#those eyes haha she’s terrified of the wind noise

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[unwilling-souls-if]

I'm curious!

18. Are any of the ROs scared of clowns? and 16. ROs thoughts on storm? :D

I feel like I'm hallucinating, but did you perhaps change the banner of your intro post? I'm lost lol!

Hi! :) I did change the banner a few days ago haha, I was bored (and indecisive as always).  Kudos for noticing! I also don’t have a very good sense of aesthetics so it may change again whoops--

To answer your questions:

Are any of the ROs scared of clowns?

Charlotte is the only one scared of clowns because one made her cry in public as a child (it’s one of these embarrassing moments she thinks about on some nights even years later), but Xander is also a bit uncomfortable with anything circus themed. The others aren’t scared!

Now for their thoughts on storms:

Xander: It’s his element. 10/10, he spent many hours sitting at the edge of a cliff watching waves crash down (his mother was terrified of this and he promised her to stop— he never did). The cold wind biting his skin makes him feel alive. He came back home drenched so many times it’s a miracle he never had pneumonia.

Charlotte: She’s scared of storms and can not sleep if it happens at night. The sound of wind, thunder, or heavy rain makes her anxious and she wraps herself in blankets, far away from any windows and puts music on to have background noise. She lights some candles too, in case electricity shuts down, and reads some of her favorite books. Stormy days are the ones she indulges in the most self-care.

Dione: Storms are usually a bother to her since it can mean delays on missions. Most of the time she’s indifferent, but there are rare occurrences where storms happen when she’s in a bad mood. In that case she stands at a window, hearing rain beat up the glass and feeling nature rage like she does. It’s vaguely satisfying.

Perceval: Xe are a sun lover, so storms get xem a bit down. Before Majid got to H.E.L.L. xe used storms as an opportunity to stay inside and do some tidying up, but the boy is absolutely terrified of storms. Perceval dislikes those days purely for the fear xe can see in Majid’s eyes, and always tries to distract him with some indoor gardening or board games.

Crescent: Storms are impractical for them since they travel a lot by foot, hunting their targets. Off the clock, it doesn’t matter since they’re probably partying in some rich person’s underground club or meeting with friends or business partners. The weather doesn’t mean much to them as long as they can have a glass of champagne and someone to talk to.

Thank you so much for the ask <3

[clarissalance]

Wolves

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!Reader, Diluc, Crepus

Warning: minor swearing, cheesy flirt, dry humour

Summary: All men are wolves.

A/N: Muahaha I have came back and brought you the blatant cheesy flirt. Welcome to the first lesson of flirting with Kaeya. Lol, guess who is coming next? 

Also, I’m planning to write a wind-trace fic because the game is so fun. (p/s: I waste 3 hours playing it) Guess who is in it? 

Okay, the first fic for my lover boy. Please give Kaeya a lot of love!! (*￣3￣)╭ 

Another beautiful day, another day of wasting the lovely weather to stay inside the study room, bury your head into the pile of books next to you. You let your eyes wander to the window again, gazing rays of light fleeting through the window, golden hues on the wooden floor. Tiny specks of dust accumulate overnight, fluttering around the curtain. Outside, the chirping birds bathing under the sun, casually chilling on the window. Oh, how you wish you would be able to relax like those carefree animals.  

“You might burn the birds crips the longer you stare at it.” Startled by the quiet voice, your head snaps toward the blue-haired teenage direction, and you can’t help but scowl at his statement. You can’t be the only person in the room who wants to go out and play. Knowing Kaeya, he’s definitely trying to find an excuse to end the class early. 

The only person who is diligent, hard-working, and does not have thought about leaving this room is the young master Diluc. The young man is sitting opposite you, eyes burning holes on the thick textbook. 

Archon, how can a 16 years old overly enthusiastic person like him enjoy the excitement of reading Descartes philosophy? Maybe he is the only child in Mondstadt, no, maybe in the whole Teyvat who enjoys something torturous like that. Shivering at your own thought, you shift your chair closer to Kaeya, giving Diluc a terror gaze.      

“Aren’t you going to finish the essay?” Pointing at the half-full parchment on the table, you ask. “ Diluc and I already finish it.” 

“ Oh, how do I know? How am I suppose to understand Kant and Descartes theories, and then link them to deductive and inductive reasoning?"  Kaeya lets his finger running through the silky blue hair and pulls them out of frustration. On the other side, Diluc shoots him a glare, annoyed by his brother complaint. 

 “How did you guys do it?” Kaeya asks boredly, his finger pokes the quill. 

You put your hand under your chin, beaming him charmingly.  “ You know Kaeya, it is something I call improvisation. Words just flow out of my tip.” Under your lashes, you can see his cheek dusting pink. Cute! 

“ Just read the books, and you will get it.” Diluc unhelpful adds. 

Both of you stare at red-head incredulously. Is he being serious? 

Like always, Kaeya knows he can not take your advice to heart. One is a genius, and the other is just pure luck.  

Suddenly, the door is burst open, and you quickly shove your feet into the shoes, eyes darting to see the intruder. Internally, you hope that person is not lady Elizabeth, your etiquette teacher. Your blood runs cold at the thought. You can already imagine her sharp tones commenting how horrendous and un-ladylike your act is. 

“How is your study going?” A deep, strong voice booming from the back, and finally, you get let out a breath. Diluc looks up from his book, beams brightly at the man. 

“ We are done with homework, father. These are just extra reading.” Well, for the record, these are his extra readings, not yours. And Kaeya hasn’t finished his 2 feet scrolls of essay yet. 

Master Crepus nods in satisfaction. “ If that is finished, you kids can take a break. The young lady from the Gunnhildr family is here with her father. Maybe you can give her some accompanies.”  The middle-aged man directs the words at you, maybe feeling guilty for leaving a young lady like you in his two sons care. 

Your parents left you in the Ragnvindr care every Summer because of their hectic schedules and frequent business trips at this time of the year. In addition, your mother says it is essential for you to have good relationships with the heir of Ragnvindr and his brother. “Maybe you will need their help someday.” She left it vaguely. 

“ Are you guys going to drink again?” Kaeya suspiciously questions, his eyes glinting with playfulness. 

“ Hey, what’s wrong with men having a drink together?” Crepus defensively retorts, notices how Diluc gives him a disproving gaze.

“ When you guys grow up, you would enjoy it too.” The three let out opposing noises, clearly not having the same idea as him. The man waves dismissively return back the topic. 

“ Let’s come down to greet the head of Gunnhildr first.” He heads toward the door, down the hallway.   

“And be nice to the young lady, boys.” The master emphasizes the phrase, his eyes pinning at the guilty-looking Kaeya and the absent-minded Diluc. Finally, he exits the room, not forgetting to close the door. 

“ Father says as if we don’t treat people nicely.” Kaeya pouts, right after Crepus footstep drifting away from the study. “ The workers never complain anything about our behaviours, right Luc?” 

Sitting next to him, you can't help but let out a snort. He dares to say that? Kaeya raises eyebrows at you, annoyed by your shaking shoulder. The boy in red has a blank face, maybe not interested. 

“ First, you guys ignore me for 2 weeks when I just came here.” You burst out in laughter, recalling back at the very first memory when you just arrived here.

“When I tried to approach, you both avoided me like the plague.” Your whole body is shaking vigorously, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. This is too hilarious! Somewhere in between, you can spot Diluc burning cheek. 

“ Haha, and haha-later,” You can hardly breath, laughter bubbling up. “Adeline told me your reason is ‘It's b-because she doesn’t have a willie.' ” Dramatically air-quoting, you even imitate their stuttering childish voices. This earns you a pointed glare from Diluc and a smack in the arm from Kaeya, but a good laugh is always worth it. 

Both of them freeze on their tracks, faces puff red as tomatoes, steaming almost coming off their ears. If the young heir is to wear a red suit, you are sure he can blend in well with the mansion roof. 

Diluc shifts stiffly in his chair and abruptly stands up, heading toward the exit. Maybe he is too embarrassed at the mention of his dark childhood. 

“Where-haha, are you going, Luc?” You are still in the middle of your giggling, noticing how Diluc is dashing to the door. Letting out a coughing fit, he quietly mumbles. 

 “ I'm going down to greet the Gunnhildr family.” His figure vanishes right behind the door, not letting you tease him further. Outside, the painful sound of Diluc tripping on his own feet make you almost fall off your chair. You have too many good laughs today. 

“Right, I-I should get going too.” Next to you, the blazing Kaeya remembers to dig a hole and hide. His hand slams hard on the table and the youthful teenager stands up, gracefully heading toward the door. Maybe he wants to avoid becoming another joke.  

" Ah, wait-" You follow instantly, but the moment you stand up, something slips, and the next thing you know, the ground is shaking, and you see the ceiling is getting further. 

Your first instinct is to grab the closest object, and then close your eyes, waiting for the painful impact with your head. Clench your jaw tightly, and you hold your breath, hoping it will hurt less if you tense your body. 

Right after tensing up, you feel someone just grab you by your shoulder, and your feet step on something bumpy. And then, your head makes an impact with something hard. A grunting is followed. 

Heart hammering in your chest, you cautiously peek, expecting yourself to see the ceiling, but instead, greet with an unusual sight. A pair of dark colour trouser paired with leather shoes. On top of it is your feet, loosely wore low heel is stepping on that leather shoes. Shit, you stepped on Kaeya. In a panic, you rush down from his painful sore feet, but your head jams in his ribs. He just let out another woeful sound.   

This time, you carefully keep your position in place, slowly remove each foot one by one, moving away from him. Craning your neck upward, you finally meet his gaze, his eyes are full of concern and uneasiness, spooked out by your sudden incident.

 “Did you hit your head hard?” Kaeya asks you nervously, his voice laced with anxiety. He must have been terrified when you slip. You shake your head, hands grabbing his shirt.

" I should be asking you that. Are you okay?" You give him a worrying gaze, your fingers running along his ribs, checking if your stone head broke anything. " I didn't break anything, right?" Hesitantly, you look into his deep blue eyes, noticing the diamond shape. Has he always has this in his eyes? 

Kaeya snorts inelegantly, shakes his head. " Your head is hard as a rock, but that much can't break my ribs yet." This earns him a hit on his arm. 

"Hey! I'm trying to be considerate, and this is how you treat me?" You jab him, hand purposely smack his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. How strong is this guy? This time, you put all the force on your arm, slapping hard on his chest again. The young man in the blues shoot you a shit-eating grin, clearly not faze.  

 "How is my chest feeling?" He pokes, his palm engulfing yours. 

" Too hard for my liking." You give him a complex look, trying to escape from his tight grip but fail miserably. You wiggle your hand again, shaking off his iron clad. Why is he so strong? 

While you are attempting to flee from his firm grasp, the young man leans down, face an inch away from you. Flushing at the sudden closure, like usual,  you avoid his burning gaze. You hold your breath when your noses almost touch. What is this rascal doing again? 

" You shouldn't be touching men like that." Kaeya opens his mouth, saying something completely out of nowhere. You tilt your head in confusion, while your eyes travel down, you notice your hands still on his chest. O-oh, so he is saying about this. 

" I  don't normally touch random people." You mumble defensively, your eyes lower. " I was checking for your injury."

"They will misunderstand." Kaeya cuts in right after, not accepting the excuse. But why would they misunderstand? You are just being nice, right? 

Like he can understand what is going inside your mind, Kaeya reminds you.

"All men are wolves, you should be more be careful with them."   

You give him a confusing look. 

Kaeya is not one of them, right? 

Eventually, he let out a soft sigh and moves back, allowing you to savour your personal space. Just right after your throbbing heart finally calms down, he brings your tight-griped hand in his to his face. Your meet with his alluring look in his eyes. It is pulling you in, telling you to give in the temptation. Plump lips brush your knuckle teasingly, he blows a warm breath on the back of your hand. He gives you a saccharine smile.

" And if not be careful." His husky voice ringing in your ears, the numbing spark runs along your spine. "They might devour you." 

[eirikaanemo]

Summoning the Wind: The Finale

Part One: The Meeting, Part Two: Together

Venti x GN!Reader

1.8k Words

Warnings: Kissing at the end, tournament fighting, Demon Summoning™

Despite the surprising, sudden revelation and reveal, Venti and you continue working towards your goal. Demon tournaments are not things to be taken lightly. They are difficult and it takes a lot of preparation to be ready. And while there is no permanent harm done to the demon, if you’re not careful it can hurt you.

Strengthening your bond, sparring endlessly against whatever demons your teachers and classmates summon, and running through strategy after strategy are just a few of the things the two of you do to prepare. You practice dual battles, and strike up some contracts with some other demons as well. Soon all of you are working together as a team, efficient and effective. If you’re doing this, you’re going all in.

Your first fight is terrifying, especially with you being unable to use Venti as a failsafe. He was strictly around for emotional support, hidden under your hat. The two of you had agreed that he would only be fighting in the higher tournaments. It just wouldn’t be fair for you to use him to blast your way through the competition. Everyone deserves a fair fight. And you weren’t holding back, per say, just only using the amount of force that was needed.

Appraising opponents becomes second nature and you develop the ability to calculate the right amount of force to use fairly easily. But you always err on the side of extra force. You are in this to win it, after all. So despite your fear and nervousness, your first tournament goes very well and you are the undisputed winner.

You continue your rise to the top, taking things one tournament at a time. School wide, area wide, national, and area international tournaments all come and go with you winning all of them. The fights became easy, instinctive almost, but you continued training. Resting on your laurels leads to losing after all, and that’s not what you’re here to do.

Suddenly the time comes. It’s time for the ultimate demon tournament to take place. This is what you’ve been working towards all this time. And your contracted demons are just as excited as you are, Venti most of all.

Venti hasn’t gotten many opportunities to fight himself, though he has helped in one or two in his human form recently. So far, you and those at your school are the only ones that know of his true identity. Your school administration had effectively put a gag order on the information to protect your privacy, and you are very grateful for it. But the time is coming for you to reveal yourselves to the world, here at the World Ultimate Demon Cup tournament.

The fights are hard, even the beginning ones. From the very beginning you are given a run for your money. If you hadn’t spent so long training and preparing for this day you would not have survived past the first match. You were forced to use so much mana that it would have knocked you out if you hadn’t steadily increased your reserves as time went on.

But in the end, you won the match. Then the next one. Then the next. And suddenly you are at the semi-finals. It’s just you, two tier two demons, and Venti left to finish it. Thankfully, your tier two demons and Venti’s human form were enough to get you to the final match. This is it. This is your moment.

Your opponent laughs as you step your way onto the field. “Haha, really,” they crow. “You made it this far with your two-bit tier two demons? I’m surprised! You must certainly be something. But do not doubt, I will crush you under the heel of my foot!” You roll your eyes at their arrogance.

“We’ll see about that,” you reply. He snorts and both of you summon your demon partners onto the field. His is obviously a tier one demon. It is a geo-type sphinx, three times your height and probably weighing more than you could possibly imagine. In comparison, Venti in his little sprite form is completely dwarfed.

“Is that a wind sprite?” Your opponent asks, anger creeping into their voice and onto their face. “Are you kidding me? You think you can take out my summoning partner with a wind sprite! Rude! Brikelda, get rid of it and force them to summon a real opponent.” You smirk as Venti agily dodges the sphinx’s every attempt.

It takes a while, but the sphinx, Brikelda, eventually lands a hit. A hit that almost hit Venti out of bounds. But just before he crosses the line he changes into his Archon form in a flash. Using his wings he easily changes his trajectory to keep himself within bounds. The audience gasps as the announcers proclaim their awe. “And here, folks, you have the honor of seeing an Archon in action!” “It’s sure something, isn’t it, Dave?” “It sure is, Jose! It looks like this will be a lot more interesting than it first seemed!”

Your opponent lets loose with a wild cackle. “This will be more interesting than I thought! But don’t underestimate us! We’ve worked too hard to lose here!” Even with Venti’s archon form, Brikelda the sphinx gave you a hard battle. She fought until the bitter end. But, in the end, Venti is an Archon for a reason. And his strong partnership with you has made him even stronger. He’s in top form and it shows.

The battle is long, but with one last Wind’s Grande Ode, Venti successfully launches her out of bounds. Bouncing off the magical shield guarding the audience, she crumples to the ground and unsummons herself. After a moment of silence, the crowd bursts into cheers and applause. You startle at first at the loud noise, but smile and wave in victory.

Venti soars down from the sky to high five you. Hearing footsteps, you turn around to see your opponent. They are sombre and calmer than you’ve ever seen them. Extending their hand, they hold it toward you. “Good fight,” they say. “You are an opponent worth losing to. I’m glad that it was you. I wish you luck for the future.” You reach out, take their hand, and shake it.

“Thank you for such a great fight,” you thank them in return. “You really made me earn my win. You and Brikelda are a great team.” With a final smile the three of you leave the stage, them one way and Venti and you the other. Thankfully your prep room isn’t too far away, you don’t think you can keep holding your peace for long.

As soon as the door to your prep room is closed you let out something between a cheer and a shriek of victory. “We did it!” You proclaim at Venti. “I can’t believe we did it!” You run over to him and pull him into a tight hug. “Thank you, Venti,” you whisper. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

You feel him smile with amusement, excitement, fondness, and… something else you can’t quite place, as he pulls you closer. He’s been feeling that emotion more and more recently, but you’re not sure what it is. The few times he’s let it bleed over the bond it’s been a warm, soft feeling in your heart. If you had to put a name to it, objectively, you would call it love.

But that couldn’t be it. He’s a demon, an Archon even, and you’re just a human. It isn’t possible that he could love you like that. Yet the thought never really left your mind. And your own feelings that you’ve been careful to keep to yourself all this time, refused to let it go. Because oh how much you love his laugh. You love his songs. You love his eyes. You love him, despite all his flaws.

So you can’t help but relish in the moment. He’s larger in this form, tall enough that your head rests over his heart and his arms wrap around you comfortingly, strong and firm in their grip. His heart is beating quickly, and picks up even more after he presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. Your own heartbeat picks up, and seems to beat in time with his.

You can feel your face and ears go warm as you let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. He loosens his arms to let you pull away some to look at him. His soft gaze rests on you as he takes in the sight of you in his arms. The earlier fights had drained your mana enough that it showed in your disheveled appearance, but you still looked just as wonderful to him as ever.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he admits. “I’ve tried to keep it to myself, but it’s slipped through our bond a couple of times so you probably know what I’m talking about. I’m going to say it anyway, just to get it out in the open. Over all this time we’ve come to know each other, I’ve become very fond of you. And not just as a friend.

“It started out as just a close friendship but my feelings for you never stayed there. They grew every time I saw you working to improve yourself, to 'become more worthy of having him as a summoning partner' as you would say when you thought I couldn’t hear. They grew every time you didn’t treat me and the others as any less than you or other humans. And now they’ve grown too much for me to stay silent about them.

“I love you, romantically, not platonically. You’ve come to mean the world to me. I’ve never felt so close to anyone before and have never felt more understood than when I’ve been around you. And I-” He pauses for a moment to swallow. “Can I kiss you?”

The question is quiet, vulnerable almost. His hand comes to cup your face, thumb tracing your lower lip as he looks into your eyes pleadingly. Your heart melts, and you smile. “Yes, please,” You practically beg as you reach up to cup his cheeks too, guiding them down towards yours.

Your first kiss is soft and slow as the two of you get comfortable kissing each other. The next is a little firmer, and the next even more so. You find yourself pinned against the wall with him having pulled away for a moment to let you catch your breath. He’s about to lean in for another kiss when you’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“We need you at the podium in two minutes,” the person on the other side tells you before hurrying off to other places. The two of you stare at each other for a moment before bursting into action. He helps you freshen up and the two of you race to the award ceremony. As the two of you run he winks and adds one more comment to make you blush. “I guess we’ll just have to finish later~”

[bosspigeon]

he asked me to pray to the god he doesn't believe in

People are puppets held together with string There's a beautiful sadness that runs through him a prompt that turned into a bit of a character study for my Blood Moon boy that i wrote a while ago and wanted to clean up/edit a bit and repost! title from The Hoosiers "A Sadness Runs Through Him"

Vesper watches Marco pace the room like a wind-up toy, or maybe more like a Roomba, from the edge of his bed. Marco hits one wall, twists on heel, strides off in a random direction until he hits another wall, and then it’s rinse and repeat. His teeth are clenched around the filter of an unlit cigarette, and it's a small miracle he hasn't bitten it entirely in half yet. It’s a feat of unimaginable self-control he hasn’t lit it inside, but he knows better by now.

Vesper's eyes move, trailing him from one side of his bedroom to the other, but the rest of his body doesn't. At least he blinks, not like those fucking leeches. Not like that creepy little fucking child emperor, with his wineglass full of blood, staring at Vesper like—

He hits another wall. It doesn't take him long. The den doesn't boast much in the way of free space between two dozen wolves, and Vesper's room has just enough for a bed, a small dresser, and a ratty armchair.

He finally stops. There's too much restless energy buzzing under his skin, the Moon screaming murderous static in his head that he only wishes he'd actually listened to while that skeezy little brat was ogling his—

His what? Vesper's not his anything.

He finally stops, before he burns a track into Vesper's ugly old floral rug, twists around, and sucks in a breath. He wishes it was a mouthful of smoke.

Vesper, ever the strong, silent type, damn him and his stupid, handsome, stoic face, is just looking at him. His eyes are dark and unreadable, his serious brows scrunched pensively. Marco wants to kiss the wrinkle between them, but that's nothing new. He's wanted to do that since he met the gorgeous, gloomy bastard.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Marco snaps.

Fuck. That's not what he wanted to say, and especially not with that tone.

Vesper's expression doesn't change. "Worried about you," he says simply, those irresponsibly broad shoulders shifting under his jacket and stretching the supple old leather.

Marco barks out a laugh. "Me? You're the one who just did a little wolfy striptease for Richie Rich Returns From The Dead. That's gotta do some serious psychological damage."

Vesper winces, and Marco wants to jump out the window. Whether Vesper is his anything or not, he definitely won't want to be after the umpteenth time he's watched Marco have a fucking meltdown.

"You're mad at me," he says, and there's something to his carefully flat tone, a strange edge, that makes Marco's heart hurt.

"What?" he blurts. "No! I'm— I'm not happy, but I'm— You—" He growls, loud and frustrated, and it's enough to have a few curious howls battering his already heavy skull.

I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine

Vesper's brows scrunch more.

"Why'd you agree to that?" Marco asks plaintively. "Why'd you— He couldn't make you do it."

"So you wouldn't have to," Vesper says quietly, looking away from Marco at last. Down at his hands, big and calloused. Rough, working-man's hands that Marco’s seen cradle Nik to his chest after a nightmare (one that no one even knew he had but Vesper, because he can't howl for the pack when he's hurt or upset), or gently tend to Izzy's scraped knees while she tried valiantly not to cry. Hands that cupped Marco's chin while he bled and cleaned up his gross nose-blood without a flicker of revulsion or discomfort, holding him steady so those stormcloud eyes could pick him apart.

He doesn’t look up from those hands. "I wasn't going to let you, or Vicky, or Ed degrade yourselves like that, so that leech could get his rocks off or whatever the fuck he wanted from us.” He says it so softly, but resolutely. “But someone had to."

"Why'd it have to be you?" Marco pleads. Why does it always have to be you?

Vesper looks up again, smiling sadly. "I'm the Alpha. It's my job. Protect the pack."

Marco wants to scream. He knows Vesper didn't even want to be Alpha. It's not just a guess, either. He's said it before, out loud, with his own stupid, pretty mouth, to Marco. I don't want to be Alpha. I'd make a shit Alpha. I can't even keep you in line, Marco, what makes you think I could handle the rest of them?

