#this leaves some angsty possibilities for a time loop of sorts

[jespy-wespy]

Viktor is not dead, stop spreading misinformation

This is not me becoming delusional to cope, I'm simply stating a theory(/canon?) that I haven't seen talked about, at least in what I view as the correct way.

It is literally impossible for Viktor to be dead. Source? Viktor gives the acceleration rune to young Jayce, he certainly needs to he alive to do that. We don't see Viktor's face during those scenes, so I can't talk about it there, but we do see him when they meet in the Hexcore. Viktor is noticeably older, which in my opinion (mostly) crosses out the idea that him and Jayce combining(?) with the rune simply catapults him through time. Though the fact that his robe is covered with the corruption of the Hexcore and the fact that Viktor is inside it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Despite that, I think the most likely answer is that he is alive in some way.

Though I guess Hexcore Viktor could be a delusion of sorts made by the Hexcore to show(?) Jayce what happened, similar to how the Hexcore manipulated Viktor by creating visions of Sky (my theory at least). Though that would mean the Hexcore showed Jayce how to destroy it, which wouldn't make total sense, though any way you look at it that's sort of what happened. If anything the Hexcore allowed Jayce to see how to destroy it, you could argue that all of the Hexcore's "conscious" was transferred to Viktor. You could also argue that the Hexcore was never truly destroyed, though I think that's not the case since Viktor is seen giving young Jayce the rune with normal looking hands. Anyway, I got really off track, this paragraph probably should have been a separate post.

Blah blah blah, Viktor 100% is not dead because, like, he can't be, yap yap yap.

[inked-out-trees]

69, 44, and 25 for the writers ask

I need to get back to writing too, but in good news I'm getting a feel of character for one of them. Now if I only had a plot

we're doing it! getting back into writing together! thank you for the reverse directional asks i will do them exactly how you have asked

69. how do you write emotional scenes? do you ever feel what the characters feel?

if i'm coming into it Knowing that i want to write an emotional scene, usually there's music involved! i have a collection of sad and otherwise melancholy playlists (plus one that's just songs i think would fit well in those angsty last 3 minutes of a tv show episode before the cliffhanger) and they tend to serve me well; if all else fails i'll find the most recent mood-fitting song i've been repeating lately and loop it forever. (most recently has been doctor eleven by dan romer. was the only thing i listened to for my crw class submission and personally i think it turned out swell.)

as for feeling the characters, i don't think so? a lot of the time what i feel when i'm writing is just joy from writing, vague evil sentiment, or if it's Really A Lot To Handle, there'll be like, an ache. occasionally i do make myself cry but that's mostly for personal or original things, and less for fanfic. unless it's the annie chapter of bean's beans. but typically i am somewhat detached, which is actually kind of impressive considering my propensity for imprinting on literally everything. huh! i learn something new about myself every day.

44. any writing advice you want to share?

man i never know if there's any sort of sagely things i do that could be passed off as wisdom but. the best piece of advice i've read (on tumblr too i think) was that if you're stuck, it's possible that the problem is actually a couple lines back. usually i look between three paragraphs and half a page up to see what different choices i could make, and that tends to solve my problem more often than not. kind of magic, that.

in other sort of throwaway bits, i always start a fic creation process by opening a doc and just rambling onto it. no proper prose, just as though i'm having a conversation with the empty page. it's helpful both to get my ideas in order and to have a place to come back to if need be - it's easier to toss the ball around if the net's already there, yknow? also, if for some reason microsoft word isn't doing it for me, i find fighter's block to be good for dumping out words, and zenpen has carried me through several terms of creative writing assignments and also poetry so take that as you will.

25. what's your revision or rewriting process like?

would you laugh at me if i said i don't edit my fics. this is not necessarily true in that i don't consider what i post to be rough in any way, but when it comes to fic especially i'm a big first-one-done kind of guy. that being said: i reread my work a lot. a lot a lot. and often times i will pick up little things that need fixing, line edits or weird repetitive things, so i do find it helpful. also the read-aloud function on word has been great to me. and i make frequent use of the comment function in word, which has been exceedingly useful when it comes to the fact that i haven't yet figured out the whole timeline of fixed point so some of the dates are just "FIGURE THIS OUT LATER" and "IS THIS TRUE?".

and of course sharing with other people :) coming from creative writing seminars i've realised (? finally understood? i don't actually know how much of an enlightenment it was but it was something) how useful it is to get someone and just say, hey, tell me how you interpret this, are there any questions you still have, god forbid did i leave any gaping plot holes. this comes in especially handy because in MY brain i know all the answers, and sometimes they forget to worm out onto the page. this again has just happened in my current seminar, so rest in peace to the quest plot i tentatively thought i could maybe go without describing (for wordcount's sake) but apparently not. it is cool and fine.

anyway happy tuesday and also thank you!

[forever-rogue]

OH I HAVE AN IDEA like an angsty fic where bucky and reader have a miscommunication and it causes a fight between them and they are both like ???? “we’ve never yelled at each other ??? what is this” AND IDK I JUST WANT ANGST

So, head empty, very little thoughts, but I hope this works and you like it 🥺

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You sang along to the music that was playing softly in the background as you showered and got ready for your day. You’d had a late start, easily giving into Bucky and staying in bed for just five more minutes, which had really turned out to be almost another hour. The good thing about being the boss was that you could afford to be late every once in a while. Bucky was in the kitchen, whipping up a quick breakfast before he too needed to leave and go about his day.

“Sugar,” he called out to you as you washed your hair. You could faintly make out his voice as you carried on, but figured you’d be able to make out what he was saying well enough, “I’ve got everything made and prepared just how you like it!”

You thought nothing of it for a moment and continued to wash your hair; but about halfway through the motions, you stopped in surprise. What had he actually said?

“Bucky? Bub, what did you say?” you quickly rinsed out our hair before pulling back the shower curtain as you tried to listen in. Had he really said he was mad?

“It’s all done! I’m done,” he called back as he covered your plate for you to find once you got out of the shower. He grabbed his travel mug of coffee and headed towards the door, giving Alpine a quick pet before leaving, “bye honey. Running late and gotta go - I’m leaving!”

“Bucky!” you almost slipped and fell as you tore back the shower curtain and almost jumped out of the shower. It was still running as you haphazardly grabbed a towel and darted down the hall and into the kitchen. But he was already gone; the only thing that was left behind was the faint smell of his cologne. Swallowing the nervous lump in your throat, you trudged back down the hall to finish your shower. You were already running late and whatever this was - whatever had just happened - would need to wait until later.

Had Bucky really just broken up with you in the midst of a shower? It sure seemed like it right now.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you sat down and stared at your computer screen. You’d had the same spreadsheets and charts pulled up for the last two hours and made almost no progress. You swore that almost every single interaction you’d had with Bucky over the last week was playing on loop in your mind. You were desperately trying to figure out where you’d gone wrong, what had caused him to snap.

In an effort to alleviate your own fears, you’d texted Bucky to get a response from him and see what was going on. But you hadn’t heard back from him. You’d sent three messages before deciding not to bombard him. But still...if he was just up and leaving you after almost three years together, he owed you at least a small explanation.

You opened google and quickly pulled up an apartment search, already resigned yourself to the idea that you’d need to find a new place fast. Being around for too long would be too hard and you didn’t want to subject to more torture than necessary. And Alpine! You’d need to decide what to do with your beloved cat - Alpine loved you equally, how were you to choose who would get the fluffy little thing? And all the friends in common you shared...who would they side with?

“Fuck,” you groaned at nothing in particular and decided to focus on your work. At least that would keep you distracted and your brain focused on something other than Bucky. You would figure out everything else tonight. It would all be fine. This was no big deal; maybe your world was falling apart...but you would handle it. You always did.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you finally allowed yourself to go home that evening, you were shocked to find the lights on and Bucky in the kitchen. He was on the phone with someone, his new girlfriend or someone like that you immediately presumed, moving about the kitchen as he finished dinner. You choked up as you watched the domestic scene that was so normal to you by now. But this time, it felt so wrong.

You stormed in and for whatever reason, you decided that grabbing a pillow and throwing it at Bucky was a good idea. You picked the soft thing up in your arms and hurled at him, who suddenly realized you were home and yelped in surprise as he dodged the offending object. He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he pointed to the earbuds in ears as he turned back to the stove.

You were seeing red by now as you stormed in the kitchen and ripped his earbuds out. He was so stunned by your sudden actions, he jumped back and offered up a shocked look.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” you shouted at him as you threw the buds on the floor, half tempted to stomp them, “how fucking dare you!”

“Sugar, what on earth are you talking about?” he grabbed his phone off the counter and ended the call without hesitation. Your chest heaved as you waited for some sort of explanation, “what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright! How on earth could I be alright?” you threw your hands up in exasperation as you tried to unsuccessfully hold back your tears. He was so calm and nonchalant about everything it was almost more frustrating than anything else.

“Okay...something is going on. Care to enlighten me?” he tried to reach up and wipe your tears away but you flinched out of his touch, “sugar?”

“Y-you! It’s you!” you cried softly as he motioned for you to explain just what it was about him that was the problem.

“What about me…?”

“You just break up with me this morning and tell me you’re leaving me and then you just come back like nothing has happened?” as soon as the words left your mouth, Bucky’s mouth dropped open. It was news to him that he’d broken up with you, “and you didn’t answer my texts all day! I deserve some sort of explanation!”

“I didn’t...I didn’t break up with you, Sugar,” he stated simply as you tilted to your head in confusion, trying to decide if he was pulling your leg or being honest, “why would I leave you? That makes no sense. I love you - I’m in love with you!”

“This morning,” you whispered softly, “you said you were done and you were leaving. When I was in the shower.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what exactly you were talking about. But then it hit him and he struggled not to burst out laughing. He gnawed on his lip as he fervently shook his head, “my sweet girl, you...well you heard me correctly, but incorrectly at the same time.”

“What? I-I swear…”

“What I said was breakfast was done and that I was leaving for work because I was running late too,” he explained as you tried to replay all that you had heard. Maybe...maybe you hadn’t heard him correctly at all - and in turn jumped to the worst possible conclusion, “I had to run...I’m sorry I didn’t come into the bathroom and say goodbye. Maybe that would have solved this whole thing.”

“You’re not..leaving me?” you asked as he just shook his head and took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, “you still love me?”

“I find it both hilarious and concerning that you so easily thought I would just leave,” he kissed the top of your head as you held onto him as tightly as possible, “of course I’m not leaving. You never have to worry about that, sugar. I love you so much, silly girl. You sweet, silly girl.”

“I’m an absolute idiot,” you mumbled as you buried your face in his shoulder. You couldn’t believe that you jumped from A to Z so quickly and without a moment of hesitation, “I’m sorry, Bub. I feel like I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to leave me now.”

“Never,” he promised softly, “even if you do have moments of being ridiculous. Just like I do.”

“If I ever do something so dumb again,” you huffed as you pulled back and looked at those ocean eyes, “just smack some sense into me. But I...you didn’t answer my texts.”

“Texts?” he seemed genuinely confused as he reached for his phone and correctly scrolled through his messages. You could see that there were none from you, “what are you…I was in bad reception today. Blame Sam, that I was just on the phone with, for that one. They probably never came through. I’m sorry, honey. If they’d come in, maybe we could have avoided this whole situation, huh?"

“Some bad luck on top of it,” you hid your face behind your hands and sighed heavily, “James. I..I’m so sorry for everything. I just downright acted like a fool today. I don’t even know where to begin to apologize. I love you, Bub. I hope you can forgive me, but if not...I would-”

“Hey,” he put his hand under chin and turned your face up to meet his own. His smile was lilting and gentle and his eyes soft, “I love you. It’s alright done and forgotten. Are you hungry? Dinner’s just about finished.”

“I love you more than anything,” you whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, “I just...my emotions were so all over the place today. Like out of control, A to Z. I don’t know what happened.”

“Shit happens,” he dismissed it with a slight scoff as he reached for some dishes, “I’m yours, sugar. Always.”

“Me too,” you agreed as you leaned against the counter, watching him with nothing but adoration. It was then that another realization - and possibly an explanation - hit you. It felt like a punch in the gut, “shit.”

“What?” Bucky asked as he started to plate dinner, “everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled nervously, “just remembered something I forgot to do today.”

“As long as you’re alright…”

“I am,” you promised. You could worry about this later, “hey - I love you so much, Bucky. You know that right?”

“I love you too. Always.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales]

Blue Moon - Part 4

A/N: See masterlist for prompts used. (And the list of amazing people who have helped me with this.) I felt it necessary to say, remember, these are all following along with the episodes from 03x04 on till the end of 3A. Without *directly* inserting the reader into the plot line, but more an off screen role. (Aside from the beginning, where, obviously, Derek fought the Alpha’s while Cora watched from the sidelines.) And because of that, it’s more angst than I usually write. It was a very angsty season. And the prompts have inherent angst, but lots of fluff, and sass, so once we get out of the murkiness that is Jennifer Blake (can you tell I don’t like her? - which, kudos to the actress, who I think is beautiful and brilliant, for making me hate her so much. 😆) we can move on to that happy, feel good, Sourwolf love we all enjoy so much. But until then, I guess this counts as a slow burn of sorts?

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Warnings: See Masterlist

Word count: 2,633

Xxx

The next day was lonely. Stiles would text you every now and then, but other than that it was a quiet day. No word about Derek from anyone other than Peter and Cora going to get his body and it not being there. And neither was Ennis’, who Derek had pulled down with him. You decided not to dwell on the many possible things that could mean. 

You drove in silence to all the places Stiles had mentioned the night before and spoke meekly at each one. You felt almost like you were floating through the day, going through the motions, but your mind was a million miles away. 

The meet ended up getting canceled due to weather, and they were all going to be stuck staying at some crappy motel that Stiles insisted was haunted through multiple texts with an excessive amount of emojis. You couldn’t get ahold of anyone else, which was kinda odd, but also not totally abnormal.

To top it all off, you needed something you left at the loft, so you told the Sheriff - who had taken the night off and ordered a pizza to stay in with you this evening, after finding out Stiles wasn’t coming right back - you would be back in a flash, you just had to “run home real quick”, careful not to mention the loft, to which he just chuckled and said something along the lines of, “Just make sure you run the speed limit.”

Sighing as you pulled into the loft parking lot, you glanced through the windshield up at the top floor where it sat. It was so ominous looking, bathed in moonlight, it almost gave a faint glow. Resting your forehead on the steering wheel, you took some deep breaths, panic rising as flashes of your tango with an Alpha came back rapidly. But instead of feeling like a badass, it made you hyperventilate. There was this gnawing feeling that it had been a one time thing, and that should you ever encounter them again you would be in so much trouble. 

Taking one last deep breath to steady your nerves, you stopped mid inhale, slightly cocking your head to the side, eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

Derek. 

You had caught Derek’s scent. Well, it’s his loft, you rationalized to yourself. But no. This was fresh. Less than a few hours old. Glancing back up at the loft one last time, you grabbed the handle and yanked your door open, mustering the courage you could find to climb up the winding staircase and see for yourself.

Taking them two at a time, you felt your courage build with each step and your hope that Derek was there along with it. As you stood in front of the loft door, your outstretched hand just shy of the handle and trembling, you took a tentative breath and knew Derek had been here very recently. That was the final push you needed to firmly grip the handle of the loft door, preparing to give it a hefty pull, but something made you stop short. 

A whisper. 

Just on the other side of the door, a woman's voice, then Derek’s. Surely your mind was playing tricks on you; you didn’t smell anyone else. You did pick up on something vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place it. The smell reminded you of school, and the crime scenes of the sacrifices you had been at, and lately, the loft. Unable to place the smell, you slowly slid the door open, stopping after only a few inches to peek in. 

What you saw made your heart speed up, as there Derek sat on the edge of his bed, covered in scratches and blood, but alive. He was alive. 

Your feet that had been glued to the floor suddenly felt like they were floating, the distance between him and you too much. You couldn’t contain the smile that brought to your lips, but it soon melted when another figure stepped into view in front of him. On instinct you had started to move forward, barely making it over the threshold before the other silhouette made you pull up short.

Jennifer. 

You covered your mouth to hold in whatever was about to come out, anger, disgust, pain, you didn’t know, they were all swirling in your gut at the sight. You fell to your knees, bracing yourself on the doorframe to try and stay just out of sight.

No, Derek hadn’t caught your scent yet, which is what you found the most strange, and worrisome, and only reinforced that she was doing something to his mind. 

You finally placed the smell as belonging to Miss Blake, but it was different from her scent she had all the other times you had seen her, and that somehow made it worse. It didn’t smell like emotions or anything, it smelled like an entirely different being. Barely even human.

This last thought made you knit your eyebrows in determination, about to rise to your feet, charge in there, and show the she devil a thing or two, but you only made it to one knee, still bent on the floor, before you froze, eyes wide, eyebrows practically in your hairline. What you saw could never be unseen. Like two dogs in heat, they were on one another as if space between them was too painful. Your grip on the door frame and the loft door handle almost broke them under the pressure. 

You felt sick. Physically sick to your stomach. Whether from the feeling of betrayal, knowing you were right that something was weird about this whole thing, the fact that they had been getting it on in front of you, or all of the above, you weren’t quite sure.

Sliding the door shut calmly, you tried to keep it together as you softly, but quickly, made it back down the stairs, into your car, and back to the Stilinski driveway, putting your car in park and shutting off the engine before you let yourself feel anything. 

You wanted to kick and scream and sob your eyes out because you knew she had been doing something to him, you knew something was wrong, but you didn’t go with your gut, and now here you were. In your car, alone. In front of the Stilinski house. Silent tears racing down your face at the feeling of betrayal, both from seeing them together tonight and at yourself for not doing something sooner. 

A tap on your window made you jump, and you saw the Sheriff trying to peek in. Opening your door, you hopped out, swiping rapidly at your tears, and plastering a smile on your face. “Sorry that took so long.”

He looked at you skeptically, waving it off. “Nah. The pizza just got here. You’re right on time.”

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he ushered you into the house, quietly closing the front door behind the both of you. He stayed silent until you were both in the living room. He had the remote in his hand about to press play on the movie, but it dipped once in hesitation before he sighed, and it fell along with his hand to the armrest beside him. Scrubbing his face for a moment with his free hand, he finally looked up at you. Opening his mouth once before snapping it shut, staring blankly in front of him as if the space held the right thing to say, he scratched his forehead with the remote, his face making the face you had come to learn and love earlier on from Stiles. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

You stopped trying to grab a slice of pizza from the box, clearing your throat and wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans before nodding gently, staring at the floor. “Yeah.” You looked up and met his gaze, seeing concern painting his features. “Yeah, I’m okay, Mr. Stilinski. Just boy trouble. Thanks for asking.” You smiled as best you could, and he seemed to do the same. 

“Well, we’ve known each other forever, sweetheart, and I want you to know that you can tell me anything.”

The smile on your face felt a little more genuine. “I know. Thank you.”

“No matter how uncomfortable it makes me,” he continued as if you hadn’t said anything. The words sounded pained and forced, his brows knit like he was eating a lemon, and you finally let out the full smile that had been trying break through, even laughing. 

His lips twitched up gently. “There she is.”

“I will. Thank you. But for both of our sakes-” you leaned in, placing a hand on his forearm- “I’ll probably just tell Stiles.”

“Oh, thank God.” He let out on a huff of air, making you laugh again. “Now. Let’s watch this movie.” He hit play, and you settled into the couch, letting the plot unfolding on the screen take you away, if only for a little while.

Xxx

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, waking you up with a start. 

The DVD menu played softly on a loop, the movie long over, and to your right the Sheriff was snoring with his head on the back of the couch. 

You tossed the blanket you had been using on top of him before leaving the room and checked your phone, only to see it was Stiles.

“Stiles?” You spoke quietly into the receiver, not wanting to wake the Sheriff. 

