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hoseoksluna · 7 months ago

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SMOKE, i. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst

word count: 6.8k

summary: everything that begins also ends.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: suicide ideation, yoongi has deep feelings that he hasn't felt in a long time, sexual innuendos, yoongi has brief dirty thoughts, alcohol consumption, talks of alcohol, social anxiety and feelings of anxiety in general, jungkook has mint hair, covid and the pandemic, talking to a dead loved one, jealousy, envy, anger, crying, yoongi's bad shoulder.

note: welcome to the brand new yoongi series! i can't believe this baby is alive and ready for you to read. i struggled with this a lot, since it's written in a way i've never tried before. yoongi's pov, first person—like what? i thought this chapter was pretty shitty as i didn't feel comfortable writing in this style, but i pushed through, felt like it was meant to be—which is why i need tons of your validation. i was also kinda sad today, so please send your love. :( fyi, jungkook may be a huge part of the beginning of this story, but this is not steam pt 2. jungkook won't be present as much later on. no polyamory here. *spoiler* he just brought oc to yoongi and then he will lovingly go away, dw. :) enjoy this first chapter, i can't wait for many more! kisses.

side note: happy bday to us! mwah.

It was a bang, what happened in our group.

A bomb that blew off in Jungkookie’s trembling hands when he shared the news. A decision that wasn’t really collectively discussed, not even privately with Namjoon—but an information that erupted among us as we sat in the lounge room of the venue, refreshing ourselves with snacks and drinks after the tough soundcheck we had. I had a bottle of Hennessy in my hands myself, about to pour myself some liquid courage in order to chase away the bitter ire I had swirling in my veins, but hearing his words made me forget about the nectar right away.

He was bringing along a female friend for the tour.

The ire turned sour in my bloodstream.

He must’ve lost his mind.

And what’s worse, I was the only one who looked at him as if he were a lunatic. The members squealed and hollered, clapping their hands, shouting different variations of words of, “Jungkookie got a girlfriend!” that made him blush so profusely that he wasn’t able to reciprocate any of our eye contact.

Especially not mine.

I was fuming, taking breaths that hurt my lungs. The bottle of liquid courage damn nearly broke, but I didn’t feel a thing. How could I—when amidst the ruckus and the soft smiles of our staff my feelings parted and melted into a crossroad that I began to stand in the middle of.

One way led to selfishness, the other to the very polar opposite of it.

Jungkook didn’t deal with the pandemic well. His skin was invariably lined with a certain sensitivity towards forlornness and when the mandate forced upon him a pressure of being abandoned—by us and by his long time flirt that was the driving force behind his creativity, besides Army themselves—he didn’t take it well. Crawled inside himself, even deeper within when our management canceled our Map of the Soul tour and we had to stay bricked up inside our homes for a full year.

He was crestfallen and despondent, a decaying human. No girlfriend, no Army. No band members to slap his back, cook him food and distract his mind from the loneliness.

Except for me.

I was the one who made time for him. Who visited him, despite our management’s strong disliking for it. I went around them and did it without anyone’s knowledge but Jungkook’s. With a mask and health in perfect condition that I took care of more for him than for anyone else. Our relationship blossomed to highs that overgrew the bricked walls of our mandatory, artificial castle. A peach honeysuckle vine that we watched as much as we could while I wrote poems to him in my heart to alleviate his ache. It was spring and one, singular hummingbird would fly in to listen to my words while inhaling the sweetened perfume of those pale orange flowers or the fragrance of the natural honey I would buy him and pour over the pancakes I would make for him. A comfort food, a symbol of our secret meetings. A butterfly would sit on the small creature’s back, just to look over its wings and be a witness to a mind’s mending, an afternoon’s tea mixed with dark liquor that would always fade to noraebang.

The key to Jungkook’s heart.

I don’t know how the little fella found us, but I wish his wings would sense us here. There’s no windows for him to look out of, but the craving in me for it to fly in and save the day, remind Jungkook who’s been here for him this whole time, blossoms in me just like those peach flowers.

The castle has collapsed a tiny bit, but the honeysuckle remains untouched.

Or at least I hope so.

The other, non-selfish way is simple. Our work had been put off for so long and now that we’re able to pick it back up—in a way that isn’t as satisfactory as I’d want it to be, of course, for the only faces we’ll be seeing beyond the stage are the ones of camera lenses, not the ones belonging to our beautiful Army—there’s a distraction, an external person who could never understand the gravity of that pain we all went through.

This was supposed to be a precious time shared between us. Another mending of some sort—as our job is the chambers of our hearts.

And now as I look at her, I feel her playing with those strings of my heart like a harp. And I have that terrible feeling that she will open the doors to each chamber and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for.

In spite of the fact that she didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a gut feeling that consumes me and I can’t do a thing about it, not even admit that it gives me the tiniest hint of a thrill that I’ve been craving for so long.

Jungkook wasn’t the only one affected by the loneliness that came with the mandate. I gave my all to him and always walked out of his door empty—with no one to refill me.

Performing again was supposed to do the job, but it seems as though she’s come in to hijack it.

Announcement, the ruffling of his hair and multitudes of teasing aside, we had an hour and half left until the beginning of our first show in Seoul. Jungkook left us, with cheeks as darkened as poppies in the summer, with a staff member and our bodyguard to pick her up at a designated meeting spot nearby. He hadn’t eaten all day—not before our dismal soundcheck and certainly not during our hair and makeup session. A ribbon of worry curled tightly in my gut that unfurled once he filled his plate with hotdogs after introducing her to us.

No shaking of hands, only Jungkook’s hand pointing at each member while his mouth gave life to their names. And she didn’t nod her head, not even once, as she moved to greet and smile at every face, which caused me to think that she either already knew of us, either due to our popularity or due to Jungkook’s stories—or both.

But when it was my turn, her smile faltered.

I didn’t see much of her face, for she wore a black mask. And the only part of her features I was able to see spoke to me in a foreign language I was too pissed off to decipher.

Feline eyes.

Round and wispy, so terribly cat-like that it cut through my heartstrings she played with and then abandoned. She held my gaze so unfathomably deeply and it wasn’t until she whisked her eyes away that I realized she, irrevocably, clutched time in her hands. It had stopped during that brief moment and resumed as if nothing happened.

It unnerved me.

As did my strange feelings as I took in the personality of her outer form.

She wore a long silky dress, as black as her energy and her hair nearly akin to the length of that garment. Its hem brushed against her ankles with every movement she made and her feet were shod in a pair of heels that would puncture my heart if she so much as wished so. Over her shoulder hung a matching, leather purse and I noticed something that bruised, most peculiarly, my flesh.

The clasp of her chain strap had a chubby Grookey Pokémon caged as a keychain.

I found it as adorable as absolutely dangerous. Still do as my eyes can’t help but to watch it twirl.

She’s a dangerous black cat, with her claws tucked in. And the entire night coils in her eyes, dressing her in innocence and a simultaneous seductiveness that make my lungs swell.

A quintessence of beauty, she is.

After the introduction is over, Jungkook pulls out a chair for her beside him, sitting down and not wasting a second as he stuffs his mouth full with one of the hotdogs. The monkey bounces with her movement and it’s only now that my brain puts two and two together. The monster almost matches the minty tinge of Jungkook’s dyed hair with its plump, green body.

None of them know that I match him, too.

A leaf of the same plant swirls in my glass of whiskey.

And the notion of iciness that it adds to the bitterness of the liquid turns to ash in my mouth as I take a sip. I, myself, sit on the armrest on the couch, alone—but not alone physically. Hobi rests, leisurely, next to me and she’s stolen glances at him more times than I like. Looked at him while completely avoiding the ring of protectiveness I’ve conjured around myself.

She does good, but it spreads fire to the strangeness of my feelings that I can’t name.

Is she throwing a rope around another one of the boys? Her claws itching to rise?

Who’s next?

I sigh as she laughs, softly, at something Namjoon says and it deepens my ire. Namjoon should’ve made order as the leader of our group. Should’ve said no to Jungkook at the unfolding of his news and keep the number of our group to seven. Especially when our time together is this precious.

Not chatting her up and coaxing that wonderful sound out of her.

“Can we get you anything to drink?” Namjoon asks, waving his hand in the direction of the alcohol station out far in the left corner of the lounge room. A mint plant mocks me as my eyes flick to it while I take another sip. The reason why it’s there in the first place is because Jimin likes his mojitos.

He sips on it like it’s a Capri-Sun as I swallow the dark liquid after swirling it in my mouth for a moment, the bitterness doing nothing to stifle my ire.

“No,” she says, feebly, brushing her fingers down the length of her ebony hair before tossing it over her shoulder, giving me a perfect look of one singular strand that has been dyed in the same pale green color that is suffused all though Jungkook’s hair. The shade, but darker, more sinister, imbues my blood with envy. It’s not that soft color, redolent of spring meadows, by any chance. It’s an ancient, vague memory of a forest once in full bloom that is now withering and dying at dusk. How long has he been seeing her that they reached this base? “I don’t drink hard liquor, but thank you.”

Namjoon licks his lips, spreading his arms over the two empty chairs beside him. “Ah,” he laments, smiling at her, gently. “You don’t drink at all?”

Jungkook lifts his head from his plate, laughing through his nose as he chews his food, his mouth forming into that bunny smile of his. He knows something I don’t and my green blood boils.

The cat girl grins, her head twisted in Jungkook’s direction when she laughs, the skin under her chin rounding out, and my chest tightens in endearment at the sight of it.

The cutest fucking double chin I ever have the eyes to see.

Fuck.

“Oh, she drinks,” Jungkook says, his words muffled due to his full cheeks, the food inside showing as he continues to be all smiles.

The cat girl pinches his arm, but owing to the thick fluffiness of his jumper, she doesn't reach skin, and therefore doesn't inflict the pain she intended. Jungkook pretends to moan in pain, anyway. My chest tightens again—this time for a beat longer.

An oddity flies through my vision, slicing through my envy.

Her claws sinking into my bare skin as I let her playfulness out—

I shake that picture out of my head as quickly as it arrives, running my fingers through my strands that had fallen in front of my eyes. The girl helps my effort by speaking, distracting me from the faint rush of lust that begins to course down my body.

I can’t get hard.

“Yeah, I only drink wine,” she reveals, coyness entwining around her tone, and she kneads her hands, struggling with her straight posture.

Another distraction, one that softens, most peculiarly, my lust.

If I were born with deaf ears, I would’ve known she was fighting through her shyness by one glance at her body language and I don’t blame her.

She doesn’t have only seven pairs of eyes watching her. She’s the apple of fifteen more if I include our staff, sound engineers and our management.

If I weren’t the person I was and if this wasn’t my job, I would have run the first chance I got. A certain admiration envelops my heart the more I study her toy with her fingers, soothingly, because of a reason that aches to admit.

A reason far from plain.

She’s the same as me. Uncomfortable by and disliking any public event with people involved, especially if you’re put in a position to talk.

A bond forms and I can’t stop it. I can’t rip it apart even as I willfully try in my headspace to cut off that red string tied around my heart, leading to hers. I can’t because she eventually slouches, giving up, her spine protruding towards me through the open back of her dress, for she’s turned her body towards Namjoon, who sits at the head of the table, but I figure she did it in order to be closer to Jungkook to gain some comfort from him. The skin of her back is refulgent and tanned, scattered with little blemishes that connect, like constellations, to a night sky full of birthmarks, and that only add to her beauty.

Her whole back is filled with them, stirring my wonder. And, unknowingly, she let me see by sweeping her hair to one side. I wonder if Jungkook has seen them and appreciates them as much as I do—

Jungkook burps, obscenely loudly, setting down Hobi’s unfinished can of Sprite that he left on the table. I’m sure Hobi’s regretting making that mistake, but when I look at him, he’s smiling so widely that I can see his gums and I’m so astounded by that view that I’m thrown off my balance.

Even more so, when I check the reactions of the other members and begin to feel shame descending down my own spine like cold sweat. Jimin has hearts thumping in his eyes, raising his hand in the girl cat’s direction, connecting with her as he says he loves a good bubbly. Taehyung, sitting on the direct opposite side of Jungkook by the table with his arms crossed and his face flushed intones that tonight after the show he will break his sobriety streak. Jin joins the table and flicks Taehyung’s forehead, tells him he doesn’t have to break anything while taking a huge bite of his banana. And Namjoon… he laughs, hands intertwined upon the back of his head.

The whole table laughs, in fact.

Hobi does beside me, too.

I’m the only one who doesn’t, steeped in my uncertainty as I am.

They all bask in comfort and gaiety. There’s no awkwardness, no unspoken words or silence that hangs heavily in the air. There’s no need for our hummingbird; no need to change directions, play pretend or act accordingly to the new situation because there’s absolutely nothing new about the atmosphere I find myself to be in. Everything is as if it were just the seven of us.

Making jokes, lighthearted energy, connections lengthening and digging deep…

I haven’t seen that, been a part of that in so long.

I was wrong—and the shame, stemming from my wrong impression and unwarranted fear, washes out the envy from my blood. It stands, arm to arm, with my life-long emptiness and I bow my head down, licking my lips.

I wish to exit myself out of this room.

I wish my heart wasn’t so sensitive.

I wish—

“It’s her birthday today and I bought so many bottles of champagne and wine,” Jungkook says, running his tongue over his teeth, and my head lifts; my heart enlarges before it shrinks, painfully, magnifying my shame until it grazes the flesh like a shard. It’s her birthday? “I’ll need your help, guys. We’re not celebrating here tonight. After the show, we’re going to my place.”

It’s not peach honeysuckle that I’m thinking of. Not pancakes. Not our hummingbird and butterfly as the boys cheer all over again, wishing her happy birthday.

It’s her that I’m thinking of.

And how much I messed up.

He brought her here to make her birthday special—to be with her on the day that carries her name, not to replace me.

It explains why she’s so magnificently dressed up; why she’s putting her feet through so much pain in those heels of hers.

Just for one night. And I’ve managed to ruin it so majestically with my energy. No wonder she won’t look at me; no wonder her eyes won’t even sweep past me en route to Hobi’s chocolate fountain that his eyes emanate.

Mine are nothing but death. I don’t blame the decline of her smile as her pools met it. A kitty cat that looked at the face of a skull. It symbolized the end of time and now I perceive that it epitomizes the end of me.

The longer she’s present, the more I loosen the consuming negativity that I’ve lived for so long in compliance with—because now I’m soft.

I’m gutted I made her feel awful to be here with my dark energy.

“Jungkook, you should’ve told us that was the reason why you brought her along. We would have welcomed you with a happy birthday song,” Namjoon says, his palm lifted towards Jungkook and her while his other hand reminds behind his head.

I can’t see her smile. Not even a hint of it in her eyes, for this time around she doesn’t turn around to steal a glance at Hobi. And I wish she would, with a strength that I’m in awe that I’m even possessing, because I find myself yearning to look at her face, amidst my softness.

I misjudged her so terribly that the yearning doubles as she presses her hands against her cheeks amidst the overbearing attention. Becomes a need—a need to fix what I so unfairly have broken.

And jealousy thunderstrikes in my system when Jungkook bumps his shoulder into hers, gently, his head tipped low, fixed in her direction as she struggles, once again, in her shyness. Straightens her spine just in time for Jungkook to curl a finger around her ear and take off her black mask.

I’m so jealous everyone else gets to see her face fully that indignation supersedes my past ire and my softness and I’m quickly up on my feet, ready to walk out to breathe in some fresh air but something else steps into my plan.

And it’s not her.

It could never be her.

Staffs members circle around us, guiding us out of the room to wire us up. But I stall my time, purposefully staying behind so I can look at her. I pretend to exercise my pain from my shoulder surgery by rolling it and making a face. Jungkook whispers something to her, her face pointed upwards as he stands before her while she remains sitting and I’m so bothered by it that it calls out the pain, incites it to come haunt me again.

Everyone else had something to say to her—and yet I still haven’t, owing to my foolish mistake. Self-hatred fastens to my anger and I can’t breathe, my lack of knowing what to say to her when the time comes worsening my feelings.

The boys leave the room and it’s just me and her. The staff member knows not to push me, but the pressure in her eyes is the driving force that takes my legs to the kitty girl.

She sits so awfully forlornly in her chair, reminds me so much of Jungkook, her spine back to slouching, that marvelous pillar protruding again and my lungs do that thing they seem to automatically do whenever I see that part of her.