It was a running joke. Vesper herded the pups, even Izzy, with an uncanny ease. Defused arguments brewing between Vicky and whoever had managed to piss her off that day, kept Marco from causing havoc when his manic energy was through the roof. You'd be a great Alpha, bud.

No, that's not what I want.

What did he want?

Peace and quiet, mostly. Safety. A family.

So why'd he throw himself in the line of fire in the first place?

Because that's what Vesper does. He takes the licks so no one else has to. He doesn't talk about it much, but Marco's been mooning after him (haha) for a solid year, so he's picked up a few things. He remembers when Vesper was brought in, wild-eyed and twitchy, almost too close to the moon to find his way back at all. Whatever happened to his last pack, it wasn't pretty. It made him wary to get close to them, at first, but after a while, he got... protective.

So you didn't have to. So Addie and Elma didn't have to, so Sergi didn't have to, so no one else had to.

It's why he threw himself in the line of fire without even thinking, why he looked like someone had slapped him when the votes ruled in his favor.

It's why he'll be fucking great at it, Marco thinks, and it makes him ache.

Because when it comes down to it, what Vesper wanted never factored into the equation. It's what the pack needed. What will keep them safe.

It's terrifying to think about, especially when it comes to whatever is gonna happen when Blackwell slithers his slimy ass out of whatever hole he's hidden in. Vesper would die before he let another of his pack get hurt.

Marco's gonna be fucking mortified about the noise he makes later, when he stumbles towards the bigger wolf and bowls him backwards onto the bed. But right now, Vesper is here, warm and solid and stupidly, obnoxiously pretty, and Marco has to kiss him or he'll die, he thinks.

While Vesper is still here, and still wants him.

Those big, strong hands palm at his sides, his shoulders, his head with a tenderness that makes Marco want to cry.

He's not like Vesper. He's not a self-sacrificing idiot. He's selfish, selfish, selfish, and he's gonna hold onto this with grit teeth and bloody claws as long as he fucking can.

[royallyjoon]

cursed stars

cred for the gif goes to whoever made it! 🤍

fairy au, royalty au

yandere! jung hoseok x f! reader (wind chimes: part II of II) 

warnings: yandere themes, delusions of grandeur, violent behavior, and manipulation

once hoseok “successfully” claimed you as his queen, you are introduced to a tedious life as the princess of Wysteria: etiquette lessons in the morning  with a testy crone of a duchess and tea at noon with His Highness himself. a new guest comes to the palace, introducing himself as an old friend of the prince’s. despite all your thoughts of returning home, your beloved knows there’s no force on Earth strong enough to rival his love for possessing you.

(a/n): hello everyone~~ all i can say is: wow!! thanks again for all the love, and for being patient with me and waiting for the next and final installment of this series haha. i have a lot more works in the drafts; please look forward to them as well** this one’s a bit of a long one; hope you enjoy! may we all bow in the final presence of the prince and princess~  :) love, ati

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

“The Fae of Wysteria are a majestic race, coming in all shapes, sizes, and colors. However, a distinct aspect of our people stems from our heritage—we are pure-blooded, descending from the Heavenly Crowned King and Queen, Rostel and Elisia. The information we have about their descending to Earth is mostly written in memoirs from scribes who happened to be alive at the time. The records vary in terms of what they were doing that day and where they were in Wysteria but two significant details remain consistent: One, the heavens opened and through the clouds, one could see a vast sky of night alit with stars. Two, the Heavenly Royalty flew through the clouds to descend upon our humble abode and bless us with their presence.”

You placed your elbow on the mahogany desk before which you sat, planting your head in your hands. Usually, you did not mind history lessons but the way the Duchess droned on you felt your head nodding back and forth, almost dropping on the desk multiple times.

“Our Heavenly Crowned rulers blessed certain fairies with their powers and decreed that every eight centuries, a new fairy be born with iridescent wings, for that child was to be our new ruler. Those meant to serve in that child’s palace would be born the same year with silver wings and would reside by their side until the end of the eight hundred years. We have carried on with this tradition for--(Y/N)!”

There was a harsh smack on the table in front of you and you jumped up to witness the Duchess with her pale hand on the desk. She glared at you and you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “Yes, Duchess Roxia, I was listening. Iridescent wings for the next ruler, silver wings for the servants, they rule and live in the palace for a century.”

The crone sneered. “Eight centuries, (Y/N). Eight. Never will I understand why His Highness is wasting his time with the likes of you.” She slid her hand from the desk, nails itching to scratch the polished surface. 

“In the past, I was hired to teach only the proudest of fae this generation has seen. When His Highness summoned me, I thought to myself, ‘This! This is what I’ve been waiting centuries for! To be welcomed back into the palace, to teach only the highest of fae kind! To bring honor to my family’s disgraced legacy!’ Only to find out he brought me here to educate his human plaything.”

You suffered this kind of verbal abuse on a daily basis. She would belittle and insult you to her heart’s content, then mercilessly quiz you on the material she’s taught during the hour and fifteen-minute lecture. Most of the time, you barely passed. 

“Of course, I could be out in the world doing better things with my life, but who am I to refuse a request from His Highness?” She sighs, the noise heavy and more similar to a grunt than a dispel of air.

“That is why it is my personal goal to make you the best crown princess Wysteria has seen. Politics, history, etiquette--you will know it all in three months’ time for the coronation. His Highness will be so enamored with my skill, perhaps he’ll keep me in the palace to teach the next Crown Prince or Princess! Oh, the honor!” She gazed out the window, the nicest expression you’ve ever seen written all over her face. 

And it was excitement at the thought of her selfish opportunity.

You glanced at the clock and shut your dusty textbooks. “Yes, well, thanks so much for the lesson, Duchess. But class is over and I have to meet with His Highness in about fifteen minutes. Have a good day.” You bowed to her and scrambled out the classroom with your head ducked down. 

“Lift your head, (Y/N)! Walk like royalty!” She snapped as the grand doors of the library shut.

                                          ~~~~~~

You strolled through the corridor with Olivia in tow, taking your time to smell the flowers and feel the breeze. It was almost always sunny here now that Hoseok had you where he wanted you.

You had the finest jewels, the prettiest gowns, and the most handsome man in the kingdom laid down in front of you, yet all you wanted to do was get away from here.

He hadn’t harmed you since that awful night on the balcony, but he was in no way hesitant to do it again. You could sense it in every icy gaze he sent your way when he felt you were “misbehaving”.

The heels of your sandals clacked against the floors and you turned into the palace’s garden. Alit with soft, colored lanterns the smells from the flower petals hit you all at once. It took you back to the day you sat in that field and performed the summoning Etha so desperately wanted.

Etha...you had had no way to contact the mortal world since your capture. Hoseok had provided no comforting thought towards your friend. He simply assured you that she would be fine but she had no place here, as she was “but a mortal, and you are so much more.” 

A likely story.

His wings were the first thing to catch your eye, gleaming and reflecting their multitude of colors when they met the sun. At the sound of your footsteps, he rose and approached you with a smile.

“Good morning, my dear. How were your classes?” He took your arm, leading you to the chair opposite his at the table. Olivia gently pulled your books from your arms and bowed, exiting without a word.

He pulled the chair out as you smoothed your dress out and sat. “They went as they always do...Duchess Roxia talked about the characteristics of a ruler and their servants and the length of their reign.”

Hoseok took his place and clapped his hands. Immediately, two fairies were setting tea, cups, and delicacies onto the table.

“Ah, our Regal Doctrine. She’s already managed to teach you that much, eh? Perhaps she is worth keeping around.”

You internally rolled your eyes. Had Hoseok known how Duchess Roxia was treating you, she would probably be halfway home by now.

As awful as the crone was, she was your only excuse for spending less time with the Prince. You would pick classes over emotional and psychological torture every day.

The table had grown eerily silent. You looked up to find Hoseok looking at you, seemingly waiting for something.

“Duchess Roxia informed me she taught you table etiquette during last Friday’s lesson.”

“Oh.” You shifted uncomfortably, trying to recall the exact steps.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Hoseok leaned forwards on the table, resting his head on his palm, “it begins with how you pour the tea.”

You nodded and slowly stood up, walking over to the teapot. The Duchess had said to grasp it so that when you pour, the top would not come out of place.

“A princess must always pour the tea for her prince and any visiting guests. It is crucial in demonstrating good table manners to all.”

You picked up the teapot gently, feeling Hoseok watch your every move. “The right hand to hold, the left to stop,” you murmured to yourself.

Once you felt your hands were in the correct position you held the pot an adequate height over the teacup—not too high, not too low—and began to pour. The tea did not splash around in the cup, rather it settled very gently and you waited until it rose to just a little before the rim. Then you placed the pot down, somewhat proud of yourself. “Sugar?”

Hoseok leaned back in his seat, a grin breaking out on his face. He clapped. “Wonderful! You did it perfectly, darling. I’ll take two lumps of sugar, please.”

You grabbed the lumps with a spoon and dropped them in his cup.

“You’re doing an excellent job so far, darling. You’ll be the perfect Princess of Wysteria in no time.” He continued smiling, despite the growing chill in the air.

“When I see you doing so well in your classes, it reinforces my hopes for you.” Your wrist froze, the lumps only partly dissolved. Hoseok pried the spoon from your fingers, taking your hand in his. “To think you thought you’d be anything but mine.”

The wind chimes sounding from the city hadn’t been so loud a moment before, but now they were deafening. The wind whipped your hair and dress around as you gazed down angrily, yet terrified at Hoseok. He met your gaze, doing nothing but pressing his soft lips against your hand.

And all at once, there was silence once more.

“You must forgive me, (Y/N). Every time I think back to that night, I get a little...angry.” His brown eyes were practically glowing once more, switching back and forth between dark and purple irises.

You pulled your hand from his grasp and promptly sat away from him. Hoseok continued spinning the spoon in the tea, dissolving the rest of the sugar.

“I have exciting news.” he continued. “A dear friend of mine is coming to visit in time for our coronation.”

You tilted your head curiously. “Friend?” You weren’t aware that Hoseok communed with people outside of the palace that often.

“Yes, an older friend from my childhood. He and I are extremely close and he wished to visit to see me become King before he commences travel once more.”

“Oh.” You sat, sampling the delicacies at the table. “...If you’re inviting a friend, would I be able to invite Etha for the corona-”

The wind picked up again. You heard the sound of metal slicing through the air and a knife from Hoseok’s side of the table landed inches, no, centimeters, away from your hand.

You stopped short. “Never mind,” you whispered.

Hoseok glared at the table, purple eyes fierce and gleaming. “Perhaps it is time for you to go back to your lessons, (Y/N).”

Olivia appeared at the doorway and you raced towards her, forgetting proper table manners to bow towards the prince once you exit.

For some reason, you felt the need to burst into tears.

                            ~~~~~~

“He can bring whatever friends he wishes to, of course, yet I ask him to bring the only friend I’ve ever mentioned to him, who he knows of, and all of a sudden it’s a problem.” Soon after you left the garden, your fear and sadness dissipated into growing anger. You practically stomped down the hallway towards the room you occupied since your arrival. “He’s being hypocritical, again.”

“He may do whatever he wishes, Your Highness. He is the Prince.” Olivia mutters back to you. “If he feels as though he does not want any human presence tainting the purity of his coronation, he may ban their presence altogether.”

“Then why am I allowed there, Olivia?” You held your anger at bay, yet your lips twitched into a perceptible sneer. “Unless you have forgotten, I’m human. I don’t belong here as much as Etha-”

You doubled back in surprise as Olivia’s eyes widened and she threw herself at your feet. “Forgive me, Your Highness!” She cried out, head bowed to the floor. 

“What are you doing?” You knelt beside her and tried to pull her up but her hands stuck to your ankles with a deadly grasp. 

“Please forgive me!”

“For what?” You were exasperated at this point, but more worried. Olivia never did anything wrong; of all your handmaidens she was the strictest.

“I have wronged her Highness by insinuating an impurity with her birth! I beg of you, please!”

You kneeled in silence for a moment. With a heavy sigh, you stood. “You’re the last person to say something cruel on purpose, Olivia. You only spoke the truth. You’re forgiven; will you please stand up now?”

She pulled herself to her feet, her blue dress crumpled from the floors. To your shock, tears streamed down her face.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, gripping her by the arms.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing of importance, Your Highness. I thank you for your grace and mercy.” She curtsied, knees almost touching the floor. 

You looked around, trying to see if there were any onlookers. When your eyes found nothing, you hurriedly walked towards your room, pulling Olivia along with you.

Hoseok frowned from his column perch. The maid was a good one--too good to let go. 

But he couldn’t let her go unpunished for insulting his future Queen.

The prince smirked, flying away silently.

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

Olivia’s curious behavior quit after that day. It was the biggest display of emotion you had ever witnessed from her. Rattling, to say the least. 

Two weeks went by uneventfully. All too soon, you were sitting in the library as Duchess Roxia went over the history of fae and human relations.

“Humans have attempted to contact the fae realm for centuries now, and only a few have succeeded. None to your extent, of course,” she sneered sarcastically.

“They blunder about in the forest searching for fields and lakes, trying to find a place with the right amount of ‘energy’,” the Duchess laughed and it sparked annoyance in you. “The pitiful things actually believe they have control over who they summon and where.”

Her mockery of the ritual that made you end up here, that currently has you trapped under the thumb of a purple and black-haired prince, made a new level of anger arise within you. You slammed your book on the desk and began putting away your “notes”.

 “Any fairy who attempted to make contact first spelled destruction for Wys- (Y/N), where do you think you are going?”

“I’m leaving,” you snapped. “Perhaps I’ll return when I feel as though I’m being taught useful information and not racist sentiments from some bigot.”

You tucked the books into the corner of your arm and marched towards the door. Duchess Roxia’s heels clacked on the floor quickly behind you and before you could say another word, she wrapped her wrinkly fingers around your wrist, spinning you around.

The sound of your books crashing to the floor echoed in the library, but not as loudly as the crack of her hand against your cheek.

“You insufferable little bug,” she seethed. “I am not finished with my lesson, therefore you will be going nowhere. Pick up your books and take your seat, unless I must spell you to remain seated from now on.”

The flush of anger sat deep within your chest now and you threw her hands off of you. “Try me, bitch.” You resisted the urge to spit on her face and continued to head out of the library.

There was the sound of the Duchess sighing behind you but you paid no mind. Until, that is, you felt little sparks running through your hands and feet. 

“I’m sure His Highness would not be pleased to hear of your insubordination...no worries. I will punish you in his place.” You felt yourself turn around, once again not of your own volition, to face the witch. She had both arms outstretched, wrinkly hands controlling your every movement.

The next moment, you felt like there was electricity convulsing through every inch of your being. It was painful, yes, but you were not allowed to scream or call out for help.

She had you at her whim.

About five minutes later, Duchess Roxia released her hold on you. Your body dropped to the floor, fingers still twitching unknowingly.

“Need I repeat myself, (Y/N)?” She cackled. “Books. Seat. Now.”

There was nothing you could do. You picked the textbooks up off the floor, stumbling a bit, and then slammed them back on the table. She scoffed at your helplessness, lecture continuing without a hiccup.

Your cheek burned. Your entire body ached.

When the lesson did end some thirty minutes later, you waited for her to leave the library first. Olivia passed by her as she exited before gasping at your condition.

“Your Highness!” She collected your books and tried to make you rise, but you were glued to the seat. Not by spelling, as if you’d let that witch’s magic get anywhere near you twice, but by your own indignation.

The handmaiden finally managed to make you rise and helped you to your room.

Upon entering, Raina, Eliza, and Kyla gasped, leaving their cleaning to crowd around you and ask what happened. 

“Duchess Roxia slapped me,” you revealed as you placed enough foundation on your face to cover the mark. “Then she used her powers on me. I felt like I was being shocked in every part of my body.”

“How dare she lay her hands on the future queen!” Raina growled, her eyes glowing a bright hazel. “It’s high treason!”

Kyla nodded, cracking her knuckles. “We should go incapacitate her and drag her before the prince and princess to answer for her crimes.”

Those dear, four handmaidens. Your jailers who happened to be the people you have closest to friends.

You managed to earn their trust, and they managed to earn yours. They were only cruel to you when you decided to go against the prince’s wishes...which was in their best interest as they would be the ones he punished if you acted out.

“There’s no need,” you sighed, finishing up with the foundation. “In her mind, she was completely in the right. There’s no fae law that prohibits the use of magic on humans.”

Olivia sighed. “His Highness would be most displeased to find you like this,” She muttered.

“It’s none of his business,” you said. “I don’t need him to fight my battles for me. Especially not the ones he placed me in himself.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Eliza said, having a conversation through her eyes with Olivia that you couldn’t bear to translate at that moment.

As off-putting as your handmaidens were, they were the only ones you could freely talk to. At times, you found their presence and protectiveness comforting.

But it wasn’t as comforting as your home.

When you were finished, Olivia quickly led you back to the garden. The aftereffects of the shock were thankfully gone now; there would be nothing suspicious for the prince to question you about later on.

This time, Hoseok sat at the table with another man. He had a pale complexion for his skin tone, which was not too dark or too light. His hair was straight, hanging into his eyes. He, too, carried silver wings on his back, similar to those of your handmaiden’s, but slightly larger.

“(Y/N), my dear!” Hoseok gushed as you approached the table. Olivia took her place behind your chair as you curtsied to the prince and the guest. 

“Greetings, Your Highness.” You muttered.

Hoseok could sense something off with his love, but he knew wouldn’t be able to confront it at that moment, not with his guest here.

“This is Lord Yoongi, the friend I spoke to you about.”

The man, Yoongi, stood and bowed to you as you curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. Hoseok has told me much about you.”

You rose, eyebrows shooting up a little when you heard him address the prince by his first name. “All good things, I hope.” you smiled. 

“Of course.” He flashed a closed-lip smile at you and Hoseok stood, pulling out your chair. You poured the tea for Hoseok and Yoongi just as you had the day before.

“Do you take sugar with your tea?” You asked, placing two lumps in Hoseok’s cup. As much as he tried to hide it, for whatever reason, he was beaming with pride. 

“Three, please.” The answer surprised you again, but you hid with a smile.

Who exactly was this man?

You gently placed the cup before him and took your seat. Hoseok moved his chair so that he sat in between you and Yoongi, forming a triangle at the round table. 

“I can’t quite explain how amazing it is to have two of my absolute favorite people meet,” Hoseok grinned. You couldn’t help but feel a little disgruntled: he was never this smiley around you.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re a bundle of emotions,” Yoongi snorted, sipping at his drink. “How are the preparations going for the coronation?”

Hoseok grabbed your hand in his and placed it on his lap. “I’ve been covering most of the duties, as (Y/N) here catches up with her studies. How was your class today, darling?”

You could feel Olivia’s glare on the back of your head and your body shook in  reminder of your lessons. “It’s difficult, but what is education if not a challenge? I'm just really excited to be learning more about Wysteria’s history and culture.”

Yoongi nodded. “It isn’t easy at all, I commend you for your dedication. I know it may take a while to get used to, but I’m sure Wysteria can become a home for you just as much as it is for any other citizen.”

“That’s very kind of you to say...thank you.” You were taken aback by his kindness. All of your other encounters were racist or harmful, but Yoongi seemed to genuinely accept your presence here.

An attendant stepped closer and whispered something in Hoseok’s ear. His grip on your hand tightened but he let go to stand up. “I’m afraid there are some manners in the ballroom I must attend to. Please, feel free to chat amongst one another.”

Hoseok leaned down and you held your breath, praying he wouldn’t comment on the makeup. 

His lips went to your ear all of a sudden, and he whispered: “Every day could be like today, you know.”

Then his lips were on your cheek, and he was walking out with all the servants.

You stared after him curiously. What could that have possibly meant?

After Hoseok left, you shifted in your chair uncomfortably. Yoongi crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat.

“So...how long ago did he take you?”

Your eyes shot up. “Did he tell yo-I mean...” your voice faltered, unsure if you should even be asking the question. Were you supposed to refute the claim? 

“I know him like the back of my hand; he’s the only fairy powerful enough to bring a human into this realm. And as smiley as you are around him, I can tell you’re not here of your own accord. So when did you get taken?”

You paused. “A month ago,” you murmured. 

Yoongi hummed, looking at the lanterns and vines behind you. 

“He’s not a bad person,” he commented. “He’s always been a bit...off, but it didn’t show as much in his youth because he had so much energy and familial support.”

“How long have you known him?” You asked.

“Since childhood,” Yoongi said. “My parents used to attend his in the palace. When he, the new set of servant fairies, and I were born, my parents took to training them and I was a sort of babysitter. I must admit, I can understand what you’re going through. He was quite possessive of me in his youth shortly after he lost his parents. He clung to me all the time, really.”

A gummy smile broke out upon Yoongi’s face, and you felt your lips twitch in response. “Really? That’s...interesting.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to Yoongi dispel stories about the young prince and their escapades in the palace. 

“The old king and queen always told me that they hoped I’d be a friend of Hoseok’s for life.” He mused, eyes clouding a bit. 

You paused at the sudden mention of his parents. “...Is it alright for me to ask what happened to them?”

Yoongi was quiet for a long while, and you were afraid you had overstepped your boundaries. Yet he began speaking a few moments later.

“It was an ambush,” he muttered.

Your head snapped up.

“On his birthday, Hoseok’s parents were holding a score of festivities to celebrate their seventieth reign together. I was still fairly young in fairy years, and Hoseok was even younger.” He continued.

“There was an insurrection in the palace...a group of commoners’ used the party as their opportunity to annihilate the royal family despite their divine right to hold the throne.” Yoongi held his teacup so firmly, the ceramic began to shake in his grasp. “Hoseok only survived because he and I immediately ran to hide with the servants. So many servants sacrificed themselves for us that night...

“They never discovered the person who let them into the palace. Commoners in Wysteria don’t have wings, you see. Only servants meant to be with the royals and the royals themselves possess the ability to fly.” Yoongi drifted off, lost in his thoughts. “I have my own suspicion about who it was, but I fear starting an investigation would cost Hoseok his current mental state.”

Never would you have guessed what the prince had gone through. “I could never imagine...thank you for telling me.” Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but wonder: did his response to the loss of his parents truly excuse his actions?

��Yoongi sighed. “They were truly great parents to him but taken too soon.” He lifted himself from the chair and walked over to you. “Shall we go find him in the ballroom?”

You stood. “Sounds like a great plan.” 

Olivia's eyes widened in glee at the sight of Yoongi. “Greetings, Lord Min. It’s wonderful to see you around the palace again.”

“As it is to see you, Olivia. I remember when you were still a toddler in the palace...time goes by all too soon.”

You smiled a little at the thought of Olivia as a toddler, learning etiquette.

The three of you walked out of the garden only to bump into none other than Duchess Roxia, lurking down the corridor.

Your breath hitched in your throat as her eyes passed right over you to land on Yoongi. “Why, if it isn’t the Lord of Tierny himself! A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Duchess Roxia, royal teacher of the future que-”

Yoongi pushed right by her and kept walking without a blink. “Come, (Y/N), we have to go find the prince.”

You stood behind in shock, watching as the Duchess whipped around in surprise. Olivia gave you a little shove forward and you walked briskly lest you be caught in the aftermath of her fury, again.

When you rounded the corner, there was nothing to stop you from cackling as loudly as possible. 

                                ~~~~~~

Hoseok had expected a lot of things from your arrival. The anger and the confusion were a given, but your desperation to leave was the one thing he could not wrap his head around.

He saw you as his queen from the moment you shook those wind chimes on the lakeside. How regal you looked, skin draped in moonlight and eyes alight with the stars. There was nothing left that the Earth could gift you with, thus he took it as his responsibility to give you all the niceties in life. Never again would he allow another creature to pollute your natural grace and kindness. 

