themself down, knowing the next time they came awake, it would be morning and she would be here.

It was a hard shutdown, because giving themself a moment to think about it as they faded out would have been too much. They’d spent enough time working up the courage to shut down at all.

[riarushi]

you as the female maknae of nct. (updated ver)

So apparently a lot of you wanted me to update this, so I hope you enjoy! (I added in our new members as well~) ALSO, I’m starting to need new ideas for the Twitter posts, so if you have any, feel free to send them in and I’ll try my best to make it into a post! ~Ness

Profile:

Member Interaction:

Taeil

The one you can always run to when you need immediate assistance.

Loves it when you do.

Will unnecessarily teach you all his lines in every NCT song he sings in.

“What happens if I’m sick? Y/N can fill in my spot.”

Doesn’t want to spoil you but finds it hard not to once you’re around.

When he hasn’t seen you in a while, he’ll make sure to send a text to check up on you.

Johnny

SM won’t let you guys share a room anymore.

Last time, the two of you filled the room with plushies to the point where neither of you could sleep on your beds.

A prominent big brother figure, loves giving you life advice.

You’re his favourite model for photos.

“Just keep doing that, you’ll look even cuter than usual in this picture.”

Would totally start picking fluff off your clothes while you guys stand on stage.

Taeyong

You’re totally his favourite member.

He just won’t admit it.

Has a little shelf in where he keeps all the handmade presents you make for him.

Probably makes something for you in return.

“Look! It matches the bracelet you made me, too!”

Would want to wear the matching bracelets during SMTOWN shows.

Yuta

Can’t restrain himself from wrapping his arms around you every time he sees you.

It doesn’t even matter if you’re filming a variety show or you’re doing a live.

“Y/N~ My small girl~~~”

Takes you out on runs with him sometimes.

Chatting during runs is relaxing and calm, and definitely quality bonding time for the both of you.

You bet he’s not speaking anything other than Japanese with you.

Kun

You’re one of his three (3) children.

Helps you do things without you needing to even ask.

“I looked over your Korean homework, do you want me to help you with that question you didn’t finish?”

Zips your coat up before you leave the dorms, before shoving your bag in your hands.

He made sure not to forget anything you would need for the day while packing it.

Turns off your lights for you before you sleep.

Doyoung

Comes to visit you while you record in the recording studio.

He likes it when you wave at him through the booth window.

Knows the most pointless trivia about you out of all the members due to all the small talk he makes with you.

“Y/n wouldn’t like that. She thinks that colour doesn’t suit her.”

Sends you a lot of aesthetic posts or motivational quotes.

You’ll wake up to see that he’s sent over forty (40) since last night.

Ten

You guys are literally inseparable dance partners.

Takes you out to go get something to eat or drink after practices.

Always teaches you new words that he learns in Chinese.

Would literally squeal if you wanted to learn Thai.

“Wait, say that again! Your pronunciation was almost better than mine.”

I can see him jokingly fitting Japanese into his conversations with you.

Jaehyun

Unintentionally babies you, but immediately apologizes when he realizes.

Always willing to listen to you vent and give advice.

He would take you out to go grab a drink together on your off days.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m gonna go get some coffee, you wanna come?”

Remembers your usual order, but offers to buy the special if you seem interested in it.

Literally the best big brother figure.

Winwin

Despite the fact that he hates skinship, he finds it cute when you grab his arm.

Has definitely gotten closer to you since you moved in, and likes going out with you sometimes.

Probably takes you to dog cafes a lot.

“Do you think that big fluffy one will remember me if I visit it everyday?”

The two of you feel at ease with each other, so you’ve started dropping the polite speech and honorifics with him.

Still continues to choose to be on your team for variety games.

Jungwoo

Showers you with compliments and refuses to stop unless you take them.

“You’re the cutest,Y/N! Just accept it!”

Comes to you for support, and always reminds you that he has your back too.

Buys you things that remind him of you when he’s travelling with 127.

Gives them all to you once he gets back.

Almost half of your plushie collection is contributions from Jungwoo.

Lucas

Always greets you by messing up your hair and attempting to give you a fistbump.

It’s his goal to always keep you out of a bad mood.

Very joking, I can see him always smiling and cracking jokes around you.

“WAIT NO I HAVE AN EVEN BETTER JOKE, LISTEN TO THIS Y/N.”

Absentmindedly grabs your hand and starts playing with your fingers while on stage.

Considers you one of his closest friends.

Mark

Your teacher in lyric writing and other musical aspects.

Can’t resist looking at your notebook whenever he can.

“Oh, Y/N! Y-You’re back... I wasn’t looking at your lyrics. Or anything. Just sitting here and waiting for you.”

Invites you to come watch him record no matter what unit he’s recording for.

He gets excited when you walk in with a cup of watermelon juice for him.

The two of you made a playlist full of songs you both like, and it gets updated often.

Xiaojun

Wants you to join him in his health adventures.

“We can start today! Let’s go get some vegetables and create a delicious and nutritious dish.”

Still continues to wake you up at 3 in the morning to get something sweet to eat.

Also enjoys spending late nights playing video games with you and some of the other members.

Scrambles to turn off the computer and cover the two of you with blankets when he hears someone shuffling outside the room.

It’ll be a while until the both of you develop that healthy lifestyle.

Hendery

Has kept himself somewhat polite and courteous around you.

If he’s joking around with another member and notices you, he’ll get embarrassed.

“Y/N! I didn’t see you there just now.. How are you today?”

Really wants to be close with you.

To show how much he cares about his relationship with you, he’ll buy you a little cactus.

Puts it on your desk and leaves a little encouraging note.

Renjun

Helps you study Korean mostly, but will help with any subject you need assistance with.

“Oh, this one? It’s actually pretty simple, pass me your pencil and I’ll show you how to do it.”

Casually starts doodling Moomin on the side of your paper while you do your work.

He won’t erase his doodling even if you ask him to.

If your sad, he lets you wrap your arms around his waist and pull yourself into him.

Gets so soft and pats your head.

Jeno

Also regular participant in the 3 AM video game party.

Is literally fighting Xiaojun for his favourite gaming buddy back.

“Please stop teaming with him! I’ll play support if you play with me~”

Finds it so hard to not agree to do anything you say.

He’ll get you anything you need. Cuddles? Of course! Something to drink? Take all the water bottles he could find!

You might want to team with him as soon as possible before he spoils you too much.

Haechan

“Who’s Mark Lee? My favourite member is Y/N~”

He’s your number one fanboy.

Begs you to do aegyo on the daily, using his own aegyo to try to convince you.

Is always hugging you and resting his chin on the top of your head during fansigns.

After all the NCTzens are done getting their albums signed, he’ll get up and walk over to your part of the table to pretend to get your autograph too.

Casually initiates a lot of skinship.

Jaemin

Your first and closest friend in NCT.

He shares and does everything with you.

Loves to watch movies with you, the two of you have a movie-watching tradition.

“What should we watch today..?”