She hears my footfalls as I approach her, but she doesn’t turn around. I ignore the way it makes me feel, the heaviness that comes with it, too. She, in most probability, thinks I’m walking out of this room without saying a word to her, but I’m not capable of that.

Not anymore.

I call out her name and, in surprise, she lifts her spine. Turns around, at last, the sleek fabric of the dress adding swiftness to the movement and I see her face. Her full mouth that compliments, most perfectly, her big feline eyes. And I think about how much her dark, sensual energy doesn’t mirror her personality, her coyness that hides inside until someone speaks to her. Her chin is so small that my fist would still be empty if I held it in the way my body asks for, but the look she gives me diminishes the lust that slowly begins to crawl again within me.

It’s one that bears a different kind of shyness. It’s fear-induced respect and the hatred towards myself thickens.

I don’t want her to feel this way, but I molded it in her.

It’s my fault.

It’s why I think twice before I tell my fingers no, for they ache to drum against the top edge of her chair in effort to linger in her proximity. I won’t encourage her discomfort when I yearn to wipe it clean. But when she inhales my prolonged silence and raises her thin brows in waiting, the tiniest sliver of a smile quivering on her lips, she doesn’t know it—but she somehow gives me the words I was lacking.

“Did Jungkook tell you where to go?” I ask, softly, fearing her knees will turn away from me, her body language divulging to me the depth of her uneasiness around me. But she remains put, the pillows of her lips balancing at last as they stretch out in a small grin that I don’t deserve.

Her slender nose crinkles.

My heart forgets to beat.

“No, he told me to wait here and that Min-ji will take me to a room where I can watch you, guys, perform on the TV,” she says, her grin making it difficult for her to get the words out and she blushes. There must be some other, silent language shared between our bodies because I discover myself smiling, too, even though there’s nothing from her sentence that can possibly be the cause of it.

The energy shifts, devastatingly, and heat clings to my skin, dispersing relief down my nerve endings.

All while buzzing tingles chase it, hastily, grabbing it by the back of its shirt and consuming it.

It’s strange, so terribly strange to be consumed by nervousness when I’ve been used to nothingness and emptiness for so long.

And her eyes seem to grow bigger, despite the irrepressible dynamism of her fear. Is she gaining thrill out of it—to be staring at the face of breaking death like the small kitten she is and knowing it’s her power that influences me?

Those eyes. If my ears weren’t bombarded by Hobi’s sound effects wafting down the hall and into the lounge room, mingling with the rise and fall of Jungkook’s voice as he warms it up, I swear I can hear the song of swallows in them. She’s a manifestation of a summer evening in her fear and nervousness, when those birds go mad in the tender blues and pinks of the sky—and I don’t know why I like it so much. Why I want to seize it in my hand and squeeze it.

And she’s about to be all alone here with it while I go join the rest of my brothers.

It’s something that doesn’t feel right.

The staff member taps me on my back. Time is against me—why doesn’t she control it? I swivel behind me to catch her nodding her chin in the direction of the hall and I sigh, quietly.

“Wait with her until Min-ji comes to get her, so she’s not alone here,” I tell her, then look down at the kitty girl again.

Her raised brows create wrinkles on her forehead and once she sees that I’ve noticed, she relaxes, wetting her lips. Doesn't want me to see the surprise that comes from what she created in me.

How cute.

“Enjoy the show,” I murmur, moving my feet towards the exit. I gaze back at her, catch her lungs shuddering, and the words slip off my tongue before I scramble the courage to stop them. “And happy birthday.”

Her blush reaches her neck and it’s all my vision consists of—even when I’m performing.

Our interaction was too short. Too, too short. And my anger took on a new face.��

Hers.

Every word I rapped as I stared into the camera, I felt it dissolving in me and transforming into a yearning so great that my verses gained new meaning. A yearning to see her again, talk to her, pinch that fear in my fingers and fling it away, make space for something in her that had the vigor to surprise me and make me soft again. And in my concentration, I didn’t have the fight in me to put a stop to it. I was doing my duty for the happiness of our Army and while I thought about her, it seemed right. Those two things went along and it spurred a pleasant feeling in me that was warmer than the adrenaline sticking to my inflamed body from all the performing.

It didn’t hit me that she was watching me the whole time until my eyes regarded her unperturbed, flaccid posture in that white plastic chair, wading in my thoughts as I was. Her grin and the flecks of light in her eyes illuminate the room with orange, blazing fire. She’s barefoot, her heels kicked to the side, crooked, elegiac, yet still sensuous. Our show is being rerun on the TV and she’s watching it, transfixed, not realizing me and Jungkook were the first to come to her out of the group.

A mental connection clicks in my brain at the sight of it. The peach blossoms of the honeysuckle, Jungkook and the genuine love I carry for him. It is that orange color—it’s a home that keeps it safe, the atmosphere that she exudes through her evident elation and I don’t really understand why I feel this way.

I haven’t even known her for a day.

And it’s forced to collapse when her pools don’t find mine, but Jungkook’s once we walk in, joining her. She holds up her hand in the air, curling down her middle and ring fingers in while the rest of her digits remain erect, small and slim as they are. Her nose crunches up in the way it did when our bodies spoke in that secret language. And when she laughs and the corners of her eyes crinkle, I realize she’s mimicking his gesture that he so often does on stage while showing off his Army tattoo.

The finger-fucking gesture.

Her blush beams on her face, even more so when she does a stroking movement with her curled fingers, and I can’t help but wonder, briefly, if that’s how she does it to herself when she’s all alone and the night sinks inside her skin to get a refill of her juices, only to smear it across the sky.

It’s what I need to focus on, so I don’t explode in anger that she ignores me.

Jungkook cackles, sticking out his tongue and doing the gesture. I hide my face in my towel, getting rid of the sweat coating me—but it pours out of my pores again when I hear her giggle.

And I need to leave, my imagination no longer strong enough to withstand the jealousy that poisons my blood all over again.

I fling the towel out and away from me, not caring where it lands.

I don’t meet any eyes as I walk out, keeping my sight fixed on the gray floor, streaked with black lines from the hundreds of wheels of carts that have drove down the hall and from all the sneakers that have walked past. I follow them and I don’t know where they take me until I’m suddenly face to face with the gaping night.

And it’s not her.

It’s my wound.

No stars for a naked pupil to see. Merely an abounding canvas of blackness that stares back at me and questions me, questions my feelings when it knows full well how hard I’ve wept, many times, in its airy embrace.

I sit against the wall, needing something solid to support me, the spaciousness of the roof enveloping me, but not tightly enough. There, but never close enough—always a safe distance apart, as if afraid of me.

Everyone is so always fucking afraid of me.

And when they lean in and graze my heart, they get repulsed by me.

It’s an ouroboros that my life, like my legs, follows. Like a dog chasing its own tail—and it’s such a perfect comparison because I’ve always been alone, save for my brothers. Distracted for a while, then alone again.

I’m weary of it, despite the fact my body tends to wait for the thrill of the attention, longs for it, even when I dislike it. I’m an oxymoron that won’t cease and I have to live with it.

And I can’t exit out of it because I have millions of lives that depend on me, plus six more.

I sigh and I think sucking on a cigarette, numbly, while I crawl on my knees through the forest of my thoughts and feelings would be a thing of perfection. But I can’t afford that. Not when we’re working again. Not when our boss lurks at every corner, has eyes everywhere. Jungkook has had his last hotdog for a while and I…

I swathed my broken strings around someone he brought into my life.

Through a little hole my brothers let me see by forcing her to sit through a conversation that was a pain for her. A moonlight stripe of her personality, encased by her social anxiety and shyness. One that has awakened my body to emotions it hasn’t felt the touch of in a long time.

Why am I not fighting it?

Why am I not coercing my soul into submission, into that abyss of emptiness and hostility?

Why am I letting myself feel?

She’s just a girl that he’s seeing. Many stories like these have been written before and we’ve read the lines, recognized words that limned us, only for the love interest to disappear into thin air after some time like she never existed. And she’d just be another character in his love chronicles, if her persona hadn’t spoken to me so much.

If her body hadn’t spoken to me in a language no one knows—not even me.

I can’t begin my sentences about her with ‘she’s just a girl’, because she isn’t.

And I don’t understand how that’s come to be.

It happened so quickly that I fear I wasn’t present enough.

My wound tilts its head as my world does the same thing—slants on its axis. Coos at me, seeing me, seeing through me. Reminds me of what happened the last time I felt.

The passing of my girlfriend gave me the gift of a gun to my hand—gave me the face of death that I’ve been carrying ever since because it nearly made my dream of time ending come true. And the kitty girl… standstill hangs off her fingers like a pearl necklace that’s too long. And I find myself wanting to wear it. Because it’s her decision, her consciousness, her will.

Not mine.

And it will bring me closer to my Sun-mi.

My wound begins to cry at the memory of her, raindrops pitter-pattering on the tin ridges of the rooftop and I cherish that she’s remembered and honored by such vastness, by such picturesqueness that I’ve always considered the night to be. And when the wind brushes along my fidgeting hands, I almost feel her touch all over again.

Feel.

I feel.

And in my heart, I tell her. I sail to her, attaching myself to her again. Tell my Sun-mi that I am capable of feeling and that I don’t know how it came together in me. And I ask her, in utmost respect, to guide me on this unknown path.

Because I am alone without her. Adrift, without rhyme and reason. No wits to me, no rationality, no clear perception of right and wrong.

There’s only grayness to me.

Maybe that’s why I, unknowingly, dyed my hair this color before the start of the tour.

And it dawns on me, now that one chapter has closed in my life, that the passing of my Sun-mi a year and a half ago is the reason why I’ve clung to Jungkook so rigidly. Because I couldn’t spend my time on her, I spent it on Jungkook. Because I had all this love for her and I couldn’t give it to her, so I gave it to Jungkook.

And the kitty girl has put a stop to it.

Sun-mi graces me with the tepid, yet fuzzy impression that it’s good—that it was meant to happen. And I believe her.

And with my belief, the rain thickens.

A thunder rolls forward from a far-away corner of the canvas of the sky that I can’t see. And I dwell in the pool of the fountain of the love I still have for her and forever will continue to have. Kneel in it. Search for her.

I imagine her. The button of her nose, the curl of her top lip whenever we ridiculed aegyo by doing it together and doing a good fucking job while at it. I imagine her small fist at her round cheek, but she connects my memories to the kitty girl.

And she consumes me, wholly.

Sun-mi makes me imagine her doing a cat-like aegyo and as the corner of my mouth lifts, a particular fear devours my gut.

A fear of closeness.

A fear of doing something with her that I did with Sun-mi, even when she okays it in my spirit.

A fear of reliving something so painful again.

The rain inches towards me and I scurry to my feet, my hand trembling as I open the door to the staircase. And when I shut out the sound of hard rainfall and prevent the traumatic memories of my accident from slinking into my mind, it’s the only strength I have left.

And I crumble.

I mirror the rain I abhor so much.

I sit on the top of the staircase and I sear my hands with my acid-suffused tears. Sob so devastatingly that I don’t recognize myself, drenching the denim fabric over my knees. And when I pull on my hair, numbness is all that I detect within me.

Good.

No feelings; only emptiness.

I steel myself by taking a few deep breaths, letting the oxygen settle that deep in me. And I unattach myself from my Sun-mi, promise her I will get back to her soon. Go back to who I previously was before I scraped the skin of my knees raw on the hardened soil of my emotions and thoughts.

Alone death.

But Sun-mi doesn’t sail away back to heaven. Doesn’t let me go. She stomps her foot on the wet grass of my heart and I understand why. I asked her to guide me and what I didn’t know was that she would break the laws of heaven in order to do that. She wouldn’t whisper words of wisdom into the chambers of my heart. She would take my hand and show me wisdom, pointing me to the right decision.

That is my Sun-mi.

I let her because I need her. I bow to her and I would stoop to my stomach on this dirty, metal staircase floor to divulge my respect and gratitude to her if I didn’t hear a voice echoing up towards me.

A familiar male voice calling out to me.

Sun-mi pulls me to it and tingles vibrate down my legs as I fly through the stairs, skipping the bottom ones in order to get me faster to my brother. Sun-mi pumps blood into my heart, refreshing the grass she lays upon, and lightness descends upon my shoulders.

Her work of art.

Heaving, I meet Jungkook in the doorframe, glancing up at me, disappointment lidding his eyes. But I don’t fear, not when Sun-mi is with me. He opens the door wider for me to step through, but I remain fixed on my spot, panting, ringing piercing through my hearing sense.

Too much adrenaline at once in a season of drought. My body is unable to catch up to the new acclimatization.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my throat raw from my crying and I clear it, so there’s no evidence of my sensitivity. Sun-mi caresses the wall of my heart to soothe me and tears burn at the back of my eyes—from the simple fact that I can feel her.

I’ve felt her only once before. A week after she died, I prayed to her, loudly, until I lost my voice. Begged her to come back to me.

And she did.

And it felt nice until it didn’t—so I made it my habit to attach and unattach myself because of my fragility. It is only a matter of time before the logic of your mind distinguishes a real person from a ghost. And the parting of that vulnerable mist, in the middle of your agony, isn’t for the faint-hearted.

But Sun-mi, at this very moment, feels more real than she ever has. As if she truly was hidden in the rooms of my heart like a little doll, like a little angel that has the task from above to guide me.

And because I need it, I’ll let more time pass through this transcendental connection.

Jungkook flattens his lips, tightly, the tip of his tongue poking out to play with the thin metal pierced through his bottom lip. He’s changed back into the clothes he came in, minus the fluffy jacket. A black T-shirt, black pants and sneakers. It makes the green of his hair stand out—just like the wisp of the same color on that singular strand of the girl kitty’s hair.

They have a tendency to match and shame boils in me, that Sun-mi is a witness to the jealousy I feel. I haven’t told her and I don’t know if I want to. In my momentary cowardice, I hope that she can sense it and validate it.

But I gain nothing from her.

Silence.

One that Jungkook breaks.

“Staff said that we have to wait until the storm passes.”

My stomach sinks, the memory of the rainfall faint in my ears. “Good.”

Jungkook pauses before he voices out the question that I can visibly see rising in him. Nibbles his bottom lip, the metal tilting to the side like my world. “Where did you go?”

My breath shivers as I inhale, tasting my half-false words before I speak them. “I felt hot and I needed some fresh air.”

I felt jealous that you made dirty innuendos with your friend, I don’t say. It led me to seek my dead girlfriend because I feel inclined to fraternize with that aforementioned friend.

Jungkook frowns. “You went out in the rain?”

I pass through the gap between his body and the doorframe, not able to stand the position I’ve been put in, anxiety prickling my fingertips. Jungkook lets the door shut behind him with a loud thud, following closely behind me until he falls in step beside me.

“It felt refreshing until it didn’t,” I decide to mutter. Typical words of mine—I can’t stand them either.

Sun-mi is still silent.

Maybe I should unattach myself, protect myself from further pain. It was a moment of weakness, anyways—

Jungkook rubs my shoulder, gently, the fixed one, barely touching me, but the gesture is there. And I grasp why I love him so much.

His gentleness is everything to me.

“The rain will stop,” he says and I take those words to heart, giving them the meaning that they are the wisdom I needed to hear, the wisdom I sought from my quiet Sun-mi.

The rain will stop.

The sensitivity will stop, too.

And time will stop soon, one day.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff.

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moscnios · 10 months ago

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★ the new intern portgas d. ace, my beloved.

cw: nsfw. f!reader. afab!reader. ace is from the south idk. takes place in the states for some reason again idk. i was just writing lmaoo. reader wears a skirt. not proofread. hear me out. MINORS DNI.

── intern!ace who has recently started his internship at your company you have only been at for almost a year. mentoring him is somehow pushed onto you despite any of your colleagues being here longer than you and having much more experience in mentoring. you’ve never done this before. you try your absolute damnedest to get out of it but no one seems interested in relieving you of the responsibility. so best of luck to you

── intern!ace who is unlike anything you’ve seen before. why would a rowdy man start an internship at an office where he’d just be behind his desk or in meetings all day?

── intern!ace who never went anywhere without that distractingly bright orange hat.

── intern!ace who has a southern drawl about him, you aren’t surprised to learn he comes from somewhere down south. he has a special way of speaking that you, born and raised up north, struggled with understanding his creative idioms.

── intern!ace who you could always hear before you could see whether it was his loud mouth or the loud clicking of those ostrich skin square toe boots he was so proud of covered by his long trousers. they were louder than your heels.