The night he caught you on the balcony, oh how the strength of your sobs tore at his very core. He didn’t want his love to be unhappy; he brought you here because the two of you belonged together. Couldn’t you tell?

Of course, he never questioned your love for him. Why else would you have wished for him to take you on an adventure so sweetly, so openly? 

Sure, he may have lost his temper quite a few times but it was well within reason. 

The first time you two had met, when he saw you donned in his royal garments in the library that day, he thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful.

So when he saw you walking in with Yoongi, eyes scrunched up and mouth split open by a wide grin, he knew he’d been proven wrong. 

Your silk dress slid along the floor as you leaned back in laughter, arms wrapped around your soft frame. The light entered the room at just the perfect angle and Hoseok was able to witness the star greet your skin and light it up, like a parent with arms open to welcome their child home. He grinned softly. 

“My lord! That was--that was amazing!” The older man could not understand for the life of him what you found so funny. Little did he know that dismissal of Duchess Roxia made your entire week. 

“Hoseok-ah, come get your fiance.” The man groaned but chuckled, taken aback by the force of your laughter. 

You calmed yourself as you neared the center of the ballroom and the prince approached you “Care to tell me what’s so funny?” He asked amusedly.

You shook your head, smiling at the floor. “Duchess Roxia attempted to greet Lord Yoongi but in our haste to see you, he paid her no mind...she was left ever so crestfallen in the hallway,” snorts attempted to take over your words once more but suppressed the giggling.

Hoseok looked at his oldest friend in shock. “Hyung!”

Yoongi widened his eyes and spread his arms innocently. “I had places to go!”

As the two bickered, you took in Hoseok’s work, admiring the way the ballroom gleamed. There was no doubt about it, the event would be beautiful but you still were not positive that you wanted to be a part of it. 

“Every day could be like today.”

Is that what he’d meant? No cowering in fear from the anger of your supposed fiance, no disgusting teachers or challenging examinations? Just sunlight and laughter and friendship?

Don’t be ridiculous, you chastised yourself. You’re never going to stop longing for home, and Hoseok is never going to get over that. When Yoongi leaves, you’ll be transported from one tormentor to the next. 

There would be no end. There is no method to his madness.

But...perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad place to stay...

“(Y/N)?” Hoseok waved a hand in front of your face and you violently flinched away. The action caused both men to pause, gazing at you seriously.

“Are you alright?” Yoongi asked. His face showed no great emotion, but you could see the question that lay in his eyes.

You shook your head pointedly as if to say, No.

At least, not him.

“Yes, sorry. I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there.” You smiled assuredly at Hoseok, hands twisting the fabric of the silk dress you wore. 

“I thank you both for your company today. I’m afraid I don’t feel well and will have to retire to my room for the rest of the afternoon. It’s been a pleasure, really.” You curtsied to both men.

Olivia, never far behind you, curtsied even lower to the prince and his lordship and followed you quietly out the ballroom.

The sky darkened a bit as you left and Yoongi sighed. 

Clouds formed in the previously blue skies, a storm quickly changing the atmosphere of the room.

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

Later that evening, you lay in bed chatting with Raina and Kyla recounting the day’s events as Olivia sat by the window, listening. You didn’t have the energy to change out of the dress but all of that socializing exhausted you.

Eliza slipped into the room. “Your Highness, the prince is calling for you. He wishes for you to meet him on the balcony.”

You stopped mid-sentence. “What balcony?” You asked dumbly.

“The same balcony you found on your first night here,” Eliza replied calmly.

You stared at her for a few moments before flopping back onto your bed. “I’ll be out shortly,” you muttered, slipping on a simple pair of flats. 

Olivia made herself ready to stand up but Eliza waved her down. “He wishes to see Her Highness alone,” she said as she rearranged the sheets you were just laying on.

Raina and Kyla pouted, disappointed that they wouldn’t hear the rest of the story. They acted as if they were even younger than you despite being considerably older. They understood, however, that the wishes of the prince came first in every situation. 

Eliza chastised them for sitting around all day rather than completing their tasks. Olivia smiled, watching them all bicker from the windowsill.

You smiled at the chaotic scene before quietly closing the door, mentally preparing yourself to go back to the balcony.

                            ~~~~~~

You saw the prince before he heard you. Hoseok had his head laid in his arms, peering out at the city of Wysteria. You appeared beside him and he turned, smiling at you.

You found it hard to return.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed today, (Y/N). And your time here in general.” Hoseok began, straightening.

You raised your eyebrows. “You make it sound as if you’re letting me go,” 

His eyes flashed purple and he grinned. “Never. No, I said that because I have been reflecting upon my decisions as your prince, and I admit my actions may have been a bit...hasty.”

You snorted quietly and leaned on the railing. “That’s a bit of an understatement, Your Highness.” 

He stayed quiet. 

You walked to the end of the balcony and placed your arms along the wire rim, turning your head to his. “Yoongi told me about your parents...I’m sorry for your loss.”

He inhaled sharply, turning away from you for a moment. His dangling black coattails whipped around in the wind. “I didn’t want you to know about that,” he said.

You hummed. “Why not?”

“I want you to fear for nothing here,” he said, back still turned to you. “I simply wish to fulfill your dream, our dream of being together...I want you to be happy here. With me, and me alone.”

You stared at the back of his head, wishing you could read his mind. “You hurt me here,” you stated. “All I want to do is go home, but you keep me trapped-”

“That is for your own protection,” he cut you off. “You were behaving rashly by running around the palace. I know you’re a bit of a free spirit, love, but you shouldn’t act as though you want to leave me behind. I know you care for me as much as I care for you.”

You suppressed a groan of frustration. “Hoseok, I barely knew you when you brought me here. I still hardly know you.”

He took your hands, cupping them in his. “(Y/N), you’re the only one that knows the real me.”

Your expression twisted in confusion, but Hoseok was already changing the topic. 

“Nevertheless, I invited you here because I want to apologize for any of my behavior that may have been...off-putting.” He started, leaning his back against the rail.

Ah, yes. Because nearly stabbing my hand with telekinetic powers was simply off-putting.

“Our love is not meant to be like any other, yet we have stood the test of time. I cannot wait to place a crown on your head myself, to watch you become a great ruler to my people.”

You tore your arms off the iron gate of the balcony and stood before him, locking eyes. 

“You’re delusional,” you emphasized.

His eyes flashed purple but you were determined to stand your ground. “I have never seen nor spoken to you before that night on the riverbank.”

“But couldn’t you feel our connection?” He murmured. “I know you felt how powerful my presence was, how strong we were together. What else could it have been but a sign? Who else could have had the strength to summon me to your mortal realm and interact with me?”

“Somebody!” You cried. “Literally anybody!”

“But it was you, wasn’t it?” His voice got softer and softer, like a parent talking their toddler down from a tantrum. “You were the one to speak to me first.  You were the one to make contact first, and you were the one to shake the chimes. No one forced you to participate in the ritual...you must have been searching for something to come out of it.”

“I only did it for Etha!” you protested. 

Hoseok hummed and reached a hand up to pat your head. “I think you did it for yourself,” he concluded. “And I think the only option you have left is to accept your fate.”

His other arm crept around your back until he was hugging you. You tried to push him away, but your arms were trapped between the two of you.

“Our meeting, our love, our fates, they’re all written in the stars.” He rocked you gently side to side as he gazed up into the night sky. Where clouds once dominated, stars took their place and lit the balcony.

He let you go and stepped away, walking back inside the palace. Without looking back, he said, ““We’re going to have a beautiful life here, (Y/N). I suggest you get used to it very quickly. As I said before, I have no intention of letting you leave.”

You were left on the balcony with those cursed stars, regretting every decision you’d made in the past. 

With the news of that cruel reality, you trudged down the palace corridor back to your room, slipped under the sheets, and promptly fell asleep.

                            ~~~~~~~~

Olivia prided herself on her good work for the future King and Queen of Wysteria. Ever since she was little, she dreamed of working for Lord Min and His Highness to help preserve their beautiful land and beautiful country.

She was consistently the highest ranking fairy in her lessons; perfect posture, perfect demeanor. Everything about her was groomed to perfection.

When His Highness assigned her and her friends to the princess, she’d been ecstatic. Sure, she was a bit of a challenge in the beginning, but (Y/N) has improved from her initial hysterical behavior.

Olivia is proud to work for such a determined, self-aware mistress. If only she would put all of that anger and energy to escape towards her lessons and the kingdom’s future.

She knew her insult to Her Highnesses’ birth would not go unnoticed. Sooner or later, the prince would drag her before him and demand answers.

Olivia closed the door to your room with one hand, the other arm occupied by a basket of clothes. She had changed you out of your day gown, as she was sure you’d complain about it in the morning. As her sandals quietly clacked down the corridor, she saw shadows approaching her. 

Two royal guards stepped out of the darkness directly into her path. “Miss Olivia, His Highness requests your presence at his personal library immediately.”

Olivia’s breathing began to increase just slightly. She nodded and clung to the basket a little harder.

They led her to the dreaded library and she gulped, seeing only a sliver of moonlight from underneath the door. One of the guards checked her for weapons and the other took the basket, gently placing it on the floor. With a deep breath, she knocked twice and turned the handle.

“I have arrived at your request, Your Highness.” She curtsied, keeping her eyes glued to the carpet.

The library was dark but moving. In a moment, he appeared.

 “My dear, you know I value your service. You are of the most competent in your generation...I remember how my mother simply adored you and your friends...” 

The prince placed his hand around Olivia’s throat.

“...yet, you have insulted my queen. Your mistress.” He pressed a little tighter and Olivia gasped. “This cannot go unpunished. Do you have anything you wish to say for yourself?”

Olivia could barely get anything out. "Yes, Your Highness. I just want to thank you for your benevolence and generosity.”

He hummed. “Anything else?”

She felt that she shouldn’t, as her mistress felt sure she could handle it, but this was her life at stake. She broke. “Before Your Highness ends my pitiful life, I have something extremely important to tell you.”

The prince continued staring at her, pressing a little harder. “It’s..about..the princess...” Olivia tried to speak, but he had managed to squeeze all the oxygen out of her throat. 

Hoseok’s eyes narrowed the slightest and he released her. Olivia coughed, dropping to her knees.

“Go on.”

Olivia rubbed her neck. “Duchess Roxia is well-known for her knowledge on fae history, and although she has been teaching my mistress everything she needs to know, she has been expressing a variety of anti-human sentiments. She ridicules my mistress nearly every lesson, and for the past couple of weeks, has even ventured so far as to...” 

She faltered. 

“May I remind you that if you obstruct the truth, I will not hesitate to hang you from the gallows.” The prince’s words were as sharp as the knife slowly rising from his desk.

“Duchess Roxia has been physically abusing the princess. She slapped her when she tried to leave a lesson and subdued her with magic. She almost electrocuted my mistress.”

The prince’s eyes danced purple in fury. Olivia knew he was going to erupt, but before he did, she wanted to make sure she was in the clear.

“I’m afraid that’s not all about the Duchess, Your Highness...”

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

The next morning, you were shaken awake by your handmaidens. You tried to insist that you didn’t have classes and didn’t need to get up, but the grim look on their faces told you otherwise. 

Kyla and Raina did their best to keep appearances sunny, giving you breakfast while Olivia and Eliza chose your outfit. They bathed you and dressed you in a silk, royal purple gown. It wasn’t until the dress was on you that you realized it was the exact same shade Hoseok’s eyes turned when he was infuriated.

And for whatever reason, Olivia kept wincing and touching her neck. You tried to ask her if she was okay, or if she wanted a massage, but she turned you down, joking that she was supposed to be the one to offer you such services.

Once you were dressed, your handmaidens led you to the balcony. To your surprise, there was a palanquin resting there, adorned with swirls of black, gold, and silver, with multiple royal guardsmen outside. 

 Not a chime could be heard from below the palace. The city of Wysteria was silent, and it made you shiver.

“What’s going on?” You asked Raina, hoping she would spill. 

She shook her head and gestured towards the palanquin. “Please get in, Your Highness.” 

You gasped. “That thing? It’s tiny!”

After that comment, the expression you saw on Eliza’s face couldn’t have had you rushing to the palanquin sooner. You picked up your skirts and stuffed yourself inside, trying not to feel cramped. The guardsmen pulled the door down and you could feel them lift the palanquin up. 

You gasped, hand scrabbling against the wall. Your knuckle hit something sharp, and you pressed your fingers against a tiny knob. You slid the knob across the wall and it opened a window.

To your shock, you were being carried in midair. You could see Olivia and Eliza flying next to your side of the box, the swirls on their silver wings glistening in the sunlight.

If you peeked your head out a little further, you could see the borders of the city getting closer and closer.

So this is how people have to leave the palace, you noted.

You closed the window and stayed deathly still in the palanquin, afraid that the slightest motion would make you tip over.

About fifteen minutes later, the palanquin landed and the door opened. You hiked up your skirts, hoping the silk was not wrinkled. 

“My first time in the city...is this a gift from the prince or something?” You asked Olivia. Before she could respond, Eliza intervened once more. 

“This way, Your Highness. We are meant to go to the Wysterian Amphitheater.”

The handmaiden’s voice was even chillier than normal. You walked the streets of the city, head craning around the guards to get a view.

The city was gorgeous, filled with apartment buildings and shops. The blocks were lined with trees whose leaves had varying colors; some had red and orange, others had pink and purple, or silver.

 Every tree had a wind chime tied to its branch. They would have been tinkling wonderfully had there been a sort of breeze.

Yet there was no breeze. In fact, there were hardly any citizens, either. The shops were closed, and doors were shut everywhere. The city was empty. 

Everything remained deathly still.

You had so many questions, but you knew that you would get no answers, so you continued to keep quiet.

 Your party had been walking for quite a while when you all approached a large building in the center of the city. It reminded you of the government buildings in the capitol back home; all marble columns and golden plaques with sprawling greenery surrounding the entrance. The main difference is that, behind those doors, you could hear people cheering and yelling. Thus, you were heading into the belly of the amphitheater.

The handmaidens paused before the doors. Eliza gracefully spread her wings and flew upwards, disappearing over the walls of the building. 

“This is the first time the citizens of Wysteria shall see you, Your Highness.” Kyla whispered. “We know how amazing you are, but they do not yet.”

“Just hold your head high!” Raina added.

“Things are about to get ugly,” Olivia muttered.

Eliza returned, landing with both feet on the floor. She turned to you, brushing out your dress and fixing any stray hairs. When she felt satisfied with your appearance, she nodded at the guards.

Two of them stepped forward to open the doors of the amphitheater. You kept Kyla and Raina’s advice in mind, raising your head and squaring back your shoulders.

On the outside, you looked like someone important. Someone composed and dignified. Someone royal.

On the inside, however, you were resisting the urge to scream from nervousness.

As you passed through the doorway, you made yourself acquainted with the citizens of Wysteria. They were, quite literally, every shape, size, and color, just as the Duchess had told you only a few weeks ago.

They were beautiful.

You found yourself forgetting your instructions, looking around in wonder at the fae community. The cries you heard exploding from the arena silenced as your visage became clearer and clearer to the citizens. 

While the outside has resembled a sort of official government building, the inside was most similar to a sports arena back on Earth. There were seats, which the citizens filled, and then there was a separate section.

In the silence, you searched for Hoseok. Your eyes took their time, drinking in every sense they could interpret, before landing on the prince in a sort of skybox, set in the middle of the spectator’s part of the theater. 

The prince stood, and you could see his outfit was meant to match yours in that he wore an all black suit with a purple tie. His coattails still dragged on behind him and his highlights were shimmering in the light of day.

Hoseok unfurled his wings and you had to squint when they caught the light, blasting every color of the rainbow out at the audience.

Even with your eyes partly closed, they were probably the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

He didn’t land before you, no. He extended a hand to you as he floated above ground, waiting for you to take it.

“I’m afraid of heights,” you whispered.

Hoseok grinned and placed his hand in yours. In one fell spin, he had you wrapped in his arms, bridal style, as you let out a shriek.

The cheers erupted from the citizens, even louder than before, as Hoseok flew you to the Royals’ seating station. The guards disbanded and went to stand at their respective part of the stadium while Olivia, Eliza, Kyla, and Raina followed you and the prince.

You clung to Hoseok as the two of you flew. “So this is your idea of a first impression? Me cowering in front of the citizens?”

Hoseok smiled, but for some reason, the moment felt sinister. The earlier unease you sensed in front of the amphitheater returned full force. 

It wasn’t until the prince set you down in the skybox that you realized why. 

In the center of the stadium, Duchess Roxia stood on a raised wooden podium. Her usually stoic and professional appearance was in tatters, as she had nothing but a ripped nightgown on to face the crowd. Her dark hair curled down her shoulders. 

You gasped, looking to Hoseok and Yoongi for an explanation. “What’s happening...?”

Yoongi, already a man of few words, said nothing, as he gazed forward with no emotion. 

Hoseok held you like he did in the library that first day, arms around your waist with his chin tucked into your neck. “She’s receiving due punishment, my love. Long overdue, but just.” 

You were sure he meant for his words to be warm but his voice made you freeze out of fear, and you hadn’t even done anything wrong.

The prince held you like that for a few moments more before gently leading you to your seat. As you were placed between him and Yoongi, the situation dawned upon you.

When the prince sat down, a screen appeared, broadcasting the skybox to the citizens. It only showed Hoseok’s face, thank everything, as he motioned for them to quiet down. Then, he began to speak.

“Centuries ago, my parents ruled Wysteria with generosity, clarity, and grace in a manner which I am currently preparing to do so for you, my beloved subjects.” Hoseok spoke, the epitome of cool and composed.

“Nevertheless, as we all know, a rebellion that had been forming in the city chose to execute their diabolical plan to rid the land of its royalty.”

“This insurrection was carried out with the assistance of an insider from the palace...thus it was at the tender age of seventy years that I lost my parents, and so many children here in the city lost theirs as well.”

“While we as a nation have moved on from this horrid tragedy, I, as your prince, kept this traitorous act in mind for years. And along my journey...I fell in love.”

The fae cheered once more, and your face was broadcasted alongside Hoseok’s. You smiled a little, hoping it didn’t look too much like a cringe.

You sat as he spun your abduction into a fantastic tale of love, danger, and triumph. He claimed you were in a precarious situation back on Earth; surrounded by people who posed physical and emotional threats to your safety.

You had just managed to steal a wind chime, as well as directions for communication with other beings, and pledged yourself to Hoseok, who appeared underneath the moonlight on the riverbank, grabbed your hand, and saved you.

As you watched him spout utter lies, you found it harder and harder to smile, the false expression of joy slipping off your face. 

This must have been what he told himself in order to justify his actions.

What a pretty tale he’d woven.

And the fae were eating it out of his hand.

“I introduce to you, citizens of Wysteria, your future queen, (Y/N) (L/N)!”

The crowds clapped for you, shouting and chanting your name. Your face was being broadcasted all over the stadium, but you couldn’t even pretend to smile. 

“I fear my princess has not has it easy,” Hoseok continued and the audience hushed themselves, placing all of their attention on him once more.

 “Ever since her arrival, I hired our dear Duchess Roxia to instruct the princess on our history. (Y/N), completely unfamiliar with our ways, jumped into her lessons wholeheartedly and retained a lot of knowledge.”

“But while under my roof, in my kingdom, in my palace, Duchess Roxia had the gall to mistreat the princess.” The smile was completely gone from the prince’s face now. Warm, brown orbs turned purple and hardened, like gems. 

 “She abused her by constantly expressing anti-human sentiments and using illegal spells on her!”

The crowd roared in disapproval. Your stomach dropped and you whipped around to face Olivia. The handmaiden shrunk in shame. 

“I had no choice,” she mouthed.

“I brought my beloved into my home with the intentions of keeping her safe,” Hoseok growled, glaring at the pathetic figure of Duchess Roxia on the podium, “and someone thought she could harm my princess and get away with it.”

“Someone thought she would be above the law for the second time.”

Silence.

“It was she, the very traitor I scoured the kingdom for, disrupting the peace once again. Threatening the safety and well-being of those that I care for, again.”

You looked at Yoongi, recalling his suspicions from the day before. The dismissal that had brought you so much joy...was because he suspected the Duchess of allowing the insurrection into the palace.

“When His Highness summoned me, I thought to myself, ‘This! This is what I’ve been waiting centuries for! To be welcomed back into the palace-’”

“Thus, it is today, for my parents’ honor, that I bring this criminal before you all to witness the capitol punishment she deserves.” He sat down once more, practically breathing in the violent energy the crowd was emitting.

“Execution.” Yoongi muttered.

You sat back in your seat, gazing at Hoseok’s side profile in shock. You had no idea whether she was guilty or not, but who were you to advocate for your abuser?

Stubborn. Clearly.

“Hoseok,” you murmured, barely audible beneath the crowd’s chanting, “I understand that she killed your parents, but murder? ...Why not imprisonment?”

The prince turned to you, purple irises glowing brightly in the shade of the skybox. “And let the maggot live thinking she can get away with her crimes? For not only touching what’s mine, but punishing you? Not in this century, my love. Nor the next.”

He leaned closer to whisper in your ear, “As a matter of fact, we will be having a very serious discussion about how you kept this from me once we return to the palace.”

You gulped, glaring at Olivia. She looked down in shame.

“The stars have spoken for us all, (Y/N).” He said. “You will not be leaving. They have decreed your fate.”

A manic grin spread across his face. He rose, unfurling his wings to fly out to the center of the arena. 

“The citizens have decided!” He yelled above their clamor. “And so have I.”

Hoseok didn’t even spare Duchess Roxia a glance as he lifted his little finger and flicked it, causing the duchess’ head to roll off her shoulders. 

You screamed, volume matching that of the faes, and buried your head into Yoongi’s shoulder as the citizens grew louder and louder. He and Olivia gently pat your back while your eyes were pried together, replaying the horrid image.

The Wysterian prince, eyes mad in victory, drunk off of the power that rolled in waves from the crowd’s cheers, bowed before his citizens. 

“My queen and I, after our coronation, will rule this country anew. Any threat against us shall meet the same fate as the duchess. I hope you will all walk forwards with us into an era of great prosperity, wealth, and glory!”

The duchess’ body collapsed to the floor of the wooden podium.

Shouts rang in your ears. You lifted your head from Yoongi’s shoulder. He, Eliza, and Olivia were nodding along with Hoseok’s energetic cries of rage.

The audience stamped their feet in carnal joy.

Kyla and Raina had stars in their eyes, glued to Hoseok’s visage.

And you knew all at once, without a doubt, that he had won.

And why wouldn’t he? After all, your fate was written in the stars.

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 18

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Angst, fluff

; Word Count: 3.4k

; Warnings: Description of depression, use of antidepressants, side effects of antidepressants

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Again, this chapter might not be the one for anyone who has struggled with depression, anxiety etc. It’s not as intense as the last chapter but it deals more with the ‘after effects’ of taking anti-depressant medication and stuff! I swear the next chapter is happier haha

; Flower Masterpost

-

A noise in your apartment jolts you from your sleep, body twitching as the sound finally filters in to your sluggish brain. Blinking, you try to focus your eyes only to see that your bedroom is dark. You have no idea what time it is, but given the curtains aren’t closed and the sky is black, you presume it’s either evening or night.

You’d fallen asleep sometime around 2pm, giving way to the severe lethargy and drowsiness that had clouded your mind and deadened your limbs. And now you were so nice and warm beneath your covers, comfortable without any intention of getting out of bed.

It was even nicer as you were on Hoseok’s side of the bed, which was an amusing concept given just over eight months ago you’d never even considered sharing your bed with anyone else. But now it was just...it was his side. 