Keeps an arm around your shoulders whenever you’re chilling beside each other.

Sometimes surprises you with quick pecks on your temple as he walks by you in fansigns.

Yangyang

One (1) of your two (2) siblings.

Teases you often, but will always side with you when you’re arguing with someone else.

During practices, he’s completely different and is quite serious.

“Try doing this sort of rhythm instead. It’ll sound more natural.”

Gives really good advice to help you improve your performance.

Despite all the teasing he does, he really cares for you and loves you like a little sister.

Chenle

One (1) of your two (2) siblings.

The two of you bicker a lot, but are always comfortable with it because of how chill you are with each other.

Just like real siblings, to be honest.

Usually doesn’t complain when you sneak a bite of his second helping of ramen.

Unless he really doesn’t want to share.

“Hey! That’s the last bit of noodle, give it back!”

Jisung

Likes to point out small little habits he notices you have, and gets embarrassed when you do it back.

For example if you point out his scrunched nose, he’ll quickly cover it up with his hands.

“Don’t talk about it like that! I can’t help it...”

While overseas, he’ll constantly look at you for encouragement while speaking in a language you know well.

In return, he’ll help you with perfecting your dance moves.

Finds it to be extremely cute when you wear his caps.

[polygarnstars]

part 1: 4, 12, 15, 18, and 19

If you think I’m going to have common sense and not answer all of these in a single post, I have Bad News lmao

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? Smart, mostly. “Gifted”. This very much Did Not Last lmaoooo

12. name of your favorite playlist? I literally never make playlists I’m a stupid fuck who uses their spotify premium to skip freely through all my thousands of liked songs on shuffle until I find something I want to listen to lmaooooo (Having said that: Rey and I put together a playlist for some characters we were entering a contest to win last fall which I titled Story and Song after the TAZ arc and also because we wrote Way Too Much for it and I’m Very Proud Of That)

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? Okay upon reading this I initially genuinely couldn’t remember any of the books I read in school because for the last several years of my schooling I just fuckin Sparknotes and TV Tropes-ed everything lmao... having said that, I do remember enjoying Maus! It was neat having a graphic novel assigned amongst all the “literary classics” that I couldn’t sit through a sitting of without falling asleep, and it may be the furry in me but the depiction of the characters/people as animals was Good :0c See, if all history was depicted with methods like this, I’d maybe actually be able to remember it ghfdjhgjfkdl

18. ideal weather? Depends on the day, but generally: Between like 65-80°F, not humid, not a lot of wind, and either sunny, partly cloudy, or drizzly but not outright storming. Basically decent temperatures without feeling like I’m walking through soup because of the humidity and weather that’s not completely gray and boring. Aka what Maine basically never is lmaoooo

19. sleeping position? I change positions every five minutes I swear to god (don’t take that out of context gfhdjbhvjd). Usually with at least one arm draped over a pillow that is Definitely Not Being Mentally Portrayed As A Character I Like To Supplement The Fact That I Did Not Get Enough Affection To Be A Functional Adult As A Child ghfdjknbhgfjdk

21. obsession from childhood? bold of you to assume i don’t still obsess over nintendo games (and just video games in general tbh)

23. strange habits? OKAY I COULDN’T THINK OF ANYTHING FOR THIS AT FIRST BUT I HAVE ONE NOW: MIDNIGHT FRIES

28. five songs to describe you? Speeding - LightsDaydreaming - ParamoreMusic - Mystery SkullsNo Lullaby - SIAMÉSLonely Dance - Set If Off+Bonus because it came up on Spotify while I was shuffling for songs for this and it’s a Mood: Pineapples Do Not Belong on a Pizza - Vargskelethor

29. best way to bond with you? I don’t know I usually just scream about ocs or video games with people and suddenly it’s been a year??? @riskreyes how has it been a year since we started talking but also how has it only been a year??? Wild bvhfdjkbhvgfjdk

30. places that you find sacred? Lmao I’ve never had anywhere like that really. Need a goddamn lock on my door :p I guess... the woods by my house? As a little kid before things got shitty my neighbor’s cousin or niece or something would go out there wandering around catching frogs and stuff in the spring or almost falling into the frozen streams during winter. When things started to go to shit in my life as a teenager I would hide out there to get away and nobody would find me. I haven’t been recently but the last time I did my friend and I walked along the train tracks and dove off into the woods by the side to avoid the amtrak coming by, it was great lmao. Uhh, other than that... I dunno, Boston and New York and New London all make me feel good to visit. Probably mostly because during those trips I don’t feel trapped in a dying land like Maine feels like bgvhfdjkhvgfjd

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? ......my entire wardrobe is my work outfit, excessive graphic tees, and jeans. So uhh... I dunno. I guess my NWTB shirts are pretty rad, I’d kick a dude’s ass wearing Nate’s merch

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? if i have to see another ad for some fuckin branch of the us military while i’m just out here trying to watch people play video games i swear to god-

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? Oh boy I don’t know how weird these are but do you want a list??? I can give you a list hang on- In 4th grade we had a day of class where we all just had a party and ate chips and salsa and stuff because the pats won the super bowl and our teacher was Obsessed- In middle school my math class started working out of college textbooks, which is a bit much when you’re 11, advanced classes or no. Yet somehow none of the other students had any problems with this- Also in middle school, the school counselor really wasn’t very Good at his job so I usually just ended up playing Rock Band in his office instead of talking out any of my Many, Many Problems. I played the drums, for the record- Also in middle school, one time I straight up fell down a flight of stairs? Like, a full flight of stairs. Fuckin somersaulting down the stairs. The binder I was carrying broke open, papers went everywhere, my arm got cut open somewhere along the way and started bleeding. I get to the bottom, the other students are staring at me in horror, aforementioned counselor fuckin steps out of his office which is, of course, right at the bottom of the stairs, all concerned because what the fuck a kid just fell down the stairs, right? And so I, laying on the floor disoriented and laughing, declare, and I quote: “That was fun, let’s do it again!”- THE MOTHERFUCKING MAC AND CHEESE MUFFINS IN HIGH SCHOOL. Macaroni and cheese baked into the sweet batter of a muffin. I refused to touch the stuff but a friend of my did and it was bad enough he had to go to the trash can and fucking empty his stomach in it.- SAID FRIEND ALSO MANAGED TO GET A CARTON OF MILK THAT EXPIRED A MONTH BEFORE SCHOOL STARTED AT THE START OF ONE OF OUR YEARS IN HIGH SCHOOL and if I didn’t trust cafeteria food before that sealed the deal on me Never Trusting It Again- OH BUT SPEAKING OF CAFETERIA FOOD one time in the old school before the renovation, in like freshman year I think? I laughed so hard a piece of spicy chicken strip flew up my windpipe and got stuck in my nose and it was too big for me to snort out so I had to suck it back down and for the rest of the day all I could smell was burning- ON ANOTHER FOOD RELATED TOPIC down in the library I was on my iPad and 3DS because I had Long Since Given Up On School and some asshole dudes threw a rotting orange at me and it splattered all over the screens of both? So I picked up the remains and chucked it back at them and yelled “Do you wanna fucking NOT?” and they all ran off. The librarian heard me yell and saw me throw the orange back at them and she just didn’t give a fuck lmao- The librarians at my school were cool as shit really during one of our years we had to do x hours of volunteer work so I did some adjustments to the library catalogue for mine but the thing is I was fast enough at it that there really wasn’t enough to fill up my required hours so instead of giving me more to do they just sort of let me and my friends hang out playing Yu-Gi-Oh and called that good lmao. (For the record I only had one starter deck so I let my friend pick half of the cards and I would use the half she didn’t want. I managed to fuckin WRECK her with throwaways it was Iconicque)- OKAY ONE LAST LIBRARY STORY on the last day of finals I was hanging out in one of the smart tv rooms in the library right? My last finals weren’t for a few hours and lord knows I wasn’t gonna study, ADHD ass couldn’t do that and I’d already given up on school lmao. So I fucking... I brought my Wii U to school, hooked it up to the smart tv, and just started playing Splatoon there in the library. One of the librarians walked past to check on everyone, stopped at my room, watched me play for a minute (I noticed her and just sort of nodded and waved like ‘Sup’ so she Knew what was going on), and then just LEFT. Like, she didn’t give a fuck. Shoutout to the librarians, the Chillest- ALRIGHT LAST STORY LAST STORY I straight up never got all the credits I needed to graduate lmao. I was missing half a credit but they let me go anyway and to this day I cite the reason as being my high scores on the SAT/PSAT? I was the first student at the school in like, a decade, to have gotten an award from the National Merit Scholarship Corporation for my performance on them, and I guess they must have thought that me failing to graduate on time would look bad on them because, uh, yeah, it would, if people found out their teachers couldn’t handle a ~smart kid~ to the point that they did poorly enough to not even graduate with the rest of their class nobody would be willing to send their kids there lmao. And that’s the story of how I graduated when I wasn’t technically supposed to!!!