── intern!ace who has a load of questions and is at your office door every five minutes. you’ve even started to recognize him by his knock. he always greeted you with a wooden toothpick between his plump lips.

── intern!ace who is a very respectful man who cares a lot about honorifics. that’s how he was raised. you are his mentor, his senior. he can’t just call you by your name. what kind of man would he be? you have become, miss.

── intern!ace who is very friendly, very touchy, but sweet as candy. you chalked it up to southern hospitality that you have yet to experience. when you’re explaining something, he stands extra close, he’s almost touching you. when you’re coming in, he jogs in front of you to hold open the door. when you fix the problem he has, he compliments you. he always looks so amazed when in just a few clicks everything is fixed. you’re like his superhero.

── intern!ace who has made it a habit to eat with you. or wait to take his lunch until you’re done. you’re like his only friend in the office and he likes eating with you.

── intern!ace who gets onto you about forgetting your lunch and eating fast food all the time. a woman like you deserves a homecooked meal he’s made it a habit to bring you an extra lunch. he does it so much, he’s even got you your own lunchbox that’s your favorite color.

── intern!ace who doesn’t leave the office until you leave. he could be done for hours but he still wants to walk you to your car to make sure you get there safely. plus what if you get lonely being the only one in the office?

── intern!ace who worries that you overwork yourself only to never be recognized. he’s only been here a month and a half and he’s already noticed it. he is always ready to remind you that you’re too good for this job and that they don’t deserve you or your time.

── intern!ace who looks a little different. dressed in a tight white button-down that looked like he was going to pop out of any second. were his arms always that big? was his chest always that broad? what did he look like without the shirt on? was he hiding more freckles under there?

── intern!ace who isn’t a fool. he may have been born at night but it damn sure wasn’t last night. he sees how you’re eyeballing him, undressing him with your eyes. he’s flattered. he’s always thought you were a beauty too, pretty as a peach, hotter than a fire in july.

── intern!ace who once again doesn’t leave with everyone else, he stays to keep you company. though this time he is bold enough to stay with you in your office until you’re ready to go. he’s distracting you with his presence alone. how are you supposed to finish when he’s sitting there with the top buttons of his shirt undone because it’s a little warm in here? he sprawled out on the chair, his legs open and his hat resting over his face because he wanted to 'rest his eyes'. you never noticed how built he was…how nice and lonely his lap looked. maybe it was kinda warm in here.

── intern!ace who hears you shuffle in your seat and hears you call out to him. he sits back up, taking his hat off of your face. you ask for his help, something you’ve never done before. he’s honored. he steps behind your desk to see the problem, to see exactly what you’re stuck on. it’s something simple, something you’ve helped him with before. why were you struggling now? maybe you wanted to test his knowledge, maybe you wanted to have him closer.

── intern!ace who stands behind your chair, reaching over the side of you to grab the mouse while his other strong hand rests on the back of your chair. you take on his warm, heavenly scent. it was intoxicating, you could hardly focus, and you hadn't heard a word he uttered.

── intern!ace who must come even closer, to actually finish your report so he can use the keyboard. he is particularly towering over you as he types so slowly. the tension in the room was so high. you cross your legs making your skirt ride up your thighs a little. with your eyes stuck on your monitor, you fail to watch him bite down on his lip.

── intern!ace who steps back to let you send your report to the boss before spinning your chair around to face him. there is one more work-related question he needs to ask you before you go home for the night.

── intern!ace who is a liar. it’s not work-related at all. he just wanted to be dramatic.

── “can i kiss you? i’ve been wanting to for a while now. it’s been killing me not to”

── intern!ace who barely lets the word yes fade into the air before he’s captured your lips on his in a passionate kiss. he kissed you like a desperate man, like a man who has waited god knows how long.

── intern!ace whose hands fiddle with your top, unbuttoning it just enough to reveal your bra and remove the tie you wore to work today.

── “i love me a businesswoman in a tie. you’re the boss here tonight, miss”

── intern!ace who wants you to take the reins, to take charge, to take what you want from him tonight. anything you wanted you could have.

── intern!ace who followed your every command with “yes ma’am” that sent shivers down your spine.

── intern!ace who finds his face place to be is in between your legs, with your tie tied tightly around his wrists behind his back. your fingers locked into his hair as you pushed him as far as he could go into your sopping wet cunt that has already drenched the lower half of his face.

── “like this, miss?”

── intern!ace with a praise kink. he loves hearing you tell him how good he’s treating you. looking up at you through hooded eyes as he waits for your praise. it sends chills down his spine and makes his cock twitch and leak in his pants.

── intern!ace who doesn’t know how you got even hotter with his hat on top of your head, your face contorted in pleasure, your shirt unbuttoned and your little skirt pulled up to your waist. it was a picture that was never going to leave his mind. from now on, you had to wear his hat more often.

── intern!ace who has an oral fixation. he’s attached his plump lips to your throbbing bundle of nerves yet again like a starved man with his eyes closed in delight. he moaned and hummed against you. he loved how your body trembled underneath his tongue as you came for him yet again. he lapped up all of your juices without fail like you were his favorite meal.

── intern!ace who whines when you pull him off your cunt.

── intern!ace who loves it when you take ownership over him. he’s your intern. he's your boy. he’s your baby, only yours and he’ll do whatever it takes to please you. he wants to hear you say it. he needs to hear you say it when he’s got you over your desk, balls deep into your pussy, fucking you like he’s in heat as you hold onto your tie that’s wrapped around his neck. say he’s your baby when he’s fucking this rough, this deep. say you own all of him, as his balls slap against your tight, creamy cunt.

── intern!ace who only cums after you because your pleasure is first. he only cums when you tell him to. he needs to kiss you when he does, emptying his load deep into your pussy, something he wasn’t supposed to do. he lets you pull on the tie one more time for good measure since he couldn’t behave.

── intern!ace whose oral fixation comes back to bite you in the ass when he’s already back on his knees to lap up all of his cum out of your sensitive cunt.

MANGEKYOU 2024 ── do not copy, repost, or translate my works onto this platform or any other !

#☆ — MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE.#my app started messing up while i was writing this….they don’t want yall to see this #CRAZY #being silenced for being *****#one piece #one piece x reader #portgas d ace #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #ace oneshots #ace scenarios #ace imagines #ace headcanons #ace smut #one piece oneshots #one piece scenarios #one piece imagines #one piece headcanons #one piece smut

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wxxpingangxls · 5 months ago

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Peaches and Cream

+sypnosis; struggling on ideas for you new best seller, 'Poison', you use inspiriation from your new found relationship

+content/warnings; no explicit description of reader as usual anyone can read, fluff, making out, grinding, begging, teasing, Eren is pretty straight forward, lowercase intended

+pairings; Eren x HyperfemBlackReader

+a/n; this was requested from a very beautiful mind, tysm @0zero0-0

walking along the fields, you closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath. you silently took in the scenery of the forest, sunshine peeking through the towering trees almost as if they were playing hide and seek. the birds sweet tunes filled your eyes, whilst you hummed a song that had been stuck in your head. in reality, you were meant to be working on a book of yours. it was supposed to be the new best seller. “poison” was the name. you internally hated yourself for taking this direction in life, for taking the initiative to pursue your passion in writing.

“poison” was a dark novel about how quickly love can spread; you can either over come it and glow or it’ll be the death of you. not literally of course.

you figured walking out during the warm evening would clear your mind, however even the sounds of nature weren’t enough to gift you even seconds of mental silence. your mind truly was your worst enemy. you tentatively continued to embark this adventure to further increase your creativity. You hoped so hard that you would get some sort of inspiration. You stopped, momentarily to stare at the beautiful hydrengas surrounding the nearby field. 'oh wow' you thought to yourself, before reaching over to feel the flowers.

“careful there, princess,” you jumped upon hearing a voice behind you. you hadn’t for a moment stopped to think that someone was trailing behind you. you turned around with a dry throat to face the voice. a familiar face stared back expectantly. “eren?” his long dark hair was cascading down his face and his green eyes were brighter than ever. he was smiling cheekily whilst watching your startled expression. “hey stranger, it’s been a while…”

“yeah…it’s been a while,” you giggled softly.

“some might say too long, how’ve you been?” he chuckled, walking closer towards you.

“far too long, and i’m great,”

“yeah, i’ve seen. you’ve got another book on the way,”

“hm yeah, just came out here for inspiration…” you spoke thoughtfully.

the pink maxi skirt you were wearing flowed in the wind as you both stood there in silence.

you hadn’t known how, but by some miracle, that inspiration you needed so badly was now flowing through your mind. you suddenly felt so much more confident in your own writing. as you were getting to the climax of your novella, you remembered Eren and your history.

you too weren’t close but there had always been a thick tension in the room. there was an unspoken sense of silent admiration on his side. he’d always felt magnetised to your bright pink spirit. he loved the way you waltzed into every room, hair and nails always done. signature colors of pink, white and purple always adorned you sweet - smelling, soft skin. not to mention your lips were always glossed up and soaked in a pout. it was no surprise that you hadn’t change— why would you? you wore these colors so beautifully. which is why he was at your door with a bouquet of pink roses and purple lilies.

a single door bell startled you and you jumped straight out of your day dream. you tentatively creeped downstairs towards the front door before slowly but carefully removing the curtain to reveal who was standing on the other side of the door.

Eren stood sheepishly, his long dark hair yet again . this time he stood with a crowd of flowers. he had an affliction t-shirt with a white long sleeve underneath. you could see his dc x slayer shoes peeking under through his baggy trousers .

“eren?” you whispered loud enough for him to hear.

“hey beautiful…” he watched as you beamed up at him. your pink silk robe was opening slightly to reveal your cleavage. a matching satin hair band was tied on your hairline to create a cute bow at the top. your smile widened as you saw his gift that he bought.

“oh, i bought this to congratulate you on your book,” he handed the flowers towards you.

“oh thank you eren! please, come inside,” you held a hand on your heart and the other was holding the assortment.

eren sat patiently as you went to put the beautiful plants in water. “so, how’s the book coming along?”

“it’s going…ok, i just need something for the romance part of the book,”

“romance …huh, i didn’t take you for the romance type,” his hand slowly inches towards your face. at this point, your hand rested on his thigh and his layed on your cheek.

“i want you so bad y/n,” you whispered into your ear.

“huh…?” you stumbled on your words.

“if you can huh then you can hear,”

eren watched as your expression changed from thoughtful to bashful. “just tell me…you want me back, please,” his hand slowly stroked against your throat.

“i…”

“you?”

“please, i want you,”

erens mouth found home on yours, his tongue clashing with yours. drool and spit was swapped as the two of you pushed deeper into the kiss. his hand found purchase on your neck whilst yours were placed at the back of his head.

finally breaking the kiss, you looked over to him, eyes bright. “God you’re so hot,”

you just giggled shyly, before squealing as he pulled you on top of him, your crotches directly on top of each other. before you could whine out from the pressure on your cunt, his tongue was shoved down your throat again. he watched as you whimpered into his mouth, both of your hips grinding desperately against each other. deciding to take initiative, your hand goes to his throat and squeezes slightly.

“oh fuck…” you both groaned in unison. your hips never once faltered. you could feel his hard cock twitch under the material of his jeans and your own cunt leaking all over his pants.

you could feel it coming to close. and you could tell he did too. his hands grabbed the fat of your hips almost painfully tight, and his head was thrown back in pleasure. your hips just started to move faster and faster, you could feel your high coming closer and you couldn’t let it go. eren watched as your eyes filled with excitement, his own filling with ecstasy.

sweat formed on both of your foreheads as you pushed harder to strive for your final high.

“mphm…” you groaned out as your cunt pulsed around nothing, cumming all over his trousers, making a mess of yourself. eren was no better, his own pants soiled , so much so, that you could feel his sticky cum attaching itself to your thighs and your labia.

panting out, he let out a satisfied sigh. the sweetness of your cunt wafted into his nose as you moaned out. you were still twitching from your intense high. anyone could hear the loud squelching of both of your privates still grinding against one another.

finally, you lay down on his chest, your face on the crook of his neck. his hand stayed playing with your left butt cheek while another was in your hair.

“what do you say we go for another…” he suggested.

just as you were about to open your mouth to reply, a familiar loud voice stood outside your door, impatient and angry. you both sat up immediately shocked. eren watched as a guilty expression replaced your pleasured one from earlier.

#aot x black y/n #aot oneshots #aot x black reader #aot x reader #eren aot #aot smut #eren x black y/n #eren jeager x black reader #eren jeager smut #eren x black reader #eren jeager x reader #eren smut #eren x reader #eren x you

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blakbonnet · 6 months ago

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AUTHOR OF THE WEEK: @adhduck

Please give it up for the nicest and one of the most creative writers in this fandom: Duck! I'm just such a fan because not only does Duck manage to write the softest, gentlest, loveliest Ed and Stede (both together and apart), their fics somehow perpetually keep me looking like 🥹 all the time ough. And they were very very nice about sharing their writing process with me:

What's your writing process like? Do you start with the beginning or the end? Do you write in order or as the scenes come to you?

Mostly it’s the Taika “look at a document for 8 hours and then close the document,” honestly. I’m a very slow writer and lose motivation very easily, so I mostly get by on the muse’s fire hydrant and forcing myself to write those fifty words even when every single one feels so bad.

I go moooostly beginning to end because even though I’m generally an outliner, I always end up with little details that will affect later scenes and I don’t wanna lose continuity or have to rewrite a bunch. However, I do definitely let myself do a [finish this scene later] and move on to the next scene because otherwise I will get really fucking stuck, and sometimes I’ll write a line or a paragraph I thought of that sounds really good and tuck it away for a later scene.

Favourite trope or headcanon you like to explore while writing?

Ooooooooh, I don’t know if this is a trope but there’s just nothing I love more than huge feelings contained in mundane stories, of feelings so big you can’t actually express them and so they’re this constant hum throughout the story. I also love writing about touch for both of them, how Ed gives casual touch to hide the deep well of desire for intimate touch, how Stede is so unused to touch and craves it so deeply. (Can you tell I just really like subtle yet overwhelming emotions? Maybe it’s the aroace in me idk but that shit hits HARD.) Oh, and I love a fuckin’ allegory or object to discuss all those big feelings, whether it’s monsters or gardening or peaches or what the fuck ever (I have used all of these lol).

Whose voice is easier to write - Ed or Stede? Why?

I think Ed’s voice comes to me faster because the way I personally speak is closer to Ed’s voice, but it also means I’m sometimes double-checking myself to make sure I’m still deep in his voice, not my-voice-but-Ed. Stede isn’t necessarily harder for me, I’m just doing all that double-checking to make sure I’m not slipping into Ed voice or, god forbid, Aziraphale-lite voice. So, idk! I love writing them both, the little details of each of their inner dialogues are SO important to me (Ed’s tangents and his pshh-I-don’t-care moments, Stede actively avoiding thinking about things he doesn’t want to face, etc etc etc).

Your personal favourite thing you've written that you'd like more people to read

For the longest time it was There is Love That Doesn’t Have a Place to Rest, mostly because it was posted the day before another fic and, while I find them to be siblings and equal quality, the other one got way more attention. That fic is about the time between signing the Act of Grace and getting to the academy and I think I really nailed where the two of them are at.

However! (And I know this is cheating okay shh.) Nowadays the one that I wish people read the most is Not Only the Sugar, But the Days. It’s the sequel to my “offscreen 30 year slowburn friends to lovers finally get together” fic and I put my whole fucking heart into it, honestly. The two boys basically go on a bunch of dates to live out the teenage experiences they never got together and work through the biggest feelings and I just! Really want people to see it! (It also can be read as a standalone, which I didn’t advertise super well lol.)

What is the one word that you think you use a lot?

Unfortunately it’s probably “just” or “a little” or filler words like that. Also obviously if the word fuck counts then, yeah, that. Maybe warm? Or something about yearning??? If I have a classic word please tell me I’m fascinated by this idea.

Do you have a beta reader? Have they made you a better writer?

The person who beta’s for basically all my fics is Owen @trans-top-stede and they are sooooo fucking helpful and incredible. So good at catching all the little things I miss, making sex scenes make sense, reminding me positioning in general is a thing, cheerleading me on, etc etc etc. My fics are so much better for their help.