Normally you’d feel weird about sleeping there, but today you’d happily nuzzled into his pillow while pulling the covers tighter around yourself. It smelled like him, the sheets and pillow cases saturated in the unmistakable scent of your beloved boyfriend, so familiar and soothing to you. Given he hadn't been here, you’d consoled yourself instead with that one bit of comfort.

But now you’d been woken up and you had no idea why. Maybe Kasumi had knocked something over.

Curling up tighter, you closed your eyes and buried your face into the soft pillow some more. It probably wasn’t anything important and she hadn’t come running in fright so you doubted it was anything really big.

You don’t even realise you’ve dozed off again until you feel the bed dip backwards, your body rolling slightly to follow the movement and you groan quietly, body unwilling to get up. Shifting slightly, you wince as you open your eyes and realise that the lamp on your bedside table is now turned on, the small bedroom illuminated.

Hoseok had encouraged you to finally move the furniture around in the little space, allowing the bed to be moved until he could actually get into it without having to crawl in alongside you. While he hadn’t minded being next to the wall, you understood why he’d wanted to be able to get out with ease. He did get up before you after all.

But right now though, Hoseok was watching you with a careful frown painted on his pretty face. The dim lighting from the energy saving lightbulb you used painted him in a subtle golden glow and you gave a soft smile as you note how strands of his hair have a brown tinge. They’re messy overall though and you realise he's probably been running his fingers through them.

He’s been doing that more often lately.

After managing to pull yourself out of the panic attack that you’d suffered at work and talking it through with Hoseok, you'd finally taken yourself to the doctors. It had been excruciating admitting what was wrong, how you were struggling and how your mental health had been so negatively impacting your life.

But you’d been a little surprised to discover your doctor had been fully supportive and concerned. He hadn’t made out that you were lying or were seeking attention but had instead taken you entirely seriously.  After a discussion with him about how your depression and anxiety was affecting you both mentally and physically, he’d prescribed you with a course of antidepressants to begin. 

For a moment, in the doctor’s office, you'd felt a little shame at having to take them but you'd pushed that thought away firmly. You knew that there was no shame in seeking help, and sometimes help had to come in the form of medication. If it would let you feel a little happier and more content with your life, then you were willing to try.

You just desperately wanted to feel more normal in your day to day life; to feel happiness without the fear of anxiety coming to ruin it all. The very idea of being able to enjoy big events or happy days without a crushing fear of the depression overload that would inevitably follow was so foreign to you, yet so exciting.

Your doctor had made it very clear to you that the medication he was prescribing wasn't a cure and that you shouldn’t consider yourself ‘cured’ by taking it. It was merely a way to stabilise your body and let your mind have a breather without your body actively working against you. 

He'd also suggested that you try and get some therapy with a professional but you simply couldn't face the idea of talking through your emotions and issues to someone you didn't know.

You couldn't even talk properly to Hoseok or your best friends about it; even your parents made you clam up with anxiety. Why you felt such an incapacity to talk about yourself, you didn't know.  But the very idea of it was terrifying, actually trying made your body practically seize up. You were still beyond surprised that you’d reached out to Hoseok like you had.

So you had instead accepted the medication happily, following his orders to take a half dose for the first week before upping it to the full dose of one tablet a day. A warning from him when he’d been writing out the prescription had frightened you; he'd told you that the medication might make things worse at first as your body got used to it and balanced itself out.

There was also a chance of a whole multitude of side effects. The list on the medication leaflet had been eye opening in just how many side effects you could potentially have but you’d still swallowed down that half tablet on the first day without a second thought.

You wanted to at least try and overcome your negative thoughts, to work at being happier with yourself and your life. For once, you didn't want to let them beat you. Too long you'd allowed the demons of self hatred, depression, anxiety and stress to beat at your crumbling walls until you'd slowly closed yourself off.

The board game night with Soyeon and Chungha had long been the only thing that you would allow yourself to do on a work night, any other social activities had been strictly limited to the weekend. You'd allowed all the bad habits your mind had formulated over the years to build and spread until you felt anxiety if you didn't shower at a certain time and more.

And you'd told yourself that it was okay. You liked to be alone. You liked doing things by yourself. You were independent; it didn't bother you that your friends went out and had fun, made other friends and dated freely.

You didn't mind it all because your limited lifestyle had appeased the anxiety monster that lived deep inside your head. It meant you had control over what little of your life you could actively control.

But it had been a lie. Like everything else your mind had created, it had all been a lie. You weren't happy being alone. You didn't enjoy how your mind and body had repeatedly conspired against you to keep you trapped within the walls of your apartment as soon as you left work. You despised how the clock had seemed to rule over your life, ticking loudly even if you couldn't hear it with each movement reverberating in your chest; louder, tick, faster, tock, louder, tick, faster, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, louder, faster, louderfasterlouderfasterticktockticktock. 

You hadn't been strong enough to break it, hadn't had the willpower to push past the fear and the roiling anxiety that plagued you when you didn't do something by a certain time, when you went out on a weeknight. And that wasn’t even considering the extra problems that arose from your complete and utter self-hatred; your disgust at your own body and life.

The feelings of uselessness, of how pathetic and stupid you were and so forth. They weren’t true, you knew that deep down. But when those emotions and thoughts batter themselves at you for long enough, eventually you start to believe them.

Until you’d met Jung Hoseok.

He would never let you claim that he was the reason for you finally seeking proper help, truly seeking help from a professional who could monitor your situation. In turn, you didn't want to claim that he had been the sole reason either, because he wasn't. What he had done though, was that he had made you finally get the will to try and fight, to try and get better for yourself.

His support in your moment of complete weakness, when you were at your most broken and vulnerable had meant more to you than he could ever know. The patience he had kept while he dealt with your hysteria, your anxiety and stresses had let you know that it was okay to not be okay. The relief that you’d felt upon telling him what you were feeling had been overwhelming and you knew that without his support, you likely would not have reached out to the doctor.

Not only that, but you knew that getting help for yourself would be better not only for you but also your relationship with him. You weren’t stupid, you knew that you’d somehow hit the jackpot of boyfriends with him. And you wanted to make sure that you didn’t ruin that.

You wanted to spend time with him without being assailed by thoughts of negativity; the fear that he didn't actually like you, that he was doing it for a bet, that he could do better, that he was cheating. None of that was true, you knew that and it embarrassed you to know that you had those thoughts as you knew that Hoseok would be hurt to know you thought that, but it was hard to push it out of your mind once the thought buried itself deep inside. 

No, you wanted to get better so that you could experience the life he offered you outside of the safe haven and prison you had made your apartment. He terrified you because he lived a life you didn't understand, and while you didnt want to become fully integrated into it...you wanted to at least enjoy what you had with him.

You wanted to not freak out about going to the movies on a Thursday night, to enjoy a meal out on a Tuesday. You just wanted to enjoy being in a relationship, with the only downsides coming from arguments about stupid things. Not because your mind has convinced you that he was going to leave.

And above all, you wanted to finally start to become happier in yourself. Get the energy to finally go to the gym like you’d always wanted to but had been so afraid of the looks and comments you might get. You didn’t exactly want to get to a certain shape, but you knew that you wanted to have a healthy body to go with a healthy mind.

Those things went hand in hand right?

So here you were, six days into the antidepressants. And you were so, so ill.

You could hardly eat, your stomach so bloated it felt like you'd swallowed a balloon most of the time. It was tender to the touch too, and you'd vomited frequently because of the rolling nausea that came and went as it pleased. And that was nothing compared to what came out the other end unfortunately, as horrifically gross as it was to say.

Headaches that felt like you were being hit in the head with a pick axe made you whimper even when you weren’t doing anything. And over it all was an overwhelming fog of tiredness that was making you so, unbelievably bone weary.

You felt so lethargic all the time, with such little energy that you didn't even want to move. If the doctor hadn’t warned you that everything was likely to get worse before it got better, you’d be afraid. But you’d at least been warned. Didn’t mean you had to like it though.  It was like your muscles had simply given up, unwilling to do their sole function while a foggy haze filled your mind.

It was hard to think a lot of the time, words and thoughts appearing in your mind and then vanishing away in wisps. On top of that, you didn’t even want to think too much, it seemed to tire you out even more. In fact, all you wanted to do was sleep.

And so you’d done a lot of that. You'd taken some time off work to cope with the side effects once it had become apparent that you were indeed suffering some of the negative ones, almost falling asleep on the job until your boss told you to head home. And in turn, Hoseok had spent the last few nights over at yours, taking care of you as best he could.

Whatever food and drink he could get down you he did, along with any painkillers you were willing to take. And then he made sure to keep your place clean, taking care of Kasumi when she wasn't curled up against you on the bed.

You'd never been more thankful for him.

"Do you need anything, baby?" He asks softly, running his hand along your side gently. You knew that he probably missed actually interacting with you given that you slept so much lately. And despite the fact that he’d just woken you up from what must have been a good few hours nap given he was here, you just wanted to go back to sleep again.

A negative sound leaves your lips while you shake your head, eyes falling closed once more. You hear him sigh deeply, his hand resting firmer on your shoulder before he's moving off the bed.

Sounds come from within the bedroom before he heads out, a sweet and high pitched male voice floating through to you as he talks to Kasumi and the cute meows that he's answered with. Despite your tiredness and pain, you can't help but smile at the sound of it.

You love that he loves Kasumi too, and that she likes him in return.

The mattress dipping again causes you to blink away, frowning as you realise that you’d obviously drifted off to sleep once more without even meaning to. The fluffy duvet shifts on top of you, a waft of cold air causing you to shiver as it runs along your back before it's replaced by the firm, warm body of your boyfriend.

"Hobi?" His nickname leaves your mouth quietly, the sound husky with the sleep that's plagued you all day and you feel him sigh against you. A solid arm wraps around your waist, carefully avoiding your sensitive stomach and shifting until he finds a position that's comfortable for both himself and you before he settles.

"Yeah baby, I'm here. Go back to sleep if you need to. It's okay." Hoseok murmurs softly, the fingertips of his hand brushing in the most soft and gentle manner over your stomach, his touch soothingly warm even through the fabric of your pyjama top. Despite the pain and tiredness, you feel an immense wave of emotion towards him given how easily he cares for you.

There's no doubt that someone like Hoseok could probably have a girlfriend prettier than you, smarter than you and so much more. Someone who was less work. Someone who would go out with him without question, who would drink with him, go to his gigs with him, who would listen to the same music as him and much more.

Yet here he was, in bed with you at an early hour on a Thursday night so soon after he’d gotten home from work. All without a complaint, because you were suffering badly from the symptoms of your antidepressants and he knew that. He’d seen you in ways that you never wanted anyone to see you in the past week, from breaking down so completely to all the different illnesses he’d nurtured you through.

And he was still here. He’d supported you the whole way, with a happy and positive attitude that said you could rely on him. Even if he went to work in the mornings, you fell back asleep with  surety in your bones that he would come back to you.

You felt gratitude towards him, affection and something far stronger than you were not entirely sure you could put a label on just yet, even though it had been over eight months at this point. Because he didn't run at the first sign of a girlfriend who was a lot of work. Instead, he just got down in the dirt with you and told you that he was ready to support you.

Your hand moved down to trace the skin on his wrist, mind already drifting off before you even realise it as you feel the steady movement of his chest behind you. Fingers pressing down on his hand lightly, you can't help but smile softly as you realise that you might be ill and still suffering the negative effects of the other week, but right here...in his arms...you finally feel hopeful.

-

Hoseok laid there quietly, feeling the way your body relaxes against his and your breathing slows down as sleep grips you once more. The peace you slip back into contents him, the knowledge that you’re no longer suffering or feeling the effects of either your illness or depression soothing him deep inside.

His own depression from his teenage years had taken a different form compared to yours; self-destructive behaviour that refused to acknowledge what he was feeling. It had been a constant rollercoaster of emotions back then; from anger to happiness, guilt to joy and more. He’d struggled with it, unable to accept his own grief and feelings until college.

But he would never say which kind was worse, neither were worse than the other because they had both tormented each of you in turn. Hoseok was just happy that you’d sought help from your doctor and were now taking antidepressants that would hopefully be of some help to you.

And he would be here for you. A few years ago he probably wouldn’t have been. He was mature enough to admit that he’d been exceptionally immature back then. The Hoseok of early college would have run at the first sight of anything that looked like work in a relationship, not willing to put up with your depression and anxieties.

Back then, he’d liked his girls easy, open and willing. The concept of actually having to put in effort would have horrified him.

He was glad that he’d grown as a person since then, evolving in his mindset and tastes until the idea of not staying with you was painful; the idea of missing out on you hurt his chest. So did the idea that other people might give up on you because of something you couldn’t control. He knew that you thought it made you unlovable, that you were convinced that you weren’t worthy or didn’t deserve it.

You were wrong, and he would happily spend his time proving you wrong.

Running his hand slowly along your stomach, your body so warm and solid against him, he sighed quietly and pressed his lips to your head. A tiny noise left you, shifting slightly before settling once more and he smiled as he pressed his nose into the back of your neck.

He’d never felt like this to anyone, which he supposed was a good thing. But everything about you fascinated him, drew him in like a moth to a flame. Your little habits, some spurred by your anxiety and some just natural, your love of all things cute and anything that made you happy and so much more. On paper, this relationship probably shouldn’t work given the differences, but he’d never been with someone he liked this much.

So if you were struggling right now, then he was going to be right here with you until you feel better again. That’s what you do when you love someone.

[litwitlady]

Omg I just know you’re gonna write the hell out of these sleepy prompts haha 37 or 3 for Malex :) can’t decide!

#3 - ‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer.’

On the radio, a twangy country superstar sings about lost romance and broken hearts. Dirt and debris soaking up most of the sound. It’s midday and the junkyard is quiet. Michael is bent over a brand-new Silverado, engine already wrecked. He swears as he cuts his finger on a jagged piece of metal jutting out where it doesn’t belong. Sucks the wound between his lips and wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s only 10am but the day has already gone on for far too long.

He tosses his wrench onto his workbench and reaches down into his beat up cooler. His fingers glance across the long neck of a cold beer before settling around a half-frozen bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, he gulps down the entire bottle, eyes never leaving the beer. The day stretches out even further ahead of him, sober and sun-drenched.

Back beneath the truck’s hood, Michael cranks away at the broken, jangled mess. After all these years, the work is monotonous. Dull enough to let him loose inside his own head. He tries to drown out his hectic thoughts by humming along with the current song floating faintly from the radio. The same twenty-five song playlist in rotation damn near every day. Except on the weekends which are dedicated to decades past ��� golden oldies Michael considers the soundtrack to his youth. Lonesome melodies haunting the empty, loveless houses he’d once passed through.

He hums through two more songs, getting lost in his work. So lost he doesn’t notice when he starts to sing under his breath. So lost he doesn’t notice when the lyrics no longer match those echoing out from the radio.

Would you meet me in the middle, could we both stop keeping score

Michael sighs and presses his knuckles into his eyes. Alex’s song sneaks past his defenses at least once a day. And he’s found no cure. Not screaming along at the top of his lungs. Not biting his tongue bloody. Not refusing to listen to music for days on end. Nothing has worked. It always finds him no matter where he hides.

Resting on the truck’s bumper, he pulls out his phone and thumbs through his contacts. Leaving grease smudges behind. He stops on Alex’s number and sits staring – wondering what might happen if he actually went through with the call. Behind him, a soft whining breaks through his thoughts. He ignores the tiny noise at first. The junkyard is filled with whines – bad engines, metal signs blowing in the wind, the rickety roof shifting above the makeshift workshop. But the sound continues, and Michael decides to go investigate. He could use a good distraction.

What he finds is a blue-gray pitbull puppy inside a rusty yellow VW Beetle – windows all busted out and flowers growing wild through the wheels. Little paws propped up against the door, tongue swatting up at his nose. Michael approaches slowly – the puppy trembling and clearly terrified at his presence, disappearing into the car’s footwell.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He sighs and turns his back. But the puppy starts to cry again – more desperate now, lonelier somehow. He spins on his heels and yanks the door open, puppy scrambling away.

‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer. Not going to hurt you, little bit.’ He reaches down and wraps his fingers around the dog’s soft belly. Picking him up and cradling him against his chest. He’s warm and still shaking, but he nuzzles into Michael’s t-shirt anyway.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He finds an unused crate and lines it with newspaper, tossing in a couple of clean shop towels for good measure. Places the pup onto the improvised bed and watches him squirm around, sniffing at his new home. His temporary new home. Because a dog is not what Michael needs.

He tries to climb out, tumbling over backwards. Tries again with the same results. Michael finds himself smiling – almost laughing. And he forces himself to look away. Digging around in his toolbox for the screwdriver he needs to keep working.

But it’s no use. The puppy keeps mewing and Michael’s heart can’t stand the pitiful noises. He hoses off a dusty hubcap and fills it with clean water. Grabs his phone and dials Maria’s number.

‘Guerin.’

‘DeLuca.’

They haven’t talked much since the hospital breakup. Polite hellos and sad smiles whenever Michael enters the Pony. But she’s the first person he thinks of when he considers his current predicament. ‘Do you have any dog food – or something a puppy could eat?’

He hears her whisper something over her shoulder and then, ‘What – a puppy? When did you get a dog?’

Michael sighs. ‘I didn’t get a dog. But there’s a puppy out at the junkyard. He needs to eat and I’m working. All I’ve got is some stale breakfast bars.’

‘Call Isobel. Or a vet. I’m working.’ She hangs up. He supposes it was too early to start asking favors.

But she’s right – he should call a vet. Or, better yet, drop the dog off at a vet and get back to his very simple, not at all complicated mutt-free life.

He calls Isobel instead.

‘Michael, make it quick. I’m at the Women’s Action Committee luncheon and about to give a speech.’ Other people might sound flustered before public speaking. Isobel sounds like she’s at a day spa.

‘Would you mind swiping some leftovers a puppy could eat and heading over to the junkyard after?’ The puppy in question starts to yip. Finally hoisting himself over the side of the crate and splashing headfirst into his new water bowl.

‘Oh my god, Michael. You got a dog?’ He can barely hear her over the clatter of the luncheon.

‘There is a dog temporarily in my care. That’s all. Can you help me or not?’

‘Not until later tonight. I’m meeting with the mayor about the abandoned UFO museum. We’re hoping to start a women’s shelter. Call Max.’ Someone shouts her name. ‘Gotta go, Michael.’ She hangs up.

The puppy’s ears are soaked. Dripping in the sand as he busily noses about. Tail wagging so happily his entire body wiggles. That’s the first moment Michael knows he’s in trouble.

Against his better judgment, he phones Kyle. ‘Valenti, you’re a doctor. Help me.’

‘I’m not a vet! And I’ve got surgery in thirty minutes. How did you even get my number?’ He hangs up.

Michael refuses to call Max on principle.

That leaves him exactly one option. One terrible choice. He scrolls back up to Alex’s number. But he can’t make his finger press the call button. No matter how hard he tries.

He plops down in the dirt and pulls the puppy to him. He nips at Michael’s fingers playfully and chews a hole in his threadbare shirt. Michael likes dogs – he does. Has always wanted one, but never had the ability to properly take care of one. Having barely been able to care of himself most days. ‘Wonder where you came from, little guy?’ He scratches the puppy behind its ears. ‘Where all your brothers and sisters wound up? Probably safe and sound in warm homes.’ He swallows, hating the emotion that has crept into his voice. ‘Snuggled tight in the arms of some little girl or boy.’

The puppy licks his chin and Michael hugs the puppy closer. ‘But you got thrown away. Or maybe your ran away, huh?’

Scrambling out of his arms, the dog hops back to his water and continues splashing about. Michael returns his attention to Alex’s phone number. ‘He probably won’t answer anyway.’ The puppy ignores him. ‘He has a boyfriend now.’ He rolls in the dirt, little feet pawing at the air. Michael leans back against the Chevy and closes his eyes.

He hasn’t seen Alex in weeks. Has worked tirelessly to avoid seeing Alex for weeks. But he has seen Forrest. Fucking everywhere. The hardware store – the minimart – the gas station. Back at the library and even at the grocery store late one night. In the goddamn cereal aisle.

‘Guerin.’

‘Forrest.’ Michael’s heart beating so hard it breaks.

‘See you around. Enjoy the cereal.’ And Michael had smiled tightly. Watched Forrest leave and imagined him driving straight to Alex’s and crawling into bed beside him.

When he reopens his eyes, the puppy is gone. The junkyard far too silent. Sun so hot everything looks hazy. ‘Where’d you go?’ Michael calls, panic bubbling up in his chest.

That’s when he hears the frantic yapping. He climbs to his feet and jerks around the corner of the Silverado. Eyes scanning the yard as quickly as possible. But the puppy is fine. Better than fine, even. Locked safely in the arms of none other than Alex Manes. Barking and licking at whatever bit of skin is closest.

Alex grins down at squirming puppy and then back up at Michael. ‘Hey.’ The dog barks and bites at Alex’s ear. ‘Is he yours?

The sight is overwhelming. Too much for ordinary afternoons at the junkyard. Michael’s eyes soften. ‘He is.’

[midnightmoonkiss]

I was told by your wonderful wife, birds-have-teeth that you were in need for some asks/requests. How about Izuku and S/O on their wedding day?

She truly is a wonderful wife 🥺💜

Ahh! I dont usually take requests, but this was just too cute to pass up!

I hope you don’t mind that these are headcanons!

Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Wedding Day.

Category: fluff

——————————

First of all! I think their wedding would be set sometime in spring. The time of year where it’s not too hot and not too cool, just after all the leaves and flowers bloom. I mean think about it, Sakura petals flowing in the wind on your wedding day? What a dream.

It sounds crazy, but I always imagined Izuku as the type of person to want to have their wedding outside.. Kind of like- in a garden? Or a forest? You know that the wedding Bella and Edward had in the forest? Kind of like that! Except surrounded by flowers!

Flowers like.. Magnolia, forget-me-nots, tulips, and of course - sakura! Or, well, Cherry blossoms~ Just! Flowers that really brighten up the secluded space. You’d need seclusion, after all, especially since you are marrying the number one hero.

Wouldnt it be so cute to be married under a willow tree, a brilliant white arch covered in white roses and vines standing above you both? Ackk vines.. So beautiful. Oh! Maybe there’s even a little rock pathway down the aisle?

The air is fresh.. Because you’re in the countryside! Maybe even in the mountains. Somewhere where a little babbling brook is not too far behind the trees, its soft bubbling noises relaxing the party-goers. 

Speaking of! Wouldnt a little plant themed engagement ring be the cutest? Something like this! 

Wedding ring.. Well you both have to pick that out dont you?

The wedding day is obviously going to be the most important day for both of you! But also, nerve-wracking as hell. Im positive Izuku has probably freaked out five times since he woke up at 6AM. Maybe a mental breakdown. Yknow. 

He’s a sensitive guy! And he’s terrified! Nono, he doesnt have cold feet. He wants to marry you! He cannot imagine his life without you in it, but God is he absolutely terrified that you might be the one leaving him at the altar.

Not that he doesnt have faith in you! It’s just.. His insecurities and anxieties taking over him. Even after all these years of unconditional love, he still cant help but feel you deserve someone way better than him. And he fears one day you’ll wake up and realize that as well.

But you’d have to be absolutely crazy to even think about doing that, huh?

So yeah. Wedding day morning is filled with Izuku’s best man - Shoto - trying to calm the sporadic man down, bringing Toshi and his mom in to aid as well. He may have thrown up. Who’s to say.