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? That’s a good fuckin question hey shit memory what was that thing that made us laugh so hard we couldn’t breathe again?...Don’t remember? Yeah I thought so lmaoI dunno, probably a joke in some let’s play? Or... god. Now that I think about it was probably the Slicer of T’pire Weir Isles moment actually. Holy shit, that was good.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? That I’ve ever tried? Jesus, I dunno, I have issues with texture more than flavor. I Refuse to eat my mother’s stuffing because it’s literally just soggy ass bread. In terms of pure flavor alone? Her shepherds pie. It’s just... there is no flavor. It’s like eating cardboard. I’m begging you, De, use seasoning. If I ever have to eat shepherds pie that just tastes like tin from canned peas and vague hints of unseasoned beef again I’m going to go on a murderous rampage.That said? F in the chat to Cameron for that mac and cheese muffin. Rest in pieces

73. favorite weird flavor combo? GVFHDJBVDN JUST GONNA MAKE ME SHARE THE DILL PICKLE/CHOCOLATE PUDDING PACK COMBO FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE HUH

93. nicknames? Gar, Garn, Lane, Bill, Master, Pants, Shortpants. The first three are self-explanatory, first two are shortenings of my name and then my masc/surname. The latter four come from usernames of mine - Bill from Bill Ciforce (If you stack a Bill Cipher on top of two other Bill Ciphers, you get the Ciforce), Master, Pants, and Shortpants from MasterShortpants in reference to one of Link’s nicknames in Skyward Sword

95. favorite app on your phone? Does the internet app count? No? Lmao. Spotify I guess :p Need me some Tunes

[tuanyiems]