Why OFMD 🥹

Ed and Stede just fit so fucking well into all sorts of AU’s (they try to invent their own AU’s in canon, even) while also having so much fun space to explore within canon. Their range is also perfect perfect perfect for writing fics—they can be in the wells of misery and fluffy as fuck and obnoxiously cheesy and realistic all in the same fic, if you want, and it’s completely accurate to their canon selves. It’s also helped me to embrace being silly and cheesy and earnest because life is about being yourself and finding your people and feeling deeper, feeling bigger, feeling more authentically without fear of being too much. Fuck I just really love these boys. (Also they’re so pretty and the whole crew’s so pretty we WON.)

Please head over to @ofmdlovelyletters (who also made the header) and send your love to all your favourite authors (and authors of the week 😈 watch that blog for some special letters coming your way)

#aotw #artist of the week #author of the week #adhduck #writing #ofmd #our flag means death

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cierraonline · 3 months ago

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not gonna lie sometimes i get pissed when i find books like yours and they’re not done cause then i have to wait for the individual chapters instead of binge reading all at once. that being said don’t stop writing i love your work.

at first I thought I was in trouble. plus wheres the emotion and anticipation when you binge read.

No Honey Without Peaches

chapter two: no honey without peaches

Masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Three years later

VANITY FAIR INTERVIEW

SALT LAKE, UTHAH

OCTOBER 18 2017

What is your name?

"My name is Storm Siren," the white-haired girl smiled at the camera, revealing her perfectly imperfect pearly whites. She subtly licked her teeth, ensuring there was no trace of her crimson-red lipstick left behind. "It is October 18, 2017."

How old are you?

"I’m thirteen, but almost fourteen. Fun fact—my birthday is on Halloween."

How many Instagram followers do you have?

"Oof," Storm gave the camera a nervous laugh. "Actually, I don’t have social media. I think it's too consuming and makes people compare themselves to strangers. I’d rather not fall victim to that."

How many Google results for 'Storm Siren'?

"2.3 million," she said, glancing at her name on the search engine. "Well, that’s kind of scary."

Most liked photo on Instagram?

"Can I call a friend?" Storm laughed, genuinely clueless since she doesn’t have an account. With a nod from the producers, Storm’s best friend stepped into the frame. "This is my best friend in the whole entire world, Honey…but you might know her as Billie Eilish," Storm introduced her with a smile.

"Her most liked photo is this black-and-white one from the Lovely video shoot behind the scene," Billie said, flipping her phone to show the camera the image.

Who’s the most followed person who follows you?

"If she had Instagram, it would be Chloë Grace Moretz, who actually asked for it, but I had to text her that Storm doesn’t have one," Billie answered, as Storm wrapped her arms around her waist. Billie leaned back, chuckling. "Peaches, you need to get Instagram already."

"I don’t want one," Storm pouted, shaking her head.

"Watch—by next year, she’ll have one," Billie laughed, making her way off-camera.

Who is a famous person in your phone?

"To me, it’s Anna Clyne, an English composer," Storm said, trying to contain her admiration. "But I guess, by pop culture standards, it’d be Khalid. By the way, Khalid, if you’re watching this—you still owe me a pack of sour Skittles."

What’s the largest audience you’ve performed in front of?

"I’d say at The Crocodile in Seattle, about 500 people. It was terrifying—I have terrible stage fright and usually have a complete breakdown before performing. Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do if this music thing goes further."

How often do you get recognized in public?

"Quite a bit, but it depends on the music scene," Storm paused to think. "For my work with Billie and Finneas, probably once or twice a week, and for composing, maybe three times a week by classical musicians."

What advice would you give yourself a year from now?

"Don’t let something that happened when you were five stop you from living your dream."

Which artist inspires you the most?

"My Peaches, obviously," Storm laughed. "She’s a total bad a-word, even if she doesn’t see the spark in her own voice. I sometimes wish I were more like her, even if she thinks I’m better off. After her, it’d be Tyler, The Creator—his artistry is wild and so creative."

Have you met Tyler?

"Ugh, don’t even ask," Storm pouted, rolling her eyes. "One of my friends who’s currently working with him tried to set it up, but I fell asleep from rehearsal exhaustion. Tyler, I’m sorry!"

Biggest thing to happen in your career?

"Honestly, nothing yet," Storm shrugged. "And that’s okay. I know it’s because I’m not the face of the brand—it’s Billie’s time to shine, and I love watching people see her in the same light as I do. My time will come one day."

How often do you talk to your family?

"Pretty much every second of the day," Storm smiled. "I don’t have that many friends, so my family is my rock. Especially my mom, who’s currently non-verbal; talking to her fills me up with joy, even if she can’t respond."

What’s your favorite movie?

"Easy, Dirty Dancing."

Why is your hair white?

"Yes! I was waiting for you guys to ask so people would stop wondering," Storm straightened up in her seat. "I was born with a mutation that gives me no pigment in my hair, so it’s naturally white. And no, it’s not a wig—I promise. And my white eyes are just contacts...I like the look."

Do you feel pressured?

"No," Storm answered truthfully. "Everything is actually pretty calm right now. It’s nice—a comfortable pace."

Do you have a boyfriend?

"Nope," Storm shook her head. "It’s not my focus right now. But if I’m honest… I think it might not even be a boy—it could be a girl. I don’t have feelings for anyone, so I’ll just see what happens."

What’s your biggest regret?

"My biggest regret was being ashamed of loving classical music and the West Hollywood aesthetic since they’re not popular with my peers. Before I found my small group, kids would tell me I was trying to be 'white' or that I was 'whitewashing' myself. One girl even said I shouldn’t praise those things because Black people weren’t included back then and were often disrespected. I feel like, when people hear ‘classical music’ or ‘Hollywood glamour,’ they only picture white faces instead of seeing the beauty of the era itself. Like, Black people were amazing then too, despite the politics. Just look at Sugar Shack paintings or the singers from the Cotton Club—they went through tough times but had such beautiful energy."

What do you hope to take away from your first tour?

"I hope it reminds me I’m special and that everything will fall into place. I’m usually positive, happy person, but lately… I don’t know, it feels like my spark has dimmed. Maybe touring will bring it back."

What’s the biggest thing you’ve learned?

"It’s okay to be… not okay."

Craziest fan moment?

"These girls showed up dressed exactly like me—white hair, white contacts, preppy outfits, and red lips. It was like that Spider-Man meme where everyone’s pointing at each other!"

Who’s your dream person to perform with?

"Oh, easy! I have it all planned. I’d perform with Lana Del Rey, under a starry sky. We’d sing a song I wrote called 'Young and Beautiful,' with this grand orchestra behind us. And the crowd would be totally silent, just experiencing the moment. It’d be… perfect."

Can you sing a little for us?

"Ah!" Storm let out a small squeak, laughing nervously. "Okay… here goes."

Hot summer nights, mid-July

When you and I were forever wild

The crazy days, city lights

The way you'd play with me like a child

"That’s all you guys are getting."

Country you’d love to visit?

"I would love to go to Berlin. If you’re a classical or orchestra music lover, then you know the biggest venue for classical music is in Berlin—the Berlin Diana Art Hall. It’s three times bigger than Madison Square Garden! For some people, selling out Madison Square Garden is the ultimate dream. For me, it's selling out the Berlin Diana Art Hall. I only want to go to Berlin if I’m performing a sold-out show. If not, I’d rather wait."

Favorite artist at the moment?

"Melanie Martinez. I love the storytelling in her music."

What’s your favorite color right now?

"Dark crimson red. I’m completely fixated on it, and it’s kind of becoming my signature. When I wear it on my lips, it makes me feel powerful and confident."

How do you define your style in three words?

"Beauty… is… death," Storm laughed.

How do you feel about the music industry?

"I’m a little scared of it. Someone once told me the industry preys on the young and talented until they’re dried up and hate what they used to love," Storm shrugged. "I just don’t want that to happen to me. I can’t picture a world where I hate creating music."

What’s your philosophy?

"Stop fearing the unknown and let it drive while you sit in the passenger seat."

What’s the best approach to songwriting?

"Let yourself feel everything. Go through the five senses around a topic, and write it all down."

What do you want to say to yourself in a year?

"Do everything you dreamed of, shawty. Who cares about fitting in? You weren’t born to fit in."

With that, the questions were over, and Billie dashed back on camera, wrapping her arms around Storm from behind and resting her chin on her friend’s shoulder.

"And older Billie and Storm better still be best friends forever, or I swear, I’ll build a time machine, go to the future, and beat their asses!" Billie said, pointing at the camera.

"What she said… but maybe less violent," Storm smiled. "Like a stern talking-to over fruit snacks… or maybe plant-based chicken nuggets."

"Nope, we’re sticking with ass-kicking," Billie laughed, shaking her head. "Because there’s no Honey without Peaches. We’re best friends forever and ever."

"I see you, Honey," Storm said, reaching up to gently pat Billie’s head.

"I see you, Peaches," Billie replied, holding her even tighter.

taglist @billiesrighthand @bilswildflower @bilsluckyheart @billiesgoodgirll @billsvip @billieshrry @dandelions4us @factsbybriggs @rhearipley-69 @cierraonline @amberg1998 @crystalblue88 @mercurylvd @saffsblog @ihavenoideayimhere @umadirectioner @harajukub4rb1e @sun81rise @jamiemundy7773 @cyberdreamlanddeer @steampunkprincess147 @zendayasredbottoms @efemerous @lady0ftheflowers

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semisolidmind · 2 years ago

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Hello, i am not sure if it wasn't asked yet but... Does reader curse? Or not? Is it easy to make her curse? Does she use the normal ones or does she gets creative and creates her own? And how the monkeys react when she does? Are they like "Oh sht, now we've done it.". Or rather like "She's so cute when she's angry.". Or "Heyy! Language..."

Anyway wish you an awesome day and for art block to never get you😊

eh, she does sometimes, but it's not a huge part of her vocabulary. she doesn't like swearing out loud around other people.

i imagine in the early days of her capture, perhaps there was an instance where she lost it a little bit and started punching and cursing wukong out.

he thought it was adorable. he wasn't happy that she was so distressed, but her weak hits (she was using all her strength) and angry cries (she was calling every foul name she could think of) were so...amusing to him. he's more than aware of the power imbalance between the two of them. the fact that she'd still attack him, knowing that...

it's cute until his dear peaches starts crying.

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

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Unexpected 37

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You lazily eat the penne, noodle by noodle, from the plate balanced on your stomach. The evening air cools as Suzanne sits close by, her pasta mostly untouched as she sips non-alcoholic wine from a glass.

Lloyd has been elusive since his return, though you've heard some telltale banging. He continues to haunt you like some Poe horror.

"I couldn't do it," Suzanne trills, "I can barely stand more than an hour with the jackass and I get paid to."

"Mmm, yeah, wasn't exactly my first choice, but accidents happen. Actually, you know him, no such thing as an accident, more a lack of accountability."

"Oh, ew," she scrunches her nose, "he didn't strike me as the baby type."

"Me either which is why… well, nevermind."

You spear another noodle and carefully angle it past your lips, trying not to dribble any sauce. It's been a while since you had someone you could just talk to. Dottie is a great support but she's still Lloyd's mother.

"What?" She prompts as she leans her chin in her hand.

"Oh, you know, I'm the mother. Means I'm gonna be doing all the work. And why? Because he thought it would be fun… he gets to have the shiny bright moments and I'll be changing diapers and cleaning up puke."

"Typical," she snarls. "Never likes to get his hands dirty."

She takes another sip of wine and she slowly puts the glass down. Her lips slant as a thought sparks in her eyes. She points at you and clicks her tongue.

"What happened with the mustache?"

"What do you mean?"

"He shaved. Months ago. Was that you?"

You cackle as you recall that. It was rather amusing to witness the shame and panic of his drunken mistake. You rest your fork against the rim of the plate.

"Did it himself. Got blitzed off his face and just, shoop, gone," you make a motion above your lip, "idiot."

“Ha, wow. Damn. I was hoping you had a bit of vengeance on the prick. I mean… you still could. Wait til he falls asleep…” she smirks, “you know once, were were on a flight and I probably could’ve done it.”

“I’m already expecting one baby, I don’t need another,” you scoff. “Here, can you get this?”

You lift the plate and hold it out to her. She’s quick to take it and puts it beside her own. You plant your hands on the sides of the chair and grunt, pushing yourself up with excruciating effort. You manage to sit forward, breathless.

“Jeez, you need help?” She hovers near you.

“Probably,” you struggle to turn your legs over the edge.

“Is it really that miserable?” She asks.

“What? Being with him?”

“I mean, that too, but being pregnant,” she offers her arm.

“Eh, it’s just the cherry on top of an already stacked shit sandwich.”

“I see why he’s with you,” she snorts, “you are both very creative. Disgustingly so.”

You roll your eyes and grab onto her arm. Before you can stand, you hear your name. Not ‘peaches’, not ‘baby face’, not ‘sweet cheeks’, your name. Lloyd stomps out, waggling his finger.

“Suzanne, step away from my wife.”

“Huh?’

Suzanne twists to face Lloyd, “Christ, I’m helping her.”

“No, you’re not,” he storms down, shoulder back, nostrils flaring, “she’s not supposed to be walking around.” He comes up to you and puts his palm up to stop you, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Lloyd, I can make it inside.”

“The doctor said–”

“God, I know what the doctor said,” you hiss.

“So listen. Neither of us wanna end up back in the hospital, now do we?”

You sigh. You and Suzanne share a look. You recognise the dull twinkle in her eye. You’re kindred spirits. Cursed with the nuisance of this man, only she gets to walk away.

“So, Suzanne,” Lloyd plants a hand on your shoulder as he faces his colleague, “you on your way out?”

“Um, I guess, but–”

“That’s great, I don’t need to show you out, do I?”

She smiles dryly and tilts her head, “not at all. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Lloyd sputters.

“Oh yeah, we’re doing lunch, right, babe?” She looks at you expectantly.

Your brows lift and you take a second to register what she’s doing. You nod. “Uh, yep, yeah, that’ll be great.”

“Peaches, you should be relaxing. You’re all tense,” Lloyd squeezes your shoulder, “I can feel it–”

“So that probably means she needs a nice back rub, huh,” Suzanne suggests with a devilish glint in her eye.

Lloyd clucks, “yeah, I guess it does so… leave.”

Suzanne chuckles. She raises her palms and backs away. “Fine, I’ll fuck off. For now.”

Lloyd sneers at her as she slowly turns and she struts off proudly, fishing in her pocket until her car chirps and unlocks. You watch her get in and deflate, just a little. It’s just you and him. Again.

You shrug Lloyd’s hand away and rub your stomach, keeping one hand on the lounger. As Suzanne backs down the driveway, you issue a glum sigh. Without her to distract you, you feel ever pang and pinch in your muscles.

“Alright, where to?” Lloyd faces you.

“Huh?”

“Sofa, bath… bed?” He winks, “I think I could help ease the tension.”

“Just… inside,” you mutter, “please.”

He pauses. You avoid his gaze as you look out across the yard. It’s only then the heavy epiphany settles over you. This place is a prison. It’s the last place you’ll live for the rest of your life. With him and soon his child. You’ll never be without a warden to keep you in line.

“Alright,” he bends and scoops you up, slowly, with effort. You feel horrible as he turns cautiously, steps stunted and stiff.

“Lloyd, you’re going to hurt yourself doing this,” you hook your arm around his shoulders and try to ease the weight.

“I’m fine,” he grunts as he gets to the door.

You reach for the door to open it. He turns and sidles in awkwardly. It’s a tight shuffle but he makes it inside. He carries you back to the living room and sits you on the couch. He stands, cheeks tinged and forehead sweaty.

“Tea?” He offers.

“No,” you recline with a groan, “why are you being nice?”

“I’m your husband.”

“You were yelling at me an hour ago.”

“Because I’m worried.”

“About me or the baby?”

He sniffs and grips his hips, “both.”

“Eh, sure,” you dismiss him flatly, “I just wanna lay her. Alone.”

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Lloyd states.

“Of course,” you grumble.

“I am going to rub your back and you’re going to relax. You need to, peaches, for yourself as much as the kid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. “Really, don’t bother–”

He pushes you up, grasping your shoulders as he angles onto the couch behind you. He sits between you and the arm, hooking his leg around you as he settles in. He rolls his thumbs into you, forcing a moan from your lips as you muscles contract in response.

“Feels good?” He asks.

“Erm,” you refuse to indulge him.

“Come on, baby face.”

You’re quiet as you hang your head forward. You’ll enjoy it but you don’t have to admit it. You hug your stomach as he slides his hands down your back, pressing his knuckles into each knot.