You, on the otherhand, are having a great morning. You’re bouncing with excitement! Ready and oh-so impatiently waiting to marry the man of your dreams in the most scenic area you could find. It truly was a catch! A relatively cheap place - the majority of your funds were spent on food and flowers. You can get pretty good deals on wedding dresses if you’re marrying the number one hero, apparently. So long as they get to display one of your wedding photos.

Hell, it’d help a local business boom, and who wouldnt want that? You got a discount on your bridesmaids dresses as well~

A dream.

But the start time was quickly approaching. Tick-tock!

Soon enough, the both of you are ready to start a new chapter of your lives together.

The scene is set! Your husband-to-be stand beneath arch drenched in morning dew, light breaking through the trees reflecting on each little droplet and showering the little patch where your wedding was being held in brilliant lights 

It honestly looked magical, straight out of a fairy tale. Hell, you were about to marry your prince, after all

God this wedding is like every outdoorsy kid’s dream

The piano starts up once the player gets the queue that everyone is ready.

Your friends walk down the aisle first in pairs, bridesmaids with bridesmen, silky gowns flowing in the gentle spring breeze

Soon enough the flower girl trots happily down the aisle, throwing Sakura petals every which way with a happy little smile on her face, dress as white as snow and a little pink belt. 

It was truly a miracle no one tripped on the rocks yet.

Once everyone was in their place, a traditional wedding song began to play. 

Showtime.

Izuku swore he saw an angel the moment those vines swayed to reveal you.

A sunbeam hit you from behind, its golden glow cascading down your body.

Tears formed in his eyes as he watched, paralyzed, as you walked down, heels clicking against the floor

The biggest, goofiest smile cracked onto his face, eyes connecting with yours. All was going to be alright. He had nothing to fear.

He’d probably openly sob while stating his vows, hands trembling as they hold onto yours.. It’d probably be something along the lines of.. “Ever since the day I met you, i’ve become a better man. You helped me grow into who I am today. You guided me towards the path that would lead me to happiness with your loving embrace, with every word of endearment you’d whisper to me, and with love as a whole. I always wondered what it’d feel like to be loved like this, and now that I have it, and that I have you, I don’t ever want to let go of it. Because you’re it, princess. You’re the love of my life, my one and only, my soulmate, and so much more. Every day we’re apart I always think of you. You keep me going. Without you, I wouldn’t be me.”

Something cheesy, yknow! Somethin sweeter than candy corn. <3 what a sap. 

He may have had to wipe his tears a few times… cough.

Surprisingly though, his hands are super steady when he slides that ring on.

A shaky yet firm “I do,” green eyes now a shimmering viridescent as he stares at you with the purest form of love swirling in his gaze.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

His hand reaches up, delicately placing itself on your cheek. He cant help but take this moment in, condemning your smiling, angelic face to memory, the flashes of photos being taken completely ignored as he slowly leans in. 

His lips are softer than they had ever been in that moment, the kiss itself so sugary sweet - the embodiment of innocence and passion. Love.

Eyes fluttering closed, he cant help but kiss you over and over again, each one making both your smiles grow larger until giggles erupt between the two of you.

Oh boy. He had lipstick smudged all over his lips. He couldnt care less, though. Pulling you close to his body, he smiled cheekily over at the photographer for a photo.

HE’S YOUR HUSBAND NOW! IZUKU IS YOUR HUSBAND! Praise the lords. (Y/N) Midoriya has a nice ring to it, doesnt it?

Inko welcomes you to the Mrs. Midoriya family with a hug.

The rest of the day was filled with you and Izuku being stuck together like glue, surrounded by friends and family.

The wedding photos would be filled with you two standing in a meadow, sun raining brilliantly down on the two newlyweds.

ackk just.. sakura petals flying in the wind~ how pretty. Maybe one even lands in your hair and he gets to pluck it out. <3

He’s the happiest he’s ever been.

Hell, he’s sure this is what being high felt like. 

He cant stop smiling! He’s just so so cute.

Of course, a few goofy photos have to take place! Maybe Uravity uses her quirk to make it look like the number one hero is floating away whilst you ‘run’ to try and get him.

There was even one where he and his bridesmen wear parts of their hero costumes to show off a bit. Like Deku wears his hood, Shoto wears his.. Bracelets and backback..? Stuff like that! Truly it’s a weird fuckin photo. But so so dorky and so them.

His favorite photo is definitely the one where he has you sitting on his arm as he flexes. Yep. He turned into a bit of a show off. Could you blame him? Haha.

At night is when the real fun begins. Mainly because of the party! Lanterns are set up everywhere, and due to being so far from the city- the stars are shining in the sky! Much more than youre used to.

Izuku took a dance course, unbeknownst to you (Shoto and Bakugou were forced to join him- talk about chaotic!), so that first dance together is honestly breathtaking. He’s so gentle with you, leading the way and twirling you around.

May or may not have bawled when you danced with Toshinori. 

CUTTING THE C AKE. OKAY OKAY.

It’d probably be forest themed. Green and white blending beautifully together, maybe even a little frosting stream cascading down the side. Hand made models of you and Izuku stood proudly at the top. I guess the flavor would be something you both chose together?

He loves touching your soft hands so holding that knife together is awesome for him.

Oh yea. After the perfect photo is taken, he definitely smears frosting on your cheek - just so he has an excuse to lick it off.

Sticky!

You both leave in a black limo, a “Just Married!” sign placed on the back.

Ahh. honeymoon time.

It’s going to be a long night,

Mainly because..

Well. Traveling- and.. Y’know (;

All in all! It starts off as stressful, and ends in the sweetest way possible.

[reverseblackholeofwords]

Alltha

(Here’s another teaser! This might be the last one before we release the first chapter... maybe one more. We’ll see! This one is much fluffier than the last one, for sure, though haha)

Medina, Ohio

June 1998

    Sunlight hitting one side of his dark hair, Nathan Smith woke as the rusted Dodge truck rolled over a pothole in the gravel and up the driveway of a prim and proper two-story farmhouse, all white with painted shutters and window boxes spilling over with petunias. Through a layer of grime covering the windshield, Nate could pick out a tire swing hanging from a large oak tree just around the side of the house, a bike parked against the garage wall, and a vegetable garden overflowing with ripe tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash. It was like something out of a dream, a weird, unicorn jumping over the rainbow dream.

    The pick-up truck squealed to a stop just outside the garage where a squeaky-clean minivan was parked. John Smith cut the engine and shouldered the driver’s seat door open. His combat boots crunched in the gravel around the side of the truck to the bed where he pulled out a duffel bag full of clothes and a green army surplus bag.

    “Come on, kid,” his gruff voice called out as he moved the green bag into a silver tool chest in the back of the truck and locked it tight, “You really going to sit in there all day? Get your stuff.”

    Nate, barely nine years old but still small for his age, reacted like he’d stuck his finger in a socket and hopped out of the passenger’s side onto thick, green grass. His black Converse, practically falling off his feet, raced around to stand at his dad’s side, right where he belonged as he took his bag and slung it onto his thin shoulder. He was certain that neither he or his dad were supposed to be in a place this nice, though. Dingy motels, the tiny guest rooms of old friends or family, sure, but a magazine cover come to life? No way.

    Then the screen door on the front porch swung open, and a woman with long blonde curls and an apron on over her jeans and simple white blouse leaned out to wave at them. “John!” she called and came down the front steps to meet them. Nate froze, half behind his father, when her moss green eyes turned on him. “And this must be Nathan! You’ve gotten so big since I last saw you! I bet you don’t even remember me.” She extended her hand. Her nails were short, painted pink, and Nate still couldn’t move.

    John cleared his throat, and Nate’s spine straightened, his hand shooting forward like a shot. He gave her his best smile as the cicadas whirred and a gentle, summer wind blew.

    “Hi,” he finally muttered and dropped his gaze back to his grass-stained shoes and the ankles of his jeans that were so long they had ripped in the back beneath his heels.

    Mary hugged his dad, and Nate could smell her perfume - more flowers, he thought. Mostly he was just amazed, unable to imagine what kind of world a lady like this must live in. But, hey, if this was her house… And suddenly his eyes detected movement up on the porch again, someone behind the screen door peeked out at them. Mary followed his gaze and made a motion with her hand like she was calling someone out.

    “Come on, Matthew! Come meet the infamous Smiths!” She said those last two words like a joke, but Nate had heard them before, spat like poison. He shivered a bit in the summer heat as a boy not much older than him pushed out from behind the door and bounded down the steps of the front porch in cargo shorts and a fresh t-shirt, his brown hair with a tint of his mother’s gold shining in the sun. “This is John,” Mary explained as one of her hands came to rest on Matthew’s shoulder, “and his son Nathan. They’re going to be staying with us now, remember?”

    Matthew regarded both the Smiths with sharpened interest in his hazel eyes, but soon, he offered a wide grin that shone with silver braces. “I’m Matthew,” he said to John, and to Nate, “I’m eleven and a half. How old are you?”

    To which Nathan quietly replied, “Nine,” watching his shoes again.

    Mary gave her son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Matty, why don’t you show Nathan around the house a little while John and I talk some things over? Put his things in your room, okay?”

    “My room?” Matthew whined, but Mary shushed him.

    At the thought of leaving his dad’s side, Nate stiffened again, but John gave him a gentle shove towards Matthew who tilted his head at Nate and frowned, a little unsure of these two intruders, “Okay.”

    They climbed up the front porch steps together and into the house where the summer heat slipped away and smells from the kitchen made Nate’s stomach rumble. The carpet beneath his shoes sucked most of the noise away as Matt raced towards the staircase only to realize that Nate lagged behind, looking at everything. Photographs lined the walls of Matthew and Mary in a hundred different places, smiling and laughing. Little knick knacks adorned shelves stuffed with books. Fresh flowers sat in a glass vase full of water on the dining room table where a big window looked out onto the front lawn where John and Mary were talking in hushed tones.

    “Um, are you okay?” Matthew took a step towards the scrawny, younger boy with the oversized hoodie drooping off one shoulder. “Hello?” Matt waved a hand in front of Nate’s eyes, but the kid frankly looked terrified as he watched John and Mary through the window. Watched as his dad kissed Mary, smiling at her, happy, and felt a realization drop heavy into the pit of his stomach.

    They were staying here, and not just for a few days.

    Nate dropped his bag on the floor and bolted for the backdoor that he saw past the staircase, through the kitchen. He launched himself down the back steps and dropped behind the big oak tree he noticed when they drove up. His head between his knees, dust kicked up from his sudden stop settled on his dark hair. He tugged at the hoodie around him, then at his hair. Nothing seemed to stop the feeling that he was being chased by something.

    As he tried to calm his erratic breathing, Nate heard the backdoor open and close again. Footsteps through grass thudded closer until they froze, a few steps away, and the boy bristled, waiting for them to approach. Instead, the footstops turned away, and someone sank down onto the tire swing, the rope creaking under the sudden weight. 

    After a moment, his curiosity got the better of him, and Nate peaked up over his folded arms, quickly spotting who had found him. Matthew kicked at the ground with the toes of his shoes in an attempt to spin himself. He glanced up at Nate, noting that Nate was watching him, a bewildered look on his face.

    “My mom says I should be tall enough to push myself in this now, but it’s still hard.” His toes brushed the dry dirt patch beneath the swing as he made another attempt, but instead, he squawked in surprise when he suddenly slipped into the center hole of the tire, stuck kicking his feet helplessly. “I’m stuck!”

    Nate glanced up at Matthew through scared, angry tears before hopping onto the tire and pulling Matt up out of the hole. He dropped down onto the swing beside Matthew with a note of pride in his blooming smile.

    “Thanks!” Matt grinned, a hint of mischief in his hazel eyes, and Nate thought that maybe he’d been tricked somehow. And that maybe he didn’t mind so much. “I guess maybe it really does take two people, huh?”

    “Nah,” Nate said, leaning back from Matt and letting his head hang out as they spun slowly. “It just took one person with ‘Alltha.’”

    Matt screwed up his nose. “Alltha?”

    “All-tha brains!” Nate shouted and giggled at his own joke as the other boy snorted.

    Matt leaned towards Nate and poked him playfully until Nate wiggled his way back into a sitting position to look at him. “Will you push me?”

    Nate scoffed. “You push me!”

    Matt raised an eyebrow at him. He wasn’t sure what to think of the kid, as skinny and frightened as a stay kitten, but with undeniable spark. Matt always did want a little brother, though. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he challenged.

    “Best two out of three!” Nate shouted back, and they set about deciding who would push who first as Mary watched from the window.

    “John,” she whispered and motioned for him to come over. He peered out the window just as Nate hopped off the swing and spun Matt around just as fast as he could before hopping back on. They rode around and around, clinging to one another just to stay on, laughing so hard that John and Mary could hear them even inside.

    “So,” John asked and pressed a kiss to Mary’s hair, “have you picked out a dress yet?”

[pastelkitten615]

Taiyuu High Entrance Exam

Mya Ningyo: Quirk, Black Magic

@taiyuu-high-oct

A/N: this was my first time with a fic. Hope you guys enjoy and I would like to thank @diaspro-cherry letting me include her OCs Akiko and Hana into my story. Love you bestie🖤💜

Ok, just breathe, just breathe, just… breathe. Mya held her breath for a second before stopping at the entrance of the testing facility. She takes another deep breath before entering. "I can do this" she said under breath. She approached a table that said 'test location assignments' receiving a card where her location would be and the time she had to be there. The lady who gave her the card flashed her a warm smile. "Good luck", she said. Responding with a small " thank you", Mya headed towards the big group gathering near a stage, she decided that she would try and look for her friends who were also taking part in the entrance exam.

While looking around she took note of everyone's faces. Some with animal characteristics, some almost monstrous, some you wouldn't even be able to tell if they had a quirk or not. All these different types of people, all with the same goal; to become the best hero they can be. Growing up she's always gotten mixed reactions to her quirk. She's heard it all, from comments like "that's seems pretty villainous" to "wow you could take out a hundred villains with that". The negative comments never got to her, everyone gets them so why let them get under her skin? Her own doubts however were not as easy to shake off. Why am I here? Will I get to pass along side my friends? Am I just going to end up embarrassing myself? Can I actually do this? What if…? " Mya!"

Her toxic thoughts were cut off by a chipper voice in the distance. Turning around she's greeted by her two best friends, Hana and Nami. Both looked very excited, not a hint of nervous energy to be found. Hana's hair was even starting to bloom cherry blossoms flowers which only happens when she's excited. Nami looked as calm as the still water shaping her arms and legs. "Hey, we saw you spacing out, you feeling ok?" Nami said. "Not really. I'm terrified" Mya responded bluntly, having no reason to lie when her emotions were plain as day on her face. "Do you guys know what we'll be doing for the exam? "No, I only heard that it's some sort of obstacle course. They haven't revealed what that involves", Nami answered. "Yeah I figured that'd be the case. I just wish I knew what to expect." " True but that would make it too easy", Hana interjected. "They want to prepare us up and coming heros to be ready for anything", she beamed as more flowers began to bloom. Mya giggled "Yeah I guess you're right. And we'll be great heros at that." Her happiness was infectious. She always seemed to cheer everyone up.

The three friends continued to converse amongst when three taps on the microphone signaled them to quiet down. "Ok everyone, settle down". His voice boomed throughout the facility, though his massive build and cold glare was enough to shut everyone up before he even finished his sentence. "Now that everyone is settled in and has received their assignments I'd like to introduce myself. I am Katashi Fugimura, but you all might know me better as Tundra. I am the principal of Taiyuu High". The now retired winter hero was in the top 10 back in the day. His quirk gave him the power to produce snow and icy winds. Wow, I can't believe he's gonna be our principal, she thought. He's kind of intimidating. "I would also like to introduce The Shock Hero Electric Fury, we've invited her here to provide words of wisdom and encourage", he continued. As she approached the mic Mya recognized her immediately, her half blond half black hair was hard to forget. She was the same hero that motivated her to try testing into the hero course. "Hello future heros", she greeted. Electric Fury said a few heartfelt words about doing our best, saying that we all have the potential to become a great hero. It took her back to that night when they met in that alley after the attack. "As you guys know, this test will be an obstacle course. You will have 40 minutes to complete 4 stages in the course, a 20ft rock wall testing strength and endurance, a laser room testing your agility, a 25ft sprint while dodging attack drones over head testing your speed and ability to multitask, and testing your combat skills against our bots. If you run out of time you will be automatically disqualified", she explained. "Is this course dangerous,?" a frightened looking boy with strawberry blonde hair and fairy wings spoke out. "No, none of the robots or drones are meant to cause excessive harm and if anything does happen we have cameras watching your every move as well as the best healers on standby" she answered as the boy sighed in relief. The Shock Hero said her final goodbyes, wishing us good luck and with that we were off to our assigned areas. Mya didn't miss the small wink sent in her direction.

She stood there in a small grey room waiting for the door to open. Her heart pounded in anticipation. The countdown appeared on the screen. 3…I've got this...2 I'm going to pass...1 I will become a hero. She ran over to the giant rock wall looming over her. It wasn't like the ones you'd see kids play on. It was like an actual mountain. "Ok, what's the easiest way to get up this thing", she whispered to herself. Searching the top she found a piece of the rock that stuck out just enough for hey to rap her hair around it. Perfect. Carefully she stretched her hair up and wrapping it out that small ledge, pulling it to make sure it's secure, and slowly started to climb. After 7 minutes she made it to the top. "Woo made it!" She exclaimed, crouched panting heavily "but that was only the easy part".

She continued onto the laser room. The door opened revealing a room full of bright green lights. Before fully stepping into the room a robotic voice sounded from a speaker up above. "For every triggered laser, 2 points will be docked from your overall score". Well that's good to know. Thinking ahead she tied up her hair to prevent them from touching the lights. "Careful, careful, this is easy', she said encouraging herself. She smiled seeing the end growing closer. Almost there...BUZZ. "Whoa". The loud noise caused her to jolt forward, making it to the end but touching more lasers in the process. She got back up looking at the 3, now red, lights. "Great…, guess I'll have to makeup those points" and she went on to the sprint.

Another door, another long room. Looking up, she can see the drones and as soon as she set foot into the room they came swooping down. Quickly she untied her hair and ran down to the one of the room. Every step of the way bringing down drones as she went. Her voodoo quirk didn't work on non living things but she could at least bring them down, breaking them in the process. The further she went the more of the drones would rain down. She was barely keeping up, when one of the drones came down to cut her arm. "Ah crap", it was only her left high leaving her unaffected for the most but it was inconvenient. Down arm, and exhausted she decided enough was enough. She took hold of one of the drones with her hair and swinging it around, essentially using it as a flail against every one that came at her. Pieces of metal the various debris fell from above as she ducked and dodged until she lunged towards the exit. Having now made it to safety, she looked down at her partially severed arm. "A few stitches should speed up the healing" she spoke out loud, using her needle tipped yarn hair to mend the tear. "Ok last room, I've got this". She charged in fully ready to beat the final boss...until she saw it. "I don't got this".

The robot was at least 7ft tall, looming over her, bright red eyes piercing into her. Before she could react she was already on the ground. Her head hit hard on cool grind. Dazed, she tried to get up only to be kicked into a nearby wall. Come on, get up, get up! She just barely moved away from the third blow. A mirage of blows and kicks kept coming at her, only being able to avoid half of them. She was growing tired, purple bruises littered the right side of her body, tears covered her left exposing her soft stuffing. "You now have 8 minutes" the speaker warned. How am I gonna finish this, I can't properly use my quirk? Another punch was thrown at her which she swiftly dodged. "Huff, huff. Ok, think Mya". Right then an idea popped into her head. This is probably gonna cause me to fall apart, but I can't run out if time. She waited for the robot to strike once more and once it did she took this opportunity to tie up it's arm with her hair. After the other first collided with her cheek she wrapped that one as well. "Let's end this shall we". She circled the robot, once, twice, continuing as many times as it took to cause it to topple over with a loud thud. It squirmed as she walked over to finish it off, ripping the head from its body. Sparks flew from it, and when the red eyes began to fade she knew she was it was finally over. "You have now completed your entrance exam. Please head to the stage area to view your results" the speaker stated and with that Mya shuffled her tattered, bruised body towards the exit.

Heading back to the stage she was once again embraced by her friends in a tight bear hug. "Mya!" they both exclaimed. "Haha wow you look like crap" Nami joked. "Haha yeah? So do you guys" Mya responded seeing her friends also covered with various cuts and bruises. The water that made up Nami's arms and legs was heavily depleted and Hana was looking dehydrated from over using her plant quirk. "Guess what Mya, we all passed!" Hana squealed, jumping up and down. "Wait really, I passed too?" "Yeah see for yourself" Hana said pointing to the big screen overhead. Mya looked up at the dozens of names plastered on the screen. Many of them were red, but in the second column, 6 row, she saw her name in bright green letters. I did it

[tinydemondragon]

There’s a Beast in the Woods - 2

I lied it’s actually 3.9k. I realized I had forgotten a linking scene haha. Anyway, here we go!

Beginning

Roman opens his eyes to complete and utter darkness, not even a drop of moonlight. At some point, someone must have come in and closed the curtains. Roman stumbles through the room, trying to get to the window to yank the curtains back open.

He fumbles with a curse, knocking his hip into the nightstand. A crash sounds as… whatever was on it falls to the floor. He hopes no one heard that.

Finally he reaches the curtains and tugs them open. The moon is a pale sliver high in the sky, stars winking around it. 

He struggles to figure out why he was awoken in the first place. He does not feel the need to go to the restroom. The only sounds he can hear are the crickets in the wind, neither loud nor quiet.

His stomach growls as he remembers he had slept without dinner and he figures that must have been the cause of his abrupt awakening. He casts one last glance outside before he turns to leave.

A shadow passes in the treeline, and he whips his head around to stare out into the woods, on edge. He waits and waits, but sees nothing else. His stomach sounds once more and he turns again, to leave the room in search of food.

He is intimately aware of the dangers the night brings. The creatures that step out to play their games, frightening and heart stopping and terrifying to behold. Still, he is confident in his ability to stop them if need be, a year of experience rapidly gained from his travels and bounties. 

There was also the fact that he had survived a full week within the land of the fae. There are ver few who can claim this achievement, and those who can have long passed due to the continuous march of time.

He glides towards the stairs, feet light upon the ground, ears straining for any noise that should not be there. As he crosses the threshold between the hall and the stairs, he’s taken aback by the loud noises that assault him.

Roman takes a step back, confused, and his world goes silent once more. Curious, he steps forward again, and is hit with a wave of noise again. He… had not realized that their little town had this particular ward added to the halls of its inn.

He takes a step towards the rail and finds the ward engraved upon its end, barely lit by the lanterns lining the hall. The light seems to flicker over it, giving it an otherworldly feel as it appears to move with the shadows.

It is not moving, of course. That is merely the way wards are. Only those adept in the arts are able to glean their meanings, able to discern their shapes, imbue them with power.

Roman frowns. It is not an uncommon practice to hire a Master to ward a town or inn. At least, not in the big cities. In small, rural villages such as his, the work is simply too expensive and unnecessary to find and hire a Master to carry out the work.

Then there is also the tendency to fear those who possess a talent in the arts. People tend to be afraid of things they can not understand, cower in fear or stand up to it with malicious hatred. And the arts are a mysterious force. If you are not of the few chosen to have a talent amongst it, you will never be able to understand its ways. That is simply its nature.

Roman has no such talent, can not hold the shape of the ward in his mind, does not truly understand how it works. But he has spent enough time in large inns to at least have a faint understanding of what, exactly, this ward is. A sound muffling one, a powerful one at that.

Who ever had laid it here, must have been very powerful indeed to have all noise eliminated once across its threshold.

He lays a hand upon it, feels the heat and spark of it, and bites his lip. His time with the fae had lent him certain… gifts. Well, curses, really given how much they wreck him when he tries to use them.