Moonchild

Character: Namjoon x Reader Genre: Angst/Fluff Words: 2.4k [Masterlist] Plot: After a tough night, you find yourself locked out of your apartment at 3AM. Namjoon, your neighbor, runs into you just in time though. a/n: This is my first time writing for bts. I’ve only ever written for GOT7, but Namjoon’s mono playlist is hitting me right in the feels! I can’t stop listening! - “I’m sorry I texted you so late, I’ve just been so down lately. I just feel like I’m not a good person anymore,” she let out a sigh, as you handed her a cup of hot tea. You gave your friend a weak smile, shaking your head.“I wish I could do more to make you feel better,” you muttered, rubbing at your own cup of tea. “All I have are snacks.” You let out a nervous giggle, but she shook her head in opposition.“No, I feel a little better already. You always have good vibes about you. I wish I could be more like you.” You scrunched up your face, looking back at your cup of tea, your kitchen lights flittering in the tan translucent liquid. She sighed again. “Things with my mom have just gotten complicated. I guess I just felt more pain and guilt than usual. It’s been making things at work harder.” “I’m sorry,” you uttered, biting at your lip at the uselessness of your words. “I guess this is cliché, but maybe focus on the little things that are going well?” You let those words slip out like practice. You were used to saying lines like these. Though you never believed them yourself, they seemed to make your friends feel slightly better when you said them.  “I guess,” she relented, sipping at her tea. “I know this is a phase, but I can’t see the end of it in sight. It’s hard not to feel so stuck.” “I think it’s okay that you’re feeling this way. The things with your mom—that’s a lot to handle for anybody. If you feel sad or angry or tired, that’s honestly okay, because anyone in your position would be overwhelmed with those feelings too.” You looked at your friend with a smile. “You’re strong, you know that?” She smiled, tears swimming in her eyes. “Thanks.” “And you’ve survived so much already. It may not feel like it, but you’ll get through this too. Plus, you have me to lean on.” “Ah, Y/N, you’re too good to me,” your friend cooed, a tear slipping down her cheek. You clicked your tongue at her, sending her a playful grin before grabbing the keys she left on the counter. ��Come on, I’ll drive you back home.” “You’re the best, Y/N,” your friend spoke as the two of you set out into the quiet city streets at 2AM.  “I’m just being a friend,” you spoke up, eyes trained on the road. “Remember in high school when we used to have talks like these on our walks home?” She sighed at the nostalgia of her own words.  You let out a sigh too, though for other reasons. She always mentioned this moment during your talks together, though your perspective of the story was never as romantic. “I used to ask what was in that head of yours,” she went on. “And you said ‘a song’! I was so appalled! Like here I was drowning in my teenage angst and you were just like a forest nymph with a song in your head! Did you know how much I wanted to be you?” You chuckled emptily out of habit. That was your answer at the time, but really it was your way of protecting yourself. Back in high school, you masked your sadness and self-deprecation with giggles and clichés. You wanted to become that kind of person, almost like self-hypnotism. You desperately dressed yourself in optimism in the hopes that people would paint the romantic picture of yourself that you couldn’t. To be honest, it wasn’t so far from your current self. “I was naïve then,” you whispered. “Your outlook on life is so pretty. I wish I could see the way you see the world.” You shook your head with a frown. If only she knew. “The way you feel the world is probably the purest,” you spoke up as you entered her apartment parking lot. “I wish I had your honesty.” “See, there it is again, your positivity!” she giggled before sighing. “Thanks for driving me home, Y/N. You always know how to make me feel better.” You shook your head with a small smile, handing her the keys back.“Go get some rest now,” you waved her off before turning around to hail yourself a cab back home. The ride back was quiet.You leaned against the window, the dull street lights washing your skin in pale yellow. Today was later than usual, but the routine was mostly the same. It wasn’t just her. Most of your friends were this way—only reaching out to you when they needed help or someone to vent to. Back in high school, you fed off of their need for you. It was your only measure of self-worth and so you built the foundations of your friendships on essentially, being used. When was the last time anyone contacted you just to hang out? When was the last time they asked if you were okay? Because you weren’t. High school was only the beginning of your depression and anxiety. You were in your worst moments only three months ago, having major breakdowns almost every night. But your friends looked at you with a rosy lens as they asked you to sit, time and again, like their therapist, to listen to their troubles, absorbing all their bad energy while they walked away feeling better. You exited the cab quietly, footsteps heavy as you walked back to your apartment on the fourth floor. You knew you were being selfish. The things you did—they were just ordinary things that a friend should do. And this was an image you perpetuated by not speaking honestly, by continuing to feed them this image of yourself you knew was false. Nevertheless, you felt resentful.  And you felt guilty for feeling resentful. You really wish you could be the amazing person they thought you were. You let out a breath as you stood in front of your apartment door, hands digging into the pockets of your joggers. “Fuck,” you groaned, banging your head softly against your door at the realization that you had forgotten your house keys inside your bedroom. You sunk to the floor in defeat, glancing at the time on your phone. It was almost 3AM. Closing your eyes, you sighed. Four hours until you could call your landlord. You frowned, feeling the migraine beat against your skull as your chest began to fill with the familiar feeling of disappointment and anger at yourself. “Is everything okay?” a voice spoke up. Eyes opening, you jerked yourself upright to see your neighbor, Namjoon. The two of you never spoke much, only exchanging the obligatory “hello” whenever you passed by each other, which wasn’t often since he seemed to work late into the night most days. You let out an embarrassed smile as you pointed to your door. “I locked myself out.” He chuckled, dimples deep in his cheeks. “It’s okay, Y/N, happens to the best of us. You want to wait inside my place?” He looked at you, eyebrows raised as his hands pushed his door open to give you a peek inside. Glancing around your empty hallway, you got ready to decline his offer, but Namjoon let go of his door, and instead offered his hand to you. “It’ll make me feel better if you weren’t sitting outside by yourself. Please,” he added, eyes softening as you looked back at him. Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his, allowing him to help you up. His hand felt warm against yours. His hand squeezing yours before letting go didn’t get past you either. You figured it was because you looked so pathetic. “Excuse the mess, I haven’t had guests over in a while.” You chuckled, shaking your head at the sight of his “mess” which was really just a few books scattered on his couch and a couple sweatshirts hanging off the backs of his kitchen chairs. The layout of his studio apartment was the same as yours but his looked completely different, dressed in black and grey décor. You took in a breath, warm and earthy tones filling your lungs. This was definitely a man’s apartment. “Sit, make yourself comfortable,” Namjoon gestured to his couch. “You want anything to drink? Water, tea, soju?” You glanced at him in surprise only to break into a giggle seeing that he was joking. He smiled at your amusement, glad you found it funny. “I’ll just have water.” “Cool.” You watched from your seat in the living room as Namjoon rummaged through his kitchen. Your hands were sweaty with nerves. Obviously he was just being a kind neighbor. You would’ve done the same if you saw any one of your neighbors locked outside their homes. You’d be lying if you said you were never interested in Namjoon though. Anyone who had eyes knew Namjoon was handsome. Paired with his sweet personality and mysterious lifestyle, it was only natural for you to be at least a little smitten. A part of you was extra curious about him though because he lived the closest to you. It was fascinating, the fact that you two shared walls to each other’s homes and yet knew nothing about each other. Sometimes, you would lean against your wall during nightly work sessions and wonder to yourself what he was doing on the other side of the wall. During your late night break downs—it was silly but—you found solace in knowing there was a warm body so close by. Despite being very alone in your own apartment, in your life really, you felt the tiniest bit of consolation knowing Namjoon was alone in his apartment too, just one wall away. You were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of glass against his coffee table. You looked curiously at the green bottle. “I know I was joking, but somehow I feel like soju would make you feel better tonight,” Namjoon chuckled, handing you a shot glass.  You weren’t much of a drinker and definitely not for soju, but you found yourself agreeing. “So were you waiting outside for long?” he asked as he poured the clear liquid into your glass. “No, I was just there a few minutes before you. Why were you coming back so late?” You clinked glasses before drinking. Your eyes shut tight as you swallowed the bitter taste, a subtle warmth settling in your stomach. “Coming back from the studio,” he answered after finishing. “I’m helping a friend produce an album.” You nodded, trying to hide your surprise at discovering his occupation. It made sense though. It was rare to not hear music coming from Namjoon’s apartment. “And you? It’s unusual for you to be out so late.” You couldn’t tell if it was Namjoon or the alcohol, but you felt your cheeks warm up. “I, uh, was driving a friend home.” “This late at night? You’re a good friend.” You shook your head, fiddling with your shot glass. “Trying to be.” “Driving your friend home at 2AM? I would’ve kicked my friend out and gone to sleep,” Namjoon chuckled, refilling the glasses. “You’re definitely a better friend than me.” “Well, if you put it like that,” you joked, eyes crinkling playfully. He smiled, mirroring yours before clinking glasses again. “Y/N, I always wanted to get to know you better,” he admitted. You chuckled, scooting to the edge of your seat to pour him another glass. “Are you drunk already?” He laughed, giving you a playful eye roll. “I mean it, though. You make me curious.” “Trust me, I’m nothing to be curious about,” you replied, taking another shot.  “Prove me wrong then,” he challenged, an eyebrow raised in playful defiance.  “Well, I live alone, no pets, parents are living happily in the next town over. I go to the office every day, eat, then sleep. Rinse and repeat, every single day.” Namjoon leaned into the couch, smiling at you sleepily. “That makes me even more curious.” You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re lying.” “Nope, I want to know what your favorite food is, if you have house plants, what do you do at your office, and what is the name of that drama you watch every Saturday morning? I swear, you get very into it, and I have to watch it now.” You blushed, eyes widening. “You can hear me?” He chuckled, sitting up to pour more alcohol. “Sometimes. Your bedroom seems to be connected to mines.” You nodded, taking the shot that he poured for you. You hoped it would wash away your embarrassment. You wondered what else he could hear. “I can hear your music sometimes,” you muttered, trying to fill the sudden quiet. “Really?” Namjoon’s eyes widened. “It’s muffled, but I can hear the melodies,” you explained, seeing his apprehension. “Don’t worry though, you’re a good DJ.” “Thanks,” he chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry if it wakes you up or anything.” “No, no,” you smiled at him reassuringly. “I’m glad for your music. It makes me feel less alone.” “Me too…I mean, the hearing your dramas and stuff, and when you laugh really hard to a scene. I don’t know what’s going on but I laugh too sometimes.” You chuckled, though at the back of your mind you knew if Namjoon could hear you laughing, he could probably hear you crying too. It filled you with more embarrassment. But if Namjoon had heard your breakdowns in the past, he didn’t let on that he did. For that, you were grateful. “I’m glad we feel the same way.” Namjoon glanced at you with a soft smile. “Maybe we could watch something together one day. Or like, you could come to my studio and listen to the songs more clearly.” You blushed at his invitation. “I mean, just if you want to…not to overstep any neighbor boundaries or anything,” Namjoon fumbled, clearly misunderstanding your silence.  You chuckled, pouring out another shot. “We’ve already shared a bottle of soju, Namjoon. I think this makes us friends now.” You could see his shoulders visibly relaxing at your words. He smiled, raising his glass to yours. “I hope I can become a friend you can lean on,” he spoke up, eyes staring into yours meaningfully.  You softened, smiling back gratefully as you accepted his unspoken promise. And with a light clink of glasses, you savored the bitter taste on your tongue before it quickly turned to warmth. - - Thanks for reading! [Masterlist]