“Do you always have to ruin everything?” You ask at last.

“What?”

“Chase away everyone. What am I not allowed to have friends?”

“What–”

“If you don’t want me… like this,” you gesture helplessly, “you have to give me something, anything, that doesn’t make me absolutely miserable.”

He exhales and his hands keep moving. You let your head drift to the side as you laze into his touch.

“You don’t know Suzanne. She’s… well, she’s a lot like me.”

“Funny, cause she said the same about me.”

“Oh, really,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, think you’ve rubbed off on me.”

“Hell yeah I have,” he snickers, “rub off to you and over you, on you…”

“Would you– do you ever just stop?”

He hums and puffs out through his nose, “alright, peaches, you’re right. You can’t be all alone all the time. Just…keep those walls up. You got good instincts.”

“Mmm, yeah, just bad luck.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #drabble #au #series #unexpected #the gray man

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northwindow · 7 months ago

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hey julia !! hope ur doing well... am asking u [instead of messaging!] this bc i imagine u might say some rly cool stuff that other ppl would love to see also lol... but i just wondered if u had any basic tips or resources about like developing a (short-term) writing routine? the context is not fiction writing but like academic but i feel like my academic writing is a creative practice so yeah, hope that makes sense! hope its okay to ask ! have a lovely day <3

hi anna marie! you ask the very question i need answered for myself… i am in a very slow place creatively so i feel silly to be giving advice! but i’ve been thinking about how to get things flowing again. very basic but helpful to me:

getting feedback from other people at a regular interval - i am very shy and this can feel like pulling teeth but it’s so worth it, i am always amazed how much it pushes me to finish things i would have otherwise languished on forever

reading a lot (of course) - it helps me to read a bit directly before starting to write. but also being intentional about it and having a defined list of inspiring works… i recently listened to david naimon interview joanna hedva and he asked them which writers were “squatting over” their latest book which i thought was a good way of putting it! i would like to curate a "squatters shelf" to dip into for inspiration on whatever project i'm working on

distinguishing between writing vs. editing time - this is hard for me because i am a very "edit as you go" type person but sometimes it's stifling! in another interview with tommy pico i heard him talk about his writing routine as very everything-goes, yes-and, accumulation-focused style on monday-thursday and then friday is reserved for finding what was good and refining it. i have always wanted to try this!

incorporating a degree of controlled randomness into the routine - whether it be randomizing where you physically work, what part of the project you work on, or brainstorming new ideas, i really enjoy drawing an option "out of a hat" (i hope that makes sense) at some stage of the writing process. i know i am going to be surprised and challenged by a guiding force even in a small way and want to see what’s going to happen.

something that has helped me a lot with routine in general is “habit stacking” i.e. trying to bundle a new task into something you already do regularly - i have not thought about how to do this with writing, but i have successfully bundled reading into drinking my morning coffee every day and it has changed my life significantly

also: i really like that you specified a short-term routine! i think temporary routines keep things interesting, help mark time, and more fully immerse me in things, so academia might be onto something with semesters etc… i am curious about trying to have a self-imposed writing “season” followed by an “off season” where i chill and eat peaches and watch the sopranos every night or whatever without guilt. (one might say i am chilling right now lol… but it’s definitely guilty chilling!) i also love that you see your academic project as a creative pursuit, i hope you are having a really fruitful time so far! ❤️

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u2fangirlie-blog · 9 months ago

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Good Omens Crowley and Aziraphale Reunited Playlist

In anticipation of Good Omens Season 3, here’s the “Crowley and Aziraphale Reunited and It Feels So Good Playlist.” We know our favorite demon and angel will be reunited. Take heart, have faith, and keep hope. Crowley and Aziraphale will be together again, like chocolate and peanut butter. This is music Maggie and Nina would put together in a playlist for a party celebrating the Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. The songs are about friendship and love.

How ever you as a fan define the love they share – eros, philia, or agape - we know Crowley and Aziraphale love each other. In the Good Omens universe, angels and demons are sexless and genderless. However, they can have genders and sex body parts if they want to. They can be sexual, asexual, binary, nonbinary, romantic, aromantic, hetero, homo, bi, pan. They can be any expression of the spectrum of identities and orientations. Above all else, they can love each other.

Maggie, Nina, Aziraphale, and Crowley are going to sing a karaoke version of “That’s What Friends Are For” at the party.

Please enjoy this unashamedly, unapologetically romantic, silly, sentimental, and sugary playlist (with extra cheesy goodness).

See note after list on song the selection process.

Songs include:

“You’re My Best Friend” – Queen

“Let’s Stay Together” – Al Green

“For Once in My Life” – Stevie Wonder

“Reunited” – Peaches and Herb

“Love and Happiness” – Al Green

“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” – Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell

“That’s What Friends Are For” – Dionne Warwick, Elton John, Gladys Knight, and Stevie Wonder

“I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me)” – Aretha Franklin and George Michael

“Can’t Fight this Feeling” – REO Speedwagon

“Time After Time” – Cyndi Lauper

“I’ll Be There” – Mariah Carey and Trey Lorenz version

“I’ll Stand by You” – The Pretenders

“I Say a Little Prayer” – Aretha Franklin

“I Honestly Love You” – Olivia Newton John

“God Only Knows” – The Beach Boys

“Don’t Let Me Down” – The Beatles

“Just the Two of Us” – Grover Washington, Jr., ft. Bill Withers

“Just the Way You Are” – Billy Joel

“Your Song” – Elton John

“How Deep is Your Love” – The Bee Gees

“The Air that I Breathe” – K.D. Lang version

“Time in a Bottle” – Jim Croce

“Up Where We Belong” – Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes

“Islands in the Stream” – Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers

“Endless Love” – Diana Ross and Lionel Richie

“Almost Paradise” – Mike Reno and Ann Wilson

“Leather and Lace” – Stevie Nicks and Don Henley

“Feels Like Home” – Bonnie Raitt

“In Your Eyes” – Peter Gabriel

“I Want to Know What Love Is” – Foreigner

“Never Tear Us Apart” – INXS

“Eternal Flame” – The Bangles

“Heaven is a Place on Earth” – Belinda Carlisle

“Walking on Sunshine” – Katrina and The Waves

“Never Gonna Give You Up” – Rick Astley

“Everlasting Love” – U2 version

“[I Can’t Help] Falling in Love with You” – UB40 version

“Let’s Get It On” – Marvin Gaye

P.S.: Aziraphale secretly loves romantic duets and rock ballads. He wouldn’t admit it because his personality is classical music. However, he longs to sing karaoke duets with Crowley. “Reunited,” “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” “I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me),” “I’ll Be There,” “Don’t Let Me Down,” “Up Where We Belong,” “Islands in the Stream,” “Endless Love,” “Almost Paradise,” and “Leather and Lace.”

P.P.S.: “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Crowley unironically loves this song, but he invented “Rickrolling,” so Rick Astley would get paid more in song royalties. Who’s laughing now?

P.P.P.S.: “Let’s Get It On.” Crowley has experienced all the infinite varieties of human, demonic, angelic, and supernatural being sexuality and intimacy. Like various “sins” thought up by humans (without demonic influence), he has taken credit for inventing some of the more fun, creative intimate activities. He consulted on the artwork in the Kama Sutra. Crowley secretly wants to snuggle under the blankets with Aziraphale on cold rainy days, but he would never admit it because it would ruin his reputation.

Note on song selection:

Yes, the playlist is exclusively classic pop and rock songs. I’m a Gen Xer. David Tennant and Michael Sheen are Gen Xers. Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett are Boomers. This is the music I grew up listening to. These songs make me feel good. They don’t write songs like this anymore. I’m a cool college English teacher. My job is to corrupt the youth of the nation. Ms. Myers is going to expose you to culture. I’m a cool spinster aunt. Auntie Amy is gonna learn you about oldies music. I selected songs that thematically fit with the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley. Listen to the lyrics. They fit. The list flows. You may not like my choices, so your mileage may vary. You can make your own playlist.

You can listen to it on YouTube.

#neil gaiman #good omens 2 #good omens 3 #aziraphale #crowley #playlist #reunited playlist #classic love songs

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mylo-space · 3 months ago

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Aftermath

Summary: I don't have a particularly creative title or summary for this, but basically: Wukong and Macaque talk after the Lady Bone Demon fight and very quickly realize that they have no idea how to deal with each other. Attempts at conversation are made and, all in all, it goes? definitely not as bad as it could have gone, but that doesn't mean it goes great, either. They're making an effort, but the real MVP here is the rock.

Word Count: 9,407 Posted to Ao3: 2023-07-17

Fighting the Lady Bone Demon had taken far more out of Wukong than he would have ever liked to admit, and it didn’t help that he’d already been pretty tapped from getting the map. After a few hundred years of doing nothing but eating peaches and occasionally training MK, back to back fights were a little more exhausting than Wukong remembered.

Back when he ran with the Brotherhood, it seemed like he could go for weeks on end without ever putting down his staff. Starting fight after fight until they were faced with a full out war against the Celestial Realm, Wukong had felt like he could fight forever, and to think that he’d actually enjoyed it. It was all just so tiring now.

Maybe he was just getting old.

Watching the kid clamber down the mountain with all his friends in tow, Wukong couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. Not that he didn’t love the kid’s company, but after being possessed and still barely recovered from his fight with Nezha, the great Monkey King wanted little more than to sleep for an entire day, possibly a few decades.

Which was why the presence to his left was especially irritating, lurking at the edge of the treeline and the edge of Wukong’s patience. “I thought you left.”

“You assume that a lot, don’t you,” Macaque replied, emerging from the shadows with a smile that put Wukong on edge. Not that it was particularly menacing, it just didn’t sit right with him, the way it tugged at Macaque’s mouth like puppet strings. It’d looked like that for centuries now, but Wukong never got used to it.

“Not an assumption,” Wukong grumbled, “I watched you leave.” He returned Macaque’s smile, hoping it looked just as bitter and uncanny. “Guess you’ve always been pretty good at that, though, huh? Leaving.”

“Learned from the best,” Macaque sneered. “How is it, by the way? Sitting on this mountain all by yourself.” He leaned against a nearby tree and crossed his arms, a routine Wukong was familiar with. Old habits die hard, he supposed, and Macaque never did like having his back exposed. “Is eating fruit for eternity the good life you thought it’d be?”

“As a matter of fact,” Wukong said haughtily, “it’s great, thank you for asking.” He wondered if the memory of peach-scented promises haunted Macaque’s dreams as often as they did his. “How was being the Lady Bone Demon’s puppet?”

Macaque shrugged. “I don’t know, Wukong, how was it?”

“Hey, I was possessed,” Wukong pointed out. “What’s your excuse?”

“I owed her,” was the frustratingly simple reply.

Wukong scoffed. “You owed her,” he repeated. “Was it worth attacking the kid and his friends?”

“If I wanted to hand MK over to the Lady Bone Demon, I would have,” Macaque snapped. “Do you have any idea how many times I had him in the palm of my hand? He offered to walk away with me once!” Then Macaque laughed, a harsh sounding thing that didn’t sound anything like him. “If you hadn’t done such a terrible job of coaxing his powers back out, I wouldn’t have had to push him so hard.”

And, fine, looking back on things, Wukong could admit that Macaque probably wasn’t trying as hard as he could have been. The guy could teleport, and it wasn’t like Wukong was in great shape for a lot of trip. There was no reason Macaque couldn’t have wrapped MK in shadows and opened a portal right to the demon’s lair, especially if Wukong’s selfless little successor was offering himself up.

But Macaque hadn’t done that, which meant that he really had been purposefully incompetent, to some extent. He’d taken on Ao Guang with no trouble at all, but MK managed to slip away? The kid was tough, but Wukong wasn’t ignorant enough to believe that MK could have taken on Macaque powerless, not if Macaque was really going at it.

If Wukong were a little less exhausted, he could’ve found a sense of relief knowing that Macaque wasn’t actually the revenge-fueled drama queen he pretended to be. Still, he had hurt MK on more than one occasion, and that was reason enough to be pissed off. He didn’t have the energy to be angry and grateful. “If you hadn’t been working with the Lady Bone Demon,” Wukong said, “it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.”

Macaque sighed. “I told you, I owed her. I had about as much choice in the matter as you did.” His claws dug into his sleeve almost imperceptibly. “Trust me, I didn’t like it, either. But if I had let it slip that I wasn’t really trying to bring MK back to her, she-” There was a beat of silence, a fraction of a breath where Macaque’s amber eyes betrayed him, lined with the same bone-deep exhaustion that Wukong could feel pulling at his limbs. “It wouldn’t have been great for my health,” he finished.

She would have killed him.

Neither one of them needed to say it, the implication was there. Macaque had to hunt them down, or the Lady Bone Demon would have sent him back to the Underworld the hard way. Wukong feared death without having ever experienced anything close to it, but Macaque… he had real reasons to be afraid. Wukong wasn’t sure what Macaque owed her exactly, what promises he did or didn’t keep, but it was clear the price he would have paid for failure was his life.

The thought made him sick. Even with the centuries of distance between them, Wukong couldn’t stomach the thought of another shallow grave with Macaque’s name on it. “Still pissed about the Samadhi Fire thing,” he grunted. Sympathy aside, Macaque was still an eternal pain in his ass.

“It was either I released Samadhi Fire on the mountain, or I brought the rings back to the Lady Bone Demon,” Macaque said. “Rock. Hard place. And I didn’t have time to wait around while you pretended to get your act together.”

“I had a plan.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Wukong bristled at the accusation, even though it was technically correct. Really, Macaque wasn’t being nearly as vindictive about the whole thing as he could’ve been, but Wukong still didn’t appreciate him pointing out his incompetence. “Well, you didn’t have to dip right after you ruined everything,” he said. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Oh, I ruined everything,” Macaque deadpanned. “Remind me again, how did the Samadhi Fire get inside of Mei? Whose fault was that?” Wukong, rather than justify that with an answer, exhaled sharply and turned away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You’re pretty smug for someone that took off as soon as things got tough,” Wukong muttered bitterly. “Even if I didn’t have a plan, releasing the Samadhi Fire was a really stupid idea.”

“Kinda like going to fight the Lady Bone Demon on your own,” Macaque countered. “Lot of good that did everyone, getting yourself possessed.”

“Oh, right,” Wukong rolled his eyes, “because you were so much help.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow. “You know, you’ve got a really weird way of saying, ‘thanks for saving the kid, Macaque’. And here I was, coming to check on you.” He huffed out a laugh, so quiet that Wukong almost didn’t catch it. “Serves me right, I guess. Maybe next time you get possessed, I’ll just let you hit him.”

At that, Wukong’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

For a moment, Macaque studied Wukong like a particularly challenging puzzle. He seemed to find whatever he was looking for in Wukong’s expression, because he asked, “How much do you remember about being possessed?”

“Uh-” Truthfully, Wukong hadn’t given it much thought. Hadn’t wanted to, the feeling of demonic power under his skin still sending the occasional chill down his spine. “I mean, it’s a little clearer towards the end there, when MK was snapping me out of it, but the rest is- it’s, um…”

And it occurred to him, suddenly, that Nezha was injured the last time Wukong had seen him. But he was so sure that the prince was in decent shape when he’d left to go fight the Lady Bone Demon. A little worn out from their fight on the train, maybe, but-

“What did I do,” he asked Macaque, hoping that the answer wasn’t going to be nearly as awful as the many possibilities that started swirling around his head.

Macaque shrugged. “Well, the demon rocked Nezha’s shit so hard that it put him in a small crater.” Not the worst he could have done, but Wukong’s stomach still turned itself inside out. It took a lot to bring down Nezha, and the Lady Bone Demon clearly hadn’t been kind with his puppeteered body. “And then she turned you on MK.”

It was blurry, the whole being possessed thing, and part of Wukong had been frustrated about it, at first. Hearing what the demon had done with his body, though, he was almost thankful that he didn’t remember. The brief flashes he could remember would haunt his nightmares enough, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost see MK’s terrified expression before it dropped through the ground.

Through the ground.

“You-” Wukong fumbled with the words for a moment, “so, they followed me, and you-”

“Don’t read into it,” Macaque interjected. “If you got yourself taken out by the Lady Bone Demon, MK was going to be the universe’s only shot at getting saved. No sense in letting her take you both out in one go.” Self-preservation, of course. That was what it always came down to, with Macaque.