“Y/N? Why are you whispering?” Stiles sounded kind of stressed, just a little bit off. 

“Your dad took off work tonight and we had a pizza - yes, I let him have pizza, don’t you dare jump on my case and go on a tirade about how he needs a salad, let the man live, Stiles - and we watched a movie.”

“I was wondering why that soundtrack was playing on a loop in the background. He used a DVD, didn’t he? I taught him how to use streaming-”

“Stiles!” You cut off his tangent with a chuckle. “Why are you calling me so late. Or, is it early?” You checked your watch to find it was early morning, still dark outside. 

“Well, let’s just say tonight has been interesting, we are all alive, which is good, but sleeping on the bus-”

“The bus?”

“The bus. Our rooms weren’t safe, and I don’t mean because of roaches or mysterious stains, Y/N.” You grinned. “Although there was this one smell in my room that was rather suspect….”

Smell. Scent. Shit.

Screwing your eyes shut, palm on your forehead, you spoke quickly, “Stiles, don’t be angry with me.” Peeking your head into the other room to see the Sheriff still soundly asleep, you stepped onto the back porch and closed the door behind you, ignoring Stiles’ incessant questions as you did. 

“Stiles! Hush! I had to leave the room so your dad didn’t hear!” 

“Oh,” was all he said. You heard the squeak of the bus as he slumped back against it, obviously doing the same as you and trying to get a bit of privacy. 

Taking a deep breath, you told him everything you saw at the loft. 

The only thing he did was suck in a sharp breath, but was otherwise silent. Finally he said, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, thanks, whatever.” You cleared your throat, looking down at your feet before lifting your gaze to stare vacantly across the yard. “My main concern was that scent. It didn’t smell human, but not entirely not human.”

“Well, that’s terrifying,” Stiles said blandly, making your lips twitch up just slightly. You heard another voice on the other end, Scott, and Stiles mumbled something about speakerphone before the phone was jostled around a bit. You could hear a mumbled, “Well, no, you don’t need speakerphone because you’re a freak of nature, Scott, but I, a mere mortal, need the aid.” You chuckled and could hear Scott let out a groan and soft chuckle himself. 

“Y/N?” Finally Scott’s voice came through clearly.

“Yeah?” 

“First of all, thank you. For everything.” His voice sounded distant, and you sure as hell were going to interrogate them when they got back as to what the hell happened that night at the motel, but for now you just nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see you and rolled your eyes. 

“You’re welcome, Scott. The feeling’s mutual. Thanks for making it so easy.”

Stiles humphed. “I feel like that last part was directed at me.”

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A mumbled, “Thanks, I guess,” but you could hear his smile. 

“Y/N, the scent. The one you smelled at Derek’s loft.” Scott was back to business. “I think I smelled it here tonight.”

“Really? How is that-” You were cut off by Scott who was obviously talking to Stiles. 

“Right before we decided to stay in the bus, when Lydia saw something in the fire, after the explosion-”

"Okay, what the hell happened to you guys?!" you asked loudly, cutting them off. Grimacing, you quickly used your hearing to pick up on the Sheriff's continued snores, let out a sigh of relief, and lowered your voice. "I feel so left out."

“No, I’m glad you weren’t here,” Scott said. “Long story short, something went after a specific group of our friends, and when it finally showed its face,” you heard Lydia cut in from somewhere behind, “I’d barely call that a face,” and you didn’t know whether to laugh or be afraid. 

Scott continued pointedly, “When it showed its face, I got a whiff of something I can only describe how you described the smell at the loft. Not human. But also not… not…. human.”

A smacking sound could be heard, and you realized Stiles was patting Scott on the back while saying, “It’s okay, bud. It’s been a long day.”

“One question.” You took a deep breath, trying to decide on the winner of thousands that swam around your brain right now. “Why is Lydia there?”

“She came with Allison.”

“Why was Allison there, Stiles?”

“Uh-uh. You said one question.”

“This is still technically the same question since they apparently came together.”

“….Touché,” Stiles finally came back with, before sighing. “Look, I’ll tell you everything when we get back, okay? It’s been a hell of a day and I just want to sleep,” he continued in a mumble, “if I can ever sleep again after seeing what I’ve seen.” A brief pause. “You werewolves need to come with a disclaimer. ‘May cause sleep disturbances’.” 

You laughed loudly. “Okay, okay. I know I’m not going to get anywhere with you guys this tired. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” came a chorus of voices, and you felt relief wash over you at the sound of each one, knowing they were safe and sound. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.” Stiles’ voice came through by itself after some fumbling, probably taking you off speakerphone.

“Goodbye, Stiles. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay on the phone until you fall asleep? I mean, I am part of the reason, after all. I do come with a disclaimer.”

“I would absolutely love that, but I need to save my battery and I am in a bus surrounded by werewolves, whatever Lydia is, and a hunter. I think my security system is pretty good for tonight.”

You chuckled. “Okay then. Goodnight, Stiles.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Oh!”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being there with my dad.”

“No problem, Stiles. You know he’s like family to me. He was there for me when I came back from the loft, said I could talk about it if I needed.”

“He offered to listen while you talked?!” He was almost yelling. 

You laughed again. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

He chuckled. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02, @palaiasaurus64, @shydinosaurcandy, @lucyqueenofthestars, @c-breanne1999, @l4life, @ethereallysimple, @teenwolffan-with-nolife, @bellabadacadabra, @lilostif16, @wandas-love, @emily500, @babygirl-angel-love, @c-dizzle99 What’s This?

[imagine-that]

Wonder

Warnings: a little angsty I guess? Kinda sad at some parts? Idk lol.

Pairing: (young) Sirius Black x reader

AN: this is my first song based imagine eeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppp!!! I listened to wonder a few hundred times already and this popped into my mind as I was listening for about the tenth time I believe and it just unravelled into this from there. I love the Marauders, I love Shawn and being able to mix the two makes me so damn happy.

AN 2: ALL LYRICS USED ARE FROM THE SONG WONDER BY SHAWN MENDES, I put the song right below so you can listen and maybe get a feel for my inspiration or for the imagine itself a little more. Hope you love it as much as I do 🥰❤️☺️

Grabbing one last carefully decided on sweater, you slip it into your trunk, carefully closing the lid over top.

As you struggle to push it down to shut properly, the Marauders come bounding into the room, laughter following their entrance, nearly scaring you out of your skin and making you fall back and the trunk to burst open much to your dismay.

“Boys! I almost had that shut.” You groan from the ground, sitting up to give them each a playful glare.

“Sorry y/n! Didn’t realize you would be in here I’m afraid. Are you alright? Not too beat up I hope?” Sirius says worriedly, reaching down towards you and offering you a hand to get up.

You giggle at his dramatics, taking his hand in your own and hoisting yourself off the ground.

Sirius, though a majorly known flirt with every girl at hogwarts, held a special place in your heart. You were best friends till the very end. Perhaps sometimes even closer than he and James were.

Little did you know, he felt the bond between you was more than just that.

I wonder if I'm being real

Do I speak my truth or do I filter how I feel?

“I’ll live though my clothes may not be there every step of the way.” You laugh, the melodic sound filling Sirius’ ears, much to his delight. You gesture to your wide open trunk, making the boys flash a look of mock guilt. All of them except for Sirius of course, who looks genuinely sorry.

“Sorry ‘bout that y/l/n. Mind if I help you?” He asks, an eager smirk on his face. You just laugh, nodding your head as he walks over to the trunk and pushes down the lid hard, a loud smacking sound ringing through the air.

“My hero!” You cry, running over and wrapping your arms around him tightly, catching him off guard.

He hugs back tightly, scared that if he let go you might disappear or something.

“It was nothing fair maiden.” He whispers teasingly, his breath warm by your ear and making you giggle softly, a smile creeping across his face as you do so.

You could vividly remember the first day you’d met the boys, they’d been teasing Sirius about his families beliefs and their tradition of getting Slytherin as a house, the most evil of them all according to them.

Horrified by what they were saying, you’d jumped to his rescue. You scolded the other three for their behaviour and Sirius had been more than amused by your performance. He was immediately taken by you, not that he’d ever tell you that.

I wonder, wouldn't it be nice

To live inside a world that isn't black and white?

Since that day, you and the group had been inseparable and you and Sirius were connected at the hip.

“You’re such a dork Sirius.” You giggle again, your forehead against his chest as you laugh.

He’s thankful for this, knowing you can’t see his reddened face. The other boys however, mock Sirius in his shockened state.

Anyone would be shocked at this sight. No one had ever seen Sirius Black so flustered. It was the strangest thing to see.

“Right back at you y/n/n.” He chuckles, regaining his composure before you can see his previous reaction.

“Hello? What’re we, snivellus snape?” James cry’s out, catching both of your attention as you turn your head, not quick enough to notice the scarlet faced Sirius beside you.

I wonder, what it's like to be my friends

Hope that they don't think I forget about them.

“You could’ve used a simple charm you know...” Remus mutters, earning a sharp look from Sirius and an elbow jab in the shoulder from James.

“Oi! You two! Picking on Remus won’t help you with anything, it’s just rude.” You mock lecture, pulling away from Sirius to pull the shorter and smarter boy in the group in for a hug himself, unknowingly making Sirius more jealous than ever before.

Remus felt a slight discomfort, knowing you were completely oblivious to the tension between the two at that very moment.

“So, packed up for the holidays already y/l/n? My parents won’t stop talking about how excited they are that your family is having dinner with us. I think they might like you more than they like me, their own bloody son!” James exclaims, looking as though the mere idea was completely crazy to him.

“Well Potter, I don’t get into nearly as much trouble as you so I wouldn’t blame them.” You tease, messing up his hair as you often did.

Your two families had been good friends for years and you’d known James since you were born. You’d grown apart over the years but after you both met Sirius the bond grew stronger than before.

Sirius’ eyes widen as he realizes that means spending time over the holidays with you, seeing as he was staying at the Potters this year as well. His parents were, as usual, furious at him for whatever reason.

The idea of being in close quarters with you during such an intimate time of year made the poor boys heart flutter inside his chest.

I wonder, I wonder...

——————————————————————

A few weeks later...

“James for god sake, stop hogging the every flavour beans!” You could hear Sirius cry out as you entered the Potter family home.

“Already fighting I see?” You ask with a playful grin. Sirius and James stop bickering, looking over to greet you only Sirius is at a loss for words.

You’d dressed as nicely as you could, but you’d still brought pants with you in case you needed them to run after the boys and their troublesome antics. However, you’d opted to wear a simple black skirt with a y/f/c top.

“Y/n, looking ugly as ever.” James teases. Just as you’re about to swat at his arm, his mother enters, looking furious.

“James Potter, did I just hear you say what I think I heard you say to sweet y/n?” She demands. James’ eyes go wide in fear as he gulps nervously.

“No I-.” He starts but his mother is already dragging him out of the room, scolding him for his lack of manners.

“Wouldn’t want to be him right now.” You chuckle, watching after the two.

“Yeah... he was only joking you know. I don’t think it’s even possible for you to look ugly y/n.” Sirius admits shyly.

You look at him with a coy smile and surprised y/e/c eyes, your face heating as it tinges pink.

Sirius tries to hold back a grin at the sight, never wanting to look at anything other than your face in that moment, knowing he’d more than likely have some sort of magnificent dream of it later that night, or at the very least have it running through his mind on a joyful loop as he tried to get some sleep.

Right before I close my eyes

The only thing that's on my mind.

“Of course not. It is James after all.” You agree, breaking the silence between you as you nervously run a hand up your arm.

“Yes of course.” He mutters before leaving the room.

The next few hours are spent in bliss, sharing stories between your two families and exchanging gifts and a delicious supper prepared by both of your mothers.

The minute dinner is over, you and the two boys race outside, quick to get away from the chance of chores.

“So Potter, any luck so far this year with Lily? Or are you still getting rejected every bloody time.” You ask with an eyebrow raised in amusement as you walk together.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I have you know she isn’t rejecting me. She’s simply having trouble making up her mind.” He sighs.

You snort at his argument, remaining unconvinced.

“Sure she is Potter.” You say sarcastically.

“Alright then y/l/n. This is only fair, so is there anyone you fancy yet?” He asks challengingly.

Sirius looks at you expectantly, waiting for the answer more eagerly than you could tell.

Been dreaming that you feel it too

I wonder what it's like to be loved by you, yeah

“No I don’t believe so.” You laugh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

Sirius’ face flashes with disappointment for a moment but it’s gone as soon as it has appeared, making you question if it had really been what you’d seen at all.

Shaking off the feeling of suspicion, you dare the boys to race with you down the hill you’d decided to sit on to take a breather. They both gladly take the challenge, practically crashing down the hill into each other.

As they reached the bottom, you continued your slow and relaxed pace, watching with a smile as they both stop to catch their breath desperately.

“We win... y/l/n.” James pants, trying to control his breathing.

“I’m well aware. I just wanted to watch the two of you nearly kill yourselves running.” You say, falling into a fit of giggles as the two chase you around the field.

You squeal excitedly as they catch up to you, both grabbing hold of you at the same time and pulling you back towards them as you kick and flail, failing to break free through your fit of laughter.

The two tickle you together, making you giggle even more, your rib cage aching from the feeling.

“S-stopppp! I get it!” You screech, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard.

The two move away, leaving you on the ground to recompose yourself. You take a few deep breaths, staring up at the sky as you calm down, blissfully watching the clouds.

James waggled his eyebrows at Sirius wordlessly, teasing him for the look of pure admiration he was fixing you with, though not to your knowledge.

I wonder what it's like

I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

After a while, the boys decide to join you, sprawling out on the ground on either side of you.

The three of you lay there for hours, watching the sky darken and chatting about everything you could think of. As you tease James about his crush on Lily Evans, he decides to work up the nerve to send her an owl.

Though you wanted to talk him out of it, you opted not to, too interested in what the outcome may be.

“He’s a real nutter thinking that pestering her will earn her affections.” You laugh to Sirius, your head rested comfortably on his shoulder.

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m not sure Evans will much appreciate his attempts.” He agrees.

The two of you once again sit in a comfortable silence, happy to be in each other’s company. A few moments later, Sirius notices your trembling figure, seeing your arms covered in goosebumps from the crisp early winter air.

He pulls away, making you glance over at him in question as he removes his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders to protect you from hypothermia.

“Thanks Siri.” You whisper as you return to your previous position, the nickname a habit at this point.

“Of course y/l/n. I’m nothing if not a gentleman.” He laughs, hoping you don’t notice his slight stutter of nerves. No matter how many times you would snuggle up to him late at night or even during the day when you were getting sleepier, he could never stop the way his heart skipped a beat when it happened.

He always worried he would say the wrong thing and reveal his feelings or make you question his intentions.

I wonder, why I'm so afraid

Of saying something wrong, I never said I was a saint.

You look over the skyline with a smile on your face, tugging his jacket closer to you blissfully.

“So why aren’t you with your family this year Siri? I mean, I know they’re not exactly the greatest of people but it is the holidays and I know you miss your little brother.” You question, leaning back to let your head rest on the grass.

He sighs, putting his arms behind his head as he lays down next to you.

“They aren’t my family, haven’t you heard? I’m a Potter through and through!” He jokes bitterly and you frown over at him placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it in circles soothingly.

“I know you are. But you’re also a black. You’re brother needs you sometimes too, he’s just too much of a stubborn bloke to admit it.” You murmur, rolling over onto your side so you’re able to face him.

He groans, looking up at the sky and avoiding your gaze as he runs his hand through his hair.

“I bloody well know that y/n. But my mother all but disinvited me to holidays at home anyway so what was I supposed to do.” He mutters, sitting up with his face buried in his hands.

You look at him in surprise, never having seen much of this side of him. You saw the teasing side, the playful and friendly side and the flirty side. You’d only ever seen the deeper, darker side of Sirius once in your life and it hurt like hell watching him torment himself with his own thoughts this way.

“Your mother is a bloody wench.” You growl, picking at pieces of grass with a scowl.

He chuckles bitterly, pushing his hair back with one swoop of his hand.

“Tell me about it, she sent me a letter, practically a howler actually, just to tell me I’m basically the biggest disgrace our family’s ever seen and that I’m basically not a real black.” He whispers.

Just as you go to speak, you’re interrupted by his sniffles. You glance over to see him fighting back tears, practically ready to start bawling right there.

“Hey, Siri. It’s ok to cry you know.” You promise, pulling him into a tight hug. He gets a whiff of your perfume and feels immediately more comforted and loved than he ever had with anyone else, even the boys.

“I don’t know why I’m even crying. It’s not as though I even wanted to be there that badly. I’m being too sensitive.” He musters, his shoulders coming to a slow but sure halt to their shaking.

“You are not. You have every reason to be emotional Sirius. It’s not a bad thing.” You promise, running your fingers through his hair absentmindedly.

He glances at you doubtfully, not totally sure whether you were right or not.

I wonder, when I cry into my hands

I'm conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.

“I won’t tell anyone.” You promise quietly, smiling sadly over at his tear streaked face.

He stays quiet, staring out at the falling snow wordlessly, not wanting to further embarrass himself in front of you.

“Are you ok Sirius?” You ask worriedly, scared to have not heard so much as a peep out of the usual smart talkers mouth.

He blinks back more tears, wiping his face a bit and giving you a weak smile.

“Never better. No ones ever really wanted me anyways, at least it’s a fact now.” He jokes, clearly trying to make you think he’s feeling better.

He goes to get up and away from you, not wanting you to see him lose control of his emotions again but the gentle feeling of your fingers brushing against his arm makes him stop, looking at you in curiosity, his breathing finally fully tranquil.

“What y/n?” He asks tiredly, running a hand through his hair yet again. For as long as you’d known him, that’d been his biggest tell to when he was upset.

“I want you.” You say softly, meeting his eyes shyly, your hand overtop of his. “And the potters want you. Remus and Peter do too.” You add shakily, your face blushing furiously, looking lighter thanks to the moonlight.

His heart warms at the tone in your voice, the way your voice softens so slightly. He didn’t know why you sounded so innocent, you never did usually but there was something different in the way you were speaking to him. It felt different to Sirius, but it was a good kind of different. It almost made him forget about all his troubles, the way you often did.

“And whoever you even start to think doesn’t is wrong. Like, incredibly, madly wrong.” You continue, making him laugh slightly and bringing a small smile to your lips. “Your family is wrong about you Sirius. Someday, even they’ll see that.” You promise, moving over and enveloping him in another hug.

And I wonder if some day you'll be by my side

And tell me that the world will end up alright.

As the two of you pull out of the hug and away from each other’s embrace, you immediately feel a lack of warmth, not just outside but in your heart. You miss holding him, and vice versa. But neither of you dares to vocalize your realizations.

Instead, you sit, staring up at the stars and grinning at each other.

Though Sirius still felt the pain of his family’s words inside, his overwhelming sense of comfort and admiration with you was overpowering the negative, making his smile bright and genuine.

“I’m sure James is having a good time with that letter.” He jokes, making you giggle warmly.

“Yes, I’m sure he finished it forever ago.” You pipe in, both of you falling into a small heap of laughter.

He stands, bending down slightly to reach for your hand, pulling you up off the ground.

Not expecting the amount of force he’d decided to use, you fall forward as you reach your feet, practically flying into Sirius’ arms. He holds them out just in the nick of time, catching you right as you land smack dab against his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso on instinct.

“You alright there y/l/n?” He asks, obviously flustered by the sudden proximity between the two of you.

“Y-Yeah.” You stutter, your face going a bright beet red.

He looks down at you for a second, your eyes meeting as he quietly moves his hand and gingerly moves strands of hair off of your face, pushing them delicately behind your ear.

To both your silent delight, your eyes never leave each other’s. Suddenly, the gap between your bodies is shutting until finally, your lips have made their way to being a mere inch from his own.

I wonder, I wonder...