[daehwifi]

dating is like ⇀ min yoongi

- admin xion

genre: fluff/head cannon member: bts/min yoongi word count: 1, 401 s/n: hmphphph that’s right i’m writing for yoongi because i want too & because i watched this video and i’m soft- // highkey unedited, i can’t be bothered- 

↳ warnings: none

prompt:  what’s it like dating a giant cold marshmallow 

right off the bat, i’m just gonna say how yoongi is the type to care for someone on the lowkey 

by that i mean he overall pays attention to little detail

say for example you’re sick and needed to take medicine every 5 hours... every 5 hours, yoongi would remind you or like bring medicine for you and scold you if you didn’t 

lolol he’s deadass a tsundere lemme just get that out of the way- 

now how did you two become friends to lovers? 

definitely a lot of trust and common interest 

i honestly don’t think yoongi is the type to venture outside of his comfort zone if it’s not something he’s familiar with 

for example: he’ll like try a new genre of music because he loves music or try new pieces of clothing because he likes clothing but i don’t think he’ll 

a lot of laughing together and probably just overall knowing each others  backstories and the ups in downs in each other lives 

i feel like that is a big thing with yoongi he’ll appreciate a lot about if you knew that sort of stuff and still loved him for it 

you’re would be someone who’d yoongi trust a lot when he’s comfortable enough to cry in front of you

everything would just be calm? like the day you two officially a thing would be like you two sitting at the edge of a curb or something at night just talking about whatever 

and you look to your side and meet his eyes 

then yoongi would just place his lips against yours and everything would be warm and soft 

lots of hand holding at first 

a lot of clinging onto each other as well 

but not the annoying type?? 

like the type who’d pout whenever you can’t hug him or hold his hand but you two are still perfectly fine from being restrained to do so 

if you ever borrowed his clothes, he’d actually like it a lot 

but if it was something expensive he’d be like “make sure not to spill anything on it though” 

on the inside, he’s dying over how cute you look

actually, he’d love it a lot if you borrow any of his casual clothing like his hoodies, t-shirts, flannels...

it just shows possession on how your his and like you look good in them too so- 

yoongi would probably love to spoil you 

he’s the type to know a lot of little details such as your habits, your taste in clothes, foods, or like sizes in such clothing 

so sometimes he’ll come home with a bag and it’ll have like a classy simple dress in it 

couple items wouldn’t be really out there 

it’d be more like a promise ring you two would wear often or a necklacke

matching earrings could be a thing too or matching hats 

oof that’d be cute 

comfortable silence is a big Y E S from yoongi 

sometimes he’d just come home from work, hug you and place his chin at the top of your head and just stay like that for a bit 

talking can require a lot of energy at times and yoongi drains himself from working a lot 

so the fact that you two would be able to share comfortable silence would be really perfect to him 

a lot of aesthetic selcas of each other or like just you two being memes- 

yoongi would probably have his wallpaper of the two most important things in the world to him

you and holly- 

arguments wouldn’t pop up too often

mostly you two arguing over something stupid 

but if it is something serious, he wouldn’t want to talk for a few days 

and that’s because he’s too scared he’ll say something he’ll regret

so he’d rather cool off, come back to it with a clear mind and forgive each other 

members would sorta use you as his weak point

like jimin would be complaining of something

“yoongi won’t let me borrow his jacket i’M COLD-” 

yoongi would faintly chuckle as he’s scrolling through his phone 

“i bet he’d give it to y/n though,” jimin muttered and oHHH BOY

he honestly couldn’t hide his smile no matter how hard he’d try

“alRIGHT HERE YOU BROUGHT OUT MY WEAK SPOT” 

also if their arguing over something stupid and yoongi knows he’s in the wrong but still puts it up

keep in mind, it’s over something stupid so it’s most likely being taken as joke 

they’d bring you up like “DO I NEED TO CALL Y/N-” 

and he’d just surrender 

BUT BUT 

sometimes they’d actually call you and he’d think you’d side with him

sike you side with his members and he’d be all defeated about it and whine to you when he comes home 

on the cases where you do side with him, he’s all giddy and lovable hehe 

long cuddles and long silences as all 

like yoongi could be talking and he’d stop his sentence midway and you’d still understand exactly what he was trying to say

like you could finish off his sentence if you wanted too 

loves calling you 

i feel like yoongi lowkey hates texting because he can’t hear your voice 

so if he’s overseas he’d call you at night until you fell asleep 

on rare occasions, he might even face time you?? 

sharing songs you two like is also really important 

i can imagine him having a playlist filled with songs you two jam too and it’s overall really adorable and soft 

his heart also melts a lot if you know the lyrics to his part in a song

yoo if you knew his part in cypher four he’d bE SO GUMMY ABOUT IT AND JUST UWU

likes doing stuff for you

like one day he’d just sit beside you and be like 

“hey, can you teach me how to braid hair?” 

and you’re like what your hair isn’t long enough and he’s like nono

“i wanna braid your hair”

and ouu boy he was terrible at it 

whenever he was bored he’d probably practice or something and it’d be really cute 

as time passes on, he’d slowly get better and better !!