Macaque’s motivation for helping aside, it didn’t change the fact that he had saved MK from Wukong. “Where did you send him?” he asked.

“Right to his spicy friends,” Macaque answered. “Er- somewhere close, at least. They were in one of DBK’s little secret hideouts, so I didn’t know the area super well.” He scratched at his neck absently. “Gonna be honest, I do kinda miss that guy, sometimes. And his kid’s a real firecracker.”

Wukong let out a surprised laugh. “Redson? Yeah, uh- yeah. He is.” It occurred to him that he and Macaque weren’t arguing anymore. He thought it’d be weirder, talking to Macaque again, after everything that had happened between them. Everything that continued to happen between them.

The strangeness of the situation wasn’t lost on Macaque, either. If asked why he returned to the mountain, he wouldn’t have been able to give a completely honest answer. The one he’d give would be something along the lines of kicking Wukong while he was down, but the truth was something a little closer to Macaque being incapable of leaving.

Might as well ask an asteroid to leave its orbit. Entirely possible, but never of its own volition. Something would have to hit it pretty damn hard first.

In any case, the banter Macaque had grown used to had long since petered out into something much more familiar and, yet, infinitely more unsettling. This was the closest to civil he’d been with the Great Sage in centuries, and he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. He wouldn’t say he was having a great time, but it was… it was kind of nice, talking to Wukong again, if he ignored the steady, phantom throbbing behind his right eye.

“Wukong,” Macaque prompted after a few moments of the king trailing off. If Wukong was anything like he was when they were younger–and he probably was, he never changed much–then getting in his own thoughts about things was going to be more detrimental than anything.

Not that he cared. He couldn’t afford to be pulled into Wukong’s orbit a second time.

“Wukong,” Macaque said again, this time shaking the king from his thoughts. “You’re still hung up about almost hitting the kid, aren’t you.”

“Huh?” Wukong blinked at him for a moment, then scowled. “No.” He crossed his arms, mirroring Macaque’s stance. “What do you care?”

The easy thing to say would have been, “I don’t”. And Macaque almost said it, brushing off the concern entirely, because what did he care? The kids were safe, the city was safe, everyone was safe and everything was fine. Why should Macaque care if Wukong still looked stressed out and exhausted beyond belief? The king wasn’t the only one who walked away from the fight with ice in his veins and a lingering voice in his ear.

And maybe that was why Macaque didn’t say it, knowing how it felt to be so exhausted that it burrowed into him and made a home in his bones. So, “Do you still draw?” was what he said instead, because he was curious, and it’d been a while since he’d seen Wukong’s art.

Wukong opened his mouth to give a scathing retort, then closed it again with a confused stare. Macaque could almost see the words being processed behind Wukong’s blank eyes. “Do I- you…” He shook his head briefly, as though trying to clear it. “What?”

“You know, like, art? Pencil and paper, crayons, markers.” Macaque spoke slowly, as though talking to a toddler, “Do you still draw?”

“No, I heard what you said, I just-” Wukong gave an annoyed huff. “Whatever. Yes, I still draw. Why?” Then he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do, uh… do you draw, still?”

Macaque snorted. “I never really did. You were always the artist, not me.” He looked around the mountain. “Not gonna find anything to draw with here, though.” Macaque used to know every rock and tree on the mountainside, but after a thousand years of avoiding the place, his memory was a little blurry. “You got a temple or something nearby?”

All at once, the tension from earlier crept its way back into their conversation. “You’re not allowed back in Water Curtain Cave, Macaque.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but it was a very clear warning.

“I’m aware,” Macaque said, and he ignored the pang of hurt. He hadn’t even thought about returning to Water Curtain Cave in decades, but the reminder that he wasn’t allowed bothered him a little more than he thought it would. “I don’t want to hang out in your little hole in the wall, anyway. That’s why I asked if you had a temple nearby.”

The question seemed to register, the anger easing out of Wukong’s shoulders. “Right. Uh…” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve actually got a little- like, a house? Nearby. I was probably just gonna head there before I went back to the cave.”

“Great,” Macaque pushed himself off the tree. “Lead the way.”

Wukong gave him a strange look. “And… where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“We are going to find your little house in the woods,” Macaque replied easily, “and find you something to do before you combust.”

“I am not-”

“Look, do you wanna go draw something,” Macaque asked, “or do you want to sit here and argue about it for an hour before we go? Because we’re both going, either way.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Wukong relented, “Fine,” he waved for Macaque to follow him, “but if you try anything, I’m punting you over the side of this mountain.”

Macaque hummed, following behind Wukong and just to his left. “In your condition? I’d like to see you try.” If he took another two steps forward, they’d be walking side by side, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It’d been far too long since he’d stood at the sage’s side.

“Don’t tempt me,” Wukong warned, “You’re a pretty throwable guy.”

“And you’re a pain in my-” The rest of Macaque’s sentence caught in his throat as a new pain shot through his leg. Not new, really, but Macaque had gotten good at tuning out things that made him uncomfortable, the injury he sustained from his fight with a possessed Wukong included. Unfortunately, a gnarled tree root catching him off balance brought the pain right to the forefront of his mind. “Ah, come on-”

He steadied himself and leaned most of his weight on his right leg, timidly checking the left before taking a few careful steps. Now that the injury had been irritated, it was a lot harder to ignore, especially with the amount of walking he was doing trying to get Wukong home.

Wukong had stopped a few paces ahead of him, watching Macaque with an unreadable expression. “You, uh… you forget how to walk or something?” he asked. “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing,” Macaque hissed, straightening his gait, just barely keeping the limp out of his steps.

“You sure?” Wukong asked, “Your leg looks-”

Macaque glared at him warily with a clipped, “What about my leg,” daring Wukong to continue his line of questioning. The Sage could hardly acknowledge the damage he’d caused a thousand years ago. There was no way Macaque would get sympathy for the battle they’d fought just a few hours before.

Apparently realizing Macaque wasn’t going to admit the obvious, Wukong’s brow furrowed. “Okay, yeah.” He went back to leading them through the forest. “And you think I couldn’t throw you down a mountain.” Macaque was almost relieved that Wukong picked up the banter right where they left it, unsure of what he would’ve done if the king had kept pressing. “I may be tired, but you’re not doing so hot yourself.”

“I’m doing just fine,” Macaque muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Wukong replied. “You’re definitely not. You’re just better at hiding it than me.”

“I’ve had more experience getting hurt than you,” Macaque pointed out. “We can’t all be made of stone, you know.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, I… guess not.” Gold eyes trailed back to Macaque. “You holding up okay? Not gonna collapse on me again or anything, right?”

“Relax,” Macaque rolled his eyes, “I might not be made of stone, but I’ll heal fast enough.” Healing would fix his leg fine, but it probably wouldn’t do much for the ragged fur on his right arm, destroyed by the demon’s ice and the fire that had melted it. His sleeve hid it well, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the fur would grow back right, if at all.

Luckily, the fur on his face hadn’t taken too much damage, having not been covered in ice for nearly as long as his arm. It would have been a pain to have something new to hide. Between his ears and his eye, Macaque had enough to cover up already.

With a curt nod, Wukong said, “Good. Because I was not carrying you back to… wherever you live now.”

“Wouldn’t have expected you to.”

Wukong didn’t appear to have a retort, and they fell into a relatively peaceful silence. With the sun going down, most of the animals on the mountain were settling, giving way to the much quieter nightlife. Macaque was sort of grateful, both for the lack of noise and the fact that wouldn’t have to deal with any of Wukong’s subjects.

It wasn’t that he didn’t miss them or anything, because he did, but he couldn’t bear to see their chipper faces.

Maybe another day, assuming he and Wukong weren’t at each other’s throats after this.

Whatever this was.

“Just up ahead,” Wukong said after a few minutes of walking. “I can see the lanterns.” Macaque squinted into the forest, noting the faint glow of firelight in the setting sun. “About time, too. I am tired of being on my feet today. I don’t even think I’ll make it back to the cave tonight, I’ll probably pass out here and fly home in the morning.”

Macaque made a noise of agreement. “I’m probably gonna sleep for a week straight whenever I finally get horizontal.” For the moment, Macaque couldn’t imagine closing his eyes. Not that he wasn’t tired enough, just that he had already felt so close to death again, even lying down with his eyes closed felt like a daunting task.

Wukong chuckled. “I know, right? I already wanted to sleep for a century after getting the map from Nezha. Between fighting the Bone Demon and… well, you,” Macaque hummed in acknowledgement, “I’m pretty wiped out.” He rubbed his arm. “But, weirdly, kinda too wired to sleep. If that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Macaque replied, gently pushing a branch out of his path as he and Wukong entered a small clearing. “Like I said, I’ll probably sleep for a week when I get around to it. Probably won’t be for a while, though.”

The house was a modest looking thing, and it looked old, something from their past that was recognizable. Looking around, Macaque could recall a few memories in this clearing, though everything had looked a little different, then. The house seemed relatively untouched though, aside from a hasty patch job on one of the walls.

Pushing open the door, Wukong immediately told Macaque, “Don’t touch any of my stuff.”

“Not even coming in.” Macaque leaned against the doorframe, looking around what he could see of the house. It was a lot different than he remembered, more modern, a TV and a gaming system sitting across from the couch. It still looked cozy, though, apart from the mess sitting by the wall that stood behind the TV. It looked like whoever destroyed the wall hadn’t exactly cleaned it up before nailing some boards over the hole. “What do you even use this place for nowadays?”

He could hear Wukong shuffling around the house, moving things around, presumably looking for art supplies. “Can’t get electricity to a lot of places on this mountain, and I wanted a place to play videogames. This was the easiest place to get a TV set up.”

Macaque snickered, genuine amusement finding its way into his voice, “Videogames? Seriously?”

“Hey! They’re more useful than you think.” Wukong reappeared with a box of what looked like paint. “Great way to kill time, and the artwork is pretty great, too, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do say so yourself,” Macaque said. “And I’m sure that it’s full of the corniest pictures known to man.”

Wukong made a flapping motion with his hand, “Yeah, yeah, you’re just jealous ‘cause no one ever made a videogame about you.” Macaque scoffed from his place in the doorframe, but it sounded… not as annoyed as Wukong expected it to. “What?”

“Nothing,” Macaque said, though his grin said otherwise, “It’s just- that’s probably the most you thing I’ve ever heard. Being a fan of your own videogame.”

“It’s a good videogame,” Wukong protested, checking a shelf for any loose paper. He was almost certain that he didn’t have any, and he was lucky he even managed to find the small box of paints, but he was mostly trying to avoid Macaque’s gaze. “MK was just telling me the other day that he used it as training while I was gone.”

There was a thoughtful hum from Macaque. “Is that right?” he asked, and Wukong could hear the sly smile before he even turned around. “Interesting.”

He could see the gears turning behind amber eyes, and put his free hand on his hip to make himself look more stern, preparing to throw the box of paints he’d found if he needed to. “Don’t you do it.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Macaque replied smoothly, inspecting his claws.

“Macaque,” Wukong warned. “Do not make a videogame for MK. You’re not his mentor, I’m his mentor.”

“Well,” Macaque drawled, “I don’t think that’s for you to decide. The kid should get a choice.” He slipped out of the doorway, standing on the porch and just out of sight. “And who knows! Maybe I’ll make just a nice, normal videogame, with no mentoring involved at all.”

Wukong followed Macaque outside. “Hey!” he called. “You can’t- you were just talking about how you can’t draw, you can’t make a videogame.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow at him. “Actually, just because you said I can’t, I think I kinda have to.” He shrugged. “You know, just to spite you.” His gaze caught the box of paints in Wukong’s hand. “No paper?”

“Huh? Oh, uh- no, couldn’t find any.” Wukong lifted the box of paints. “But I found these, so…” He glanced around. “I mean, we could probably paint on a rock, or something.” He jumped the stairs leading up to the house and glanced around the clearing, looking for a decent-sized rock with a smooth enough side to paint on. “Gimme a second.”

“Out of curiosity,” Macaque said from the porch. “Was the kid responsible for whatever happened to the wall? Because I do not remember that being there.”

Wukong laughed. “Yeah, he got a little too immersed in the game, I think. Sandy was telling me about it on the trip.” He grinned in triumph upon finding a good rock at the clearing’s edge. “Got one!” Using his free hand, he rolled the rock a little closer to the house. “Can you grab some water for our brushes real quick?”

“I thought you didn’t want me touching your stuff,” Macaque taunted, though he still disappeared into the house. It was weird, the way Macaque was so different, and yet, eerily familiar in some ways. Like nothing and everything had changed, all at once, and forever ago.

Reaching a hand into his hair, Wukong yanked a couple strands free, effectively distracting him from thoughts. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned two brushes for him and Macaque to paint with and sat down, setting the box of paints next to him. He wondered if Macaque had an idea for something to paint, or if was going in as blind as Wukong was.

Macaque returned with a bowl of water in one hand and two small pieces of wood in the other. “Here,” he said, tossing a piece of wood in Wukong’s direction. “Makeshift paint palette. Plenty of wood laying around from the DIY project in the living room.”

“Yeah,” Wukong sighed. “I’ll probably have to get that cleaned up before I go to bed.”

“Don’t bother,” Macaque said absently, “portaled the rest of it away while I was in there.” Wukong blinked at him. The staring didn’t go unnoticed, Macaque’s brow furrowing. “What? It was in the way.” He plucked a brush out of Wukong’s hand. “You gonna paint, or what?”

Wukong shook himself. “Uh, yeah, I-” He hesitated, watching as Macaque reached for the black paint. “Actually, I’m not sure what to paint.”

“Paint yourself,” Macaque suggested, uncapping the black paint. “It’s your favorite subject.”

“Very funny,” Wukong muttered, though he did rummage through the box for something resembling his fur color. “They never have my color in any of these things. Everything is too orange.”

Macaque pressed his brush to the rock’s surface. “You know how to mix colors, don’t you? I know you never learned how to read, but surely the Great Sage has mastered colors by now.”

“You’re just full of quips tonight, huh,” Wukong said, but he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “I can read, you know, just not well. Let me know when you’ve learned how numbers work, and we’ll talk about my ability to read.”

“I don’t need to know how numbers work,” Macaque replied. “What part of my life requires me to know anything about math?”

Wukong tsked, “Excuses, excuses.” He pulled a light shade of red to mix with the orange he’d found, the color far too yellow to look like his actual fur. “Language is hard, okay? It changes a lot. But numbers have been the exact same for literally forever, and you’re hundreds of years old.”

“If I can go hundreds of years without learning math,” Macaque said, “then I clearly haven’t needed it.” He frowned at his painting. “You know, I started painting myself because I thought it’d be easy, but I don’t even know if I want to attempt drawing eyes.”

“Eh, just slap a circle on there somewhere and squish it around until it looks right,” Wukong said. “People are mostly circles and rectangles, you know.”

Macaque made a vaguely frustrated noise. “It’s a painting, Wukong, not a sketch. I can’t make any- I can’t make circles.” He tapped his brush against his leg, glancing over to Wukong’s side of the rock. “You’re making this look too easy. I thought you were tired.”

“Not as tired as you, apparently.” Wukong gestured at the crude outline Macaque had made of his own hair. “Like, what is- what is that? A porcupine? Or maybe a hedgehog-”

“You’re hilarious,” Macaque muttered. “You know what? I’m just gonna make it like one of those- whatever they’re called. The cartoons that MK likes so much.”

Wukong turned to look at Macaque. “Dude, don’t even pretend you don’t know what anime is.”

Squinting in concentration, Macaque waved Wukong off with his free hand. “Yeah, anime, whatever.” Another small smile crossed his features. Mischievous, but not malicious. “They make an anime about you, yet? Or are they still making that dumb cop show?”

“Probably? Honestly, I have no idea,” Wukong answered, picking out a light blue. “I don’t bother keeping up with what the mortals do with my name, anymore.” He held out the paint for Macaque to look at. “Does this look like the right color blue?”

Macaque tilted his head at the color. “Uh… yeah, that looks pretty close to your bandana.” He turned back to his own painting, seemingly oblivious to Wukong’s blank stare. “You said the body is mostly circles, but this arm is not making shapes the way I want it to.”

“What-” Wukong quickly shook his head, ignoring that the first thing Macaque had thought of when he saw the color blue was his bandana from a thousand years ago, and not the skirt he’d seen Wukong wearing for the last few hundred years. Although, he supposed he had been wearing it on their journey to the get the rings, and maybe that was why it was the first thing Macaque thought of. “Wait, the body is circles and rectangles.” He leaned over to inspect Macaque’s painting. “Oh, you-” His voice caught in his throat as he desperately tried to bite back a laugh. “Alright, well, that’s… not how that works.”