[justabigassnerd]

Take a break

Pairing - Peter Parker x reader

Word count - 1,158

Warnings - mentions of lack of eating/sleeping, lil’ bit of angst

Summary - you aren’t taking care of yourself while at university, Peter helps you to relax

A/N - Hey y’all I’m back with a new request and tbh I think I’ve cracked the best way to write anything (be it essays or fics) I wrote in comic sans (i was skeptical of that idea but it works wonders) and I listened to a 10 hour loop of the ‘Coconut Mall’ music from Mario Kart (which is my favourite Mario Kart track) anyway I don’t know why why but I’m really super duper in the mood to write some angsty Daryl Dixon fics after I finish my requests so please if you have any send em in. As per y’all please send in requests and enjoy!

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

Your phone buzzed on your desk but you ignored it, you had two big essays to complete for the end of the week and along with your work shifts you were stressing and worried about losing precious time to complete your essays. You rarely left your room, only leaving to get food and pulling regular all-nighters in order to churn out as much work as possible, having to catch up with previous work after being sick for a couple of days. You would’ve finished your essays by now if you hadn’t been ill as you wouldn’t have had to catch up on other stuff to be prepared for the essays. But your immune system had to let you down the time you needed it working the most. Your phone buzzed once more and you tear your eyes away from your laptop screen to see two texts on your phone from your boyfriend, Peter Parker.

‘hey, you haven’t texted me in a couple of days. Are you okay?’

‘can I come over?’

You let out a small sigh at your boyfriend’s texts. Not that you didn’t appreciate his concern, you just didn’t want him to worry about you when he had his own stuff to do. Peter, while still Spider-man and an Avenger, worked in Stark Industries to create new programs and all sorts. He had enough to worry about without you needing to add to his plate of problems. As you went to type out a message saying you were okay, and that he didn’t need to come over another text came through from him.

‘Mr. Stark said I should go and check on you so I’m coming over, won’t be long.’ You cursed under your breath when you read the third text, you were studying in New York so Peter could swing by and see you whenever he could. You knew that if Tony was letting him off easily that Tony was probably equally as worried as Peter about you even if he never actually said it. Even though you weren’t an Avenger, the team adored you and if they were concerned about you they wouldn’t be afraid to ask Peter to check up on you or even do it themselves if they were really concerned. You figured you had about half an hour to cram in as much work as possible, you set to work immediately, desperate to do as much as possible despite your growling stomach and tired eyes.

A sudden knock at the door makes you jump; you look at the time in the bottom right corner of your laptop and at least thirty-five minutes have passed since Peter’s last text. You get up and open the door, being greeted by your boyfriend who steps into your room, his eyes widening at the sight. Your room was dark, curtains drawn with your laptop shining brightly in the darkness. Papers and books were scattered over your desk and some on your bed, Peter saw the cup of coffee on your desk and could tell that it had been refilled repeatedly just to keep you going. His heart broke at the sight because he never wanted you to overwork yourself, he knew that you’d be busy with work, but he never expected it to end up like that.

“oh y/n…” Peter mumbled as he picked up one of the textbooks from your bed and looks at it.

“Peter I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me, honestly.” You say, rubbing your eyes to try and wake yourself up a little more.

“No, I am worried. You look like you haven’t slept or eaten properly in days! Look you need to take a break; I’ll order some pizza and we can just chill and watch movies. Tell you what, go and have a shower and get into your pyjama’s, I’ll order some pizza while you do that.” Peter says, his eyes overflowing with worry as he pulls out his phone.

“No Peter, I need to get this done.” You exclaim, stopping Peter from typing on his phone as he looks up at you.

“They’re both due in on Friday at midnight and I got one done but this second one is much harder, I’ve got a bit done but I don’t want to risk anything.” You continue.

“It’s Wednesday y/n. You can get some early sleep after eating and showering and be ready to tackle the rest of the essay tomorrow. I’ll spend the night and I’ll even help you with the essay. I just need you to put yourself first.” Peter says gently, when you look up and see his soft brown eyes looking at you with genuine concern you start to give in.

“Okay Pete, I’ll stop for today.” You say, watching as Peter smiles slightly and grabs your pyjama’s off your bed and holding them out to you, indicating that he wants you to shower and change. As you disappear into your en-suite bathroom Peter orders your favourite pizza and saves your essay progress before opening Netflix and opening a window to let the cool night air in. When you return, you feel slightly better, the warm shower helping you to relax. Peter then gets a text that the pizza has arrived and heads down to get it, telling you to get into bed and choose something to watch. You do as he asks, scrolling through Netflix until you find what you wanted. When Peter came back he slipped his shoes off and slid into bed next to you, both of you using your pillows as a backrest so you can eat pizza and watch the movie you picked out.

“Kingsman?” Peter asks, a smile on his face as he sees you nod.

“You know it’s my favourite movie Pete, I figured if anything could help take my mind of that essay for a bit it would be this film.” You reply honestly as you press play on the movie as the laptop sits on your legs while the pizza box sits on Peter’s. The two of you demolish the pizza in record time with Peter allowing you to have more of the pizza as he knew how hungry you were. Peter threw the box in the bin and pulled you closer as you rest your head on his shoulder, by now struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Thank you Peter, I love you.” You mumble sleepily, bringing a smile to Peter’s face as he slowly slides down the bed so the two of you are now lying down and puts your laptop on your office chair for safe keeping, the movie now forgotten. You cuddle closer to Peter, resting your head on his chest and allowing his steady heartbeat to lull you to sleep as he played with your hair. Peter watched as your breaths evened out and pulled the duvet over the two of you.

“Goodnight y/n, I love you too.”  

[flowerfan2]

Hey friends, I know you’ve probably seen posts go around about how important it is to creators on this site for people to reblog their work.  So I am straight up asking you, pretty please, to reblog this post.  

This chapter features David and Patrick’s first full-on sexytimes since they got back together (after more than three years apart), and mildly angsty hurt/comfort (not at the same time).  I hope you enjoy it!

David x Patrick, 4400 words this chapter, 45k so far.  A03.  Read from the beginning here.  Posts on Fridays.

Chapter 14

It’s Friday, almost two weeks since they arrived in Florida, and four days since David jumped into the pool in an attempt to douse the flames of his surging emotions with chlorinated water.  Patrick never did find out exactly what his mother said to David, but it obviously shook something loose in him, gave him some insight into how Patrick was feeling, enough to help David lower some of his defenses and let Patrick in.

Over the past few days, David has been more physical with Patrick, his hands always sliding down Patrick’s arms, touching the small of his back, finding his hand to tug him along.  It’s like it used to be, back before they broke up, easy and safe and sure.  They haven’t gone any further, still just kissing and being close.  And it’s lovely, it is, but Patrick can’t help hoping for more.  If David’s ready.  Only if David’s ready.

Patrick wants to let David take the lead, this time, given his botched attempt to seduce David the previous week.  And he’s really hoping that tonight will be the night.

While David was working today, Patrick went to the store, wanting to put together a dinner that communicated “I’m totally ready and I think you are too, but it’s fine if you’re not.”  It’s a big ask for a bouquet of flowers and some pasta.

There’s a part of Patrick’s mind that keeps wishing they could have a bottle of wine, or a few fingers of whiskey, and use the socially acceptable crutch of alcohol to ease the way.  But David isn’t drinking, and Patrick not only respects that but knows it’s not a bad idea for himself either.  So they are just going to have to man up and deal with their inhibitions.  It’s a little bit scary when he thinks about it, how many times he’s used alcohol to avoid worrying about sexual encounters which while consensual, he might not have been thrilled about.  This is different, though, and important.  And Patrick can do it, even if spaghetti carbonara might not have the same effect as a good merlot.

Later that night, he thinks that he might not have given the carbonara enough credit.  David has been attentive, hanging over Patrick’s shoulder while he cooked, snatching bites of bacon out of the pan.  They eat at the kitchen island, sideways so that they face each other, knees knocking together.  David’s wearing a camel-colored hoodie with sort of layered sleeves that flow down his arms like a waterfall, but they slide back as he lifts swirls of pasta to his mouth, leaving his forearms bare for Patrick’s enjoyment.

Mariah is playing softly in the background, and David has barely finished his last bite of the meal when he’s surging forward, his mouth slanting over Patrick’s, licking into it and kissing until the taste of cream is merging with the taste of David, eager and hungry for Patrick.  David’s arms go around Patrick’s shoulders and he stands, moving between Patrick’s legs and bringing their bodies close.

Patrick slides his hands around David’s back, feeling his muscles flex under the thin fabric of his sweater.  David hums approval and tilts his head, kissing along Patrick’s jaw and back under his ear.  It feels amazing, like Patrick’s entire body is lit up from the inside, and Patrick lets out an appreciative groan.

David pulls back and Patrick winces.  He’s gone too far.  “Sorry,” Patrick says.  “Sorry.”

“No, wait.”  David grabs his arms as Patrick tries to turn away to clear their plates, wash the dishes, distract himself from the arousal pulsing through him.  “We don’t have to stop,” David says, his eyes bright.  “If you don’t want to.  But we could relocate.”

They stumble down the hallway and fall into to the bed, somehow still clothed, like they forgot the order the steps are supposed to go in.  David grins shyly at Patrick and reaches over to him, unbuttoning his shirt so slowly Patrick thinks he might combust.  David helps him shrug it off, then pulls Patrick’s t-shirt off over his head and kisses softly at his collarbone.  

Patrick leans back and lets himself enjoy the attention, then slides his hands up under David’s sweater.  “Come on, this too.”

David sits up and takes it off, folding it and setting it on the floor.  Then, with a sideways look at Patrick, he takes off his jeans and adds them to the pile.  Patrick quickly does the same, except that he just throws his off the bed.  He doesn’t know how David retains the brain power to care about his clothes at a time like this.

They move together again as they lie down, just their briefs on, still not quite touching.  Patrick runs a finger down David’s chest and follows it with his mouth.  He remembers this with David, remembers the first time he kissed him here, his chest hair tickling his lips.  Patrick lets out a contented sigh, and David wraps his arms around him as he lies back, pulling him over until Patrick’s body is pressing down on him, his hands curled at the sides of David’s head.

Patrick knows how much David likes this.  He always said it made him feel grounded, to have Patrick all around him.  It was another thing that had been new for Patrick, the heaviness of a man’s body on him, and he had taken a little while to get used to it.  But David had never made him feel dumb about it, never made him feel bad, as he learned all the ways that being with David could be so very wonderful and different from what he had experienced before.

They kiss for a while, David’s hands ranging up and down Patrick’s back, caressing his ass and pulling him in firmly against him.  Patrick can’t help but whine at the pressure, his hips thrusting forward.  “God, David,” he murmurs, and David grins into Patrick’s mouth, loops a leg over Patrick’s calf to snug them even closer together.  

Patrick doesn’t want this to end yet, so he flips them over, his ribs twinging in protest, and sits back, straddling David’s legs and smoothing his hands down over his chest.  David is wide eyed and panting, hands finding Patrick’s thighs and holding tight.  Patrick gets his fingers under the waistband of David’s black briefs, and when David nods in agreement, eases them over David’s straining cock.

“It’s polite to stare,” David had said to him years ago, a smile tucked into his cheek, when Patrick couldn’t help but take a moment to examine and admire the sight in front of him.  Patrick does the same now, and then with significantly more grace than the first time he did this, he leans down and takes David in his mouth in one smooth movement.  

David groans and grabs at the sheets, barely keeping himself from arching up into Patrick’s mouth.  “Oh my god, Patrick, warn a guy.”

Patrick slides off with a pop.  “Want me to stop?”

David shakes his head and Patrick sinks back down, loving the weight of David’s cock in his mouth, the feel of it on his tongue.  David is making the most wonderful sounds, every <i>oh</i> working Patrick up too.  Patrick can feel how close David’s getting, and David knows it too, his hand brushing over Patrick’s hair and cheek.  “Wait,” David says, “I’m too - I don’t want to-”

Patrick slurps off of him and sits back, his hands gentling along David’s hips as David sucks in a breath.

“Would you – I’d like you to-” David stutters out, reaching up to pull Patrick down by the back of his neck.  He kisses Patrick, licking into him hard and sloppy and dirty.  “Fuck me, Patrick,” he whispers into his ear.  It’s unfairly sexy, and Patrick has to take a minute to get himself under control before he can even start to contemplate granting David’s request.

It doesn’t take long.  Patrick had rather optimistically left lube in a nearby drawer, and David opens easily for his fingers.  He doesn’t have to stop and check in with David, who is loudly and enthusiastically assuring him of how good he feels every step of the way.  Patrick is pathetically grateful that they had the necessary conversation already (neither of them have been with anyone in ages, both tested, both clean) so there’s no need for a condom.  When Patrick finally pushes in David is shaking and flushed, demanding and lovely.  Soon Patrick starts moving, and David urges him along, hands running up and down Patrick’s back and squeezing his ass in time to his thrusts.

Patrick gets a hand on David’s cock but he’s barely touched it before David is spilling between them, and the agonized pleasure that erupts from David’s throat has Patrick coming a moment later.  David tugs at Patrick’s side and his arm, anywhere he can reach, pulling him close until Patrick’s face is tucked into the side of David’s neck.  

“Love you,” Patrick pants against David’s chin, drawing in deep gulps of air.  “Love you so much.”  

“Mmm, love you too.”  David slides his hand around the side of Patrick’s head, and he holds him close as he kisses him, again and again until it’s just a touch of his lips, dancing along Patrick’s.  Patrick grins into it, happy and overwhelmed in the best possible way.

*****

The weekend is bright and warm, matching the sunshine Patrick can feel pouring out of him whenever he looks at David.  They sleep in on Saturday morning, David forgoing his run in favor of rimming Patrick until he forgets his own name, and then lazily cleaning up with a shower that lasts until lunchtime.

They finally get dressed and drag themselves out of the house, going for a walk at a state park where they get lost among the shrubs and palm trees, David pretending to be upset until Patrick pulls him off the path and gives him a quick handjob that leaves them both giggling with naughty delight.  At night they engage in the tried and true pastime of fucking around on the couch while ignoring a movie, followed by more sex in bed.  By Sunday morning they’re both a little sore, although they muddle through another round of blow jobs just because they can.

As Sunday afternoon comes around, reality starts to set in.  Patrick still doesn’t have a job, he still hasn’t done anything about seeing a therapist, he still doesn’t have anything to offer David except his broken-ass self.  He finds himself whispering his fears to David while they’re curled up together on a lounge chair by the pool, and David strokes his head and offers reassuring words that segue into self-deprecating tales of David’s own trials and tribulations, finally making Patrick laugh so much he almost falls off the chair.

The next day Patrick is at the kitchen island, laptop open, when David comes out of the office.  

“You sent me an email,” David says, his face carefully neutral.

“Yes,” replies Patrick.

“Why are you sending me an email?  I’m right here.”  David puts a hand on his hip.  Patrick wants to grab him and put his own hands there, over David’s soft white sweater, run them down his capri-clad legs, but he’s determined to keep his mind off sex and on business today.

“Did you read it?”

David looks affronted, and possibly nervous.  “Just tell me.”

Patrick does stand up then, and put his hands on David – his arms, not his hips, and he gives him a soft, quick kiss.  “There’s nothing wrong, David.  It’s not a scary email.  I was just sending you my revised resume.”

David relaxes in stages, his body moving towards Patrick even as his face remains uncertain.  “Are you asking me for a job?  Because while I have proven my worth to RMG as far as creative input, I don’t have any hiring authority for any position you would possibly want.  Stevie is really the one you should be asking.”

Patrick laughs and rubs David’s arms.  “No, I’m not asking you for a job.  I wanted you to read over my resume and help me get it ready.”

“Oh.”  David blinks and steps away, looking around and then going to the refrigerator where he stares at the bottles of water.  “Are you sure?”

“Why not?”

David closes the refrigerator without taking anything out.  “I mean, I’m not really good at that kind of thing.”  

“Why would you say that?”

“Well,” David says, “you gave me plenty of shit about not knowing how to describe my store, why do you think I’d be any better at describing anything else?”

Patrick laughs.  “It’s not at all the same.”

“Fine, I’ll read it over, but… you know who you should ask.”

Patrick doesn’t really think that Johnny is the best one to advise him on how to seem relevant, but he has had a wealth of experience.  Still… “I don’t need your dad to know every detail of my lackluster performance over the past few years,” Patrick says.

“My dad?  No, oh no, no, that is not what I meant.  You need Alexis to look at it.”

Patrick doesn’t much like this idea either, if for different reasons.  He goes over to the couch and flops down.  David follows and sits close, his hand gliding over Patrick’s shoulder.

“She’d help you,” David says.  “You guys are good now, I heard you talking with her the other day, when she called and I was coming out of the shower?  She wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s not it,” Patrick says.  “Or, it’s not all of it.”

“Then what?”

Patrick sighs.  “I have to figure out how to explain what happened with my last job, and why I haven’t done anything since.  And why my professional trajectory hasn’t exactly been the most impressive.”

David erupts with laughter, and Patrick glares at him.

“Oh my god, Patrick, have you met her?  It’s like you’re describing Alexis’ most marketable skill.  There is no one better at turning grocery store lemons into rosemary lemonade cocktails than my sister.  I’m calling her right now.”

*****

A few days later Patrick double checks his calendar, grimacing when the entry for his doctor’s appointment shows up that afternoon.  He puts it out of his head for most of the day, and is considering skipping it altogether, when David comes into the living room and tilts his head at him curiously.

“Why aren’t you ready to go?  Google maps says the doctor’s office is twenty minutes away, and you know you should arrive early in case there are forms to fill out.”  David gives him a little wink, probably in acknowledgement of how Patrick feels about filling out forms.

He’s not sure why David thinks he isn’t ready, other than the fact that he’s lounging on the couch like a person with no intention of getting up anytime soon.  Patrick looks himself over.  He’s wearing gray joggers and a green t-shirt.  He’s not <i>not</i> ready.  “I’m not going to change clothes to go to the doctor’s office.  And there’s plenty of time.  No need to kick me out of the house just yet.”

David frowns.  “Studies show that doctors treat well-dressed people better.  Frankly studies show that everyone treats well-dressed people better.”

“I don’t think this particular casually dressed white guy is in any danger of biased treatment.  Plus I’m guessing I won’t be wearing any clothes by the time the doctor sees me.”

“Fine.  But I’m changing, doctor’s offices are always chilly and this sweater is too light.  I’ll be right out.”  David heads off towards the bedroom, and Patrick realizes what this means.  David is coming to the doctor’s office with him.

Later, as they pull into the parking lot of the nondescript medical center, Patrick stops David with a hand on his.  “I appreciate you driving me over, but you don’t have to come in.”

“Do you not want me to come in?”

“It’s not that, it’s just that you don’t have to.”

David sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and considers Patrick.  “What’s going on?”

“What?”

“You wanted me to come to the dentist with you, back when – you know.  You always said you hated doctors’ offices, and you felt better when I came with you.  Has something changed?”  David takes a breath, his eyes going wide.  “Is something wrong?  Is there something you don’t want me to know?”  His hands fly to Patrick’s shoulders, holding tight.

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong.  But it’s just a check-up on the state of my ribs, and how this is healing,” he motions to his head wound.  “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to, that’s all.”

David stares at him for a moment, then gets out of the car and leans down to see Patrick when he doesn’t immediately get out.  “Come on.  Let’s go.”

Patrick walks up to the counter to check in, while David takes a seat in the bland waiting room.  Most of the room is done in shades of tan – the walls, the chairs, the curtains keeping out the bright sunshine.  He watches David silently judging the fake floral arrangements, and the clashing plastic Christmas tree on the corner table.

The receptionist greets him politely enough.  She’s probably wondering why Patrick is here.  They probably don’t get many thirty-somethings, at least not without an elderly parent in tow.  Certainly Patrick has only ever been here before with his mom.  