Another growl of his stomach shakes him out of his reverie. He can inquire about the ward later, but first he must get food, lest his stomach wake everyone who might be sleeping. Best not to use the things he had gained, they always lead him to more trouble than they are worth.

He glides down the stairs, curious as to how his inn has changed with time. How its people has changed. It used to be such a lively place, never going without uproarious laughter for too long.

It is still loud, far louder than it had been earlier. But it does not seem to hold a candle to the joy and liveliness of his memories. It is as though the joy has dwindled, leaving nothing but a shell of what this place used to be.

Has the beast really haunted this place that much?

He knows, of course, of the missing people. Children who stray too close to the woods and are never seen again. Worried parents who follow them and are swallowed up by the trees and branches. Has heard the tales of an unkillable thing, slaying every person who dares to hunt it.

But still, there have been no attacks within town. No one mysteriously disappearing from their homes. The fear, however, seems to linger in every crevice, every shadow. It is as though the people do not believe they are safe wherever they are.

He will kill this beast, if only to see peace in his home once more.

He allows his steps to grow louder now, not wishing to scare anyone. Not wishing to scare Patton, who he can see entering and exiting the bar area. His arm held aloft with a tray of drinks and glasses with every pass.

Roman calls out to him, then sits at a table that appears abandoned in the corner. These are not his people any more, and he does not know how to move around them. Better to get some distance and regroup. Tomorrow, or perhaps later today, he will talk to them. For now, he needs a plan.

Eventually, Patton is able to make his way over, a smile on his face. “Slept well?” he asks, teasing.

“Quite. The beds are rather lovely, and I’m afraid I simply could not help myself,” Roman returns.

“Oh, quiet you. I know those beds are far from comfortable, though I gave you the best we had. Still, you missed dinner. Everything alright?”

“Yes, my travels simply had drained me more than I had anticipated. Dinner would be nice though, late as it is.” Patton doesn’t reply, simply nodding and turning towards the back, where the food is prepared.

He does not have a quill or ink or even paper, but that is alright. He enjoys writing down his travels, the stories that he creates from them, but he has always been more content with planning in his own head. He thinks of the facts, gleaned from his time in the woods earlier, and his conversations with both Patton and Logan.

He knows the beast had first been sighted a week after he had left. When people had started going missing, he is not sure. All he knows is that the bounty had gone up nearly six months ago.

He had seen it then, of course, but he was not ready to face the town at the time. Still is not sure that he wants to be here even now. The memories threaten to overwhelm him and-

The bounty had been small then. Just a few gold pieces. Just what the town itself could offer. Then bounty hunters had started going missing. Small, unknown ones at first. Ones that had just started their careers. The reward had started to climb steadily as the townspeople, presumably, gotten desperate.

Then Hunter Valerian had gone missing shortly after taking the job.

She was a prominent hunter, known by nearly everyone. While Roman did not have a specialty, simply taking jobs that took him far from his home and helped people, Varian did. She was a Declared Hunter, apart of the Bounty Hunter Association. She had Declared in the hunting of Savage Beasts.

Savage Beasts, like the name implies, were beasts or creatures that had at least five dozen missing persons, or kills, attached to their names. These were of the nastiest sort, the ones that could torment people for years before being slain. And Varian was a master at slaying them.

So for her to go missing was a big deal.

That was nearly a month ago, and she has since been declared missing. The BHA has since added to the reward, two hundred gold pieces for the pelt of the creature. Unfortunately, due to such a prominent a person going missing, not many wanted to take the job. No matter how high the reward.

Roman, however, began to feel guilty about leaving his village to such a fate, and knew he at least had to try.

So, this beast was a nasty one. Had killed people far more skilled than he, and was, from what he had seen, rather large. Just what was he going to do?

A plate appeared in his vision, interrupting his view of the table he had taken to staring at while thinking. He looks up to see Logan sliding into the seat across him, Patton leaning casually on his chair.

They are so casual around each other now. It is not as though they were tense before, but like the air around them had been heavy with unspoken confessions. Now, they are relaxed as Logan settles in and Pattons gestures for him to eat.

He feels a pang of longing that surprises him. Not at the ease with which they have. No, that longing is still there but it is unsurprising, no matter how much he loathes it. What is surprising is the longing he feels for having wished he had witnessed their closeness.

He wishes he had not left.

It is a startling realization, one he does not know what to do with. So, he ignores it, buries it deep deep down, and he begins to eat.

The meal is as delicious as always. This must have been made by Patton himself, despite the fact that he must surely have had staff to do it for him. How long had Roman been thinking to himself?

He eats and compliments Patton, who smiles and laughs, saying it’s nothing. Roman just continues to thank him and compliment, perhaps overdoing it a bit. But he enjoys making his friends laugh and hopes they are still friends. That after this business is all well and done, he can talk and laugh with them. Even if one of their number is missing, he finds that he may be able to face it now.

As long as he has them, he may be able to face that yawning emptiness inside him.

Patton leaves eventually, leaving Roman with Logan who has been smiling at their antics. If anyone knows what, exactly, is going on, it is him. Logan always did hate not knowing things, always wanted to know all he could. An admirable trait, even if it lead to him practically living in the library during their teen years.

They talk, and Roman learns that the first disappearance had not occurred until nearly three months after they first spotted it. Even then, they had not thought it was the beast until later.

The child that had gone missing was Calamity. A strange name, but Calamity was a strange girl. She was loved by her parents, and though she was a bit eccentric, many were entranced by her rambling tales of the wildest dreams of hers.

He disappearance distressed her parents. They had gone after her, a couple days after she had gone. No one has seen them since.

Since then, three more children have gone missing, along with ten other adults. And, of course, all the bounty hunter’s that have tried before. This brings the totals of deaths accredited to the beast to twenty.

“It is strange, however. The only bodies to have been found were those of the bounty hunter’s. I wonder why that may be?” Logan mutters to himself, looking as though he has been given a particularly difficult puzzle. Roman is not worried. If any one could figure it out, it would be Logan.

Interesting though this information is, however, it does not give him any information as to how to slay the beast. All it does is tell him how dangerous the beast is.

That, and it makes him a bit uneasy. He can not shake the feeling that they’re missing something big. Something important.

Roman is about to inquire about the state of the bodies, to get a better idea of how the beast attacks, when the door to the inn slams open.

The inn goes utterly silent, as they all turn to stare at the man in the doorway. He looks panicked, terrified, but also overwhelmingly upset.

“Has anyone seen Darran?” He asks, no. He sobs. There are tears streaming down his face. “Have you seen my nephew? My daughter’s little boy?”

It took Roman a moment, memories slow to catch up to him in this moment of surprise and dread. Furan, the old blacksmith.

Somehow, without even looking at anyone else, he knows that no one here has seen the child. Knows, somehow, that the child must have wondered into the woods.

A woman comes up behind the man, looking just as pained as panicked as him. No, more so. It must be Felicity, the new blacksmith, his daughter. She looks so distraught, hair wild from where it has escaped her ponytail. She does not say anything, just sobs and collapses into her father’s arms.

It is quiet in the inn, pity and dread weighing the atmosphere down. Roman takes in the room, the people who can not look at the sobbing pair at the doorway, and makes up his mind.

He stands quickly, the chair crashing into the wall behind him in his haste. The sobbing pair don’t glance up, but the other patrons stare at him, eyes wide. He glances at Logan, who looks shocked at first. After a moment, however, understanding over takes his face, followed by fear.

Roman and runs up the stairs, not even stopping to notice the silence that now seems eerie. He just goes to his room and grabs his weapons.

He runs downstairs, faster even with the sword weighing him down. He does not have a plan, he just knows that he can not stand there and do nothing.

The pair at the door have been joined by another woman, perhaps the Felicity’s wife, Persephone. Named for her beauty, she looks ruined now, hair every which way and clothes torn. They’re all sobbing, clutching each other.

He is about to approach them, to tell them that he will make things right, when a hand reaches out to stop him. It’s Patton, peering up at him, fear in his eyes. “Be careful,” he whispers, Logan behind him.

They both look so sad, so scared. “I will come back,” Roman vows. He will not leave them again. Refuses to.

They both look at him, before nodding as one. “Very well,” Logan says. “See to it that you do.”

Roman nods back, then turns towards the group at the door. “I will be back,” he promises. “I will come back, and bring Darren with me. On my honor, I will be back.” 

The group just stares blankly at him, tears in their eyes. Maybe they believe him, maybe they do not. Either way, he marches out into the woods, purpose in every silent step.

The woods look different at night, sinister. Whether it’s because Roman understands the danger now, or because he’s alone, he doesn’t know.

What he does know is that the forest would be calm, peaceful, even if it didn’t make him so tense.

There are crickets and frogs sounding, the sound of moving water. The moon lights his path, stars winking at him where the sky breaks through the trees above. All of this should culminate in a peaceful setting, but he just can not relax.

After all, there is a beast and these woods, and he is here to kill it.

He slinks through the undergrowth, eyes straining to pick up the path he stumbled upon when he first came to town. He has slept since then, however, and the woods look different at night. That may be why he has been wandering the woods for so long the moon is nearly at its peak.

His sword is held in front of him, ready as it has been since he stepped off the path. Though his arms are starting to burn, experience tells him that not being ready is far worse. He had let nostalgia cause him to be lax earlier. He would not make that mistake again.

He’s aware of every sound he makes, every twig snapping, every leaf crunching, every breath he takes.

Roman is very aware, so he notices immediately when there is breathing there that is not his.

He freezes for a moment, fear causing his heart to leap into his throat. Only a moment, though. Then he continues.

If the creature hasn’t attacked yet, for whatever reason, it is best to not stop and make himself a sitting target.

He walks forward, straining his ears this time. If he can pinpoint where the creature is, he may be able to attack first.

A snap sounds, but that’s from his own feet. A hoot and a woosh come from his left, and he struggles not to jump. He’s tense, anticipation and dread and a small bit of excitement rushing through his veins.

A few more steps and he hears another snap, this time from behind him and a little to the right. Heavy breathing mixed with a slight rustling sound.

As the sound continues, Roman hones in on it, becoming more and more sure of where it’s coming from.

Finally, he’s got it. The crickets have died down, there are no more frogs to be heard. It’s just him and the thing he’s hunting, the leaves crunching beneath their feet. Anticipation wins out over the dread, and his heart thrums in his chest.

Roman slows his pace down, listens as the sounds coming from the beast get closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Now!

He whirls around, bringing his sword around where he assumes the neck is. He thinks he has the timing right, is fast enough, but he just misses.

The beast leaps back, and it lowers into a defensive stance. Legs apart, mouth set in a snarl, terrifying and larger than he had anticipated. Time stands still for a minute, and then Roman brings his sword back up, ready to attack once more.

A hack, a slash, but he’s always one step behind, not quite fast enough.

And yet, it’s odd. The beast has not attacked him once. Rather, it seems to… relax almost.

The ears aren’t pressed to its skull, it’s tail swishing back and forth.The mouth, once snarling and vicious, closes. It confuses Roman, and while he does not stop attacking, he also starts retreating, wondering if perhaps this is a trick.

He backs up into a clearing, the beast following him, and suddenly it is bathed in light.

In the shade from before, Roman had mistaken the beasts coat for black, dark as it was. Now, in the moonlight, Roman sees that, while dark, it is more of a dark brown color, light reflecting off the coat. The eyes, he sees, are a deep violet color, and almost seem to glow. Like this, no longer aggressive and bathed in light, the beast doesn’t seem nearly as scary.

Even with the adrenaline thrumming through his veins, Roman knows that, logically, he should be terrified. He recalls that the beast has killed every bounty hunter that has tried to take its head.

The more he looks at the creature, however, the less scared he feels. Part of him still wants to freeze, wants to run, wants to fight, but that part of him is shrinking the more he looks.

He wonders if this is like the sirens he had encountered, the one time he had gone by boat to the other land. Charming, leading you in with its song.

No. It is not the same. This feeling, this curiosity, it is all his own. It is not something that is being implanted in his brain. It is a subtle feeling, a subtle difference, but it only serves to bring him in more.

Roman stops his fighting. It is not getting him anywhere to begin with, and the beast is not attacking him either, for whatever reason. For now, his curiosity pushes him to figure out why that is, why him?

Is this how Logan feels anytime he has a question he does not know the answer to? This need to figure it out, to answer the question, solve the mystery?

If that is so, Roman should try not to tease him so much about it. It is a compelling feeling, more a need than a want.

Still, he keeps his weapon out. Curiosity, when not tempered by caution, can kill. He has seen it happen, has heard the stories.Has nearly joined their numbers. He does not wish for tonight to be his last.

The beast looks at him, violet eyes flashing lavender in the moonlight. They are almost at eye level, tall as the beast is, so much larger than he had first thought. Both are still, calm in this clearing.

The beast takes a step forward, and Roman takes a step back, a spike of fear zipping up his spine.

In response, the beast freezes, stepping back. Roman relaxes, but it causes his confusion to rise.

While a lot of the beasts and creatures he has hunted before show some signs of intelligence, every one, every single one, attacked him relentlessly. They may have had intelligence, but they all were feral. Lacking humanity.

The only creatures who had not acted as such were the High Fae, but they also draped themselves in illusions, looked as human as anyone if not studied too closely. They, too, tried to kill him, however, when he stumbled into their domain.

This beast, however, is not like that. It is… curious, almost. Defensive. Perhaps it had only killed the others because they had tried killing it?

But that does not explain the other attacks, and why it had not tried killing Roman when he attacked it.

He has so many questions now. What is this creature? Why does it seem as though Roman is special?

Staring into the creatures eyes, he feels a strange calm over take him. The longer he stares, the safer he feels. Not safe enough to put away his weapon, not yet, but safer nonetheless.

He takes a step towards the beast, curious as to how it will react. It does not move, so he takes another.

And another.

Further and further until he’s standing right in front of it. They’re both frozen, staring at each other. Roman’s sword is hanging, forgotten at his side.

Roman reaches out a hand, not entirely sure what he’s doing, but knowing it just feels right.

Right when Roman is about to touch its snout, it startles. Its tail tucked between its legs, ears pressed flat to its head. It takes a step back then turns and dashes off, leaving Roman alone in the woods, and a child still missing.

Tag: @rabbitsartcorner, @bihighandgivinghighfives, @thgjclw, @oddball-wqri, @madsk3tch, @007ardra, @rainboots-are-for-snobs

Beast: @fan-tastics-stuff, @just-emotional-trash, @musicprincess655, @dragonindigo245, @emo-nithtmare, @icequeenoriginal

Lemme know if I missed you or you want to be tagged! See ya next week(ish)!

Next

[arkeresia]

‘scarred’

some John and Arthur angst / pretty self-indulgent HAHA 

 - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 “Marston, if you don't leave that thing alone you're gonna have a goddamn crater in the side o' your face”

 John reached up yet again, dragging his dirty fingernails roughly down the length of the still-raw scars cut into his cheek, nails catching on the jagged stitches poking through the wounds. The itching was driving him insane; it felt like it was deep under his skin, swarming and burning and crawling. Being cut and bruised and hurt was nothing new to him, sort of came with the territory when you lived in fields and country and robbed and killed for your livelihood, but nothing had ever come close to the searing pain he'd endured in the weeks of recovery up in those dreadful mountains.

 The wounds stung and flared as he scritched at them insistently, narrowing his eyes at the larger man sat across the campfire from him, smirking face buried again in his small leather journal.

 “Oh yeah? I'll be scratching someone else's face off if I don't so how about you mind your own business.” John spat venomously, lip curling as he picked up the flint arrowhead he was carving and set upon it indignantly with his hunting knife.

 Arthur smirked again, shaking his head as he scribbled a small unflattering doodle of a skinny scar-faced man, pouting and bitching. The kid had still barely gotten out of his bratty teenage mindset, despite now being closer to 30 than his teens. He peered over the top of the pages at the smaller man, watching him furiously scrape at the flint so hard there were small sparks flying from the knife. His eyebrows were knitted together in frustration and his face twitched in annoyance. Arthur sighed softly; the boy had been through a lot.

 John had never been one for talking about things, it was like pulling teeth getting him to open up or confide. Though his hot temperament and guarded personality usually made him come across as dense and sullen, there was a vulnerability to him that had always struck a chord in Arthur, no matter how he annoyed and infuriated him.

 John reached for his cheek for the eighth time in ten minutes and Arthur threw down his journal, launching his pencil and lurching forwards to slap his hand away; resulting in a pseudo wrestling match which John quite spectacularly lost, fingers bent back and squawking hoarsely.

 “LEAVE IT ALONE!”

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

 The snow was absolutely not stopping.

 Thick, glistening sheets lay unmarred and picturesque against the sweeping backdrop of the mountains; breathtaking if not for the fact they were stuck and freezing to death. Arthur gazed through the small smeared window of his cabin room, his bones almost creaking from the cold as he shifted and rose from his bed, his huge furred overcoat tucked tightly around him. He was wearing every item of clothing he could possibly squeeze onto himself, four pairs of socks, two pairs of gloves and still the cold bit right through him. Shivering, he put on his scuffed gambler hat; pulled it low and left for outside.

 As he passed through the adjoining room, Dutch looked up from his seat at the weakly-burning fireplace, face wrapped in a chequered necktie and hands held out desperately to the feeble flames.

 “Oh, you're awake Arthur,” he exclaimed, his musical voice somewhat shaky and his eyes tired, “or did you actually get any sleep?”

 “A little, I guess.” Arthur shivered again, pulling his gloves tighter, “at least it's quiet up here.”

 Dutch's eyes creased at the sides. “Ahh, you were always a strong one, my boy. This place is Hell; Hell on earth and I cannot wait to be back where there is some life. Life and warmth, preferably”

 “Not gonna argue with that, Dutch.” said Arthur shortly. As much as he hated civilization and all it stood for, anything was better than dying a cold, dismal death in this frozen wasteland. It was almost a blur how they had even ended up here with the panic and the frantic escape from Blackwater; it seemed like they'd been running for years and yet also only days. Time passed strangely in the mountains; hours could be minutes or, more commonly, minutes could be hours.

 He still didn't fully understand what had even happened at Blackwater; only that the worst possible outcome had apparently happened and good people had been killed. People he respected and valued. He hadn't been able to shake the bad feeling he'd had about that job from the beginning; like an omen or a warning lingering in the back of his mind. He rarely felt real fear, but running from that place was one of the most terrifying experiences he'd ever faced.

 Hordes of men; murderous and merciless tearing after them like creatures possessed. The deafening noise of hooves, screams, curses, gunshots. How they hadn't lost anyone else was a miracle; how any of them were still alive even now was a miracle.

 As Arthur turned to leave, Dutch turned in his seat towards him.

 “Oh, Arthur, I believe Abigail wanted to speak to you. She seemed troubled, was wringing her hands something fierce. She must be worried sick, the poor woman.”

 “No doubt.” said Arthur, shaking his head. Leaving Dutch to his thoughts, he exited the cabin and trudged heavily through the thick snow carpeting the small abandoned settlement of Colter, patting his tired, fatigued horse as he approached the cabin where the women and Jack were holed up. He knocked lightly before poking his head halfway round the heavy door.

 “Mornin' ladies, uhh, is everyone decent?” he asked reticently, edging the door open a little more as he spoke.

 “Hah, that's a laugh, as if anyone's gonna be gallivantin' naked in this weather. You're funny, Arthur.” Tilly's voice called back, scoffing. Arthur squeezed through the opening and shut the door quickly behind him. Karen and Mary-Beth sat huddled under furs in the corner and Tilly shifted under blankets piled on the bed. Abigail looked up from the storybook she held with Jack perched on her knee, closing it abruptly and shooing Jack so she could rise.

 “Oh, oh you're awake, I, uhh, I need to ask you another favour.” She approached as she spoke, uncertainly. Arthur's eyebrow rose in some sort of amusement.

 “Oh don't tell me he's gone traipsing about on another mountaintop, I've had enough of lugging that fool around in the snow; I don't think he's cut out for grand expeditions.” exclaimed Arthur sarcastically, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Abigail frowned. “'Course not, you think he's in any state to traipse around anywhere right now!? I'm scared he's gonna die, Arthur. He won't speak to me, won't speak to Jack or even look at us. I'm scared we're gonna bury him out in this wretchedness and I can't bear... I just can't...” she trailed off, a small tear forming in her eye.

 Arthur gazed pityingly at her sorrowful expression, an old jealousy tugging in his chest at her concern for that idiot boy, and how desperately besotted she was with him. He'd never fully understood what it was with those two, how such wildly different people were so hopelessly trapped together; a beautiful woman with everything to live for and a scrawny good-for-nothing with a temper like an injured polecat. She'd even given him a son; a good kid who just wanted a father he wasn't prepared to be. Anyone in their right mind would have ditched him long ago; but Abigail was never in her right mind when it came to John.

“If you could just...I mean, would you try...” Abigail fumbled her words, looking dejectedly at the floor as Jack looked over inquisitively from the corner he'd snuggled into. Arthur sighed.

“Suuuure okay, I'll go check in on him, but I dunno if he'll be any more willing to talk t' me. There ain't much more I can do for him, Abigail.”

Abigail nodded, wiping at her eye with the sleeve of her thick knitted shawl. “Thank you, Arthur. I......thank you.”

 She turned away hastily and went to her son, winding him tightly in her arms as she sat. Arthur sighed once more, nodded in the other ladies' direction and took his leave.

   Approaching the nearby cabin where John lay recovering, Arthur rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck and tried to think of what the hell he was going to say. He couldn't deny he was worried too; the state John had been in when he and Javier finally found him on that lonely mountain had been far worse than he'd expected; frozen, starving and a face full of blood and gore. If it hadn't been for the man's desperate cries as they called out for him, he would have thought he was a goner as soon as he lay eyes upon him, slumped brokenly on the ledge in the bloody snow.  

 They barely even made it back to Colter with him, thrown haphazardly over Arthur's shoulder as his old friends prowled onto the horizon, hungry to finish their work. Riding desperately through the snow flurry, flinching at the echoing snarls and howls surrounding them as Arthur and Javier fired shots almost blindly; running yet again.

 John had been near death, that was certain. For once they'd had the snow to thank for leading them to him; any longer and he'd have been a cold corpse. Even with the care and attention of Susan and the girls it looked uncertain he'd see the week out. Cold had eaten into him, the beginnings of frostbite had set into his extremities and his face was an absolute mess of deep claw gouges and ugly wounds. John had never been considered the most handsome of the bunch, and the twisted scars he would definitely be left with were not going to help.

 So here he lay now in his makeshift hospital room as Arthur shouldered the door open gently, looking over to see if the man was awake. John was still as a plank, laid on his back with the right side of his face swathed in bloody gauze and cloth. He turned his head slowly at the sound of movement and squinted with his unbandaged eye.

 “Hullo John.” said Arthur plainly, sitting heavily in the chair by the bedside. John said nothing but huffed a little as he faced back to the wall. Always the moody lil' bitch, Arthur thought. He shifted in his seat. “I won't ask how you're doin' I guess. Don't need an answer to that, you look like shit.”

 John's face twitched into a smirk; then a grimace as his shredded flesh shifted under the wounds. “Nothing new there, right.” he croaked. His voice was hoarse and sand-papery, more so than usual from lack of speech, and the new cut on his lip glistened red as it split.

 “They really got you. Still, 'least they left some scraps of you behind, maybe you taste s'bad as you look.” Arthur said whimsically, still not being able to resist teasing him.

 “Har har.” John barked bluntly.