“Something funny?” Macaque asked.

“Dude, why are your arms ovals?” Wukong’s question betrayed him, a giggle slipping through his wavering voice. “They’re, like, football-shaped, how did you do that?”

Looking affronted and a little confused, Macaque looked between Wukong’s painting and his. “You said the body is circles and rectangles! That’s, like, an oval. Right? A circle and a rectangle.”

This time, Wukong couldn’t help the laugh that exploded out of him. “You know, maybe I do want you to make a videogame,” he managed through his giggles. “I’d love to see a playthrough of nothing but this.”

Macaque shoved Wukong out of his space. “Shut up,” he said, but there was a playful lilt that made Wukong think he wasn’t actually as irritated as he made himself out to be. “You’re saying it to make fun of me, but I will make this game just to spite you.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Wukong managed to compose himself, turning back to his own painting. “Except you better get some art lessons or something first, because, man-”

“Alright!” Macaque interrupted. “I dragged you up here to get you out of your own, stupid head, not for you to criticize my art skills.”

Wukong paused at the admission, that Macaque had stuck around this long to… help. Of course, he'd mentioned something like that earlier, too, that he’d come back to the mountain to check on Wukong. And, really, Wukong hadn’t forgotten it, he just wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Far easier to pretend that there was no motive to keeping each other company other than banter and borderline arguments.

Most simply, neither one of them wanted to be alone. And if they couldn’t have the company civilly, then they’d have it violently, or reluctantly, or in the dying rays of sunlight pretending they didn’t miss each other just as much as they hated each other.

Only, Wukong wasn’t sure if they could call this hatred anymore. He wasn’t sure he wanted to and, when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he ever did.

“So, what are we doing about… us? This?” Wukong pointedly kept his eyes on his own painting, but he could still feel Macaque stiffen beside him. “You know, because this whole situation we have going on isn’t- I don’t think it’s working out.”

Macaque took the bowl of water and idly swirled his brush around the sides. “Wanna be more specific?”

“You’re not going to attack the kid anymore,” Wukong stated matter of factly, because he knew Macaque wouldn’t. “And… I mean, it’d be really cool if you stopped attacking me, but, you know.” Macaque set the bowl down and flicked his brush in Wukong’s direction. “Hey!”

“Look, can we not have this conversation right now?” Macaque picked out a deep red and golden yellow from the box. “I’m too tired to deal with… us.” He gestured around them vaguely. “This.”

Wukong frowned. “Why not?” he asked, picking out a brown for his animal pelt skirt. It was strange painting his old clothes again, pulling the past from his memories and sealing them onto the stone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen his clothes from before the Journey, much less drawn them. “You’re here trying to get me out of my own stupid head, so why can’t we just talk-”

“You know why not,” Macaque said sharply. “I don’t want to fight, Wukong. Don’t make me regret doing this.”

And his exhaustion be damned, Wukong almost bit out something mean. Wukong turned to Macaque, ready to ask about all the other things he should regret doing.

But then his gaze caught Macaque’s picture. It wasn’t bad, considering Macaque’s painting experience was limited to set pieces. Wukong could see where Macaque had painted his black and yellow sleeves, though the style didn’t look quite like what the warrior had on, and the crudely shaped smear of red around the neck looked distinctly more like a bandana than a scarf.

“Can we at least agree to be civil?” Wukong tried. “I mean, for MK’s sake, you know? I think he wants to- I don’t know, befriend you?” He chuckled awkwardly. “I can’t imagine why, but-”

“You can’t?” Macaque asked, taking them both by surprise. Really, Macaque wasn’t even sure why he’d said anything at all, but he chose to blame his lack of filter on the post-battle exhaustion.

Maybe it was the way Wukong was so willing to forget what Macaque couldn’t help but remember. A closeness that Macaque couldn’t imagine having with anyone else, and Wukong couldn’t imagine Macaque having with anyone at all.

Though, he supposed he couldn’t blame Wukong, either, even if it hurt to admit. Why would anyone bother befriending the shifty Six-Eared Macaque? It wasn’t like he made it easy.

Macaque shook his head. “You know what? Never mind.” He went back to his picture, determined to finish it before he inevitably got pushed to a breaking point with Wukong. “Yeah, we can be civil for the kid.”

“Macaque-”

“Wukong,” he interjected. “We can be civil for the kid, and that is all you’re getting out of me right now.” For a moment, Wukong was blessedly silent, leaving Macaque to detail the armor in his painting in peace. There was a tension in the air that felt borderline electric, and he wasn’t sure if breaking that tension would be good for either of their healths. It certainly wouldn’t be good for Macaque’s, in any case.

But Wukong had never been very good at long silences, and only graced Macaque with a few moments of quiet before speaking up again. “That’s all I’m getting out of you… right now,” Wukong repeated slowly. “Does that mean we can talk more- uh, later? We could- I mean, if you want to.” Wukong cleared his throat. “Because I don’t, you know- I don’t really care-”

“No, of course, you don’t,” Macaque said bitterly. “The kid’s managed a damn miracle, getting you to care about anything.” And he knew that wasn’t fair, because there were certainly plenty of things the great and powerful Monkey King cared about, like his kingdom and his subjects and the precious few friends he managed to make over the years.

The Great Sage cared, of course, he did. He just didn’t care for Macaque.

Wukong’s expression flickered for a moment, and since Macaque refused to look directly at him, it was hard to tell what was going through his mind. “Fine, Macaque,” he said finally. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Macaque swallowed back his anger. If he got angry now, he’d be forced to retreat from the mountain. More than that, he’d have to go back to his empty dojo, and convince himself that the never-ending sounds of the city made him feel less alone.

“Can I-” Wukong started, and Macaque made a vague warning sound. “Come on, dude, I just wanted to ask you something. You don’t even have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Macaque considered him for a moment, letting his gaze drift to Wukong’s painting. It looked infinitely better than his own, a perfect replica of Wukong before the journey. Before the Brotherhood, even, and Macaque… he missed the days when he and Wukong could promise each other a forever. Back when living in eternal peace on Flower Fruit Mountain didn’t seem like some hopeless pipe dream, back when the promise was more than just an excuse for Wukong to seek out sources of power.

He took a slow breath, bracing himself for whatever idiotic question Wukong might have prepared. “Sure,” he relented. “Ask.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if Macaque was setting a trap for him. And, given Macaque’s track record, he supposed that wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. “You knew the Lady Bone Demon was coming,” he said. Not a question, Macaque noticed. “You tried to warn MK that something was coming–that she was coming. And you were… I don’t know, you were trying to teach MK, I think? About his powers, and listening to his friends.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was, uh- also, trying to do that.”

“You don’t use a weapon,” Macaque quoted himself, “you are a weapon.”

“He doesn’t need his staff to use his powers, right,” Wukong agreed. “Although, I gotta say, I did not approve of your methods on that one.”

Macaque shrugged. “Eh, to be honest? Kinda did it to annoy you more than I did to teach him.” He picked up the bowl to rinse his brush again, noting how murky the water was getting. “I know better than anyone that there’s no way to actually kill you, it wouldn’t have mattered how much energy I stole from MK.”

“And,” Wukong added, “you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” He snickered, “I mean, you really punched the side of a mountain trying to hit MK with your giant shadow demon thing. Like, I still blocked it, but you seriously weren’t even close-”

“Trust me, if I wanted to hit MK, I would have. Could’ve done it literally anytime I wanted,” Macaque pointed out. “Like I said, I was mostly just trying to annoy you. And maybe prove a point.” He spun the brush in his hand for a moment, contemplating on what to paint next. “I was taking that other lesson a little more seriously, though. You know, about not ignoring his friends? Listening in general, actually, doesn’t seem like his strong suit.”

“Yeah, I sent him a magic blindfold trying to teach him some listening skills,” Wukong mused. “I don’t think it worked out too well, considering the whole gambling fiasco that happened in the desert.” He chuckled. “You know, maybe we’re both just really bad at teaching. I’m too lazy and you’re too mean.”

“Probably.” Macaque agreed. “I thought you were going to ask me a question. If you wanted to compare lesson plans, you could’ve just-”

“Why-” Macaque heard Wukong’s breath catch for a moment. “If you knew she was coming,” he said slowly, “and… you knew how absolutely screwed you were,” he glanced at Macaque, “I mean, I know we’re not on great terms, or- like, barely tolerable terms. But if she was really- I mean, if you were… you know.”

Brow furrowing in confusion, Macaque tilted his head at Wukong. “If I was… what?” He allowed himself a small smile. “You’re pretty bad at asking questions, you know that? You haven’t even-”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Macaque’s smile fell faster than a rock through water. “What?”

“Er- you could’ve run away? Or something. I just-” Wukong shifted uneasily. “Look, I may not want you back in the cave, but that doesn’t mean I want you back in the ground.” Macaque blinked at Wukong, struggling to attach a meaning to the words he was hearing. “You should’ve told-”

“Who?” Macaque asked in disbelief, finally realizing what Wukong was asking of him. “You? And why the hell would I tell you anything?”

Wukong shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! You could’ve told the kid, or-”

“No, because MK would’ve told you,” Macaque interrupted, “and you would’ve done something stupid about it, and made my whole situation worse. Not that it was great to begin with.” The paintbrush in hand felt close to snapping, and Macaque forced his claws to loosen their hold on the slim, wooden handle. “Last thing I need is you getting involved in my business.”

“Oh, right,” Wukong said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “because what you did was so much smarter than anything I would’ve done. Going along with her plans and hunting down the kid, that was all real smart.”

Macaque felt a smile tug at his lips, too sharp around the edges to be friendly. “Yeah, actually, I think I handled the situation a lot better than you would’ve,” he bit out, “considering I made it out alive.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he could feel the regret coiling around his stomach. Wukong looked ready to say something, but Macaque wasn’t ready to hear it. “I’m-” he snatched the bowl of murky paint water and stood, “cleaning this. You’re done painting, right?”

“Macaque, put the bowl down,” Wukong protested. “I’m not gonna-”

But Macaque didn’t want to hear what Wukong wasn’t going to do, hauling himself to his feet and ready to abandon the situation altogether. His left leg creaked in protest, buckling under the strain of his sudden movement. Pressing his free hand against the top of the painted rock, Macaque steadied himself, though the bowl still jostled, water cresting the rim and dripping down the side in two small rivulets.

“Hey!” Wukong shot to his feet frustratingly fast, a hand hovering awkwardly between them. “I thought you said your leg was fine.”

“It is fine,” Macaque hissed. “I’m fine, would you just-” He didn’t like that Wukong was standing steadier than him. They weren’t fighting–not yet, at least–but Wukong having any advantage over him made an uneasy static burrow into his skin. Wukong hadn’t attacked yet, but what would Macaque do if the sage decided he was no longer interested in playing nice?

He refused to show weakness in Wukong’s presence again. Almost entirely forgetting about the bowl in his hand, Macaque shoved himself away from the rock and out of Wukong’s reach, trying to prove to himself as much as the sage that he was fine. Despite his determination, another bolt of pain tore through his leg at the motion. His tail whipped back and forth in a futile attempt at regaining his balance, but his leg refused to cooperate with him, determined to send him careening into the ground.

“Macaque!” Wukong took a step towards him, a strong hand grasping Macaque’s upper arm to keep him steady. “Alright there, bud, now I know you’re lying about your leg.”

It almost didn’t register at first, the warm hand encircling his arm, because the only thing Macaque could feel was the pressure. And it didn’t matter that the pressure was keeping him upright, it still felt far too much like chains. “Stop-” he barely choked out, then angrier, “Stop it!” He tore himself out of Wukong’s hold, hands raised before he could think about it, “Get off me!”

Wukong reeled back, his expression something between confused and hurt. “Macaque-” Whatever he might have said was lost as the bowl clattered to the ground. Macaque stumbled back from Wukong, his leg stooping dangerously before righting itself, and took a few steadying breaths once he’d regained his balance. Wukong’s hand still hung limply between them, the sound of the bowl spinning around until it settled the only thing breaking the silence.

Macaque took a stuttering breath. “I’m-” Empty hands closing into fists, Macaque slowly dragged his gaze away from Wukong to stare at the bowl of water he’d dropped. “Wukong-”

The bowl was the absolute least of Wukong’s concerns. The water that had spilled out of it, on the other hand, was an entirely different story, because it was grayish brown with used paint and currently splashed across the rock that Wukong and Macaque had just been painting on. And he wasn’t even angry that his picture had been ruined, he was just upset. The pictures had barely been given time to dry, there was no way either one of them would remain fully intact and, his rocky past with Macaque be damned, Wukong had wanted those pictures to stay right where they were.

“I didn’t-” Wukong’s gaze snapped back to Macaque, who flinched a little under his stare. “Um… I wasn’t trying to do that. That wasn’t-” His expression crumbled for a moment, in a vulnerable way that Wukong hadn’t seen it do for at least a thousand years, “I didn’t mean to,” he finished lamely.

A very awful, bitter part of Wukong wanted to blame Macaque, anyway. It was a small part, though, a part of him that never really left the Five Elements Mountain, and he smothered it with a strained smile. “It’s all good.” Macaque hesitated, then started forward, hand already outstretched to grab the fallen bowl. “I got it,” Wukong said quickly, not wanting to risk Macaque falling again, and swooped down to grab the bowl. “I’ll, uh… I’ll just go put this away.”

If Macaque had a reply, Wukong didn’t stick around to hear it. He quickly brushed past Macaque and into the house, trying to ignore the lump of emotions that had started crawling up his throat. He wasn’t even sure why he was so upset. It was a painting. He’d made MK destroy a thousand year old mural, and he was upset over some painted rock.

A rock he’d painted with Macaque.

Wukong walked to the sink and turned on the hot water, letting it reach temperatures that anyone without stone skin wouldn’t have been able to touch. Under normal circumstances, Wukong probably would have made a clone take care of the bowl, but he needed a distraction, so he took his time rinsing out the residual paint and letting the scalding water slip through his fingers.

He wished Macaque were a little more open to talking about… them, whatever it was they had going on. They certainly weren’t friends, but Wukong couldn’t imagine them being enemies again after this. Not only because it’d be a really stupid decision on Macaque’s part, but also because it didn’t seem like either of them wanted to.

But Macaque didn’t want to fight, and their past looked a bit too much like a battlefield to start charging into things blindly, so Wukong settled for the strange no man’s land they’d created.

Turning off the water and tossing aside the bowl, Wukong quickly looked around for something to dry his hands on before giving up and shaking the water from his fur. With the bowl clean and nothing else to stall him, Wukong put on the best smile he could manage, and mentally prepared himself to deal with the situation he’d left outside.

“Hey, Macaque,” he called, making his way back to the door he’d left standing open. “You see our paintbrushes out there? I was gonna-” He halted at the sight of Macaque crouched in front of the rock, the end of his scarf clutched tightly in his hand and pressed against the face of Wukong’s painting.

Wukong almost called to him again, demanding to know what he was doing. Hadn’t the painting been ruined enough without Macaque wiping it off?

Then Macaque pulled back, shifting a bit and pressing the scarf into a painted, light blue bandana. His brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to meticulously dry off the rock’s surface without disturbing the artwork. There were some spots that rubbed off more than others, and the gray paint water clouded the pictures a little, but they were still intact.

“Hey,” Wukong said quietly, trying not to startle Macaque. “You’re gonna ruin your scarf.”

Macaque’s ear flicked at the sound of Wukong’s voice. “Eh,” he shrugged, “it’s been through worse.” He pressed the red fabric to his own picture. “I’m… I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Wukong interjected, “I know.” Macaque gave a minute nod and then returned to his task. “Kinda my fault, anyway, for startling you.”

“You didn’t startle me,” Macaque said defensively.

Wukong chuckled, “Uh-huh, sure.” He waved for Macaque to move over. “C’mon, scooch. Lemme see.” Macaque moved from his crouching position, falling more than he did sit, and Wukong heard him wince. “You good?”

Macaque hummed as Wukong settled beside him. “Fine.” Then he scowled at the painting. “Ah, man. Smudged it a little.”