Patrick has barely sat down next to David when they call his name and he stands back up again.  David looks at him inquiringly, but Patrick shakes his head.  “I’m good.”  It’s one thing to have David come with him, it’s another to need him holding his hand in the examination room.  “Why don’t you go get coffee?  I think there’s a place in that strip mall we passed.”

David smirks.  “Which one?”  He’s not wrong, this stretch of road is nothing but strip malls, all with their own Publix supermarket holding down the fort.  But David sits back and crosses his legs one over the other.  “I’m fine here.  Go.”

Patrick follows the nurse and sits in the examining room where he’s told to wait.  He finds the little tub of citrusy lip balm in his pocket and puts some on, thinking about David ordering a gross of custom product just because Patrick said it smelled like sunshine.  <i>After</i> they broke up.  He breathes it in, letting it distract him from the antiseptic odor of the doctor’s office.

The nurse returns, introduces herself, and directs Patrick to strip down to his briefs and wait, again.  When she reappears she does the expected weighing and measuring (he’s not sure why this couldn’t have been done before he was mostly naked), and then has him sit on the examining table while she asks him a million questions.  

She’s readying a syringe of some type, wrapping an elastic band around his arm and telling him to make a fist, when Patrick suddenly feels the room closing in on him.  His vision narrows to the point of the needle in her hand, and he can’t hear anything over a harsh rushing in his ears.

He can’t breathe, everything is dark and his chest is on fire and he can’t breathe, and he doesn’t know what to do, it all hurts and there’s no air, no air anywhere.  Then there’s something soft and warm against his face, and a hand rubbing his back.

“Hey, Patrick, you’re okay.”  He hears a voice – David – and he holds on, David’s fuzzy black sweater under his fingers, his rumbling chest against his cheek.  “You’re okay, just breathe, honey.  Try to relax and breathe.”

Patrick doesn’t think it’s possible, but he hangs on to David and listens to his voice, presses his face into his body.  He tries to do that breath matching thing but it’s not working, and he thinks madly that David will have to take him to the doctor but then remembers they’re already there, and the pain in his chest and his head threatens to overwhelm him.

“Patrick, can you hear me honey?”  David has one hand on Patrick’s cheek, and the warmth of his chest is gone, and Patrick blinks open his eyes to see David looking at him with eyes full of concern.  “There you are.  Come on, try to take in a deeper breath.  You can do it.”

Seeing David right in front of him, present and worried and as beautiful as ever, somehow seems to help, and Patrick sucks in a stuttering breath.  “That’s it,” David says, somehow proud.  “Another one, now.  Slow.” Patrick tries again, and again, in tune to the rhythm of David’s words and the firm pressure of the circles he’s drawing on his back.

Patrick finally feels like there’s air in his lungs, and he lets himself look away from David.  He’s still in the same room where the nurse brought him, but now David is sitting on the examining table next to him.  He straightens up, David’s hands falling to his waist.  He feels shaky and ill.

“How are we doing?”  Someone in light blue scrubs pokes their head in the door, and Patrick feels his heart thump against his chest.

“I’m fine.” His voice echoes in his head as he speaks.  He’s not convincing anyone.

“Give us another minute, please,” David says firmly, and the door is closed again.  Patrick sags down against David and closes his eyes.  Now that he can breathe again he’s beyond embarrassed, sweaty and miserable, and yet David is still holding him, stroking his back and running a hand over his head.  

“I’m okay, really,” Patrick says a few minutes later.  

David pulls back and considers this.  Patrick doesn’t know what measure he’s using, but David apparently decides that Patrick isn’t going to expire from lack of oxygen, and his shoulders relax slightly.  “Shall we get out of here?  There’s a Dairy Queen half a mile away, and they’ve still got the Girl Scout cookie flavors.”

“Is that what the doctor ordered?”

David rolls his eyes.  “Ice cream is always necessary after a doctor’s appointment.  What, were your parents monsters?”

“You’re telling me Moira took you for ice cream after your doctor’s appointments?”

“Well, someone did.”  David squeezes Patrick’s shoulders encouragingly.  “Come on, I’ll drive.  You can check google for a pizza place.  I think you deserve both.”

“David, as much as I like the sound of your plan, they haven’t examined me yet.”  

David frowns.  “Is it really necessary?”

Patrick wants to say yes, of course, because the doctor he saw in Toronto told him to get checked, just to be sure, in case something isn’t healing right, he always listens to his doctor’s instructions… but what are they going to say?  Gee, looks like you’re healing just fine, must be all of that invigorating sex exercise you’ve been getting?  Maybe they can just bolt out of here after all.

Just then there’s another knock on the door.  The scrubs-clad doctor is tall, with a friendly expression and a head full of curly gray hair, and he waits for their permission before coming into the room.  He has a reassuring demeanor, and he doesn’t say a word about David staying in the room, which is just as well because Patrick can tell from David’s quick inhale that challenging him would lead to some rather snippy responses.

The doctor convinces Patrick to let him do a quick exam.  Patrick agrees, and David slides off the table but stays close, hovering just next to Patrick.  David keeps darting a hand out to touch Patrick, on his shoulder or his arm, and the doctor doesn’t object.

The doctor asks Patrick to stand and go through some movements to assess his range of motion, and Patrick can feel David’s eyes on him as he stretches and bends.  It’s all good, he has hardly any pain, and he’s not surprised when the doctor tells him that he’s healing well.  

When he’s finished, the doctor looks at the two of them, David with his hand on Patrick’s shoulder again, and nods.  “You’re doing just fine, Patrick.  And you’re very lucky, to have someone to count on.”  A shadow passes over his face.  “You remind me of my son.  Good luck to you both.”

The doctor then leaves the room, suggesting that Patrick make an appointment to have his ribs x-rayed in the next few weeks.

David turns to Patrick, eyebrows in motion.  “What do you think that means?  About his son?”

“That I remind him of his son?”  

David shakes his head.  “That look – ugh, I don’t want to know.  But it’s not good.”

Patrick gets dressed while David pretends to read a poster on the wall about cardiovascular health, and then they check out.  

“Does the doctor know how you got hurt?”  David asks as he slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors before he pulls out of the parking lot.

“I don’t know.  The nurse didn’t ask.”

“I suppose fractured ribs and a head wound tell their own story.”

They drive in silence, and Patrick wonders what happened to the doctor’s son.  If it was something like what happened to him.  The comment, along with how accepting the doctor was of David being all over Patrick during the exam, makes him think the answer is yes.  It’s a reminder that even while he and David are holed up in their little bubble, taking shelter from reality in their comfortable suburban nest, the world keeps on moving along.

He’s surprised when they pull up to the Dairy Queen, although he really shouldn’t be.  David doesn’t joke about dessert.  They debate their options for a few minutes with a seriousness he doubts most people would appreciate when considering what candy to swirl into soft serve.  Despite the presence of the Thin Mints Blizzard, David decides on one with raspberries and chocolate pieces, and Patrick picks peanut butter cup.  

Later that night, curled up safe in bed with David’s arms around him, Patrick thinks back on the doctor’s words.  He is very lucky – immensely lucky - to have David to count on now, and the terrible irony is that if Patrick hadn’t been beat up and then fled to Florida to nurse his wounds, he might still be alone.

[unsettledink]

Fanfic Writer Ask Game

Tagged by @zsparz - thank you, I always love doing these! (And also thanks to yours, I read a winterbaron fic despite myself and LIKED it ahhhhh gotta go leave you a comment.) I grabbed the questions from @scarletmanuka1 cause more questions is always better :D

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 

363 - one of my goals is to hit 365 by the end of the year. You could read a fic every day for a year! (Don’t do that, why would anyone want to put themselves through that?)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

588,623

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

26, but 16 of those I've only written 1-2 fics for, generally drabblets.

Alice in Wonderland (Burton), Blade, Body of Lies, RPF, Bunnicula, Chronicles of Riddick, Da Vinci's Demons, Dior Homme, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Farscape, Hitchhiker's Guide, Inception, MCU (Iron Man, Spider-Man, Avengers, Thor)  Kick-Ass, Mojo, Pirates of the Caribbean, Redwall, Revolver, Road to Eldorado, Robin Hood, Rock'n'Rolla, Sherlock Holmes, Snatch, The Long Firm, Wicked, X-Men, Zodiac

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Seiche - 816 (MCU) - There is something about ABO that cause those fics to always rank higher. It’s fascinating!

Tamed - 701 (Riddick) - This has the added benefit of existing for almost ten years, and having made it to the first page if sorting by kudos. Which is an endless loop - more likely to be seen, so more likely to get kudos, so more likely to be seen, so...

Cuddle - 640 (Road to El Dorado) - All the same features as Tamed, plus this fandom only has a couple hundred fics to start with.

Indefensible - 601 (MCU) - What did I say about the ABO? Also, smut. Smut always, always ranks higher, and the more dirty bad wrong it is, the higher. More kudos and less comments generally, and I understand!

Better Than - 523 (MCU) - It makes me so happy this continues to hang on up there. I don’t have speculations on why!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I've always tried to, though I went through a few years where I stopped due to depression. I keep thinking about gong back and replying to those, even if it might be weird, cause it BUGS ME that I didn't.

I love replying to comments for several reasons. A huge one is that I just really love talking about writing and my fic, so a reply is a chance to elaborate on some detail or talk about the writing process or something. (I don't know if that's annoying, but I love it when authors do that in reply to my comments!) I like people to know that I saw their comment and that no matter how short, it meant a lot to me, they're not shouting into the void. And – though it doesn't seem like as much of a thing anymore – pretty much all of the fandom friends I've every made were through the comments of fics, the conversations that got sparked. People don't seem to really chat in comments like that anymore? I very seldom have someone reply to a reply I leave.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

(as per usual, I ramble on and on, so the rest is behind the cut)

Oof, that's so tough. Pretty much everything I've written recently (the past few years at least) has been happier, but for a long time, I was heavily focused on angst, so there's a lot of them. I tried to go with a few that literally still make me cry when rereading them.

Aegis (MCU, Peter/Quentin) - Even though I know it’s coming, even though I WROTE it, the last couple of lines make me start crying every single time I re-read it. It’s something about this bright flash of what could have been possible that I can’t handle.

A Word, Waiting to Break (Body of Lies, Hani/Roger) - Does it count if the whole thing is angsty? This fandom was kind of made for that though. The balance of what Hani is seeing and feeling and being able to express fucks me up. 

One For Sorrow (Ritchie Sherlock Holmes, Blackwood/Coward) - Another pairing that exists for angst, especially if canon compliant (and this is). Definitely a case of all the good things building up that make the ending that much harder for me to take. All the various aspects of Coward’s decision hurt.

Not Long (Ritchie Sherlock Holmes, Holmes/Coward) - It feels a little clumsy now, but it still manages to upset me. I love the idea of broken people finding some sort of comfort in each other, and hate it when they just break everything more.It also might be that I just have such a clear, vivid image in my head of the end, and that likely doesn’t translate well.

Knowledge of Somewhere (ACD Sherlock Holmes, Holmes/Watson) - It was just supposed to be a little experiment playing with ACD as a writer! And then I fucking destroyed myself with the sad and the hurt and yes I am literally tearing up now, I don’t know guys. I have issues with the idea of ‘gone wrong’ universes having an awareness of ‘gone right’ universes, don’t ever get me started on time travel in movies.

Like an Ever Skipping Record (RocknRolla + Inception, Eames/Yusuf/Johnny) - I don’t know what happened here. Honestly. I was enjoying this odd little universe and nothing was sad and then I’m driving home one day listening to Time and this drops into my head fully formed, and I bawled the rest of the way home. Cried the entire time I wrote it, but I couldn’t not write it. I’m so angry about it.

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

I'd say most of my Peter/Tony fics end happily! Better Than, (Just) Waiting Around, Seiche, & Later for Later are all not just 'happy' endings but really happy endings, everything fixed and right with the world. Actually, that’s an important part of it for me - to feel like an actual happy ending and not just a nice ending, they have to have had some trouble getting there. Which all of those feature as well.

8. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest crossover you’ve written?

No-- well, not really. I have a couple crossovers from way back in the day, but I haven't written any since, and I very seldom read them. Sometimes I think I should give them more of a chance, because the good ones can be REALLY good, but eh.

The craziest is definitely the Blade/Inception crossovers. I honestly don't even fully remember what brought them about? I think it was one of the commentfic wars where scrapbullet started it and then I played around with it. Like a little fever dream.

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Weirdly enough, not really? Which feels unusual because I write a lot of 'problematic' pairings and content. It's probably mostly because I'm not at all popular or well known, lol.

I got an annoyed comment on a fic that wrote for the kink meme that has a large section of another language, saying that it was a terrible translation that I should take down this disservice to their language. Considering that I had that section checked and edited by two different native speakers... yeah nah. Oh and I got a comment on a Holmes/Watson/Dog (yes really), about how I should have warned for noncon, along with a 'consent 101' lecture. A) It's labeled 'CNTW', and B) uh. It's. It's-- the base concept and pairing is inherently noncon and that cannot be altered???

10. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

So much. SOOOO much. Uh, what kind? A lot, I guess. Almost exclusively m/m. Quite a bit of kink and power dynamics/elements of those. Frequently consent issues and darker smut, but just as frequently stuff where everyone is just having a good time.

I get a lot of 'I didn't think I had this interest but apparently now I do??' and 'this is somehow so soft despite the absolute filth?' and I'd say a lot of times, the smut is an emotional climax/breaking point as much as physical. I like my smut a little lot fraught with feels, even if the characters themselves don't understand.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. I don’t know how I’d even know, though.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Many! Probably about a dozen? It's a really nice feeling that someone wanted to go through that effort. I always wonder how well various things carry over.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Sort of, in a collaborative way for a challenge? It wasn't a bad experience, but it's not my thing. I'm not great at getting my brain to run alongside other's ideas; it's part of why I seldom do exchanges/prompts.

That said, in some ways I feel like a few of fics were practically co-written with other people, though I don't know if most would see it that way? Scrapbullet and I did a bunch of writing in shared au's, and @the-me09 ‘s beta reading can frequently help alter things to such an extent that it feels like co-writing lol.

14. What’s you all time favourite ship?

Impossible question! For writing, maybe Holmes/Watson. I read in it long before I wrote, and I can see myself coming back to writing it in the future.

Blackwood/Coward is a very close second, but that's honestly at least half from the wonderful community and memories associated.

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I mean... I intend to finish all of them! It's part of why I very seldom post WIPs, because I'd hate to leave one out there unfinished. And I still have a long time (fingers crossed) to write things.

There is Take What You Can, which was supposed to be for a big bang that I dropped out of. I did eventually 'finish' and post it, but... it never really felt properly finished. I'd really like to go back and revisit it, give some time to the bits I rushed over to just get it done. It was the longest and most ambitious thing I’d written at that point, and it really should have been about twice that length.

But that's so low on my list of things I want to write (five MILLION) and has no audience. I don't know if I'll ever actually get to it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Smut! Angst. Last lines/endings. Flipping dynamics. Emotions. Titles? (I don't know if they're a 'strength', but I love picking titles and am almost always happy with the way they add on to the fic.)

17. What are you writing weaknesses?

Beginnings. Plot. Action sequences. Fluff. Inability to end sentences in a reasonable amount of words. Never using one word when I can use six. Even though I've been told otherwise a lot, dialogue is always nerve wracking for me.

18. What are you thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don't care for it, and likely wouldn't write any. I find it frustrating when no translation is provided, or when it's at the end (I don't want to scroll back and forth, and I've probably forgotten by the time I get there). I wish more writers made use of mouseover text, it's so great for that particular issue. It’s not a backbutton for me - I have a translation addon installed, so I can just highlight the text and find out what it says, but it still throws me out of the fic a bit.

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Sherlock Holmes! Specifically 2009 movie. Too Easy (Holmes/Watson/Blackwood) It has some rough spots, but you know what, i still stand by it!

The kinkmeme for that fandom was absolutely amazing, and being able to try things out anon (even if I seldom stayed anon) was incredibly helpful for starting to write fanfic.

20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Wow even more impossible question! I tried to limit myself, okay? There are just so many I LOVE. I only allowed myself one per pairing which is even HARDER.

Life For the Living (The Long Firm, Harry/Lenny)

You want to talk about a fandom of none?? This was the first fic for the show, and most of the rest since have also been me LOL. Mark Strong fans are pretty freaking awesome though, and I just love this fic. One of those that dropped into my head completely written, this missing scene of all the built up tension finally shattering. It doesn't change the ending, and might make it even harder to take, but it's still so satisfying.

Bleed Out Ink (Sherlock Holmes, Holmes/Watson)

It really is impossible to pick one of my H/W, but this is right up there. I still cry at the end every time, even though it's not really a sad ending? But a lot of feeling. Writing about writers is always a lot of fun and a little weird too, and the layers of authors/writing within Sherlock Holmes is endlessly fascinating to play with.

Pitselah (Ritchie Sherlock Holmes, Blackwood/Coward)

My heart, my heart. Another very small (though very dedicated) fandom, that doesn't really exist anymore. This fic is like, a perfect storm of things I am fixated on: 2nd person pov (don't run away!!), gift of the magi-esque themes, regrets, people coming back Wrong, doing the worst possible things, the most awful things, out of an intense love, betrayals on many levels. Gah. I love it.

Salutary (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Graves/Credence),

This was not nearly as popular as my other FBWFT fics, probably because it's weird. I definitely have a whole universe that wraps around it and I'd like to write one day. I am just such a sucker for scent based claiming and worldbuilding, for feral Credence and all the awful things Grindlewald could have done to Graves.

Morning (Body of Lies, Hani/Roger),

The reverse strip tease! I've always been really happy with the visuals of this, and giving Hani & Roger a moment that is straight up happy, in an universe that implies this isn't just one stolen moment, but the status quo. It's harder than I thought with this pairing. Also I got the most stunning art drawn for it by sizerly and it's still what I see when re-reading it.

Things Never Meant to Be Seen (Inception/RocknRolla, Eames/Yusuf/Johnny/Archy),

I... yeah I don't know, guys. This is such a strange little universe but I love it, and I love the progression here, the little discoveries and people getting to enjoy seeing their loved ones be happy. And see a space for themselves open up, ugh, I cannot. It actually can probably stand on its own without reading the rest, because the world is skewed enough you just have to accept it happened.

Just a Bite (MCU, Tony/Peter),

On the one hand, how could I pick this vs some of the other Tony/Peter that I love so much and are so proud of? But on the other hand... I really love this little fic. I could write about this stuff for ages: handfeeding kink, peter discovering new things and liking it, Tony getting a chance to be taken care of and allowing it and being allowed to act subby in a way I never see enough of, Peter finding these glimmers of dominance in himself. Yes to all of it.

What's Best (MCU, Tony/Obie),

Because I also love me some utter heartbreak and betrayal. I stand by my belief that Obie is the MCU's single best villain, and the tension between the two of them in practically every second of the movie just has me screaming about all the things that could have—or DID—happen. That betrayal still ranks as one of my top five (maybe even top) most sickening, devastating moments in the MCU. (So of course I had to write about it!)

Deep End (MCU, Tony/Quentin)

Look I am straight up angry that @the-me09​ gently pulled over to the Tony/Quentin fandom and then drowned me in it! I love all of my Tony/Quentin (and T/Q/Peter) fics so much, but this series in particular makes me so happy. It's hard to explain especially as so much of it is still only in my head, but I love putting overconfident Q in situations that make him struggle, and struggle to hide that, and hide that he's out of his depth even to himself. I love the dynamic of Tony and Quentin with these matched needs clashing against each other and being delighted in what others find frustrating.

[ksooandwoozi]

Cursed Part Two

So I’ve been getting a lot of requests to make a part two of cursed. It pained me to write, but here it is! I know I haven’t posted in forever and this was promised almost a year ago, but it’s finally here. It’s in Hansol’s pov, and it’s very angsty so please don’t read if you’re feeling sad :(  Hopefully this gives some closure into how Jihoon was feeling, and now I kind of want to make a third part with a happy ending to cursed, because I very sad after writing this. 