 They sat in silence as minutes ticked by, neither of them moving or knowing what to say. Arthur suspected John's pride had probably been hit hard by the whole situation; Mr. Strong and Independent being treated as an invalid, being fawned and fussed over. Arthur was considering just up and leaving when John finally broke the silence.

 “Arthur.”

 Arthur looked up questioningly.

 “They got my eye.”

 Arthur stared at him blankly. John stared back.

 “I can barely see you. The wolves got my eye. Didn't even notice 'til I woke up after you got me back.” John's lips tightened into a line. “I'm gonna be useless.”

 Arthur frowned a little, leaning in to inspect. He pulled up the man's eyelid with his finger, narrowing his eyes. It looked fine to him. Except a small, small mark, like a tiny tear in the steel coloured iris. Arthur cocked his head to the side and sat back down.

 “Don't look like much to me, maybe it won't be permanent. You got quite a whoopin' up there.”

 John looked defeated. “What if it don't? I'm gonna be a sideshow anyway. What good am I gonna be if I can't even see straight?”

Arthur chuckled low in his throat. “You'll shoot better with one eye anyway. Hmm, Scar-Face or Dead-Eye; can't decide which I like better.”

 John stared at him gone-out for a second before surrendering to painful laughter, he and Arthur sharing the moment in comfort, a weight lifting from the room and a brief contentment settling in.

 After a little time, Arthur stood, smiling amiably as he turned to leave.

 “...thanks, Arthur.” said John in a small voice, “For...y'know. ...thanks.”

 Arthur understood. He mumbled something as he left, maybe to himself, but John heard regardless.

 “Get strong, little brother.”

 John thought a lot about that in the hours that followed.

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

[lavenderek]

this will be a very long post about some kids i knew in high school. it is boring, but it still frustrates me for some reason, so here it is. feel free to ignore. i REALLY hope the readmore works for mobile users. if not - sorry.

A Tale Of Two Christians so there were two SuperChristians - who i will call Daygan and Braygan - in band with me. they both had a lot of friends. i did not.  Braygan was A Cool Christian who i could see running a youth group. she played percussion and had an undyed scene haircut. Daygan was a My Family Thinks Tattoos, Makeup, and Piercings Are Offensive And We Never Cut Our Hair Christian. she played the tuba and wrote poetry.

anyway so they were both cold and rude to me me all four years.

The Genesis: Braygan And The Legend Of The Ill-Fated Chuck Norris Joke It All Started when my parents literally made me go to a band social before the school year started. i was terrified. i was very shy and i was a teenager. i do not remember how, but i managed to enter a conversation with three band kids, one of whom was braygan. we were talking about jokes. i had recently read a Chuck Norris joke. i timidly told this joke for the following reasons: A. they were very popular online in 2006, so i thought it would be a hit. B. i was 15 and didn’t know any better. C. i had read it in a book owned by my friend’s dad, so if dads were into it it must be ok. i did not realize braygan was A Christian, so it took me like a year to understand why she snapped, “that’s not funny.” and glared at me. i was so shocked and humiliated that i remember i could feel the tears spring to my eyes. i went quiet, and the other two kids standing with us went quiet, and i learned never to try to make friends again, and braygan and i never spoke again. it was a beautiful tale of human connection.

Interlude: Braygan Some More braygan would always make a point of ignoring me, which was understandable as i had evidently made such a poor impression that she thought i was unchangeable and could never be forgiven. and it’s not like i was super jazzed to hang out with a person who could be so mean just because i told her a joke she didn’t think was funny. i was always perplexed as to how such a nasty person had so many friends and could only conclude that the nastiness was exclusive to me for some reason. like holy shit dude, it was a chuck norris joke, one that i never told again lmao. maybe chuck norris killed her dad or something.

I Sort Of Gave A Damn About My Reputation: Daygan i mostly did not encounter braygan most of the time, thankfully. daygan was a different case for the following reasons: A. she was friends with a pretty good amount of my friends. B. we had band and pep band together. C. we had english together. D. we always had the same lunch for some reason. daygan seemed to have the same opinion of me as braygan, presumably because they became very close and braygan warned her of my inclinations. i can only assume this because i was never introduced to daygan. i knew of her for the above reasons, but i think i physically talked to her maybe once in four years. like, for real.

The Poms Hated Us: Spirit Contests i said previously we were in pep band. (no, i was not popular in high school.) when we played at football games, our band leader, ben, would make us do “spirit contests,” in which whatever section of the band cheered the loudest was rewarded. typically the reward was each of us got a Sobe when we got back to school afterwards. one night my section won. it was the only time my section won. reasons we never won: A. it was 100% girls. B. me excluded, the section was mostly friends with each other. C. i didn’t try very hard most of the time. D. since graduating i have learned from The Internet that there is a generally negative opinion of people who play the flute. maybe if i had had friends in band i would have known about this. but we were chosen by ben that night. frankly, i do think we had earned it: if there is one thing you must know about flutes and piccolos, it’s that they take a fuckin shredded diaphragm to play. we were good at projecting. daygan respectfully disagreed, by which i mean she was extremely distressed by ben giving us Sobes. she and her entire section had an actual tantrum in the bus on the way back. daygan shouted that the decision was “baloney.” (good christians don’t cuss.) their argument: A. they couldn’t hear us very well, and so we must have been quiet. B. our voices weren’t hoarse. her voice was hoarse, and so she must have yelled harder. C. ben’s little sister was in the flute section, and so he must have been catering to her. reasons those arguments do not carry water: A. sound travels in waves. if one is outside and surrounded by loud noise, the voice of a person standing in front of you and facing away may sound very quiet to you. B. we consulted the kids who were also in choir or drama and they confirmed that there are ways to project without damaging your voice in two hours. involving the diaphragm. C. it was literally one time, and ben and his sister weren’t like, friends at school. they were just siblings and happened to share an extracurricular activity. reasons we gave up defending ourselves and just watched daygan and her friends have a meltdown: A. they would shout over us when we spoke. B. they did not believe us. C. the arguments did come across as excuses coming from us. ben did not recant his decision and daygan literally looked at me with complete hatred in her eyes before turning away. we had this long conversation: me: ok. if you want the Sobe this bad, you can have mine. her: (snort) she and the rest of the brass section continued to very loudly discuss how ridiculous this decision was for like, half an hour. like imagine being this upset about the intricate politics of pep band. my god. it was very disturbing. i had hoped this would damage her reputation, but it didn’t seem to in any longterm way.

Interlude: Concert Wear I was also in the wind ensemble. there were three levels of band: beginner, symphonic, and wind ensemble. we would have concerts every few months. we had a uniform for formal concert wear. for girls, this was a conservative floor length black gown. i didn’t mind it, but i was the only one who didn’t mind it. i have bad taste i guess. we were asked to wear black shoes with it. colorful footwear was discouraged.

Other Interlude: My Fashion ask anyone who knew me in high school. my sense of fashion wasn’t great. i basically only owned striped knee socks. i thought they made me fun and unique.

Footwear: Return Of Braygan so it was wintertime, a year after The Big Hissy Fit. i had finally made a band friend, just because she was one of those people who was nice to everyone. she and i were both cold all the time, and decided we would wear socks during the concert. you could only see if we lifted the skirt to walk, so it was our quirky secret. she wore normal person socks. i wore red stripey socks. after the concert, we were heading down the hall to the band room so we could put our flutes away and collect our backpacks and coats. the hall was empty except for braygan and daygan. they stopped talking and watched as we passed them. i just ignored them. we are both allowed to use the hallway. my band friend was friends with them also, as most people were, so this happened: daygan: (elevators me) nice socks. Band Friend: (thinking daygan is teasing her in a friendly way) haha thanks! our feet get cold :) me: (i pretended not to hear daygan. at least this way she’s coming across as a person who jokes with her friend rather than a person who is physically unable to be civil.

Where Is My App To Build A Wall Between Me And Daygan none of their friends talked to me either. i wasn’t great socially, but i also assume they shared their opinion of me with their friends, as anyone would. i never did this. it’s not because i’m a saint, it’s because all my friends either were also friends with her or didn’t know her. to know daygan was to love daygan. but this doesn’t change the fact that i never talked badly about her behind her back. i rode the bus with a girl who had the same last name as daygan, which i never really questioned. it wasn’t a super common last name, i just didn’t think about it. one day late in my senior year, everyone was at a school event and this girl ran up to me. her: have you seen daygan? me: nope sorry her: haha aren’t you in band together? me: yeah but we’re not friends. she’s kind of a jerk to me actually her: um... she’s my cousin. me: oh huh cool! she’s still a jerk to me. this was not an exciting event. it’s just a thing that happened. i do not care that you are cousins. she’s mean to me. The Confusion That Would Never Fully Go Away we had graduated and it was the summer before we started college. i was hanging out with some friends. somehow the topic of daygan came up. one of my friends was in AP classes with her all 4 years and they were friendly. the reason i am still annoyed about this to this day is because of what he said to me that summer afternoon in the grass. him: oh yeah i was talking to daygan the other day! she said she always wanted to be friends with you. me, internally: ????????????????????????????? me, externally: ????????????????????????????? i explained to him that she had only ever been cold to me, that she avoided eye contact unless it was time to glare into my eyes and will my head to expand and pop like a marshmallow in a microwave. i explained to him my violently smacked down attempt to befriend braygan when we were 15. i explained to him that daygan’s alleged words were perplexing and did not fit with her actions. him: that... is so. weird. i have never seen them act like that. daygan’s always really nice. me, bummed out: cool FAQ maybe she didn’t like you because you make fun of christians. i didn’t used to make fun of christians. i was raised christian. maybe you were misinterpreting what was happening. always possible, if it weren’t for the fact that i was wide-eyed and bewildered for several years until i just got stoical about it. maybe you should have tried again to befriend her. the lesson of braygan was a hard one. and the sight of me seemed to make her very angry. i figured it would be better for both of us if i just tried to stay out of her way. maybe your friend could have asked daygan for you. maybe. but we had already graduated. and besides, i don’t think he completely believed me. would you even have wanted to be friends with her? probably not. rejection still sucks, though. my moment with braygan is my own theory. it’s just that if it wasn’t that, i have no idea what i could have done to warrant this longterm behavior from someone who, by all accounts, was the mother theresa of wind ensemble. maybe someday she will message me on facebook or something and tell me what was going on, because i cannot tell you how perplexing and hurtful it was at the time. the end.

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 5

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 5,429 for this chapter (21,158 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan has made a lot of very bad decisions with alcohol in his system. Some of them he can laugh about now, like the time he sprained his ankle trying to sing Toxic whilst stood on a table and ended up toppling onto the floor of an Atlanta bar when he'd tried to shimmy. He hasn't been allowed back there since.

"To be fair," Patrick says when Dan voices this memory fondly, "you would have done that sober."

"You know, I probably would," says Dan. He finishes his glass of wine and eyes the hotel room desk thoughtfully. "D'you think -"

"No," says Patrick.

"Oh, go on, let him," Jaime laughs. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I'm not even dignifying that with an answer."

They don't often drink together, because usually they're working, and nothing kills a buzz faster than a 4am wakeup call to get to hair and makeup on time. Plus, Dan doesn't drink as much as he used to. He's nearing thirty, closeted, and clinically depressed, he doesn't need to add alcohol to that fun mix.

But it's Thursday night, they've finished their last interview in London until late next week, and Jaime had pulled a couple of bottles out of her room to celebrate 'nobody falling off a stage yet this year'. So, they're drinking.

They've ended up in Dan's room because he remembered to bring his Switch and he doesn't have dirty pants lying around. Patrick is sprawled across the foot of Dan's bed and Jaime, after a long process of attempting to get comfortable on the armchair, has slid to the floor with Dan. The wine is good and strong and Dan might be a little buzzed.

Dan's phone buzzes with a text from Phil. He can't stop the easy smile from breaking across his face, but Patrick and Jaime are too busy bickering about whether or not Dan breaking his neck would be worth a repeat performance to notice.

Still on for tomorrow? :)

ya!, Dan sends before he can regret showing enthusiasm.

He doesn't need to worry too much, because Phil responds with a Yay!! and that's objectively less cool.

Some of the bad decisions Dan has made when he's drunk are ones that he can't actually laugh about, either because they're horrifically embarrassing - like climbing into bed with his friend's parents - or because they hurt too much to be funny - like ending up with a black eye after he mouthed off to a skinhead at Reading Festival - or because they're, well. The bad decision he's about to make again.

you should come hang out at the hotel, Dan texts Phil, because tipsy Dan is even hornier than regular Dan.

You want me to come over?

Phil is walking that line again, waiting for Dan to be upfront so he doesn't have to be.

The thing is, Dan could say yes, kick his costars out of his room, and make another bad decision in a long line of them, but. He really likes Phil. This isn't the same thing as hitting up a crew member on the downlow.

He still wants to see Phil, though. So he says, yeah me n patrick n jaime are drinking and you should join usssss, makes it clear this isn't some kind of booty call.

Okay! I'd love to meet your friends. What hotel are you at?

--

Another glass and a half of wine and four rounds of Mario Kart later, Dan is vaguely surprised by a knock at his room's door.

"We aren't being that loud, are we?" Jaime asks, her drawl almost incomprehensible now that she's two sheets to the wind. Patrick shrugs, and then Dan remembers.

"Oh!" he says, wobbling to his feet. "I asked Phil to come hang out with us."

"Who?"

"Dog man!" Jaime exclaims. Dan is laughing as he opens the door, and Jaime repeats herself even louder. "Dog man! Hello!"

"Hi," says Phil, slow and amused.

He looks good. Dan is wondering if he ever doesn't, honestly, but Phil had clearly put some effort in tonight. He's wearing a bright, patterned button-down that's open at the throat, and he's close enough that Dan can smell his cologne.

"You're dog man," Dan tells him unnecessarily. "Come in, we've got wine."

"Oh, I wasn't sure what we were drinking." Phil's body brushes against Dan's in the narrow entryway as he accepts Dan's invitation. Dan cannot, for the life of him, tell if it is intentional or not. "I brought vodka. It's birthday cake flavoured? I have no idea if it's any good, it just looked fun."

"Nice," says Patrick. His head and shoulders are in danger of falling off the foot of Dan's bed as he plays Mario Kart upside down.

"This is Jaime and Patrick," says Dan. Remembering how quickly Phil had decided to call him by a nickname, he adds, "Just Patrick, don't call him Pat or he'll kick you."

"Noted," says Phil. He puts the bottle down on the desk and smiles. "Nice to meet you both."

"Nice to meet you," Jaime echoes in a terrible English accent. It doesn't even come in the same realm as Phil's dialect. She giggles to herself and pats the piece of carpet beside her. "Phil, right? Come sit with me! Show me pictures of your dog!"

Phil laughs and does as he's told, folding his long limbs up to lean against the dresser with Jaime.

While Phil gets his gallery open and Patrick races against the computer, Dan decides to be a good host and pour them all new drinks. He doesn't know if the flavoured vodka will mix well with his Coke at all, but. That's what he's got, so that's what his friends are getting. He takes little sips to test as he mixes, making sure it's alcoholic enough and isn't too awful.

He looks over at the sound of Jaime's delighted laughter and feels his lips curve upwards. Jaime's deep skin, dark clothes, and bubblegum pink hair that might or might not be a wig are all such a contrast to Phil that seeing them together is almost comical, but they look sweet.

Dan can't help but snap a picture, then another of Patrick, who is still upside down, then a final shot of his concoctions. He adds all three to his Instagram story and tags his friends in them, hoping sober Dan won't hate him too much for it.

"Here you go," Dan says once he's done fucking around on his phone. He holds out two disposable hotel cups to Phil and Jaime, who both beam up at him.

"Thanks," says Jaime.

The smile on Phil's face is enough to make Dan confident that this was a good idea. "Thanks, Dan."

Patrick and Jaime make dramatic 'oooh' noises, like kids when someone gets called to the headteacher's office. Phil looks between them with a bemused sort of expression, and Dan is just trying to keep his blush to a minimum as he sips his drink.

"You gonna let that slide, Daniel?" Patrick asks, emphasising Dan's full name with a bad English accent of his own. Dan imagines that's how Patrick thinks he sounds every time he corrects anyone at work who calls him Dan.

"Yeah," Dan mumbles into his cup. "S'fine."

With a giggle, Jaime leans closer to Phil and stage-whispers, "He doesn't let anyone call him that."

"I let some people," Dan defends himself, although it's true that he hasn't introduced himself as Dan since uni. He's certainly never been okay with people he works with deciding to call him Dan, because it's a forced familiarity he doesn't like.

"Really?" Phil asks. He's got this wary look on his face, like he's not sure if he's the butt of the joke here or not. "I didn't know that. Does it bother you?"

"Not when you say it," Dan says, a little too quickly and too honestly.

Jaime giggles, but Dan is too busy staring at his drink and wondering if it's technically deep enough to drown in to look at her. He doesn't want to look at Phil, either, doesn't want to see whatever's happening behind those big eyes.

"I mean, it makes sense," Jaime says, still in that carrying whisper. "Seeing as Daniel thinks you're cute and all."

"Jaime!" Dan practically gasps. He loses the fight to his blush, feeling his face burn with it.

He turns a glare on her that probably isn't very effective with his lobster cheeks, and she blinks at him for a moment before she grins.

"Oh, sorry," she says. "Was that a secret?"

Patrick laughs like it's a joke, and Jaime joins him, before they start chatting about the cake vodka like Dan isn't standing in the middle of his hotel room, terrified.

It's not like Dan has exactly been subtle - he's sure that Phil knows how he feels. But that's not something he wants to have brought up in the way straight people joke about being attracted to each other, because it's not a joke.

Or... maybe they know that. Maybe his coworkers have caught on to something Dan has tried so hard to keep at the very corners of his mind. Maybe they aren't making the 'haha imagine if you actually thought a guy was cute' joke, but are rather just teasing him for his crush the same way he does to them when they mention a barista is cute or something.

He's not really sure which is worse, to be honest. Does he want them to be assuming he's straight or assuming he's not? He doesn't even know.

What does he want Phil to think?

At the thought, Dan's eyes drift to Phil. Naturally, like they belong there, like he shouldn't be looking anywhere else. His breath hitches in his chest when he sees that Phil was already looking back at him.

There's a moment of sheepishness, where they have to acknowledge that they've been caught staring at each other, but then... Phil smiles.

It's a smile Dan has seen before, on the park bench and on his FaceTime screen and in Phil's living room, and Dan thinks he could look at it forever.

Dan is the first one to break their eye contact, grinning into his hand like Phil won't notice.

"Budge up," Dan tells Patrick, louder than necessary. "I think we should all race. Loser has to take a shot."

"Oh no," Phil says. It occurs to Dan that Phil is still more or less sober, since he hasn't been drinking all evening like they've been. He wonders what Phil is like when he's drunk. "Do you have enough controllers?"

"Yeah, let me just," says Dan.

His friends all get comfortable on the king bed while Dan searches his luggage for his extra joy-cons. He keeps the red and blue ones with him when he travels just in case, but he generally only uses the black ones. They're much more his aesthetic.

Patrick is still lounging like a lord being hand-fed grapes, but Phil and Jaime have both settled against the headboard like normal human beings. There's enough space between them for Dan to sit, and he feels a warmth spread through him that has nothing to do with alcohol or embarrassment. He's just happy that his friends left room for him, are thinking about him.

It's actually kind of pathetic that these three people are the best friends Dan has. After all, two of them are being paid to be friendly with him and he only just met Phil.

Dan gives himself a little shake to physically get rid of the self-deprecating thoughts, because that's never a good road to go down when he's drinking. He should just enjoy having a good time with people he likes.

And he does. He sits close enough to Phil that their shoulders brush and pokes at Patrick with his foot to distract him and lets Jaime's trill of a laugh loosen the knot in his chest until he forgets it's there. He's having fun, honestly, in a way he hasn't let himself in a long time.

Phil loses the first two games and takes the punishment shots with grace, but then he ups the ante.

"Next one to lose has to finish it in one," he declares. There's a little less than three shot's worth in the bottle, and Dan exchanges amused looks with Jaime and Patrick over the idea of Phil chugging that.

Turns out, Phil is either extremely lucky or a fucking grifter. He edges Dan out of first place in the last few seconds of the race and cheers loud enough that Dan is sure they're going to get complaints from neighbouring rooms. Patrick, who ended up in seventh thanks to a well-timed red shell, insists that Phil must have cheated somehow. Still, he takes the vodka from a gloating Phil and finishes it off to the dulcet tones of the three of them chanting, "Chug! Chug!"

Patrick, understandably, excuses himself to go to sleep not long after the alcohol hits his system. He leaves his sandals on Dan's floor and heads down the hall barefoot.

"Why am I responsible for these now?" Dan asks the room at large, idly clearing up the mess they'd left. He doesn't want to wake up in the morning with a cake-flavoured hangover and a bunch of tiny plastic cups laying about.

"You're the team mom, Dan," Jaime coos, poking at his cheek. She's small enough that she has to lean up on her tiptoes to do so.

"Daniel," Dan corrects her automatically.

With a triumphant sort of look over her shoulder, Jaime pats Dan's face with her tiny palm. Dan feels himself blushing again now that he realises what she's teasing him for.

"You're so cute," she says, pinching at his soft cheek before she settles back down on flat feet with a grin. "I'm gonna head out, too. It was really nice to meet you, Phil! You should come back next week! And bring your dog!"

"I'll see what I can do," says Phil. His voice has gone deeper than usual with the alcohol, and he's propped up on his elbows with his long legs spread out over Dan's bed. He smirks, but if that's at Jaime's request or at the way Dan's mouth has obviously gone dry, Dan can't tell.

He looks at Jaime to see if she's still laughing at him, but Jaime is too busy raking her own eyes down Phil's body. She notices Dan staring and winks at him.

"See you tomorrow," she says, tone laden with implications that Dan isn't sober enough to parse.

She takes Patrick's sandals with her as a joke, tells them to let him think he lost them, and Dan's throat feels thick with some kind of emotion when the door clicks behind her and he's alone with Phil.

"You wanna keep playing?"

Phil is either completely oblivious to the way Dan is aching for him, or he knows and is waiting for Dan to make the first move.

Well, Dan is at least cognizant enough to remember all the reasons why making that move would be a terrible idea. He really ought to tell Phil he's tired and that he should probably head home to Thor, but. He likes the way he feels when he's with Phil. And until one of them decides to voice the question of whatever's happening here, he'll just enjoy it.

"Yeah, if you're ready to get your ass kicked," says Dan. He smirks right back at Phil and sits a respectable distance away on the other side of the bed.

"Big words for a man who got second place last round," says Phil, voice lilting on some of his vowels.

"I don't know how you did that," Dan says, pointing a slightly wobbly finger in Phil's face. Phil acts like he's going to bite at it, and Dan pulls back reflexively. "But I know it was a fucking fluke, okay?"

"It wasn't a fucking fluke. I'll totally, like, annihilate you, Howell."

Hearing Phil swear is still unnervingly sexy, but his trash talk is bad enough that it makes Dan laugh, distracts him from the taut atmosphere.

Dan meets Phil's eyes, which are twinkling in the low light of the television screen and single bedside lamp. "You're on."

--

When Dan stirs from his weirdly restless dreams, he's got such a pounding headache that he groans dramatically, even though nobody is around to hear him. Every movement is making nausea swell, but he needs to stretch out his sore limbs. He must have slept funny or something.

He starfishes out and jolts fully awake with a stronger wave of nausea when his right hand hits something solid.

Dan yelps, his eyes flying open, and an answering groan from the other side of the bed has him panicking until he recognises the shape of the shoulders and the pattern of the shirt.

"Phil?" he whispers, trying to calm himself down.

"What?"

Phil's sleep-husky voice has heat curling in Dan's stomach that threatens to spread. Luckily, he feels like shit enough for it not to take over his body.