he’d sacrifice his own happiness for yours 

say for example you had to do something and it was giving you major anxiety, yoongi would take time out of his own schedule to do it for you 

probably like saves you concert tickets if you wanted to go to one of their concerts hehe

when he spots you in the crowd he’s all gummy like and it’s uwu 

gives the performance 110% because he wants to impress you 

likes feeding you or being fed LOLOL I JUST HAD TO GET THAT OUT OF THE WAY-

enjoys sharing his inner thoughts with you

long conversations of purely anything

truly just being comfortable with anything and being with each other for a long time 

highkey so soft for you

when asked how was it spending like 7 months away from you he’d say it felt like hell or something

but when asked the same question for holly he’d probably be like i’d wanted to die- LOLOL

getting tired of doing simple things 

like the boy can get up and be like “ah thats enough for one day-” 

him sleeping on your shoulder in public 

asking you to fix his hair up all the time or if he looks good 

but when you ask the same questions he’d be like “why are you even asking? you always look good” 

as yoongi’s s/o i feel like he’d feel bad for you a lot 

because he’s an idol and everything and sometimes he’ll be super duper busy and won’t be able to contact you

and although you understand and you trust him completely with that, he’ll still feel bad as a boyfriend and would be sorta homesick because of that

especially when you two are catching up in each others lives and you tell him everything he missed while he was away, he’d feel like utter shit since he missed out on memories of you being happy 

that’s where you sorta have to come him and just love him with your whole entire hearts, letting him know that it’s okay and you’ll still love him the same 

cough anyways

you know those dorky couple ulzzang pictures? 

yeah, that’s basically your relationship with yoongi in a nutshell- 

[aluraborealis]

Well, I did it again. Not all of them this time, but I answered like most of the q's from this post for no reason whatsoever

What kind of music does your muse listen to to relax? Anything alternative folk; Of Monsters and Men, Hozier, Fleet Foxes, Oh Wonder, etc.

Does your muse have any plants? If so, what kind? Yes! Alura loves her plants. She's got a few little succulents, some ivy, and a mini windowsill herb garden that sometimes gets used in cooking

Does your muse like to relax indoors or outdoors? Depends on the weather and her mood. She likes nature though.

Does your character like a bath or shower after a long day? Shower usually, but she'll take a bath if she's got plenty of time/recently shopped at Lush

Does your muse light candles, incense, etc.?Candles, mostly. Makes for a cozy evening, plus they smell nice

How often does your character take time for themself? Less often than she should. Honestly, never, when things are particularly hectic

Are there any special self-care rituals your muse has? Nothing she can consistently stick to. She does like to meditate, and yoga seems appealing, but she hasn't made a habit out of it.

Does your muse prefer to unwind by themself or with others? Depends if she has anyone she's very close to. Usually by herself, but if she has a significant other, she'll always take the opportunity to spend time with them.

Does your muse have any activities or hobbies they use to relax? Writing, reading, nature walks

If your muse listened to lo-fi, what would the playlist be called? "Chill beats to sigh with existential dread to"

If your muse had a video game console, what console would it be and what games would be on it? A Nintendo Switch, featuring Mario kart and animal crossing

What kind of posters or pictures are in your muses’ bedroom? She's got a tapestry of the moon tarot card, very illustrative but black and white. Her other pictures are vintage national park posters, framed, and a few more generic wall hangings from target to fill out the space.

Does your muse have any stickers on their water bottle or laptop? Probably some cynical humor, writer/journalist jokes, maybe a few with plants or pine trees

What kind of books does your muse like to read? Fantasy, sci-fi, romance (but only if it's a subplot and not the main focus). Mainly novels, but she does have a book of short stories by H.P. Lovecraft.

Does your muse put things in their water? If so, what do they put in there (fruits, ice, etc.)? Usually, she doesn't bother, but enjoys the aesthetic and will do so when she remembers to

Does your muse have any roommates they’ve hated? Yes. She didn't choose him as her roommate. He knows who he is.

If it’s hot, does your muse open a window or turn on the AC? She's really her own air conditioner if she needs to be.

What is your muse’s go-to order from a coffee shop that isn’t coffee? A medium Chai latte or a London fog.

What kinds of videos on youtube or twitch would your muse watch? Probably just something she could keep on in the background, like painting videos. But she'll sometimes go down a rabbit hole of those weird science channels, and stay up for half the night watching them.

Does your muse have any collections? What are they of? She collects rocks and quartz crystals, but on a casual level, not metaphysically.

Does your muse journal, have a diary, bullet journal, etc.? Oh absolutely. She's got a dream journal and a normal one. Both are filled with good and bad memories.

[rilenerocks]

I started making lists when I was about twelve. I know this because I have them. Mostly the lists were about people. People I liked, people I had crushes on, people I hated. The lists changed frequently, sometimes almost daily. Often there were ties for first, second and even third place. When my friend Fern and I spent hours on the phone at night, reading each other our diary entries, we’d sometimes make lists together. We had enemies lists which often included politicians we heard our parents discussing. We had favorite athletes lists and music lists, teachers lists and of course, lists of our peers and family members.

We changed popular song lyrics to reflect our current passions and we had so much fun singing them, especially the ones that were Beatles songs. I still find myself substituting our words when a tune pops up in one of my playlists. You’d never have known that either one of us had a care in the world. But of course we did.

My lists got more complicated as time passed. There were the standard lists that were more like timetables, when work needed to be done, birthdays and events that needed to be remembered, the stuff of calendars. But I had lots of other lists too. In my attempt to keep my priorities straight, I managed to write lists for a wide variety of topics. I had self-improvement lists, lists of books to read and movies to see, lists of subjects to become knowledgeable about, lists of places to see and goals to accomplish. I have a list I call “the permanent list.” That’s the one that has the unforgivable words or actions of people that I’ll never forget or forgive until either my brain or breath goes.

“Michael Quotes”

Right now I have a list of nicknames Michael called me. I also have a list of his terrible jokes and funny quotes that are part of our family’s vernacular.

“Birds of today” Starling Blue jay White breasted nuthatch Sparrow Cardinals Downy woodpecker Carolina wren Brown thrasher Cowbirds Catbird White crowned sparrow Hummingbird Grackle House wren Rose breasted Grosbeak American Robin Chipping sparrow White throated sparrow Redbellied woodpecker Red breasted nuthatch Goldfinch Junco

I have lists of birds and butterflies that have visited my garden. I have lists that are so obtuse I can’t recall why the words are on the same page. The habit of listmaking is a part of me which I suspect will go on until I don’t. After years of waking up and thinking of the day ahead, asking myself what I should think about first, I figure this was a pretty rational response to the flood of thoughts that’s my typical response to opening my eyes.

I suspect that some of my dreams are my subconscious attempts to keep sorting through the ever burgeoning thought stack in my head. Some people hoard stuff. I hoard words, ideas and feelings. I’m aware that the sorting by list is ineffectual at times. For now, it’s become clear to me that I can’t anticipate how long it may take, if ever, to always remember that Michael is dead. I mean, I know that he is. But when ambling through my days there are countless times when I expect him to walk through the door. If I feel like ignoring a text, I always think, wait, it might be Michael. I’ve called my son his name periodically.

In our younger days, Michael owned the car of his dreams, a white 1967 GTO convertible. Vroom, vroom. Today I was in a bookstore and saw a thick shiny book on the history of GTO’s and walked straight over to it, thinking I’d buy it for him and how much he’d love it. These moments are fleeting but real. If I don’t like my dreams, the ones when he and I are arguing, it sours my day. When I have a good dream about him, I wake up and acknowledge that feeling before going back to sleep.