I’ll be writing more new stories as well so please look forward to some writings that are fluffy in the future! 

Hansol couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something terribly wrong. After you had left the party in a flurry of tears into the torrential downpour, your sister had asked everyone there to assist in looking for you. Although your sister wasn’t the most attune to your emotions and feelings, even she could see that there was something wrong in the way you had left the party so suddenly. Your family was obsessed with appearances, and even though the party was only filled with yours and your sister’s friends, she knew that you wouldn’t just leave like that without a proper and good reason. 

Currently, Hansol was checking the gardens for you, shouting your name in a shrill voice, cold racking his body. He had no clue how you were surviving out here right now; he had only been outside for ten minutes and yet he was shivering, fingers beginning to turn numb and the cold rain biting into his skin. He had seen you go up to your room earlier in the night, and had assumed it was to cough up the roses that symbolized your love for Jihoon, but he hadn’t actually seen the boy for the entire night. 

Hansol wondered where the boy could be. He figured that the sight of seeing him after so many days was a shock to your system; maybe that was why you left the party in a rush. Maybe that was why you had left without a warning. 

He had never had the hanahaki disease, never had been subjected to the utter torment it put its receipts in, but after seeing two of the most important people in his life go through it, he decided then and there that he would do absolutely everything he could to help you through it. He would move to a different country with you if needed. He would do basically anything. 

Hansol calls out your name again, this time with renewed vigor. If you didn’t prove to be here, then he would check all your other favorite places. You were bound to be somewhere. But before he’s able to check behind the little stone wall that was situated towards the front of the garden, he hears his name. 

Hansol turns around and sees the last person he would’ve expected to hear call his name. It’s Jihoon’s girlfriend, the one he had been introduced to a week or two ago. He couldn’t recall her name in the slightest, because the only thing that had consumed his thoughts during their introduction was the fact that this girl was the one that made it impossible for Jihoon to fall for you. He couldn’t help but hate the girl, even though he knew it wasn’t her fault at all. She hadn’t even met you yet. 

“Hansol?” Jihoon’s girlfriend says again, “It’s Jihoon- could you please help me? I don’t know what to do and I know you’ve known him for longer. Please.” She whispers the last part, and Hansol is barely able to catch the plea because of their distance. 

“Uh sure, I guess. Where is he?” Hansol asks, turning to follow his girlfriend back inside the house. Frankly, he wanted nothing less than to check up on Jihoon. Not when you were still outside, cold and wet and broken. 

“He’s in here. He just started breaking down and he literally won’t stop crying.” Jihoon’s girlfriend states, before pushing open the door into the parlor. “I’ve been trying to calm him down, but nothing’s working.” 

The sight that greets Hansol is nothing short of heartbreaking. Jihoon is curled up into a ball against the back of a chair, sobs racking his body. Hansol finds a wicked sort of glee that courses through him at the sight of normally stoic and calm Jihoon breaking down. Maybe he was beginning to feel even just an ounce of the pain he was putting you through. 

Regardless, Hansol moves forward to kneel in front of Jihoon. No matter what, Jihoon was still his friend, even though he hated the man’s guts just a little bit for being so freaking dense towards your love. 

“Jihoon. What’s wrong?” Hansol asks, bringing a hand to brush his friend’s shoulder. He figured Jihoon had found out the truth, nothing bringing more shock to your body than the fact that your best friend of seventeen years was head over heels in love with you. He couldn’t imagine the emotional turmoil that was racking through him right now, but knew it was nothing close to what you were going through. 

“It’s (Y/N).” Jihoon manages to choke out through his crying. “She has hanahaki and I fucked up Hansol. I royally fucked up.” 

A cold feeling settles on Hansol’s chest at that point, not sure how to respond to the fact that Jihoon “fucked up.” Did he do the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do and mention the love he had for his girlfriend? Did he break you beyond repair this time? 

“What do you mean fucked up Jihoon? Just so you know she’s not even here anymore. She left through the front door and it’s a torrential downpour out there. Her sister is having everyone at the party look for her.” Hansol fills the other boy in, not sure if he was caught up with the current happenings. He had no idea how long Jihoon had been in the parlor for. 

“What?” Jihoon sputters out, his head raising from where it had been pressed against his knees. “She’s gone?” 

Hansol watches as Jihoon stumbles to his feet, legs almost giving out as he struggles to use them. He reaches forward to catch his friend, looping an arm around his shoulder to keep him steady as Jihoon’s girlfriend steps forward to help as well. 

“Hansol, I think I might know where she is. I’m so fucking scared though.” Jihoon manages to say, voice cracking with pure and unfiltered emotion. 

Hansol’s heart clenches at those words. “What do you mean scared? You don’t think anything’s wrong with her do you?” 

Jihoon turns to look at him, torment flashing through his irises. “I sure hope not Hansol. I can’t lose her.” 

Hansol chose to keep his mouth shut at that comment, not really sure how to state that it was his fucking fault they were in this situation to beign with. How it was his fucking fault that his best friend was in an unprecedented amount of pain because of him. How it was his fucking fault that you were currently outside in freezing rain, possibly hurt and surrounded by roses and a constant reminder that you were not loved back in the same way. How it was his fucking fault that all of this was happening. And Hansol didn’t know how to get all of that out in a tone that wasn’t angry and condescending, so he just chose to stay quiet. 

“Where do you think she is then?” Hansol chose to say instead, sort of curious as to where Jihoon thought you were. 

“You remember the cliff? The one we used to go to during the summer? For some reason I just have a feeling that she’s there.” Jihoon says, eyes unfocused as the three of them begin the walk towards the door. And even though she had been present for the whole thing, Hansol has to give credit to Jihoon’s girlfriend for managing to not say anything and not show a lick of emotion at this whole event. 

“Yeah I do.” Hansol states, vaguely recalling you mentioning something about a cliff that you frequented with Jihoon. He had never asked to be brought there, understanding that it was a special place to the both of you. Hansol knew that while he considered you to be his best friend, Jihoon was and had always been yours. Even though the amount of years didn’t really matter in regards to friendships, a whole seventeen years versus the five he had known you, seemed to outweigh the level of their friendship that you and him shared. 

The rain is heavy and weighs them down as they begin the walk towards the cliff. After a while Jihoon is finally able to walk again, albeit a little wobbly and he takes the lead, leaving Hansol and Jihoon’s girlfriend trailing behind him a couple of steps. 

Hansol takes the time to give Jihoon’s girlfriend a glance over, a little guilty that he can’t remember the girl’s name in the slightest. He knows it’s not her fault, but he still can’t help but feel a twinge of anger whenever he looks at her, knowing that she’s half of the reason why you were in pain. It was hard to have any sort of sympathy for her when Hansol didn’t even know her name. 

“We’re almost there.” Jihoon mumbles from in front of them, voice hard to hear over the pounding of the rain. Hansol’s entire body is soaked to the bone by this point, and once again he doesn’t know how you’re dealing with the cold. You must have been out here for over an hour, whereas the three of them had probably only been out for thirty minutes. 

If it’s even possible the rain gets harder, making visibility almost comically impossible, and Hansol has to put a hand over his eyes and strain them to even make out Jihoon’s back. That’s why they don’t see the crowd of people gathered until they’re right upon them. 

 He hears Jihoon mutter out a “what the-” clearly not expecting the crowd that’s gathered. Hansol breaks away from Jihoon and his girlfriend and fights his way through the people, not liking this one bit. The dark feeling that he had been feeling since the beginning has settled over his heart now, clawing its way and latching itself to him. As he gets nearer to the edge, he hears the sobs and tormented cries of your sister, her crunched up form becoming clearer and clearer the closer he gets. His stomach drops at the sight and he races towards her, not even knowing what to think at the moment. Fear courses through his body and he starts praying to whatever being that is up there that his best friend is okay. 

“What’s going on?” He spits out, voice cracking as he crouches down next to your sister, hand going up to rub a comforting hand on her shoulder. Your sister immediately latches onto Hansol, fingernails digging into his chest, head crashing into his shoulder, and her sobs increasing tenfold. 

Hansol, without a second thought, holds her, pressing his chin onto her head, too freaking scared to ask what’s wrong. He can only imagine what happened for your sister to be acting like this and he hopes it isn’t true; he’s never wished for anything more in his entire life. There’s muffled shouting behind him and suddenly Jihoon is next to them, perched on his knees, fixing Hansol and your sister with a worried glance. 

“What’s going on?” He whimpers, tears beginning to make their way down his cheeks. Your sister wails at those words, fingers clenching tighter into Hansol’s chest, nails scratching and slightly tearing at his soaked dress shirt. 

Hansol goes back to rubbing your sister’s back, not even being able to spare a word of comfort for your grieving kin. He doesn’t even feel anything at this point, somehow knowing what has happened before your sister even has a chance to speak. Jihoon must know too if his tears are anything to go by. There’s only one reason why a crowd would be gathered here and only one reason why your sister would be crying this uncontrollably. 

“She’s gone.” Your sister cries and at those words Hansol’s grip tightens. He can feel his heart stutter and then it drops, a coldness settling on top of him that has nothing to do with the freezing rain. 

“Gone? What do you mean gone?” He hears from next to him and suddenly Jihoon is gripping onto your sister’s arm, eyes crazy and voice higher pitched than it normally was. “She can’t be gone. She was just at the party only an hour ago. There’s no way.” Jihoon is fumbling over his words at this point, a hand going up to push his soggy bangs out of his face to fix Hansol and your sister with a heartbroken look. 

“There’s no way.” He repeats, softer this time, eyes flitting to where the edge of the cliff stood. And through the haze of rain filtering around them, he zeros in on a dash of pink. Hansol watches as Jihoon unsteadily gets to his feet, stumbling across the uneven ground to reach the small heap of pink roses that are gathered there. He reaches a hand out, fingers grasping one of the flowers, a thorn digging into the tip of his index finger as he clutches it close to his chest. 

Hansol is forced to watch as Jihoon grips the rose tightly, blood trickling out of his palm to fall on the dirt and rocks as he bawls, crumpling into himself. Hansol wants to do the same thing himself, but he has to remain strong for your sister, and for you. He wants nothing more than to join Jihoon in his wailing, wanted nothing more than to just collapse on the ground and let his utter despair consume him. But he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t. Not when your sister was sobbing in his arms, not when your former love was bleeding and crying over you. He had to be the strong one. 

He chances a glance up and that’s when he notices a figure making their way up the side of the cliff. There was a little path that led down to the water and rocks below and he hadn’t noticed it when they had first arrived, too consumed with the need to find out what happened. As the figure gets closer he makes out that it’s your father and in your father’s arms there’s a shape. Hansol’s heart lurches at the sight and then he’s calmly disentangling your sister from in between his arms to make his way towards your father. As he gets closer he notices that the shape has your exact same hair color and is dressed in the purple ensemble that you were wearing earlier at the party. 

Hansol doesn’t want to believe that it’s true, but he can’t help it, wanting to make sure that you’re the broken body held in your father’s arms. He stumbles forward and sees that your dad is crying, tears leaking out of his eyes to make their way down his wrinkled cheeks, arms held protectively around you. 

He stops when he’s right in front of your father and looks down, seeing your face, lifeless and pale, blood staining your blue lips and the front of your dress. Hansol feels his limbs seize up and then he’s collapsing, not being able to handle the sight of seeing you without the usual blush that colors your cheeks. For the first time that night he’s crying, bringing his knees to his chest. He had never ever seen a dead body before and the fact that his first one was you, his best friend, was too much to handle. 

Your father settles down next to him, still clutching onto your lifeless body, and Hansol notices that your fingers are wrapped tightly around a pink rose. He doesn’t know what compels him in that moment, but then he’s reaching forward and untangling your fingers from around the thorny stem, choking on his sobs as he brings the flower close to his chest, much like Jihoon had done. 

And then said boy is next to him, once again, and Hansol watches through his own tears as Jihoon takes in your cold and limp form. He’s still holding the rose that he had picked up from the edge of the cliff, his grip deadly tight around it as he rakes his eyes up and down your body, looking for any sign of life. 

Jihoon’s quivering hand reaches out to caress your cheek and Hansol almost wants to stop him, wants to scream and shake Jihoon, wants to yell at him until his throat is raw, wants to say that he lost the right to touch you with how freaking dense he was. But he does none of that and instead watches as Jihoon’s hand makes contact with your pale cheek, watches when he touches your skin and breaks down almost immediately. 

Jihoon’s then wailing, hands brushing your arms up and down as he starts muttering about how it’s all his fault. Hansol hears him choke out a sound that resembles your name and then he’s taking your limp body from your father and holding it close to his chest, rocking back and forth as he cries. 

“No. I’m so sorry (Y/N) It’s all my fault. I love you so much.” He stutters out, leaning his forehead down to meet yours. His tears leak out and drip onto your cheeks and that just makes Jihoon cry harder. 

Hansol can’t help but feel heartbroken over the sight. Even though he knew it was Jihoon’s fault, he could feel the utter despair radiating off of the smaller boy. Maybe Jihoon had discovered that he could’ve fallen in love with you after all. Hansol didn’t even know what there was to not love about you. 

Jihoon continues to repeat those same words over and over, still crying his lungs out as the rain falls around them. It almost seemed as if the heavens knew what was going to happen today and they were mourning with them. Hansol turns his gaze up towards the sky, to where he thought the moon might be and curses it. He had never wished the heavens for anything and he finds it kind of cruel that they were unable to even grant him this one thing. He knew that you were one of the only ones that didn’t deserve this fate. You were good and kind and so full of love for the people and animals around you. 

He almost wishes you had fallen for him instead, because he would’ve tried to return your love and knew he would’ve succeeded. You were just that easy to love. And just like that, the sick tinge of morbid glee flooded his system once again, knowing that Jihoon was probably in just as much pain as you had been in. Losing your best friend of seventeen years definitely had to be agonizing. And he can see how much excruciating pain Jihoon was in as he rocked your lifeless body in his arms, having not once stopped his continued words. 

Hansol figured he probably had no idea what he was saying anymore at this point. 

It’s a couple more moments before your dad is trying to grab your body back again, probably wanting to get you and the rest of the crowd out of the rain and back to the house. But Jihoon just clutches onto your body tighter, refusing to relinquish his hold. 

“No. Please don’t take her away from me. It’s all my fault.” He whimpers, putting his forehead on yours again. 

Your dad shakes his head, but stands up and helps Jihoon and Hansol to their feet as well, before they all start the journey back to the house with heavy hearts and heavy steps. 

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

The funeral happens the next day and Hansol and your sister give speeches, Jihoon being physically unable to handle speaking more than one sentence before breaking down into a mess of sobs. 

And after the funeral, there’s just nothing. 

Hansol honestly doesn’t know what to do now. Does he just go on existing now that you were gone? Does he find a new best friend? Does he just continue on with his life when you were never given a chance to continue yours? 

He doesn’t know. 

Then it’s already a month later and Jihoon announces he’s moving. He’s going overseas to start a new job, having broken up with his girlfriend a couple days after the funeral. Hansol is happy for him, he really is. It must be nice getting away from the suffocating city they live in; must be nice to be able to leave the bad memories here and start anew. It must be nice. 

Hansol goes to send him off and sees Jihoon for the first time since the funeral. The boy is pale, eyes sunken, dark circles prevalent. He knows it’s not what you would have wanted. You always wanted Jihoon to be happy, ready to sacrifice yours in a second to make sure his stayed. He knew that if you were to see Jihoon now, your heart would’ve shattered into a million pieces, the bright, smiling, dimpled boy that you were so fond of replaced with this empty husk of a person. Hansol knew he probably looked no better. He couldn’t even remember the last time he showered. 

Jihoon notices him and walks over to him, immediately pulling the younger boy into a hug. It’s an all consuming embrace, full of emotion and pain and sadness, and Hansol revels in the fact that someone still feels what he feels. 

“It’s nice to see you again.” Jihoon says, and Hansol agrees. He hasn’t been out of his house to actually see anyone and he’s sure Jihoon’s been holed up in his as well. 

“Yeah it’s nice to see you as well. I’m glad you’re getting out of this horrible town.” 

Jihoon nods before reaching into his back pocket to pull out a small notebook. It’s the size of his hand, small and leatherbound with a strap to tie around and keep the pages closed. He opens it to a particular page and turns it around so Hansol can see. 

It’s the pink rose Jihoon had picked up from the edge of the cliff, dried out and preserved between the pages of Jihoon’s notebook. There’s little flecks of blood that stain the petals and Hansol isn’t sure what person they’re from. 

“It’s kind of awful how I feel now Hansol. On that night I was so sure that I could never return her feelings. She was my best friend since we were toddlers. It’s hard to look at someone in a new way after you’ve seen them eat grass while at a playground. After she confessed it was so hard to wrap my head around the fact that she loved me like that. But now I just think about all the moments we’ve had together and now I’m so positive that I could’ve loved her like she loved me. Now I can’t help but think that we would’ve been great together. And now she’s gone and it’s all my fault-” Jihoon pauses, looking down.

“I knew she was hurting and yet I still said that I could never return her feelings without even thinking about it. Like what kind of horrible person am I?” 

Jihoon finishes, closing the book and putting it back in his pocket, before grabbing his suitcase. Hansol sees wetness in his eyes before Jihoon’s blinking rapidly, trying to get them to disappear. 

“You know I blamed you for her death for a while after. But now I know it’s not your fault. You didn’t have to love her back. I mean you should’ve because she’s amazing, but it’s your own heart and your own feelings. Please don’t blame yourself Jihoon. She would’ve wanted you to be happy.” Hansol says, putting a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder. 

Jihoon just nods before giving Hansol a weak smile. “Thank you. Really. She was lucky to have a friend like you, and I am too.” 

Hansol returns the smile. “Thanks Jihoon. Come back and visit.” 

And then Jihoon is gone, boarding a train without looking back. 

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

Hansol finds himself returning to the cliff after that. He dangles his legs over the side and leans back on his hands, gazing out upon the vast ocean, its waters looking dark and forbidden. He’s developed a hate of the ocean now, but returns to this spot every once in a while to ask the sky how you’re doing. It’s therapeutic, in a way. 

“Hey love. I’m back. Just wondering how you’re doing up there. I’m sure you know but Jihoon’s gone. I kind of wanted to join him too. This city is kind of horrible to be in alone now. Everyone’s asking if I’m okay and I don’t know how to tell them I’m not. It’s hard.” 

Hansol turns his gaze up to the sky, the sun starting to shrink as it sinks beneath the horizon. The first stars are starting to become noticeable and Hansol fixes his eyes on one particular one. It’s twinkling in the slightly darkening sky, and he stretches his fingers and cups it, almost like he’s holding it in his grasp even though it’s a billion miles away. 

“I miss you.” He murmurs before closing his eyes. 