He reaches out again, on purpose this time, and pokes between Phil's shoulder blades. "Uh. Why are you here?"

"Got drunk," Phil grunts. "Fell 'sleep. Go away."

"This is my bed," says Dan.

"Shhh."

"Why am I topless?" Dan asks, mostly to himself. He didn't black out or anything crazy, but the night is kind of blurry around the edges, especially once he and Phil were left alone.

Phil sighs. He rolls over and squints in the general direction of Dan's torso. "You took your shirt off because you said it was too hot."

That does sound like something Dan would do. Although, it also sounds like a tactic he might have used to make Phil distracted enough to lose at Mario Kart. He's kind of glad that he can't remember his thought process behind it.

"Oh," says Dan. "Uh. Hi."

"Hi," says Phil. He yawns and rubs at his eyes. "Glad I brought my contact case. Would have fucking sucked to crash in them."

Phil swearing in such a low, dry voice is almost enough to get Dan's blood flowing south, but then his headache throbs again and reminds it to stay where it is.

"So you can't even see me right now, can you?" Dan laughs, soft. "How bad are your eyes?"

"I can see kind of a light beige blur from here to here," Phil says, gesturing from Dan's face to his tummy. "I'm guessing that's you."

That gets a louder laugh out of Dan, and they both wince.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Don't know about you, Daniel," says Phil, "but I feel like death warmed over right now."

"You can call me Dan, y'know," says Dan. He feels himself blush a bit at the reminder of everything Jaime and Patrick had said in front of Phil. He's glad Phil can't really see him. "Think you know me well enough."

Phil cracks a smile at him and grunts, rubbing more vigorously at his eyes like that'll magically bring his sight back. "Ugh. Need a coffee."

"Coffeemaker's busted," Dan says apologetically. Phil makes a truly pathetic noise, rolling onto his back and putting an arm over his face like a fainting maiden. "Fuck, fine, I'll go get some from the lobby. You needy little shit."

"You're the best, Dan," Phil yawns. "Owe you one."

"Yeah, yeah."

The waves of nausea make Dan move slowly, but they're not so horrible that he thinks he'll actually throw up. He's had a lot of experience with binge drinking until he vomits, and he knows his body well enough to be certain that this and his headache will recede as soon as he eats.

Food is a good idea, actually. Dan picks up his phone to get something greasy delivered to them posthaste.

He's got more activity on Instagram than he expects to, but then he remembers that he'd stupidly posted stories about getting drunk in a hotel room and tagged three semi-famous people in them. He looks at the photos again and decides, well, they're not awful.

A few new unread texts as well, adding to the stack of literally dozens that he keeps meaning to look at, but luckily those are just from his costars.

From Jaime, he gets that was funnnn, and phol is NICE, and hope u used protection xoxoxoox, and yall are sooooo cute omg ur FACE when u look at him, and u dont have to tell me but how long hav yall been datign, and jkdjmmmlllllllll, and sry durjk.

From Patrick, he gets Have you seen my Birkenstocks?

Dan is a little too hungover to deal with a panic attack at this time of day, so he leaves them both on read and orders breakfast for him and Phil.

He looks over at Phil, who's still flat on his back and shielding his eyes. His chest is rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm now, and Dan thinks that he's probably fallen back asleep.

"Lazy oaf," Dan murmurs, fond.

The thing is, Phil looks really good right now. Not the same way he'd looked good last night, when Dan had needed to fight not to jump his bones, but good in a way that makes Dan want to snuggle up next to him. It's a terrifying thought, but Dan thinks he could get used to the sight of Phil, asleep and tangled in Dan's sheets.

His button-down and jeans don't look very comfortable, though. Dan picks his way through his suitcase as quietly as possible and leaves a t-shirt and sweats on the foot of the bed for Phil to put on whenever he wakes up. After a moment's hesitation, he adds clean socks and pants to the pile.

It's not a big deal, he tells himself as he tugs a long sleeved t-shirt over his own head and stuffs his feet into his shoes. He'd do the same for any of his friends. The fact that his heart picks up speed at just the idea of Phil wearing his clothes is totally irrelevant.

So he leaves Phil snoring in his bed to go get them both breakfast. It's a little scary, how he feels like he could do this every single day.

Whatever. He'll deal with that after coffee.

--

"Last night was fun, actually."

Dan blinks up from his phone at the first full sentence Phil has uttered since he was woken up a second time. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," says Phil. "Even if I do feel like shit, I still had fun. I like your friends."

They're both in loungewear - Dan's loungewear, which is a little tight around Phil's upper arms and hips, god - and their delivered breakfast is long gone. Phil had communicated mostly in grunts and gestures until he'd downed half his boiling coffee in one go. It was very caveman of him. Dan hates that he'd found it hot.

Now they're just scrolling on their own phones, leaned up against the headboard, and Dan can feel his resolve start to crumble.

He's still unsure about himself. It's not like he's totally comfortable with the label he's so scared is the one for him, and he still doesn't know what he's doing with the rest of his life, but. He's not as unsure about wanting Phil to be in his life.

"I like them too," Dan says, bringing his lukewarm coffee to his lips to try and mask his slight blush. "I - well, they're probably my best friends. Other than... you."

Dan half expects Phil to laugh awkwardly or get all uncomfortable, but Phil just smiles at him.

"Y'know, I think you're mine, too," he says. "Is that weird?"

"If that's weird, then at least we're both weird," says Dan. Warmth is spreading through his whole body at the confirmation that Phil thinks of him the way he thinks of Phil. "Like I know we haven't known each other for long, or whatever, but that doesn't really seem to matter."

The smile on Phil's pretty face widens to something so bright and genuine that Dan has to look away. "Yeah, exactly. Feels like we were supposed to meet."

Dan rolls his eyes, trying to cover up the way his heart stutters. "Oh no, you're one of those people who believes in destiny."

"Yep," Phil says cheerfully. "Better get used to it."

Honestly, Dan likes the idea of that. Getting used to Phil's ridiculousness is something he thinks he could happily do. Not for the first time, Dan wishes he never had to leave this city.

"It's a good thing you're funny," Dan says, affecting an air of reluctance. It's probably not as effective when he's smiling into his shirt sleeve.

"And cute, right?" Phil teases.

Somehow, Dan had completely blocked that part of the evening from his memory. He groans and covers his face as the moment comes flooding back. God, he's going to kill Jaime for that. He hears Phil laugh, and then Dan's hands are being pulled away from his face by a cool, loose grip on his wrists.

Phil doesn't let go of him right away, just keeps grinning as he holds Dan's wrists between them on the mattress.

"Jaime's a liar," Dan grumbles. His heart is going fucking crazy. "I didn't - I mean, I didn't say you were cute, okay, she's exaggerating."

"What did you say, then?"

"Well. She said Thor was cute and I thought she meant you. That's all."

Dan regrets how well he's allowed Phil to know him, because Phil laughs and slides his hands down to squeeze both of Dan's in response. His touch doesn't linger. Dan bites back noises of disappointment, but Phil is only picking his phone back up.

"Thor is pretty cute, too. I better check up on him."

"Oh, yeah," says Dan. He's grateful for the topic being changed, but he won't act like he didn't want Phil's hands on his for longer. "He's okay, right? I didn't mean to kidnap you."

"Sure you didn't. It's fine, he's at my brother's. I," says Phil, then he stops. If Dan didn't know any better, he'd say Phil's cheeks are turning pink.

"You?" Dan prompts.

Phil gives him a sheepish sort of grin, and - yes. There's colour above his sharp cheekbones that wasn't there when he was teasing Dan. "I dunno. I kind of... figured I'd be staying over, so I dropped him off on my way here."

Now, Dan doesn't have time to unpack all that. He's not stupid or humble; he already knows that Phil wouldn't exactly complain if Dan were to push things further than they are right now. The issue, of course, is that the more important Phil becomes to Dan, the bigger and more dangerous of a leap it would be to go ahead and push that boundary.

He's leaving for a few days early tomorrow morning and putting some physical space between him and Phil, so. He'll overthink it all then, when he can lie on the floor by himself and let the waves of dread crash over him.

It really wouldn't be fair to their friendship to make a snap decision, and it wouldn't be fair to Phil to lie facedown on the hotel room floor while he's still here.

"Really," Dan says flatly, trying so hard not to tip the conversation into anything serious. Today isn't the day for that. "You brought your contact case and left Thor at Martyn's, but couldn't be bothered to bring a change of clothes? Your story is full of holes, Lester."

Phil laughs, a surprised sort of giggle that Dan wishes he could listen to on a loop.

"You caught me," says Phil. His voice is dry, but his eyes twinkle as he turns his attention back to his phone. "My end goal was stealing your trackies."

That might actually be true. Dan isn't opposed.

"You can," he says with a little shrug, like his heart isn't going wild at the thought. "They're a bit short on me, anyway."

"We're the same height, Dan."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the day, Phil."

Another giggle. Phil's tongue pokes out between his teeth this time, and Dan feels the weirdest sense of pride. "Can I keep the shirt, too?"

"The shirt is a favourite, so you'd have to replace it," Dan says. "But if you're that desperate, sure."

"Nice," says Phil. "How much could it be to replace? Fifteen quid?"

Dan blinks and then honks a laugh. "Yeah, no, that's a Yeezy tee."

"Gesundheit," Phil says kindly.

"You might want to give that one back to me before you go," says Dan. "Because you're off by about a hundred dollars."

Phil's eyes widen comically and he looks down at himself.

"Dan. This is a t-shirt."

"It's a Yeezy t-shirt," Dan corrects him.

"Yeah, you can keep it." Phil sounds wary, like he's got a bomb strapped to his chest. "Have you got anything in the fifteen pound range so I don't feel horrible if I get coffee on it?"

"No," says Dan. Take it off if it bothers you so much, he wants to say, but he bites it back.

"Are these hundred-dollar trackies?"

"No, those are from H&M."

"Alright," Phil says with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I'll take them off your hands, then."

"If you insist," Dan laughs. "How's Thor doing?"

The way Phil's whole face lights up at the question makes Dan's brain feel like mush. "He's good! Martyn sent me some pictures, you wanna see?"

"Obviously I want to see," says Dan. He scoots closer to Phil, leaning far enough into his space that he can smell the remainder of Phil's cologne still clinging to his neck. Dan holds back a shiver.

For a little while they stay like that, looking through the photos and videos of Thor that Phil's brother sent him and then moving on to photos and videos of Thor that are already saved to Phil's phone. Dan has no complaints - except, maybe, that the dog isn't here and in his lap right now.

It's deceptively easy to picture. Thor, curled up between them as they drink coffee and scroll through their respective feeds in comfortable silence, showing each other funny things every so often. Scratching behind Thor's ears and smiling over at Phil, unguarded. Happy.

This is going to make Dan crazy if he isn't careful. The domestic fantasies are somehow so much worse than the filthy ones.

"Do you want to do anything today?" Dan asks once Phil has reached puppy pictures and Dan is in very real danger of ugly crying over how tiny the corgi was. "I know we had plans, but I've still got a pretty massive headache."

"Oh, that's okay," says Phil. "I can head home whenever."

"No," Dan says, too quickly. "No, you - you can stay. I just mean I don't feel like, y'know, going anywhere. Let's just watch some movies and veg the fuck out."

"Alright," says Phil. His smile is slow and his voice is deep and his eyes are three different colours and goddamn, Dan is so fucked.

More than anything else that's happened with Phil since they met, this day is the thing making Dan's head spin. It isn't anything to write home about, all in all, since they really do just keep ordering food and watch made-for-tv movies until Phil has to leave, but.

Maybe it's having Phil wrapped up in the blankets of his temporary home, making half of Dan's bed smell like him. Maybe it's the way Phil keeps touching him so casually, a hand on his knee while they talk or rapid taps against his arm when Phil correctly predicts a plot twist. Maybe it's just Dan's internal walls starting to come down, less and less guilt surrounding the craving he has for the sound of Phil's laughter the longer that he's exposed to it.

In any case, Dan has to unpack all of these feelings before he sees Phil again. It's not something he's looking forward to, but maybe having a deadline will help.

Like it ever has in the past. Fuck.

[letstalksymphogear]

Symphogear, EP. 6

Last Time on Grand Theft Auto:

Tsubasa recovers from the world’s gayest coma as Hibiki trains her mind while putting aside such silly concepts as “the love of my life” and “literally being with my girlfriend.” After cooling Miku’s paranoia with her brand new washboard abs, Genjuro prepares the team for a pizza run across the city to deliver a dangerously hot pizza pie named Durandal. Chaos emerges as the delivery is intercepted by a rival pizza gang, lead by the nefarious Gremlin known as Yukine Chris. But, before the pizza could be claimed, dedicated pizza deliverywoman Hibiki not only steals it back, but eats it, harnessing the power of the pizza and unleashing cheesy pasta based chaos around the location.

Ryoko is so into it that she taps into her superpowers and protects Hibiki after she passes out. The delivery is considered a failure, and no tip is given.

And so, the journey continues...

Meanwhile, in this weird, tricked out mansion...

Chris meditates on some water metaphors of her own.

“that pacman colored freak took only touching it to activate a cheap ass french sword that gave her weird demon powers and its taken me YEARS to use this dumb stripper outfit and the funny cane that goes with it, what the FUCK man, what even is my life”

“maybe... maybe honeybaked hams ARE that powerful...”

“NO! turkey is the superior meat! it’s healthier, lower in fat, and way more tasty! fuck you! i’ll get my goddamned revenge!”

Chris begins musing about Fine’s motivations to capture Hibiki; during these, we’re treated to some brief image flashbacks of Chris’s life.

Suddenly, those jokes about food are a lot less funny.

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together as to why this young woman is helping a strange nudist dominatrix spread alien terror across the city of mumblednoises, Japan. She doesn’t really have many an option on the table. It’s either help the weird kinkster with her plans, or die.

Despite everything, she has a high opinion of Fine, for the same reasons someone might have a high opinion of a television show if it were the only show they were ever exposed to. She is deeply afraid of being alone again, because she has lived through such misery that the very thought of existing out in the cold again terrifies the shit out of her.

The Sun rises casually amidst Chris’s thoughts.

“ah shit. it just hit me. i literally have spent the entire night standing here instead of actually going the fuck to sleep. goddamnit.”

On such a devious metaphorical twist, Fine stands behind her as the Sun rises.

“yeah, jokes on you. i couldnt sleep for shit either. turns out, all nude, no blankets? in japan? real bad idea.”

“thats why i decided to GO GOTH, babey! whattaya think? do i give those witchy vibes, huh? real ‘black magic woman’ santana hours? feeling cute, gonna head out with the girls and summon satan in the woods kinda aesthetic looking shit? come on, be real with me. does this not look baller?”

“you look like morticia decided to go to the grocery store to buy some wonder bread, but other than that, its a step up from your usual pussy out attitude, so sure”

“you know i decided to get some brain cells on loan from Brain Cells R Us, and ive been thinking this solomon cane stuff is solomon lame. i dont need this dumb oversized harry potter cosplay prop to get shit done. also, murder is... sorta bad? im still trying to get the brain cell stuff down.”

“i can punch just as good as goody two shoes if not better.”

“lol go do it then champ, im gonna go cut down a forest of trees now”

And so, they both just kinda... stand there.

“QUACK, NEXT SCENE, QUACK”

Meanwhile, Tsubasa is rapidly trying to rehabilitate herself from her wounds like walking like a madman, her IV drip presumably filled with Taco Bell brand Doritos Locos Tacos super spicy nacho cheese. Taco Bell: Live Mas.

“im gonna clear every fucking taco bell in your goddamned memory, kanade”

“think outside the bun! wait, what? that was a taco bell slogan? ah fuck it, im dead. what nerd’s gonna try and correct me?”

“i would, kanade. i am that nerd.”

Tsubasa is hell bent to try and understand Kanade’s simple philosophy of helping others selflessly. Unfortunately, when Kanade died, she took all the brain cells between them in the process, so coming to this epiphany is a work in progress.

“listen its a fucking miracle you are 1. alive and 2. able to have your blood run on the garbage melted plastic taco bell tries to dupe people into believing is cheese so why dont you just lie down and think of better franchises to eat from”

“no! you dont understand! taco bell is a franchise of the PEOPLE! their meals are cheap and filling and- and the chicken quesadillas are of good quality for their price! i promised kanade- my vow to the death. taco bell... ergh... now and forever... i-”

“wait. my gay senses are tingling.”

It’s Hibiki, probably running track with Miku.

“oh yeah... her... i should probably apologize to her. about trying to kill her. and then letting her almost be kidnapped. and just giving her a general hard time about something that wasn’t explained to her in the slightest for months. she’s a good bean.”

Tsubasa proceeds to never canonically apologize to Hibiki throughout the entirety of all 4 seasons of Symphogear.

Look at em run. See, it’s a metaphor, because they haven’t communicated yet and they’re running from their problems! But they’re running towards Tsubasa, who is part of the representative problem these two share! Clearly literary genius.

It’s like someone went halfway into writing an NTR plotline and went “maybe this isn’t a good idea to market our songs on.”

Hibiki is still thinking about her Hellshake Yano moment with Durandal. Mainly how she nearly killed someone with it. Hibiki is very starkly in the “killing is bad, and wrong” camp of morality, a trait currently unique to her that she’ll wind up teaching literally everyone else she meets one way or another.

Some could argue the L stands for Lydian, and they’re wrong. It stands for Lesbian.

“that was one hell of a run, hibiki! im pooped! why dont we go to the locker room and call it a day, have a nice shower and just get some dinn-”

“this is the last straw.

i clean your plates. i cook your food. we eat, shit, shower, and sleep in the same FUCKING area, and this is how you repay me? huh? you think being your wife is easy shit, hibiki? half the damn time you’re running off like clark kent having food poisoning and the other half ive gotta babysit you, the emotional equivalent of a preteen clown, to make sure your life doesn’t self destruct harder than Atlantis sinking into the ocean. im done! i am DONE. im reopening my tinder, im slamming my ass BACK into okcupid, and im gonna date some CUTE ACADEMY GIRLS that treat me BETTER than this ABSOLUTE BETRAYAL OF HEART AND IM NOT CRYING I SWEAR ITS JUST THE SWEAT IN MY EYES AND HIBIKI HOW COULD YOU-”

“oh yeah, sure! hey, lemme just do a few more laps, ive just been feeling judgmental about myself and my figure, you know? gotta push myself further...”

“o-oh yeah, sure. no worries, ill wait for you. love you too, hibiki...”

The girls bathe together, as good friends typically do.

“hey you ever notice the showers here have like, weird psuedo-luxurious minipools to bathe in? like, how rich is this school?”

“whoever made this place is either rich or a pervert. or both, probably!”

Miku remarks that Hibiki has changed since she’s entered Lydian, in a manner most unheterosexual.

“oh FUCK you really DO have washboard abs now! ohhh my god.”

“damn, those abs were heavenly. let’s get pancakes later.”

I won’t screenshot it but something to note is that they actually wear each other’s corresponding underwear colors (or even, if you want to examine more closely, each other’s underwear). Here’s an equivalent scene to give you the mental image.

This is the face of someone who knows what they want and already have it. Such is the power of Kohinata Miku.

Meanwhile, Genjuro comes back from the funeral of the guy the Americans filled violently and with impunity.

“yo that all black look looks baller. i should borrow that look... id look pretty gothy in it.”

“ryoko i sympathize with your sharp, fashionista eye but this was for a funeral, i was paying my respects to the dead. thats the usual dress code.”

“didnt know they updated that. i remember back in my day, we just went in white garments and chanted in latin!”

“shit was fire. literally. lots of funeral pyres.”

“lmao ryoko buddy your larping sessions arent actual history”

“hey dont shit on larping around me. i used to be a professional larper while i was majoring in acting. helped really sell my career when i had to pretend to slay the Dark Lord Jyarloen atop the mountain of skulls in Hargobor after my family was killed by the Dark Army. asshole.”

“haha yeah, larping, thats cool yeah, i do that

i...

i larp.”

“oh yeah? you wanna join my larping session sometime then? we’re gonna do an ancient babylon plot thats inspired by some anime, itll be fun”

“.....................................im super into realism.”

“i know im dressed for a funeral but id like to not part ways with my dignity yet. besides, we’ve got serious shit to talk about. basically, we’re on the verge of getting shitcanned.”

As it turns out, the death of this politician removed the last obstacle of opposition to maintain the 2nd Division, as the average criticism against the 2nd Division is “why are we funding this mystery division when we don’t know what they do”. Of course, the sensible idea for an organization that defeats the Noise is to declassify it, given people of different jobs and positions have physically seen the Symphogear in action, but you know. “Oh no, the other governments will come after us” stick gets shaken.

“im in a union. i know my rights. you’re not taking my acting job here away from me.”

“im not going back to be a preschool teacher. its been ten year. the bites on my ankles still havent healed...”

“yeah man, shit sucks ass. i cant fund my adoption habits if im fired.”

Look at these cinematic parallels. Symphogear truly is a franchise made by someone living in 3030.

“worst part is the new minister is super into america. he’s a... westaboo.”

“a westaboo?”

“westaboo?”

“did he just unironically say westaboo”

“he said westaboo. oh my god. this is the hell timeline.”

“i mean people kept calling me that for worshipping all these fighting flicks so i guess it fit? i dont see the problem here”

Meanwhile, in Lydian Academy...

“so it hit me, right? we’re ALL girls. and we ALL sing. now, humor me a moment. what if... what if we’ve all been recruited to potentially be superheroes... through our singing? like, there’s no coincidence that all this shit happens around us, right? and a famous singer LIVES here? i saw the black cars outside! weird shit is happening here- im not even gonna eat the all you can eat bar anymore!”

“kathy there is literally no such thing as superheroes who sing. this place is more likely to be a organ harvesting op than whatever madness you’re saying”

“what? you need me, a singing superhero, to go stop a problem happening underneath the school, a location meant to recruit young women into potentially becoming fellow crime fighting singers?”

“yeah im too busy poppin’ caps in asses so go kick ass in my place”

“sure!”

“.....................................who ya talkin to, hibiki?”

“the boss! gotta go do a thing again...”

“hibiki, i dont like the fact that capitalism is tearing us apart.”

“you’ve gotta join me in the revolution, hibiki. you. me. luxury automated gay space communism. aint it the dream? share my vision, hibiki. its glorious.”

“n... no...? no gay space communism today? well, what about tomorrow? or the next day? or... maybe the next day? baby steps, you say? but, direction action, hibiki! we’ve gotta strike now!”

“it’s okay hibiki. when i take over the world and destroy all first world government leaders, and unite the globe in my encompassing reign and love... ill make sure to spare you, and be my bride to be.”

“thanks miku. im just not ready yet for the globe to burn in an unending ball of fire as the continents fuse into a new utopia composed of our combined wills. also, ive really gotta go, its genuinely an emergency.”

“for the cause!”

“yes hibiki... for the cause...”

Admittedly, you can see the stages of grief Miku goes through when she sees Hibiki say she can’t join her for pancakes. It’s sad. This side story sucks.

Meanwhile, as it turns out, the problem Hibiki needed to resolve was checking on Tsubasa to see if she hadn’t dissolved into Taco Bell brand hot n’ spicy Tabasco sauce.

“god, cant believe taco bell was closed. now i gotta deliver these lame ass flowers”

“cant wait to get threatened again. wonder what she’ll say. ‘hibiki, i should have killed you when i had the chance.’ or ‘you’re so goddamned weak. i could break your spine with my fingernail’, or some other stuff about metaphors. oh, my stops here”

“HEY BITCH WHATS GOOD-”

“HOLY SHIT”

“you are already”

“dead.”