September 17th, 2019

 Hi baby,

  Things are better now. Tristan is healing well from his surgery and Gabriel turned 9 today.

And I’m still writing the letters that represent our constant dialogue over so many years. I can’t list myself out of these deeply ingrained habits that had to do with our life together. Although not quite a complete germophobe, I don’t expect that I’ll ever be without a small container of hand sanitizer in my purse. When he was immunocompromised, I was determined not to let him get sick. I sprayed surfaces with Lysol and suspiciously counted the number of times people touched their mouths and noses and then put their hands on common surfaces. Whatever I could control I did control. Endless hand washing and hyper- awareness. Good luck getting rid of that. I know it’s a peculiar preoccupation to watch people spreading their contagion around but it’s just normal to me now. I forgive myself. I try not to be angry about all that he’s missed and that we’ll miss together. That’s a terrible place to be. I only allow myself those thoughts for short moments. I think my quality of life would truly be pathetic if I got stuck in those mean, jealous places. The list habit comes in handy during those times. I can think of about a zillion things that should supersede that negativity.

Right now, I’m in the midst of other people’s hardships. I’m knowing more and more sick people and I have one very dear friend who’s in hospice awaiting her death. That’s at the top of all my lists now, along with the knowledge that as I’m aging, I’ll face more and more of those sad times. My dad always used to say that if you’re lucky enough to survive to age 70, sometimes you can just cruise along for awhile. He never got there. Neither did Michael or my favorite brother-in-law. All lost at age 67. I’m past that age now. I wonder when my turn will come to face my own demise. I don’t know if I’d think about it as much as I do except for how many early deaths I experienced. Nah, I probably would.

I always expected to just keel over one day like a tree felled in a wood. I certainly didn’t expect to be around longer than Michael who came from a family where everyone routinely lived into their 90’s. I think we’ve all been led to believe that’s possible for the majority of people but I don’t think that’s right. For every octogenarian, there are dozens of people who’ve already checked out.

I’m in the middle of three history classes this semester which are jamming huge swaths of time into 8 weekly hour and a half sessions. I come out of those classes dizzied by the compression of geologic time and long-gone civilizations that can be glanced over and set aside before tackling thousands more years. You realize how teeny you really are when looking at the world in these abbreviated segments. It’s fascinating stuff but absent a time machine, wrapping your mind around the brevity of our lives on a comparative scale is pretty daunting. And kind of comforting at the same time.

It’s only Wednesday and this week, I’ve considered the pre-Scottish elders and the Bog people alongside the Greeks and the Babylonians. We’ve looked at art and religious rituals, at least insofar as archaeologists have theorized about them and shared with us. I’ve been in ice ages and ridden tectonic plates and recognized that the Scottish oceanside rocks are basically the same as Maine’s because they used to be connected. All quite dazzling ideas that stimulate me to make more lists of things to explore, knowing full well there isn’t enough time for me in this universe to get through even a twentieth of what I’m writing down. But the habit is there and so I do it.

Lately because a cell phone makes it so easy to photograph anything, I’ve begun supplementing my endless writing with pictures to illustrate my lists. I have a photo of every place I’ve ever lived in but one because it was demolished a long time ago. I can always think of something new that needs to be photographed.

I have my butterfly and bird photos to go with their documentation as yard visitors. I keep having my storage on my phone fill up because I’m documenting everything. Maybe there’s a gene for this need to list and illustrate. It’s so much a part of me that I was lucky to start early and thus have plenty of writing and pictures of me in many moments with Michael and my family,  including really intimate ones. Ah, the days of the self-developing Polaroids. I was compelled to record. I think my daughter is like me. A record keeper. Maybe it’s a coping skill, a way to not be overwhelmed by the complexity of our lives. We certainly have more than our share of angst right now and I think lots of people feel the stress. So I suppose I’ll keep at it, trying to organize everything and trying not to forget what’s important. I guess I could have worse habits. Even a little Purell isn’t that bad.

Habits I started making lists when I was about twelve. I know this because I have them. Mostly the lists were about people.

[pratktcven]

love in a time of social media

love in a time of social media part one. shance. eventual nc-17. alternate universe. lance is the king of shitposts and selfies. shiro is an artist who loves his dog and fatalistic humor. somehow, they fall in love. warning! underage drinking and casual use of marijuana

.

They meet online.

Specifically, they meet on tumblr. Shiro is an artist of middling popularity and Lance is a shitposter of the highest caliber. Shiro follows Lance months before Lance follows him; indeed, Lance is unaware of Shiro's work until Shiro @'s him in a small comic.

'I couldn't resist,' Shiro types below the image. 'Thank you for the inspiration, @lances-a-lot.'

Shiro—@white_iron—has a simple art style and a sharp sense of humor that makes Lance laugh out loud. He reblogs the comic, telling his followers to check it out, and proceeds to creep on Shiro's blog. Lance's first stop is Shiro's small about section.

Hello! My name is Shiro. I am a post-grad history student and I spend my limited free time walking my dog or doodling. art tag doodles photography

Shiro's blog consists mainly of his artwork. Occasionally, Shiro will also post real-life pictures of his dog, a beautiful black and white akita with bright eyes and a dopey smile. There aren't any pictures of Shiro himself. Lance—who takes roughly a thousand selfies every day—comments on this oddity to Blue, his enormous gray long-hair.

Blue blinks at him.

"My curiosity has been piqued," Lance replies primly.

Blue blinks her big gold eyes at him again.

"Enough of your judgement!" Lance over-dramatizes. "I can follow who I want!"

Shiro's blog is twenty-four pages of self-produced content that Lance blazes through in less than an hour. There are no reblogs. Lance nearly twitches at the restraint and—after a moment—decides to check if Shiro's likes are public.

"Jackpot!" Lance crows when the page loads.

Shiro's likes are a riot of memes and shit-posts. Art references and how-to's. Nerdy history jokes. Links to academic articles. Male fitspo. Healthy recipes, juice cleanse tips, and over-indulgent foodie pics. NSFW gifs of twinks writhing open-mouthed on rumpled sheets. Pictures of space and nature. Lots of dogs. Several of Lance's selfies. More than one necromancy pun. If it is at all possible to fall in love with someone based on their likes, Lance does it.

Lance's infinite scrolling comes to a halt at half past one, when his one of his many phone alarms notifies him of the time. Lance groans, closes his browser, and hauls his butt out of his narrow bed. It takes him a couple minutes to find an acceptably clean pair of skinny jeans and an unwrinkled sweater; he hasn't done laundry for several weeks.

"After lab," Lance tells Blue as he wriggles out of his worn sweats into his socially acceptable denim. "I'll do a load tonight."

Blue flicks her tail at him, a rude gesture that Lance returns with one of his own. Blue sends him baleful glance.

"Don't look at me like that," Lance says even as he plants a kiss between Blue's mismatched ears. She lost half of her left ear in a fight before the shelter picked her off the street. "You started it."