[professorchaos]

i already know u like it but heres a free ask to talk about bunny

y’all know by now that bunny is maybe my favourite ship of All Time. so instead of just saying why i like it i’m gonna say why i don’t like fanon surrounding it 

the thing about bunny that disappoints me constantly is how terribly their potential for an incredibly complex dynamic is overlooked!!! in fanon it’s generally portrayed either as this soft fluffy side ship that everyone’s just like “eh it’s cute i guess” about, some weird fetishistic thing about young blonde boys (eugh) or one-sided hurt/comfort (either cool bad boy kenny saving poor naive butters from abuse, or innocent sunshine butters healing angsty mess kenny’s wounds both physical and psychological). when it’s not one of those- and i’ve seen this more lately, i guess bc people want to stray from those old fanon tropes- it’s like. evil murderous professor chaos with a one-sided crush that’s portrayed in a manner that’s, frankly, incredibly homophobic. 

butters and kenny are characters whose paths have overlapped often, yet their interactions in canon are extremely limited. they rarely talk, and only have one episode focused on their friendship, which didn’t come out until 2012- even in tfbw, which introduced a huge amount of new dialogue for all sorts of character combinations, chaos and mysterion only get two unique interactions. i’m not sure exactly why matt and trey are so averse to having them interact. possibly because they’re trying to write kenny out of the show- i don’t know. anyway.

despite how little they converse, i think there’s good reason to believe that the two have some sort of deeper friendship ‘behind the scenes’. they’re often seen glancing at one another when things go south (especially with eric; think of how often they’re on either side of him, too), playing together (we know that mysterion and chaos play off-screen, and both seem to value that time quite a bit, despite mysterion’s dismissive responses in tfbw. there’s also their dynamic in sot to consider, with the two spending a lot of time alone together or alone together with eric, and butters admitting he has a crush on princess kenny). in going native, butters admits that kenny is his favourite out of all the other kids, and though kenny is surprised, he warms awfully quickly to the idea. (blame that hero complex, i guess). 

so the way i see bunny is like... they’re almost narrative foils, though not quite. each of their personas matches up in one way or another (hero/villain, princess/paladin) and you’d think it makes them the perfect match, yet they’re barely seen interacting. they bump together, sure, but they always move away from one another again soon afterwards. it’s like- their friendship is littered with these little moments of incredible intimacy, even when said intimacy isn’t at all ‘intimate’ in the conventional sense (kenny throwing a ninja star in butters’ eye strikes me as... something. especially in fanon, where it leaves a lasting scar. i don’t know how to describe that kind of thing, between two people who never really meant each other harm and perhaps later might find love in a romantic sense, as anything but ‘intimate’). they’re never the closest, they’re not this inseparable duo. they’re just two people with incredibly similar circumstances, and ways of coping with said circumstances so different that they loop back around to almost being the same again. they look out for one another (kenny possibly having invited butters to board game night, butters comforting kenny when he’s ill from cheesing) but they’re also, i think, filled with a sort of mutual resentment- they are, in a meta sense, constantly vying for the fourth place in stan’s group, and have been since season 5. interpreting that as something within canon makes for... an interesting concept. 

there’s nothing more romantic to me than the concept of fate (you can blame one of my first fandoms, CLAMP, for this). but not fate as in “two people meet and become soulmates”, which is kinda how i see like, style- no. i see bunny as being fated in a twisted and meandering sense. they’re not necessarily fated lovers, but they’re fated to know each other, and to bounce off of one another again and again until- maybe, someday, hopefully- their paths finally align for good. they compliment each others’ dissociated and fragmented selves perfectly, part for part and step by step, and i think that one day, whatever gods allowing, something incredibly special could be born from that. 

give me bunny angst! give me bunny drama! but not the gratuitous kind, where nothing is ok and they’re stuck in the horrors of the past, but the kind where it’s like, ok, this is just how life is for people like us, and we’ll drag something beautiful from the wreck if it kills us. a soft ending, i think. they deserve it.

[kyarymell]

[Fic] Ghost Touch

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Pairing: fem!Byleth x Felix Fraldarius Rating: Explicit towards the end (lol) Summary: Felix finally gets a clue and proposes. Note: I don’t have an explanation for this other than I wanted some angsty pining. Post GD route, where (almost) everyone lives.

The war is over, hidden enemies defeated and yet the festivities continue for a whole week. Felix is lost, knowing that the following peace would dull his blade. It’s foolish thinking this way, with unnecessary sacrifice finally coming to an end.

As part of the ‘band of heroes’ that saved Fódlan, the swordsman was obligated to go on a peace tour of sorts. He’s still a young man, revelling in drink and celebration at the war’s end. The constant socialising eventually loses its appeal, even if Sylvain tries to convince him otherwise.

Finding himself by the edge of a stream, Felix brings himself into familiar motions. Lifting his arms, he brought his sword down as he stepped forward. It seemed like forever ago he had first trained as a Mortal Savant, his professor finding out that he had a knack for magic.

Professor...

It’s too easy to fall into familiar titles. They were equals now, having fought side by side for a year and a half in the war. Byleth was an enigma, deadly in battle. Only once has Felix gained the upper hand in a spar, but not before earning a few bruises to the face.

(Mercedes brought it upon herself to heal him that day, a hint of laughter in her eyes.)

Since then, Felix has been unable to best the mercenary in combat. He doesn’t know why, but the very thought of her twists his stomach into knots. It’s maddening and he has to fight the urge to seek her out at every convenience.

The want for her to be by his side... it causes the silver loop in his pocket to burn. There’s been many suitors after the new Ruler of Dawn and so Felix deemed asking for her hand more trouble than it was worth.

However, that sort of thinking could not be further from the truth. The swordsman should have asked as soon as the sun rose over the peaceful new era. It seemed at the time, he was not the only one who spotted Byleth retreating to the Goddess Tower that morning.

Uncharacteristically, he hesitated. There was a huge possibility that his former classmate had the same intentions as he did, essentially beating him to the punch.

Despite all that, Felix couldn’t bring himself to throw the ring away.

Sparks of lightning crackle between the swordsman’s fingertips in response to his clouded thoughts. Shaking his head, Felix continued to go through the motions of training. It was he who told Dimitri that he’d never let his emotions get in the way and here he is, lamenting over a lost opportunity.

He had changed in more ways than one and it was all her fault.

“Felix?”

...Speak of the devil.

When Byleth first came to the academy, she rarely articulated her thoughts outside of teaching. Stony-faced and unrelenting in a fight, Felix was disturbed by the concept of the mercenary lacking emotions. An ironic notion, considering he kept his feelings to himself most of the time.

Now, she made an effort to talk to everyone... even a bitter soul like himself.

“...Byleth.”

It’s still strange calling her name, even if she insisted on it in the first place.

“Dedicated to training as always.”

“Haven’t people had enough celebration? My sword arm itches.”

The woman shrugged.

“It’s important that we build morale and help with the post-war effort. Even if that means... people feel the need to celebrate in my presence.”

Byleth leaned against a tree, pensive.

“I understand what you mean, though. The... socialising. It’s difficult. Just wanted to get away for a while.”

Felix nodded in response. The very last war council meeting was about fostering good relations with everyone. Claude and Dimitri insisted that their former classmates accompanied Fódlan’s new ruler for a little longer. If the people saw the diverse comrades she had, perceptions would change.

Nobles, commoners, the next queen of Brigid, the man next in line to Almyra’s throne, the former king of Faerghus and a man of Duscur... they were a lively bunch, brought together by their professor. No one was pressured to stay of course, but many did of their own accord.

“Do you ever wish to go back to your life as a mercenary?”

If this was five years ago, he’d have no interest in small talk. The world was on the verge of change and so he made a little effort himself. That, and the fact that Annette made him swear to stop being so anti-social.

“No. While there were times of suffering, I wouldn’t have met all of you if I were still a mercenary.”

A smile graced her lips, instantly seizing Felix by the heart. He tries to rationalise the feeling as surprise, seeing as Byleth seldom smiled. Twirling sword in hand, he feels put on the spot.

“Let’s spar. If you have the time to be sentimental, then clearly your presence isn’t needed at the festivities. I need to brush up on my brawling anyway.”

The soft expression was replaced by confusion, followed by acknowledgement. Biting the inside of his mouth, Felix realised how harsh he sounded. Again.

‘There’s no point thinking about it.’

He placed his sword against a tree, shedding his coat, gloves and boots. Byleth did the same and it’s with a tinge of nostalgia that Felix realised: no matter what finery she was made to wear as the new Ruler of Dawn, she always kept her tattered mercenary coat.

It almost felt like old times at the monastery training grounds, trading blows like this. He was young and arrogant back then, convinced that he would win and was promptly made to eat the dirt. Felix remembers being angry that day, but his motivation to learn other fighting styles grew.

It seemed like some things never changed, as he ducked under a punch to his right. Byleth is still unpredictable as ever and he holds his arms up in defence as she comes at him with a flurry of strikes. The swordsman manages to catch one of her fists in his hand, about to throw her to the ground when she twists easily out of his grasp.

Thrown off-balance momentarily, Byleth goes in for the kill. She rushes at Felix before he’s able to react, stumbling backwards and hitting the ground hard. Grunting, he tries to lift a hand to touch the back of his head but he realises his arms are pinned.

“Yield.”

Her breath comes out in soft pants from the slight exertion. Meeting with stuffy people and holding peace talks didn’t help her stamina.

It takes a moment for Felix to realise what position he’s in. Byleth’s strong thighs hold his shoulders in place and he’s distracted by the fact that her ornate stockings are absent. Before the war, he always believed her outfit impractical. Now, he’s entertaining treacherous thoughts.

Remembering that he was still in a fight, he shifted his weight, successfully flipping their positions. Straddling her waist, the swordsman sighed. It was all too easy.

“Yield.”

Felix is devoid of smugness, knowing that something was distracting his sparring partner tonight. He’s slightly disappointed that she didn’t put up more of a fight but he would take what he could get.

“I yield...”

She closes her eyes, as if she let him win. As if a man possessed, he stared at her soft lips. He was so close-

“How long are you going to make me wait?”

She reached up and pulled him by the collar, bringing their lips together in a kiss. Felix melted instantly, the one thing he’s wanted for so long, finally in his grasp.

Unable to help himself, he catches her lower lip between his teeth, biting on it gently. Byleth shivers from the attention and it emboldens the swordsman to continue. Swiping his tongue against hers, he tastes wine but nothing could compare to how intoxicating her vulnerability is.

Felix takes control, tugging down her robes. Their hips grind together unintentionally and he hisses. He won’t take her in a clearing next to a lake-no, she’s precious to him and there’s an order to everything.

For now, however, all he wants to do is touchtouchtouch.

Skin is revealed little by little and she allows him to drink in the sight of her. For every inch of smooth, unmarred skin, there are also scars from times of sorrow and bloodshed. Light ones from skirmishes and deep ones from hard-won battles, Felix can’t help but trace them with his fingers.

His breath catches in his throat upon seeing a jagged scar under her breast.

The memory is still fresh, gnawing roots of guilt taking hold. If only he had been more attentive that day out in Gronder Field, if only he had been quicker, Byleth wouldn’t have had to take a hit for him.

He was blinded by anger back then, saying words that were unkind, unimportant. Why did he do that? He regrets it now- yelling at someone gravely injured instead of calling for help.

When Mercedes finally arrived by horseback (assisted by Sylvain) and Byleth was safely back at camp, it was the Bishop who reprimanded him.

“Felix, instead of suffocating us with your attitude, leave and let me do my work!”

Taken aback by her uncharacteristic outburst, he left without a word. Days after that, cowardice consumed him and he avoided both women outright.

 There must’ve been a strange look on his face, for Byleth’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Felix? Is my appearance... not to your liking?”

She moved to cover herself and Felix shook his head furiously.

“That’s not it! I-I...”

“Are you still feeling guilt about that day?”

His bad habit of deflecting comes up again, following his sudden anxiety. Eyes roaming everywhere but her own, they land on the ornate ring upon her middle finger.

A convenient excuse.

“That ring... why did you kiss me if you’re already betrothed?”

Byleth takes the bait, sitting up and smiling.

“It’s a memento from my father. He said someday, I’ll find someone special to give it to.”

“So you’re not involved with anyone, is what you’re saying.”

“Yes.”

“A small comfort.”

Felix looks comically relieved and Byleth has to push for an explanation.

“This is not the right time, perhaps.”

“Will it ever be the right time? You’ve been avoiding me on and off, but you returned my touch.”

The swordmaster stares, hands suddenly trembling. There was no way to get out of this one. Standing up, he goes over to where his coat is.

“Hey-!”

“Shut up.”

He almost wants to slap himself.

‘Good going, Felix. Insult the woman you want to propose to.’

Drawing a nervous breath, he rummages through his coat pocket, finding that damned silver loop. Felix almost drops it, annoyed at his sudden lack of co-ordination.

“The truth is, I’ve always wanted you by my side. As a worthy opponent... no. I...”

Suddenly choked for words, he thrusts his hand forward, almost hitting Byleth in the nose with the ring.

She blinks, dumbfounded. Felix sighs, eyes darting back and forth.

“Don’t you know what this ring means?”

Byleth pulls Jeralt’s ring off her finger. Not very subtle. Felix hates the way his heart races- it’s almost an affirmation of her decision.

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Stop messing around! I... I thought all this time you had someone.”

He’s clutching her hands, the coolness of the rings a contrast to his clammy palms.

“Fine! Listen carefully, I’m not going to say this more than once. I want you to be my wife. Please say yes. Let’s get married and stay together until we die. I love you.”

An awkward pause follows and Felix, having lost his nerve, turns on his heel. He leaves the ring in her hands.

“That’s all.”

“Wait!”

Byleth shoots forward, grabbing the back of his tunic. Felix almost topples over from the force, and he whips around to steady her. Incredulous, he bites his lip.

“What? You have something to complain about?”

She hands him her ring with as much grace as someone half-naked can muster. It’s Felix’s turn to be dumbfounded and he almost misses the offering due to having her bare breasts so close to his face.

“I love you too and I accept.”

“Oh... okay then. In that case, I’d better start planning for the future. My future... with you.”

She laughs at his typical ‘okay’ and they embrace, falling onto the soft grass once more. She leaves bruises on his skin and he responds in kind, whispers of adoration on his lips. They were for her and only her alone.

---

Even if he said he wouldn’t take her out in the open, the new ruler of Fódlan is good at convincing him otherwise. She’s wild and insatiable- riding high above him while he’s catching his breath and leaving scratches all down his back when he has her against the edge of the stream.

They laid side-by-side and clothed once more, fingers intertwined as the stars disappear to welcome the break of dawn. Felix admits his guilt into the cold air, feeling inadequate as he failed to protect her all that time ago.

“It’s going to be okay, I don’t blame you,” she says as she leans into his touch, “we’ll always be together from now on.”

“I will be your sword and shield victorious.”

“I know you will.”

Despite his shortcomings and prickly exterior, he wants to believe her words.

“Your highness? I’ve been looking for you everywhere and- oh. Apologies! I did not know you had company.”

The moment is dashed by Ferdinand’s concerned voice. Felix sighed, knowing that Byleth gave him a position on the new government, meaning that he was here to talk business.

“I told you not to call me that... what is it?”

“You disappeared last night after mentioning you wanted to hear the agenda at dawn and... should I come back later?”

Byleth stretched, standing up and adjusting her robes.

“No, no. Now is a good time. Thank you.”

She turned back to Felix.

“Let’s go together.”

The swordsman’s eye caught a glint in the low light and lifted his hand to inspect it. Byleth’s ring. Since when did she...?

Felix smiled.

“Let’s.”

[johannesviii]

Top 12 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2000

This was the hardest list to make so far, so yeah, it’s a top twelve because I felt disgusting cutting the last two songs. Oh well. Screw the rules.

I turned 12 that year! I had my own cd player, which was also a radio! I could make tapes and burn cds. I could even BUY cds too if I saved all my money for a couple of months! School wasn’t great, because of some bullies, but I still had some friends. I loved Pokemon and drawing in the park. Life felt good.

Music had never sounded better.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

Not gonna lie, this list changed A LOT over the course of this post and I had to rearrange it several times. And then I gave up and changed it into a top 12. Also, this list of honorable mentions could almost make it a top 20 since several of these (half of them, actually) were on the top at some point.

All the small things (Blink 182) - I’m really glad these guys are still around today, to be honest. They always make me smile when I hear their new songs on the radio.

The Riddle (Gigi d’Agostino) - Love it, but it loses some of its appeal without the music video.

Lady (Modjo) - I claim overplay for this cut.

L’Alizé (Alizée) - More on that later.

Move your body (Eiffel 65) - Would have made the list in a more mediocre year, I swear.

Optimistique-moi (Mylène Farmer) - I literally said “self-care” before making this cut. Also the music video is great, it’s an artist trying to escape from some sort of nightmare circus, and a magician helps her. Very underrated music video.

Music (Madonna) - The most painful cut of all. I absolutely loved this song and how weird and disjointed and broken it sounded, and had it on several tapes. And yet there’s no room for it even with a top 12.

And now, the actual list. Warning: it starts with a curveball.

12 - J’pète les plombs (Disiz La Peste)

US: Not on the list / FR: #29

A French rap song about a guy losing his job and being stuck in traffic and subsequently going postal.

Here’s the kicker, though. This guy was rapping for my city, and this music video was filmed mostly in the estate I was living in at the time! That McDonalds at the beginning? It was across the street! That bus stop was in front of high school! Heck, I painted the rocks in that park at the end several times already!

And it became a huge hit!! You have no idea how excited we were in middle school. Everyone knew the lyrics (translation here)! Even if some parts were very rude! We still loved it! We were quoting the entirety of the McDonalds part where the guy wants an egg in his sandwich and is ready to fire a harpoon to get it. “Désolé, il est midi et après midi eh ben l’mac morning c’est fini” was a goddamn meme here.

It would probably have been less funny if the singer didn’t look like a cute nerd, it turns the music video into a hilarious parody. Especially because instead of a gun, he’s menacing people with a harpoon, a giant wooden hammer and a water pistol.

Legends only.

11 - One More Time (Daft Punk)

US: Not on the list / FR: #30

Around the World was a repetitive song, and while I kinda liked it, I didn’t quite get the hype around it at the time. But One More Time is a huge party, and everybody is invited, and all the drama stays at the door, and everyone just has a great time. And it has one of the most fitting music videos ever.

It’s a monster of a song, and even if it’s still a bit too repetitive to be listened to on a loop, it was a delight everytime it was on the radio. And it still is! Godspeed, Daft Punk.

10 - Innamoramento (Mylène Farmer)

US: Not on the list / FR: #91

I really, really tried to keep her off the list. And I failed. Innamoramento, the album, is one of my favorite albums of one of my favorite French artists ever and I’m weak, and out of the five (five) singles out of that album, I only managed to leave two out of my top 10 lists.

This sounds absolutely fantastic. There’s no way I could kick it off the list, even to make room for a guy who was rapping for my estate. And not even for goddamn Daft Punk.

Kill me now.

9 - Absolutely (Nine Days)

US: #35 / FR: Not on the list

I discovered this song in 2008 through a Silent Hill 3 AMV about Heather. Yeppppp. It’s here, and it’s still great 11 years later, and I love it, and this song was so good I put it on my playlist immediately and it stayed on it for several years.

The lyrics never really deliver their promise of telling a “story”, but it’s still a fantastic, bouncy, uplifting song, and it made my world better, and I have to thank that ephemeral band for that.

And I especially loved the very brief pause before the last “girl” in the song. Very relatable.

8 - J’en rêve encore (De Palmas)

US: Not on the list / FR: #27

Listen. I have no idea what’s up with these specific chords, but they are the sound of a weird mix of nostalgia, anger and above all, discomfort. No other song has the exact colors this one has and no other broadcasts this very specific mixed feeling.

Too bad the lyrics are yet another breakup song, or more specifically a post-breakup song (even if the lyrics are very, very good ; I just checked who wrote them and it’s Jean-Jacques Goldman. I had no idea but now, I can definitely hear it), because the music is really something else. At least to me. Is anyone else hearing this?

7 - The Real Slim Shady (Eminem)

US: #51 / FR: #28

Wow. Would you look at that. The ex angsty angry teenager loved Eminem. What a surprise, uh.

To be honest, I already genuinely liked this song as a kid even if I could only understand a few isolated parts and words, and the fact that this guy was pissed off and clearly being offensive, possibly towards everyone, was enough.

Now that I can understand the lyrics entirely, I obviously don’t endorse all of them (like the very backhanded argument for gay marriage. Jesus), but I can’t help it, this song still kicks ass. It would be dishonest to leave it out of the list. I loved it so much at the time. And I still enjoy it a lot.

6 - Natural Blues (Moby)

US: Not on the list. Not on any US year-end list actually. I thought it was big everywhere but no. What happened. / FR: #49

There’s overplay, and then there’s “I keep hearing this song everywhere and yet I can never get enough of it, and I will sing it at school, and I will put it on tapes, and I will listen to it even when it’s not on the radio.”

If you asked me what the year 2000 sounded like, it sounded like Natural Blues. I genuinely can’t believe it’s not on the US year-end chart.

5 - Around the World (ATC)

US: Not on the list / FR: #48

This has no right being this catchy without ever, ever becoming annoying. What kind of evil pact did you make to get this result. How.

4 - Jeune et Con (Saez)

US: Not on the list / FR: #70

The title is “Young and Stupid”. It’s an extremely angry song against the establishment. Didn’t pay a lot of attention to it when it came out because well, I was 12, but I would drink up this kind of angry, angsty song only three/four years later. It has aged like fine wine too and feels like the ultimate ‘Ok Boomer’ song ; here’s a translation. It is brutal. You’re welcome.

If I had better taste this would be above the next two songs.

3 - Daddy DJ (Daddy DJ)

US: Not on the list / FR: #5

As I said in the intro, I started to BUY music that year. I could pick what I wanted to own, as long as my parents thought the cds were appropriate.

So I went to the nearest record store. It was called “Madison” and had a chrome aesthetic, with neons and fluorescent 90s shit everywhere, and banners with band names on it, and somewhat menacing posters (the Iron Maiden ones looked scary). It was very intimidating.

And so, 12 years old Johannes, under dad’s supervision, picked the cd they wanted above all the other cds in the shop knowing THAT one wouldn’t make anyone angry at home, went towards the desk, slapped a lot of coins on it, and bought this, trying to look as fierce and determined a 12 y.o can, which isn’t much.

It still slaps nearly twenty years later and I don’t regret a single thing. That’s all I have to say about Daddy DJ by Daddy DJ.

So I was making this list, feeling pretty good about putting Mylène Farmer so low on it, and I was like oh wow, I genuinely love all these other songs more than the two she released that year! This feels great. This is healing. This is progress. It also means the most controversial things on the list are a nerd threatening people with a water pistol and Eminem spouting his usual bullshit empty provocations. No big deal. It’s okay! Moving on.

What was the French #1 for that year, by the way? I can’t rememb-

OH SHIT OH F█CK

OH NO

2 - Moi Lolita (Alizée)

US: Not on the list / FR: #1

Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

Mylène Farmer wrote this for Alizée. Screw the entire universe. I want her off my lists but I can’t because I need to make them honestly.

“I’m not a sucker, I never bought the album AND I never bought these singles in a SHOP, I got them in a garage sale the next year for less that a quarter of the price”, says the person who is, in fact, clearly and definitely a sucker.

How can a song be so horribly catchy and horribly controversial at the same time. HOW. It’s unfair. For some context about how controversial this is if you’re an English speaker, this is what would happen if Bad Guy by Billie Eilish was the catchiest shit in the world. This was almost #1 on my list before I noticed my actual #1 song made it pretty high on the French year-end list despite being mysteriously absent from the US one.

Also I’m glad the music video provides a mostly harmless context: this girl is supposed to babysit her little sister, but she went dancing in a club. And the little sister is looking after her instead. I’m saying “mostly” harmless because there’s that creepy guy who keeps watching her, as if the story was saying “you should not do this and you are putting yourself in danger and this will end horribly”. Which is a sentiment I can definitely get behind, and at the time, I was already highly skeptical about the message this song was sending even if I loved it. I’m just judging that through the comments I was writing next to it on my “favorite songs” lists (”leave your little sister out of this, Alizée”):

Bonus: most relatable comment on the video by a mile.

Same, my dude.

This is why the first album I bought was Daddy DJ and not that one or, uh, the next one.

1 - Stan (Eminem)

US: Not on the list either?? What happened. Why / FR: #18

This song actually created a new English verb. Think about that for a second.

Also, until the end of my life, I will wonder why people suddenly decided, a couple of years ago, than “to stan” now meant “admiring a lot and being a huge fan of” instead of “being a creepy obsessed stalker and possibly dangerous”.

Anyhow.

I couldn’t understand one tenth of the lyrics at the time this was a hit, but I still sneakily put it on my tapes. I knew my parents disapproved. Oh, I liked it. I loved it. I adored it.

I was also terrified of it.

One of the only lines I clearly understood with my limited English was the “I’m your biggest fan” line, and how increasingly dangerous the guy sounded, and that Eminem was trying to answer him at the end but it was too late and he had already done some horrible shit.

This is a horror story in song form, it stays with you long after it’s over every time you listen to it, and it’s a rare and precious thing.

I’m still genuinely terrified after all these years, though.

Next up: another mix of embarrassing shit and valid stuff

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 8 - Meat Page 41

==>

Okay, Dirk’s gonna monologue about, like... acknowledging his villainy without realizing it I guess?

And if I didn’t bother pursuing those goals, and thereby tacitly accepting the untold suffering that resulted from my inaction, wouldn’t that make me a bad person? If I try and succeed, I’m a hero, right? And if I try and fail, at least I made things interesting on my way to the grave. There would be a tragic nobility in that. And the way I see it, settling for anything less from my arc would be, frankly, pathetic.

So yeah, of course I know I “have to be stopped.” It’s part of the contract. What you sign up for when you assume the burdens of this sort of power. Where there is that which must be subdued and suborned for the greater good, there is that which will instinctively resist. That which intuits that whatever’s going on here is “wrong.” Otherwise, intervention wouldn’t even be necessary, would it?

Yeah, the Heroic and Just death parameters I outlined in the Ultimate Riddle post pretty clearly line up here that he’s fucking shit over in a way he refuses to truly believe is going to end up in his Just demise even if he knows it on some level.  Fucking over everyone’s wills like that?  Fuck you.

Only worthless people permit themselves the great luxury of a valorous sacrifice. 

JUST.  FUCKING.  DEATH.

Mhmm, he knows he’s going to get fucking owned.  Just a little sooner than he thought, I’d reckon.

...geez, I’m going to forget to fucking EAT again today if this epilogue goes on much longer.  Maybe I’ll have to blog the Candy part, like, tomorrow or something.  If I can convince myself to SLEEP instead of reading more, that is.

==>

Thank God all the manipulation is reversing itself.  Keep playing into it and letting it happen you pompous ass, Dirk, it was inevitable.

Couldn’t pay me to be in that room right now. Not for all the agency in the world.

Yeah, agency is the word.  Dirk is aiming for infinite agency at the expense of everyone else’s.  His God-Tier powers crush others’ individuality and let him puppeteer them instead, and it’s what he’s been using all along to manipulate the situation in this story.

they will know what to do, when they are ready.

On the one hand, thanks alt!Callie.  On the other, seriously fuck you alt!Callie for taking Jade out of the story AAAAGAAAAAIN.  D:<

neither she nor her friends will have to worry about him anymore, so long as they remain on this planet and under my protection.

Um, that was phrased ominously potentially.

huddled on the floor, she repeats this pledge to herself. theoretically, he could be stopped before he leaves, if they hurried. they would need to know what to do, where to go, and to have the motivation to do it, but time is short. i could push them to, with a certain degree of intervention, but i will not. my unwillingness to do so is what separates me from him. and what corporeal life needs now is someone presiding over them who is nothing like him at all.

FUCK YES, PRESERVE THE WILL OF THE CHARACTERS INSTEAD OF TURNING IT ALL INTO YOUR OWN FANFIC YOU BEAUTIFUL CHERUB

Also, thought that occurred to me at the end of this page... did Dirk potentially arrange John’s death here to keep his retcon powers from being able to stop him?

==>

Epilogue Eight

Okay I’m churning through this all pretty quickly now that there isn’t a bunch of hyperdense prose in the way.  Excellent conversation between characters, furthering the plot along while engaging in very understandable hilarity.

KARKAT: TELL HER TO REGISTER MY HEAVING BULGE AS A PRIORITY!!!!!

Wonk

I don’t THINK I’m reading this any faster than usual, but it FEELS like I am? Maybe because of the format, or maybe I really AM reading it faster to get to Dirk’s fucking comeuppance as fast as goddamn possible.

Pfff, cosplaying as Dave.

KARKAT: WOW! THE WOKEMASTER IS ON FUCKING FIRE FOLKS! HE’LL BE HERE ALL NIGHT!!!

I love this whole conversation

ROXY: awwwwwww ROXY: u boys cute :)

<3

Alright, Jane doesn’t kno-- wait, you’re not looping her in on this?  I thought she’d join in and get, like, a redemptive character arc.  Oh well, lesstimespentonthatthebetterhurryupandkickDirk’sass

Wait, so Roxy didn’t know John wasn’t coming back?  Calliope did though???

Is the only reason Dirk took Terezi along to keep her from giving them info, or... no, he said MORE of them would eventually come, what the fuck is he even planning?

they will believe they are on a quest to retrieve a wife and rescue a friend. but they will discover their true mission is of much greater cosmic significance than they imagined. the seer is firmly in the thrall of the prince and will not easily be pried away. and as regards the heir, though resuscitation remains a theoretical possibility for those still striving for it, the truth of his role is it has reached a greater sense of narrative finality than any of his allies will bring themselves to admit. his influence over canon has come to an end, as has this particular story. his ultimate sacrifice was made to put the missing keystone in place and avert the supreme dissipation of all that shall be considered to hold truth, relevance, and essentiality.

...Huh.

Okay, so they MIGHT have to accidentally create Paradox Space, and regardless by stopping Dirk they’ll be guaranteeing agency as a right to those who live both within and without the confines of... whatever existence even is anymore.

......This ship chase through Paradox Space of cosmic significance sounds disturbingly familiar to old pictures I used to verbally paint about the endgame, and I refuse to think about that idea further.

And we’re returning to black text, from the sound of what alt!Callie is saying.  Let’s do that.

==>

POSTSCRIPT?!?????

POSTSCRIPT?  P O S T S C R I P T?!??!?!??!?!??

IS THIS FUCKING OVER OR SOMETHING? IS THIS NOT GETTING RESOLVED WHAT THE FLYING FUCK AAA OKAY CALM DOWN CALM DOWN BOOTS AND READ

fuck my stomach’s clenching up again oh god

artillery what the fuck

aradia okay

WWWWHAT THE FUCK SIXTEEN YEAR OLD JADE WHAT

JADE FROM THE BLACK HOLE GOT SPIT OUT HERE OR

OKAY WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN GOING ON HERE BLACK EYES AND SHE’S A MURDER MACHINE OKAY WHAT

WHAT IS ALL THIS BULLSHIT WHY IS AN ANGSTY DARKJADE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE ALTCALLIE CONTROLLED DOING FLASHY BULLSHIT

“no being has ever commanded before” WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEA-- OH SHIT IS IT LIKE BLACK HOLE ABILITIES

LIKE, FUCKING, BLACK HOLE INSTEAD OF THE GREEN SUN ABILITIES NOW TIED TO HER AND SHES BEEN CONTROLLED BY ALT!CALLIE LONG ENOUGH TO GET HERE OR WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO JADE YOU FUCKING STORY GET OUT OF HERE

davebot.  why a davebot?  davebot.

I’m feeling fucking sick.  Okay what’s about to happen.

Okay so this Dave is like from some other timeline split and got botsaved or something sure whatever

okay some of the others are going off into this... “OTHER UNIVERSE???” too???? or other paradox space or some fucking bullshit???

also scrolling up i missed “Jade was sixteen years old when she showed up, and she doesn’t look a day older now, though many hundreds of days have passed” o kay are these ghosts???

Oh FUCK I CAN BREATHE

i can breathe again

fuck, these are like

im guessing these are... other ghosts or former-ghosts or basically everyone that huddled into the black hole, and aradias there because of course or something, this isnt dirk having won and reached his place or whatever

this is the jade alt who fell into the black hole and must have died hence her perpetually-young look, and now that shes in the black hole she has access to black hole powers

REAL JADE is FUCKING FINE

breathe boots breathe god damnit

okay reading, uh

a-all the action that matters f fuck i dsee the end of the page what thej fuck s how oculd it enduhyere kanaya has an enddless chase for her ff-fucking wife or while she’s being mind-raped by dirk orasdf jklfdk adn dshes gonan be in a stupdi metal body or

im really

really gonna need that candy after this

reading that last few paragraphs SHIT

yeah aradias going to go where all the exciting shit is happening in this new... black... hole... adox space or whatever, or wherever this is or

Where the hole gaped just moments ago, there now exists an imaginary line.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

And... that’s the final line between Canon and Non-Canon.  Or whatever terms.

Andrew’s done.  The story’s done.  Everything else about their journey is for the imagination alone.  Did they save Rose from Dirk taking her through a portal or whatever to whichever Dirkverse he was conjuring up or whatever theory bullshit i REALLY DONT WANT TO THINK OF OR THEORIZE ABOUT EVEN EVER about what the fuck dirk was trying to pull with all this SHHHHITT!!!!!!!??//?

I... christ.  I need that Candy section.  And I need a drink.  Fuck this I was gonna break for dinner but I’m continuing once I get a beer.  I’m sweating and unhappy.  Like I should be after eating this many pages of raw meat, shouldn’t I?

Next post will be Candy 1 once I confirm that there’s nothing else I’m missing, no other part of this portion to save me from wanting to vomit in an entirely anxious and non-beer-related way.

Fuck.

[laws-hat-headcanons]

Hi Hat can you tell us more about Arayas scars? or bit more on her backstory? P.s she is cutie!

First of all Anon how dare you say such nice things about my trash child. Second. Thank you and I love you. I genuinely means so much to me that any of you are even interested (unless it's just the same Anon??? In which case I love you???)

Super lame and angsty and also long so BY GOD I hope my read more works. A thousand gold stars if you manage to read it all *blows kisses*

Wilder Arayya (OC): Scars

Arayya, aged 3-ish

Arayya is lying on the deck, trying to nap in the last remnants of the sun when Luffy bounds over, landing unceremoniously across her stomach, driving the air from her body.

"Oi, Arayya, I want a story!" He demands, rolling across her, ignoring her coughing and spluttering.

"Argh, no, I'm trying to relax." She says, trying to shove him off of her with no success as his rubber arms loop around her and hold her tight. "Luffy! Get off!"

"Story please!" He says again and Arayya sighs because she knows when there is no point arguing with him (which is most of the time) and she really doesn't have the energy this late in the day.

"Fine, what kind of story do you want?" She asks, relenting as Luffy untangles his limbs from hers and sits back with a grin.

She tries not to flinch when he reaches out and runs a finger down the scar along her forearm. 

"Tell me about how you got all these neat scars!" Luffy asks, missing the pained look that crosses her face at the very personal request. She thinks about saying no, about flat out refusing because she doesn't have to. She could lie and he would never know, wouldn't even question it, but in the end he is her captain. He has never pried before, never questioned her odd abilities or strange appearance. Of all the people, he will judge her the least. She hopes.

"It's not a happy story," She warns him. "You still wanna hear it?" 

"Mhmm." The captain nods. And Arayya mirrors the action, taking a deep breath to gather her thoughts, then she begins.

"Once upon a time there as a woman, a beautiful woman, the daughter of a rich and powerful nobleman. She fell in love with a young pirate who visited her island and the two of them ran away together - much to the anger of her father who wanted his daughter to marry for political gain, to further his position," Arayya began, adjusting her position. "But the two of them were in love and so they went against his wishes. It did not take long before the young woman fell pregnant and when she gave birth to a healthy baby girl the Pirate was over the moon. His little girl had her mothers looks, but everyone agreed that she had her fathers eyes."

"What colour were her eyes?" Luffy asks, rocking back and forth, eager to hear more.

"Does it matter? I don't know, blue?" Arayya shrugs, because she doesn't know - doesnt remember - and continues. "They lived happily together for a few years, watching their daughter grow - but then the Pirate had to leave, he had to continue his journey to make his mark on the world. The young woman continued to raise their daughter alone, but she struggled. Without the support and passion of her lover she grew despondent with the life of a peasant, her small house, no servants, having to do everything herself and the lack of beautiful things she had grown used to in her earlier life. The young woman returned to her father and begged him to take them back. He said he would, but that she would have to give up her child. Without the child her could pretend his daughter had not disobeyed him, could still find her a good marriage. So she had to make a choice."  

"But she didn't go back, right?" Luffy asks, tilting his head to one side. "She didn't leave the girl?"

"Stop interrupting and I'll tell you." Arayya huffs, rolling her eyes.

"The woman told herself that with the child they would both be miserable, at least it she gave the girl up she could be happy - so the woman took her daughter, now some three years old, and left her in the care of an orphanage in the lesser part of the city. She told the girl to never speak her birth name to anyone, that if she did something very bad would happen to her, to her mother and to her Pirate father. And so, terrified, the girl never said her name aloud ever again, tried to forget it for the sake of the family that abandoned her." Arayya explained, clamping a hand over Luffy's mouth as she saw him about to protest. "I told you it wasn't a happy story! Don't butt in." 

The captain pouted but kept quiet, so she continued. 

"The orphanage was not a kind place. Often there was not enough food or bedding to go around all the children and the older boys and girls would take what they wanted from the younger to survive. The girl would likely have died it that first year had she not had the luck of befriending an older boy," Arayya explained, shifting again. "The boy made sure she got her cut of food, kept her warm and clothed and in turn she loved him as a brother." 

Luffy smiles at this, remembering his own childhood with his brothers. Arayya feels her heart pinch at his expression and carries on.

"A man came to the orphanage one day and showed interest in adopting the girl, now five years old - but she would not be separated from her brother. The man begrudgingly agreed to take both children, so together they left the orphanage behind and traveled with the man to their new home," Arayya pauses as she watches Luffy's grin, and debates reminding him that this is not a happy story. "When they arrived at their new home, a number of islands away from their places of birth, they were amazed to find a huge mansion with acres of ground to play in. The man promised they would have time to explore the grounds of the estate later, that first they must go to their rooms. The two children did not realise that they would not be allowed outside again for many years."

"Why wouldn't they be allowed outside if there was all this space?" Luffy asks, puzzled. She ignores him.

"It becomes clear to the girl and boy very quickly that the man did not want children, but soldiers. They find out that they are not the only children residing in the mansion, that there are at least twenty other kids there, all of them orphans, all children that would not be missed if something happened to them," Arayya says, and she tries very hard to keep the bitterness from her voice. "What follows in the next few years for the two children is constant training, daily sessions to hone their killing skills. The man shaves their hair and tattoos the children at the base of their skulls. The girl receives the tattoo of zero-three-nine. The boy receives zero-four-zero. They undergo experiments and surgeries to enhance their minds and bodies. The strengthening of their bones by bonding them with metal, their muscles, their ability to heal, their metabolism, their strength, their stamina, their hearing... their eyesight."

The smile has slipped off of Luffy's face. Arayya debates stopping. He gets it now, he doesnt need to hear the rest but she hasn't told this story to anyone ever before, and she isn't sure she can stop.

"They took her eyes, Luffy." Arayya says quietly, bringing a hand up to touch the scar just below her left eye. She knows that if he looks he will see the implants, the metal that runs through her body and stained her eyes silver.

Luffy wiggles closer, leaning against for comfort her but keeping quiet. Arayya carries on.

"The scientists didn't care about the pain they caused the children, often they preformed their experiments without the use of anesthesia, and they layered scars upon scars until there was no hope of healing. Many of the other children went mad from the torture - but not the girl and the boy. They stayed together and he told her stories to distract her when the pain became too much. Grand tales of the adventures they would have when they were free. She fell in love with those stories. They became her lifeline, her escape. She dreamed of them, day and night and the thought of that freedom."

"And they did get free, didn't they?" Luffy asks, quietly now. The sun has set completely now, bathing them in darkness broken only by the sporadic lights on the deck of the ship.

"In a way, I suppose. When the girl was fourteen there was an... incident. The cells they were housed in malfunctioned and all the children got out, even the crazy ones," Arayya explained. "It was carnage. A bloodbath. You can't train people to be killers against their will and then not expect them to turn on you at the first chance they get. But the boy and the girl weren't interested in revenge, they just wanted to get out. And they tried, but there were guards to fight, the scientists, the man, the other children and both of them got injured."