Blue meows loudly and bats Lance's nose.

"Okay, okay, you're right. I started it." Lance presses one more kiss on his cat's skull. "Have fun bird-watching. I'll see you later."

Then—with his good-byes said—Lance grabs his notebook-laden satchel, and is out the door.

.

Lance's lab is as much of a challenge as it always is. Lance is good at math—numbers and variables are easy—but his brain refuses to wrap around the concepts of physics. It's a small miracle that Pidge is his lab partner; without her, Lance is certain he would fail.

"You're a lifesaver," Lance gushes as they leave the old building. "Let me buy you pizza to show my gratitude."

"I told Matt I'd have dinner with him," says Pidge. "His roommate is going through some sort of clean eating phase and it's driving him nuts."

"He can come," Lance says. Then, less magnanimously, "But he has to get his own slice."

Pidge rolls her eyes as she texts her older brother. Lance shoots a text to Hunk, who responds with a single thumbs up emoji. They all meet at less than ten minutes later at the off-campus pizzeria that sells by the slice. Lance gets three for himself and two for Pidge; Matt, who is the only person over the age of twenty-one, covertly buys a pitcher of beer that they pour into their small, plastic water cups.

"Sweet, sweet, processed goodness," Matt half-cries as he chews, his mouth filled with cheese, pepperoni, and grease. "How I missed you."

Lance would be more sympathetic to Matt's dilemma if the man hadn't embarrassed him in a game of beer pong at a sorority the week before. Lance can't prove it, but he knows in his heart of hearts that Matt cheated. Nobody beats Lance at beer pong, okay. Nobody.

"That bad?" Pidge grins.

"You have no idea," Matt bemoans. "Like—Takashi's a great dude, don't get me wrong—but when I found him on Craig's List I was more worried about being murdered in my sleep than I was about weird diet habits. Turns out I should have been more worried about the diet habits. Our fridge is filled with kale. Kale, Kit-Kat. From the farmer's market."

"Kale is really good for you," Hunk interjects.

"That's what Takashi said," Matt mutters. "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this."

"Hasn't it only been three days—"

"An eternity—"

Lance laughs at Matt's plight and, once dinner is finished and the four of them part ways, he takes out his phone to tweet about the roundabout retribution.

Lance @lancesalot #revenge is best served blanched. or in a smoothie. #kale #healthyliving #karma

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It's a little past nine when Lance returns to his apartment. His roommate, Rolo, and his ambiguously defined girlfriend/partner-in-crime, Nyma, are sitting on the couch sharing a joint. A bag of popcorn is ready on the battered coffee table and the television is playing an old nineties buddy-cop flick.

"Hey," Rolo says, smoke curling upwards from his mouth. "Wanna join?"

"Nah." Lance turns down the proffered joint with a shrug. "Gotta take my laundry down. You feed Blue?"

"Like she'd let me forget."

Blue—who is perched on the windowsill—releases a single, plaintive meow. She has no problems letting anyone know what she wants and when she wants it, especially when it comes to being fed.

"Thanks man."

"De nada."

It doesn't take Lance long to gather his dirty clothing and stuff it into his hamper. He takes it all to the basement, throws a few loads in, and settles into one of the old armchairs that have accumulated in the corner. He knows that he should read ahead for his classes, but the siren song of social media grips him. An internal debate rages inside him for all of three seconds before he opens his tumblr account.

Lance barely feels the twinge of guilt.

There are several asks—all anonymous, as per usual—and one unread message. Lance is a little surprised by the latter; after a few weird encounters, he changed his setting so that he could only receive messages from people he followed. He clicks on the conversation first.

white_iron Thanks for the follow! I'm really flattered. You're one of my favorite blogs.

Lance smiles at the message.

lances-a-lot no problem!!! ur art was super funny i laughed at everything pretty sure my cat thinks i'm crazy now

After hitting send, Lance plugs in his chunky headphones into the audio jack. He has a new chillwave playlist that Pidge gave him, but he knows that if he doesn't give Tycho his full attention Pidge may murder him. So instead, Lance pulls up his trusted Rihanna compilation and double clicks on the first song. He bops his head in time with the beat and opens his asks, quickly answering his anons.

Several chart-toppers later, a small ping interrupts Rihanna's plea for the dj to turn the music up. Lance looks at the vertical line of icons on the side of the page and sees that he has another message from Shiro. Lance opens the conversation immediately and reads:

white_iron My dog already knows I'm crazy.

white_iron sent a photo post.

A small preview image has been loaded into the conversation. It is a cartoon version of Shiro's akita, her expression morphed into one of extreme judgement. Her eyebrows—twin dots of white on her dark face—are low over her big eyes and her ruff is fattened comically around her muzzle. Lance cannot help but laugh at the exaggerated accuracy and immediately reblog it.''

lances-a-lot OMG THATS FANTASTIC
 THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT BLUE DOES

white_iron Stare into the depths of your decrepit soul and find you wanting?

lances-a-lot haha, yes! blue acts like i dont spoil her rotten shes such a princess

white_iron I definitely know how that goes. Bee has three dog beds, but she insists on sleeping in my bed or in my roommate's.

lances-a-lot blue has peed in every. single. bed i bought for her i stopped trying after awhile it was getting to be an expensive exercise in futility

white_iron Two words. Dog toys.

Lance talks to Shiro for the next couple of hours while his laundry finishes. Mostly, they swap stories about their pets and commiserate about their less than desirable—if not inadvertently hilarious—behavior. Lance even tells Shiro about how he rescued Blue. In turn, Shiro talks about the process he had to go through to adopt Bee. Shiro mentions that Bee is a service dog; what for, he does not say.

Don't be that asshole, Lance reminds himself as the topic wanes. His comfort is more important than your curiosity.

Lance is having such a good time talking to Shiro that he barely notices midnight pass. In fact, if it weren't for the enormous, jaw-cracking yawn that his body produces, Lance would not have noticed at all.

lances-a-lot dude i just noticed what time it was like i could seriously talk about blue forever but laundry sleep ADULTING i have calc at 8 am, ugh kill me now

white_iron Tell me about it. I have to TA an 8 a.m. class.

There is a small pause. Lance gnaws on his bottom lip as he watches the ellipsis that indicates typing flicker in and out of existence.

white_iron Talk to you tomorrow?

Lance bites down harder on his lip. Normally, he would send back a quick affirmation before logging off, but his interaction with Shiro feels different than the interactions he's had in the past. Their chemistry is undeniable and their conversation never felt flat or stilted. Yet while Lance knows he's been lowkey flirting with Shiro, he cannot be sure if Shiro has been flirting back.

Fuck it, Lance thinks as he gathers all his courage and sets his fingers back on the keyboard. He can feel how warm his cheeks are. Just do it.

lances-a-lot its a date ;)

After he sends the message, Lance closes his laptop and jumps off the armchair. He feels jittery and unsure, yet also oddly hopeful that maybe this time—for the first time—his interest won't be a mistake.

.