"But they were okay?" Luffy asks, a sort of desperation creeping into his voice. He doesnt like this story at all.

"The boy told the girl to go, to get as far away as possible and that he would find her as soon as he made sure no one followed them. She didn't want to leave him, but he had never lied to her before and she was so scared at being put back in the cage," Arayya says, running a hand down her face. "So she ran. She ran for days, she swam, then ran some more, always with the thought in the back of her mind that he would find her. But he never did. How could he?"

Arayya shakes her head. "The girl has never forgiven herself for leaving him. The first person to ever truly care for her. To love her, just for who she was. She knows that she should have been the one to stay behind. She has lived with that for many years, along with the guilt that - if she hadn't been so insistent on not being separated from her brother at the orphanage - he would have never suffered in the first place." 

They sit in silence for a long time, Luffys hand finding hers, their fingers twining together.

"What was her brothers name? Luffy asks into the quiet.

Arayya sighs, and says a name she hasn't spoken in almost as long as the one she was given at birth.

"His name was Taran."

[bards-witcher]

Hmmmmmm, I agree that I haven't seen much of Ohm and Wildcat, so why not have a story, in a gang AU setting, where Wildcat is part of a gang, and Ohm is their secret informant? I'll admit too, that the Ohmcat one actually made me teary!

I’m glad you’re liking the OhmCat stuff although I’m sorry for making you teary, I didn’t mean for it to be that angsty :D

Thank for the prompt, I’ve been having a lot of fun with this XD I hope you enjoy it.

.

[WIlcat POV]

He leaned back in his chair, feet on the desk and rocking gently as he twirled a pencil between his fingers. His eyes lazily scanned the cameras in front of him, unsurprised when there was nothing to be seen. He’d been part of this gang going on a year now and still they had him doing the boring shit when he should be one of their front men, he knew it, the other members knew it and yet here he was, relegated to a small stingy office and forced to watch every new recruit advance above him whilst a promise of ‘soon that’ll be you’ was given to him.

His eyes widened as he felt his chair begin to tip backward, only just being able to lean forward in time to stop his fall, well that was his excitement for the day. He sighed as he realized that in his rush to save himself his pencil had been tossed across the room, letting out a longer, louder sigh, he got up off of his chair and dragged his feet across to where the pencil now lay.

In his haste to pick it up, however, his fingers knocked it instead, causing it to roll under the table and with a groan he got down on his knees to retrieve it.

He didn’t hear the door open behind him only heard a soft voice which caused him to hit his head on the top of the desk in surprise.

“Nice ass, where have they been keeping you then?”

“Shit. Fucking bitch” He rubbed his head as he got out from under the desk, throwing a glare at the man who’d scared him but who seemed unphased by the gaze, soft giggles filling up the small room.

“I’m sorry about your head” He narrowed his eyes at the smaller man, only causing a fresh bout of giggles from him showing that he wasn’t truly sorry. “You must be Wildcat? Yes?”

He immediately put his guard, he’s sure one of the guys must’ve told him his name, the man was here for a reason after all, but he didn’t like not having the upper hand. Instead, he stood up from the floor, watching the slight look of surprise from the other man as he towered over him before walking up to him, trying to look as menacing as possible.

“Who’s asking” His comment left no room for debate, and sure enough he saw a small smile grace the others face before offering a hand out in front of him.

“Ohmwrecker. You could say I’m the Joe Valachi of the gang world” His eyes widened at the name, the name of the man who was an informant for the police who brought awareness about the existence of the mafia through his deception. He didn’t hesitate when he brought his fist back, using all his force to drive it forward but what he didn’t expect was for the smaller man to stop it in its path, his hand now clenched around his fist and he tried not to wince at the force the other man used on him. “My fault, bad example. I’m the informant, flitting around here and there gathering information for you guys”

He didn’t truly know whether to believe the other man but still, he pulled his fist away from the others hand and tried his best to relax it whilst he moved aside to let the other man into the room with a sigh.

“What can I help you with then” He noted how the man instantly went to the computer, leaning against the desk as he intently went on looking for something, trying to keep his eyes from wondering at the man’s ass, which was easier said than done when said man seemed to be shaking it slightly almost as if he wanted the attention.

“It’s more so what I can do to help you” Ohm nodded him over and he slowly made his way over to the table, leaning down next to him and trying to ignore the slight brush of their arms together, to get a look on the screen but he was only met with text ‘give me your phone’.

His head snapped towards the other man who only gave him a pointed look, once again motioning with his head toward his pocket to show his intentions.

He doesn’t know why he pulled out his phone, knowing the content on there would get him hunted not only by this gang but every other one in the state, and yet he handed it over to the other man. He watched Ohm pull out a small kit from his pocket and watched his deft hands fiddle with the phone, he was about to let out his indignation when he saw the back cover come away but a quick glance from the other man, a finger on his lips, was quick to shut him up.

Seemingly happy, the man went back to work, and it wasn’t much longer that he pulled something small from his phone, so small he had to squint his eyes to see it. He didn’t get to have much of a look before the smaller man dropped it onto the floor and stood on it before reassembling his phone and handing it back, a smile on his face.

“Bug, seems your fellow gang members don’t trust you. Not surprising though seeing as you’re back here.” He felt a flare of anger in him, these people who despite their treatment of him, he’s remained loyal to and they had him playing receptionist with his phone tapped.

He quickly looked through his phone, making sure that everything was in order after Ohms’ tampering when he felt a hand on his arm, which he was quick to pull away from.

“The fuck you doing” He watched the small blush color Ohms face and he felt his anger ebb away at the sight.

“Forgive me. I just couldn’t help but wonder why you’re stuck back here, clearly, you’re more built to be leading the charge than sitting on your arse all day”

He sighed but couldn’t help the feeling of validation that rose in him, here was a stranger who could see how messed up his situation was the minute he saw him.

“Well you said so yourself, they don’t trust me apparently” He waved his phone for emphasis and noticed the grave nod the other gave him. Silence then fell across them, and he couldn’t help but feel the awkward air in the room, waiting another moment before proceeding. “You said you were gonna help us? I’m sure you didn’t mean taking the bug out my phone”

He saw the small smile on the others face, glad for the change in subject before he responded “Correction, I said I’d help you, and no not with the bug. I just needed to make sure we were alone before telling you”

“Stop with the cryptic shit and just say what you’re gonna say”

Ohm gave a disgruntled sigh at the comment “Why do you all have to be so impatient” was said so quietly it was clearly meant only for the other man’s ears, but nevertheless, he heard it.

“Ohm I’m about five seconds from kicking your ass, just spit it out”

“And that worked so well the first time?”

He went to advance on the smaller man, but he was quick to raise his hands up in defense, a smug smile on his face but still, he backed off a little from him.

“By midnight tonight this place is gonna be dust with everyone in it, I suggest you leave while you still can” His eyes widened at the news, that having been the last thing he expected to hear, but whilst he was in a state of urgency Ohm remained nonchalant leaning a hip against the table still.

He made to leave the room, to tell the gang of the incoming danger but was quickly stopped by Ohm grabbing onto his arm, trying to ignore the slight thrill of someone challenging him as he faced the other man “I need to tell the guys, they have to get-“

“No Tyler, it’s time this gang came to an end. It’s causing more problems than solutions and has long lived out its use”

“First of all, how the fuck do you know my name and secondly the fuck you on about?”

Ohm gave an exasperated sigh as if he’d told this story multiple times already and he just refused to listen. “First of all, I’m an informant, it’s my job to know things. Secondly, think of this situation like it’s chess, you and every other gang on the west coast are the chess pieces, and I’m the chess master, positioning you all wherever and whenever I want, just so happens I have to sacrifice a piece to win”

He stood shocked, unsure whether to believe the words of the other man but yet a small niggling feeling in the back of his head told him, of course, something else was going on. “You’re a sadistic fuck you know that” He pulled his arm from the others grasp but made no move to leave.

“Someone has to keep the peace otherwise you’d all be at each other’s throats”

“Who else knows about this? About what’s happening tonight?” He saw Ohm give him a calculated gaze before he answered.

“Only you”

“Why?”

Ohm simply gave a shrug “I liked your ass” He couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him, this whole series of events made him believe that he was actually going crazy. “You’re wasted here anyway, in my research I’ve seen what you’ve done, what you’re capable of. You have so much potential and you don’t even know it. Come work for me and I promise you won’t have to sit at another computer again”

He couldn’t fully process the offer, his mind spinning in loops at the smaller man’s words. “So, let me get this straight. You’re some sort of evil genius who’s gonna burn this place down tonight but told me your plans and offered me a job because you stalked me and liked my ass? I swear I should stop falling asleep on the job”

“If it’s any consolation I only hire the best of the best. I take it you’ve heard of Delirious? Terroriser? Vanoss?” He couldn’t help the spike of fear at the sound of those names, their reputation preceded them, ruthless in their tasks until they got what they wanted, anyone daring enough to try to challenge them may as well write up their own coroner’s report. He only managed a weak nod, seemingly satisfactory for the other man. “I want you to join us. With a bit of training, I’m sure you could best even them”

He scoffed a laugh, but it was apparent by the serious look on Ohms face that he’d meant business.

“Think on it, but be quick, you have until midnight” The smaller man then approached him, and he found himself getting lost in his gaze, watching as his eyes danced from color to color in the dim light of the office, remaining still even when the others hand came up to play with a lock of his hair. “Here’s my number, I hope to hear from you soon”

He felt Ohms hand in his own and he could almost feel a jolt of electricity run between them at the touch, using all of his willpower to not let on about the impact the man had had on him. Just as he was beginning to enjoy the warmth of the smaller man’s hand in his own it was gone, only a slip of paper left to tell him it had even happened at all.

He felt Ohm move away from him and walk towards the door, however, he quickly rushed after him, stopping him from shutting the door after him and in the others man shock it was easy to pull the door back open.

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” He felt his heart lurch at the smile that was now on Ohms’ face, unable to explain where or how these feelings had come about but nevertheless happy and eager to pursue them.

“Sure”

He quickly closed the door behind them, uncaring about how the room was left, after all, he had no intention of returning.

“Good, cause you owe me for almost giving me concussion” He felt a smile grace his own face at the small laugh that Ohm gave at the comment, unknowing what his future would hold but knowing that he could finally have a chance to live.

[yaachtynoboat711]

Fonder Ch. 3

A/N: Hopefully, this isn’t as angsty as the previous chapters have been. I have become a monster 😭😭😭. Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy. Enjoy the houseclaim link too.

Word Count: 1966

Warning(s): Angst, slow burn

Friday, September 12, 2014, Los Angeles, California, 9:35 a.m., Winston’s Apartment

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Fuck. Already?”, Winston muttered to himself as he slowly twisted his body to shut the alarm off. Nearly three months after his breakup with Yaa and he still wasn’t used to not being greeted with a funny text of some sorts from her. No funny voicemail or meme to start the day off with. Fuck, I miss her.

His phone buzzed; it was from Michelle, his new girlfriend of almost a month and a half. She was sweet and caring, but not Yaa by a long shot. They kinda just met—no bells and whistles. They met at a coffee shop when he was filming for Person of Interest. She was coming to town for a few weeks for an assignment. As a freelance journalist, she didn’t have a choice to pick or choose what assignment to take.

“Hey, you.”, Winston answered.

“How are you, honey?”, she replied.

“Just waking up. Have you boarded yet?”

“They’re about to close the door. Calling you to remind you that my flight gets here at 2:35 and—“

“—and you want me to pick you up? I was actually thinking about letting you hang out at the airport for a few while I got dinner ready.”, he suggested nonchalantly.

“What? Winston,no! Why would you do that? You don’t want me there or something?”, she squeaked.

“Geez, Michelle, r e l a x. I was kidding! Can’t take a joke?”, he answered defensively. Michelle definitely wasn’t Yaa. By now, Yaa would’ve cussed him completely out before adding, “That’s why I’ll get some old dick or my side nigga to come get me, since you playin’ so goddamn muhfuckin’ much.” Yup, Khalida was a Carolina reaper and Michelle was a bell.

“Ok. I’ll call you when I land. Talk you then!” The phone clicked.

“Damn,bye.”, he said as he locked his phone.

After he showered, he walked into kitchen to hear Power 106 playing “Tuesday”. His song at the moment. Bop and bop, he danced without a care in the world. He’d had a productive week after all: he’d just returned from New York for more work, met his audition quote for the month, and folded his clothes the moment they came out of the dryer. He was long overdue for a haircut, but hey, he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

Since it was Friday, he had laxed schedule: gym, pick Michelle up, date at the house, take her to her hotel, and possibly watch some TV or Netflix.

But, since he had time before going to the gym, he was going out for a run.

4:27 p.m., Vons

Going to the gym before running bus errands was probably the dumbest decision he’d made in a minute. His thighs were still on fire and so were his arms. Dumbass. He sat in Vons’ parking lot for a breather and to Google what wine goes with lemon chicken piccata. Yaa had taught him the basics of wine pairing, but advanced pairings weren’t quite his forte. Sauvignon blanc. Bet.

Winston confidently walked into Vons ready to conquer the wine and spirits aisle. He got a little too overzealous; he went to the wrong aisle. When he finally made it to the right one, he just about had a heart attack. Is that—nah. She wouldn’t be out here. Lemme go over one more aisle and come through the other way to get a better look. He tussled with the idea that she would be in California, but then again, what other copper loc’d, Alabama crimson and houndstooth wearing, thick Black woman would be in Malibu? It is Khalida.

He conjured up the perfect plan: she was glued to her phone (when wasn’t she?), so he would intentionally bump into her cart so she could look up. Here goes nothing.

He got closer to the middle of the aisle, taking his box of cereal out of his hand basket. He bumped into her, causing his cereal to fall from his grip and her her phone.

“Goodness, I am so so sorry. I need to stop driving distrac—”, she finally looked up and her eyes immediately bugged out, dropping the box of cereal. “Winston?! Wh-wh...What are you do-doing out in Malibu?”, she tried searching for words. Winston chuckled deeply.

“It’s nice to see you, too, K.D.”, he said unenthusiastically. “The question is: what are you doing in California?”

The two hugged deeply. Three months apart and the spark was still there. They both took in each other’s scents and finally separated.

One thing he definitely noticed about her was that she was taking of her self. Fresh re-twist and color? Check. Skin cleared up? Most def. Been to the gym? Had she?! She was thicker, yet toned. Her ex-boyfriend had to be responsible. My God from Zion, she still looks like an image of beauty.

“Well, not even a week after we broke up, Kimya and I get a call saying we’d been invited to work out here in L.A. on this secret project. It’s due October 20th and we’re leaving November 1st. How’s LA been treating you?”

“I’ve been back in New York actually filming Person of Interest. I think I recalled you watching it at some point.” Why couldn’t I have just waited?!

“Word? I stopped watching after the first season if we’re keeping it a hunnit. How big of a role are we talking?”, she crossed her arms in anticipation of his answer.

He was ready to brag now. “I can’t say much, but it’s a pivotal role in the season’s progression. I’m playing someone totally opposite of myself.” He was feeling himself; he sported a full grin. “You look good. Working out?” Yes, God, she is. Blessed be.

She noticed him staring at her slightly toned but oh so edible thighs. Her calves were more defined. Thanks to dancing and working out with Matt, she was physically in the best shape of her life.

“I have, actually. Thanks for noticing.” She jokingly struck a pose. “ANYWAYS, I gotta go because I got oxtails braising on the stove and that’s the only thing that should be braising when I get back.” Oxtail?!?! Surely, that’s not just for her. Has to be Matt. Lucky bastard. She picked up the wine she came in for.

“That’s what I came for, too. I have a uh...date tonight and I just googled what to get in the parking lot.” They laughed.

Even though she laughed, he could sense her energy shift.

“A date?! Who’s the lucky winner?”, she asked.

“Her name is Michelle. She’s a freelance writer. You seeing anybody?” He asked with bated breath.

Khalida nodded and covered her mouth as she processed the new information. “A freelance writer? Nice.” Her energy reverted. “And to answer your question, nope. This project gotcha girl swamped. I don’t have time to entertain a relationship.”, she was partially lied. I'm surprised she didn’t pull anyone the week after our relationship. I’m amazed Matt hasn’t scooped her up.

Winston looked down at his watch. “Shit! I gotta go start dinner. Before I go, here’s my new number. It was nice seeing you.” He gave her his new number and they exchanged addresses before they hugged one last time and traveled their separate ways.

Deep down, he wanted to just scoop her up and drown her in kisses, but he still had to go home to Michelle.

“Hey, Wins.”, she called out, walking back towards the end of the aisle. He quickly snapped his head around.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

He lowered his head and laughed. “I won’t. I promise.”

8:36 p.m., Winston’s apartment

He replayed that in his head over and over again. Why did I just let her go like that? For some reason, he decided to play an Apple Music break-up playlist . Of all the songs that aided him with the agonizing break-up, only one spoke to him: She’s Out of My Life by Michael Jackson. Michael Jackson was Khalida’s all-time favorite artist (second was Beyoncé), so the pain stung a tad more. She kinda hated that song because she wanted to know, in her exact words,“who the fuck would hurt my good dawg Mike the way they did. Punk ass bitch. ” The thought of Khalida cursive a hypothetical person out 35 years after the fact always made him cackle. Even though the song came out in 1979, Michael was speaking to Winston’s exact to situation.

It’s out of my hands

It’s out of my hands

To think for [seven months] she was here

And I took her for granted, I was so cavalier

Now the way that it stands, she’s out of my hands.

So I learned that love's not possession

And I learned that love won’t wait

Now I’ve learned that love needs expression

But I learned too late

Winston stared off into the abyss, deep within his thoughts, and tears staining his face as the song looped for what seemed like an eternity. It was true: he sorta realized that he was being possessive about their love and that love wouldn’t wait. Damn Khalida for being right the whole time. Damn Carrie for throwing that stupid prophecy over their heads and ultimately being right. Damn Michael Jackson for making this song especially for him. But mostly, damn himself for allowing himself for pursuing a woman out of his league like Yaa. She was walking Black Girl Magic and he didn’t deserve to be in the same room as her, yet alone call himself her boyfriend.

He could hear his phone ringing in the other room. He let it ring and it rang once more before he got up to answer it.

He took the phone off the charger and saw 2 missed calls from his mom. Shit,shit shit. He tapped on the notification with the quickness; she quickly answered.

“Winston, my son, I called you twice. I began to worry.”, his mom opened.

“I know, I’m sorry,mum. I was in another room. Everything ok?”, he answered.

“I should be asking you the same question. I’ve been worried about you lately.” She could sense something was wrong with her youngest born. “I called because I’m worried about you.”

He sat up. “Wh-what? Why?”

“I sense an emptiness in your voice and in your spirit, Winston.”

“An emptiness?”

“Yes, my child, an emptiness. Like someone stripped away something precious.”

“I...I couldn’t honestly tell you. I may just be homesick and missing you.”

He wasn’t totally wrong, but neither was he telling the whole truth. While he was adjusting to the rapid LA pace and lifestyle as the “new normal”, part of that new normal was adjusting to his life without Khalida. It was rough, but he was managing.

“Well, just know that I’m praying for you. I don’t know what it is that void, but whatever it may be, don’t allow to rob you of the joy God has blessed you with, eh? It is my prayer that you find peace and comfort. I want you to have a full and complete life, ok? I love you.”, she said.

He flicked away the tear that fell. “I love you,too.”

Leave it to his mother to say what needed to be said without actually knowing what was actually going on. He sat at the edge of the bed, thinking about how much growth and maturity that needed to take place in his life. Khalida mentioned it before their break-up and she was right. Both of them needed to grow before they could be together again. The repairs on the plane were in its beginning stages.

Tag List, You’re Doing Amazing ,Sweetie.

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