“Well,” Wukong said reluctantly, biting back his own wince at the face of Macaque’s picture, “I mean, that eye was giving you a hard time, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Macaque let his scarf fall, leaning back to see their partially ruined handiwork. “You know, maybe it’s just because I haven’t seen your art in a while, but I think this is probably one of my favorites.” Something in Macaque’s expression softened a bit, the lines around his smile easing. “I’m kinda glad you dragged me out here.”

Wukong spluttered for a moment. “What- you dragged me out here!”

“Doesn’t really sound like something I’d do,” Macaque replied. “I think your memory is starting to fail you, old man.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Wukong said, though a smile still tugged at his lips. “Fine, I dragged you out here, whatever.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Do I have to drag you inside, too? Or are you going to try portaling home with no sleep?”

There was a moment where Macaque didn’t say anything, and Wukong was sure he’d messed something up, somehow. Maybe after their near-argument from earlier, Macaque wasn’t interested in staying longer than he had to. Maybe Wukong was embarrassing them both by crossing a line that they weren’t nearly ready enough to approach.

Then, slowly, Macaque nodded. “I could probably use the rest,” he admitted. “At least a few hours, you know, so I don’t portal myself into a wall trying to get home.” He fidgeted with the hem of his scarf. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before you even wake up in the morning.”

At that, Wukong could feel his smile fade, though he tried his best to keep it in place. “Oh! Well, I mean- do you have to be?”

Macaque’s gaze stayed trained on their painting. “Yeah,” came the quiet response, his voice hoarse with an emotion Wukong couldn’t pin down, “I think I do.”

And there wasn’t much that Wukong could do to argue with that, so he didn’t. He and Macaque slipped into an easy silence that Wukong would have given anything to never break. If it meant that Wukong never woke up to find Macaque gone, he’d have gladly stayed awake in the lantern light until the moon laid itself to rest again.

That wouldn’t be very fair to either of them, though, not with how tired they both were. So, Wukong only allowed himself a few minutes of selfish peace before clearing his throat. “Alright, then.” He pushed himself up, offering a hand to Macaque. “I think I’m gonna pass out right here if I don’t lay down somewhere. You good taking the couch?”

“Are you kidding?” Macaque grunted, gently knocking aside Wukong’s offered hand–not harshly, Wukong noticed, just a polite denial of assistance, “I could fall asleep on a bed of nails right now. A couch sounds like actual heaven.”

Wukong gestured to the door. “After you, sleepy-head.” Macaque snorted, but took the invitation. “There should be a blanket somewhere, I’m gonna throw a hammock up or something.”

“I will never understand your love of sleeping in the air,” Macaque all but collapsed onto the couch. “Seriously. Tree branches, hammocks, not to mention all the times I caught you sleeping on a cloud-”

“You do realize that we’re monkeys, right?” Wukong plucked a hair from his hand and blew on it gently, summoning a hammock that swayed gently from the rafters. “It’s weirder that you want to sleep so close to the ground.”

“Not all monkeys sleep in trees, dude,” Macaque pointed out, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch. “Gorillas make nests almost exclusively on the ground.”

Clambering into his hammock, Wukong said, “Yeah, okay.” Settling into the cloth and tucking his arms behind his head, he continued, “Hey, I got a question for you, Macaque: Are you a gorilla?” He had just enough time to register a shuffling coming from the couch before he was hit with something soft. “Hey!” Snatching the pillow off his face and shoving it under his head, Wukong gave an annoyed huff. “Rude.”

“You’re welcome,” Macaque replied, settling deeper into the couch and pulling the blanket around him. “Now shut up and go to sleep before I teleport you to the North Pole.”

“Alright, alright,” Wukong closed his eyes and sighed contently. “G’night, Macaque.” Macaque gave a noncommittal hum in lieu of response, but Wukong wasn’t bothered. He turned onto his side and tucked an arm under the pillow Macaque had thrown at him, practically wrapping himself around it and nuzzling into the fabric as the last bit of tension left his body.

In his last lingering moments of consciousness, Wukong could hear Macaque’s breathing slowly even out. Macaque was always so slow to fall asleep when they were younger, his sensitive ears doing him no favors in finding peace, and his vigilance refusing to let him relax. The recent battle must have been just as exhausting for Macaque as it had been for Wukong if he was able to sleep within moments of laying his head down.

Still, Wukong knew Macaque would be gone when he woke the next day. Regardless of how tired Macaque was, sunlight never failed to wake him, and there was still a gaping hole in Wukong’s wall. Macaque would rise with the sun, hours before Wukong even stirred, and then he’d leave.

They would never speak of this night again, of course, and they probably wouldn’t even see each other for weeks or months or however long it took for the world to be in danger again, but Wukong couldn’t find it in himself to mind. He didn’t care that it almost took the world being unraveled for them to talk civilly, Wukong and Macaque were not hopeless, and there was proof painted on the stone outside.

If anyone had told Wukong, however many months ago it was that Macaque had reappeared, that they’d be sleeping under the same roof again, he’d have laughed. Surely, neither one of them would dare to be so vulnerable around the other without fear of being at each other’s throats. But now, finally losing his fight with exhaustion to the sound of crickets and Macaque’s quiet, rattling breaths, Wukong couldn’t imagine a better way to fall asleep.

#mylo's lmk stories #cross posted on ao3 #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk macaque #lmk sun wukong #lego monkie kid sun wukong #lego monkie kid macaque #shadowpeach #lmk fanfiction

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hekateinhell · 2 months ago

Note

thinking about Beneath Your Shallows and going absolutely feral over mermaid Armand...

Oops I sent the last ask too early lol (about Beneath Your Shallows and mermaid Armand) but I was going to ask if you had any headcanons you could share about that AU because I lovee your writing and i can't stop thinking about it 🙏

Hiiii! 💙

Thank you so much for this you’re so sweet, this made my day when I got it and it made my day all over again whenever I remembered it! 🥹💙 I am so sorry it’s taken me so long to respond—I was traveling and then I got sick and then I came home and got sick with something else LOL.

This AU is a little tricky for me—normally I have so many headcanons about all my universes, but with this one I feel it’s a story that is locked into a very specific location (the water) and their roles as human vs otherworldly sea creature, so it’s much more rigid and I have to work harder to be creative with them!

That said, there are things that I thought about when I was trying to write the sequel (still languishing in Google Docs, RIP):

I wanted to borrow a bit from what Anne did in Devil’s Minion and really emphasize how becoming attached to something inhuman will destroy you (I already called Lestat a “ruined thing” in the first fic lmao). But Lestat really does attach to Armand and he projects a lot on him that he doesn’t know really whether or not Armand is capable of returning those sentiments! Armand’s a nonverbal creature that operates purely on instinct, but Lestat’s just a little human guy and he’s really losing the plot and anthropomorphizing Armand! He obsesses about seeing him, he can never tell anyone about him, he spends every waking hour he can at the beach, he sleeps there until it gets too cold to do so, and he loses his mind if Armand isn’t there waiting for him—it feels like rejection, abandonment! Meanwhile Armand is just crounching on a live crab behind some rocks.

They do have a sort of means of communication through giving gifts. 🥹 Of course Lestat’s doing it with human sentiments, like if he were courting a someone with romantic and/or sexual intention. Armand’s more like a crow, seeing shiny stuff and bringing it to Lestat. In addition to the pearls, he brings him sea glass, shells, and jewelry from sunken ships. Lestat discovered Armand will take an interest in his food and offers it to him (mostly meat but sometimes fruit, and although Armand is a carnivore, he will sometimes put it his mouth out of curiosity. He likes peaches).

Lestat does still have to… exist, and he needs money for that. He does work as an actor and sometimes he acts out his parts for Armand who either ignores him completely or stares at him with the same wide, unblinking eyes as my cat when you dangle the feather toy in front of them. Thing is lol Armand doesn’t understand a word Lestat says but he’s attracted to the sound and the movement. And Lestat is like- “oh he loves me 🥹🥰”

Armand is not immortal but he will live for thousands of years, and yes, he will outlive Lestat. ☹️

Armand’s kind mate for life (one and done) and he does have the ability to enchant Lestat should Lestat ever try and leave him. Armand can’t read thought but he can feel intention, so he would feel if Lestat were pulling away from him. It is abnormal that he mated with a human and unfortunate too, given Lestat’s lifespan.

Armand is a very complex but also very base creature—he just needs to eat and procreate and be by the sea. He does not need to sleep but he does feel physical pain, like when laying his eggs.

I imagine the eggs to be like shark eggs—there’s a kind that are actually called mermaid’s purses!

They’re going to have lots of beautiful freaky little half-human, half-mermaid children. Lestat will be horrified watching them come out 💙

my mermaid fic and a follow-up pwp on ao3 💦

#im sorry for any typos im still recovering but i didnt want to sit on this any longer and i ALWAYS have fic thoughts!!!!!#ty again for sending this 🥹🫶🏼#you ask and hekate answers #armand/lestat #fic: beneath your shallows

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aeliesa · 2 years ago

Text

DEAFENING SILENCE OF YEARNING

Synopsis: He's away but in those days of being on a different horizon, you just couldn't restrain yourself to think about how your life seems to be akin to what you try to evade. Nonetheless, he continues to prove you wrong in different ways.

• Relationship: Charlotte Katakuri x female reader

• Content: some extent of angst (?) and fluff

A/N: While rewatching one piece (which means my priorities is to reach Land of Wano as of now lolololols) I couldn't help but to write this as my mind keeps on generating plots (which I hate because whenever I try to write on my other fan fiction stories, it seems to be that writers block is back from vacation!) Anyway, this is a lengthy one which I decided to cut, I realized that it is way too much for one post because it is over 8k words, which might tire some of you.

I was just really kept on letting the juice of creativity out of my mind and realized this scenario has been growing the moment I stepped in the WCI arc, and I cannot help but adore the donut boy (although my heart lies with Ace, Luffy, and Law alone ehe.)

Anyway, this is the point of view of the reader (you) on missing the donut softie boy.

I hope you enjoy! :D

Addendum: there are some revisions but it's not too much that it alters the story. Just some errors here and there. Still, the possibility of errors that I overlooked is there.

To read the continuation head to: here.

In most situations, political marriage doesn’t work that much. It may help strengthen connections between families, but those forced to bind their love to secure the future of both parties tend to suffer the most.

Although you were treated differently than most of his family’s spouses, sometimes it makes you wonder if this union is simply for the family’s benefit.

“No,” you dismissed the thought immediately.

If anyone asks how married life goes, you would like to answer one thing: life-changing. At least, it is what you were dreaming of saying rather than pleasing; there is something in this matrimony that you were hoping to seek… something that differs from your parents. However, much to your dismay, the answer becomes more explicit each day: it is the same selfish decision between two heads of the families.

“Isn’t it also a selfish choice for you?” The thought makes you sigh in frustration for hoping to see the light in this almost spiral of despair.

As much as you try to neglect the idea, it just creeps inside your mind, slowly convincing. Being persistent has its merits, yet the situation you brought upon yourself at some point says otherwise. This political marriage between your family and the Charlottes is your gateway from the life you always wanted to escape. The suffocation of your father’s law has restrained you from almost everything in life, including the liberty to roam around your former land alone. In simpler terms: you were never free.

The night is still young, but your body is already weary enough to crave the soft mattress that can be found in the chambers shared by the two of you. Despite the tiredness, you were in no mood to leave the living room as you found comfort slouching on a settee facing the fireplace, listening to the soothing crackling from the burned woods.

“Why are you still awake?” a worried figure appeared from the mirror atop the fireplace. She walked over to you as soon as she stepped on the floor. “I was here three hours ago, and you didn’t bother to leave? Your body must be sore, sister, not to mention the babysitting with our youngest siblings.”

“We can stay here if you want,” a lady with peach hair says with concern.

“I appreciate the concern, girls, but it is still early… I’m not that tired,” you softly mumbled, trying to suppress a yawn with a wide smile. “This may come off, but what are you two doing here? I heard that there’s some commotion at the Seducing Woods; shouldn’t you be there, Brûlée?” your gaze never left her as the tall, pale woman with purplish hair sat before you.

“I needed to be here,” she simply quips, blowing her newly poured tea and glimpsing at your puzzled look.

“And I wanted to see you!” says the other one.

“Here? This isn’t the forest, Brûlée.”

Brûlée comes almost daily to accompany you, which you are thankful for. There are also nights that she checks on you from time to time. It can be through the mirrors or simply staying at your house and ensuring your needs. At first, you were bewildered by her ways of seeing you, but later on, you became accustomed to it, almost that it didn’t faze you that she appeared out of the blue.

Some of your in-laws visit you, but it is almost twice or thrice a month, considering their position, you understand. You were grateful that they took their time to spend their leisure time with you; never did they show any sign of detest in those times. Unlike some spouses of their siblings, you were just elated they treated you as a part of the family.

Most of the time, Chiffon and Brûlée knock at your door or appear from the mirrors in different corners of your house.

“Big brother asked me to look after you while he’s away,” Brûlée explains casually, leaning against the settee with a trace of determination across her face. “Actually… he asked all of us, but since most of my big brothers and sisters are busy with their work, they rarely come… and right now, I took the chance to escape dealing with those dimwits-minded pirates and let the other siblings handle it.”

Chiffon ‐ the peach-haired girl, nodded, “Brûlée also came to me and told me she was off to see you, so I took the chance!”

You were not a pirate nor had the liberty to sail the sea on your own accord, but when you stepped foot in Totto Land, you saw things that could leave you at a loss for words. Never in your wildest thought that such a country existed, much less imagined it… but it did. Although some things are difficult to explain and leave you dumbfounded, nothing can beat how his actions defy your pondering about this relationship – the union and mostly about him.

He continues to prove you wrong, not that you wanted to be cynical about him. Hell, it is the last thing you want! But considering where you grew up, it cannot be helped. To add fuel to the fire, the situation you’re dealing with is no different from the factors that lead you to think about it.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Excuse me, sister.” Chiffon picks up her transponder snail and answers it with: “sister is fine!”

“That is good to hear – hey, Oven, give that to m –”

“Hey sister, how are you?!”

“Now that you got to say your words, let me have this – Cracker give that to me! I’m gonna –”

“Big sister! I will ensure no pirates will step foot in your land!”

“Big talk right there, Cracker, when I was the one who monitored those weaklings. Now give that back to me!”

“What are you trying to say, Daifuku?!”

“I’m not done yet –”

“Shut up! Hey sister, I’m going to vis – hey Oven!”

Brûlée couldn’t contain her annoyance, “why don’t you guys try to resort to talking to her one by one?”

Instead of an answer, all she received were a series of banters from her big brothers, and you couldn’t even understand their words as they continued to bicker about who goes first in talking to you. Seeing them acting like that gives you a sense of belongingness; you were never the big shot in your own family, but somehow seeing how your husband’s siblings fought for your attention is surreal. As much as you try to understand their big brother’s impact on his siblings, you still fail to comprehend how you became a part of someone they have come to love. From a different perspective, your in-laws also look up to you the same way they see their big brother but, again, from a different perspective.

“I said I’ll go first!”

“No! You’ll just take all the time!”

“Daifuku is right!”

On the other hand, the woman with purplish hair who sits in front of you seems to restrain her displeasure and starts to yell at them, which makes everything worse. The other one, named Chiffon, tries to soothe her siblings but eventually joins the banters. Although the situation worsens, you find comfort that they have turned the silence of the living room into a swarming of energy from their bickers.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their enthusiasm and somehow pitied the snail at its continuous shifting of expressions: from anger to felicity to laughs and screams, their siblings’ bond is one of a kind that you also missed at your land.

Raising a hand despite not being able to be seen, you beamed. “Hi, guys! How are you there?”

“We are fine, sister!” the siblings from the other line answered unison, with the snail imitating their ecstasy.

“Hey, sister – I – hey!”

“Look, sister, I am goi – no! I - hey! Give that back!”

“Let me just finish – ow! Hey – clank”

Right before you could say something, the line was cut off. You just smiled over the cup of tea, elated to see that your in-laws are doing fine despite taking the mess into their own hands. It is not that you questioned their ability, but sometimes you cannot help but worry. Periodically you would check on them to see if they were okay, and thanks to your sister-in-law Brûlée, it was easy for you to move from place to place due to her abilities which you find so amazing.

The two girls shook their heads in disbelief and turned to you. “We’re sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing worth apologizing for,” you assured, smiling. “I’m glad you guys are okay… thank you for ensuring my safety.”

“Of course,” Brûlée exclaims, clearly flustered with your response. “We do not want to leave you alone, and certainly, we cannot withstand our big brother’s request… even if he doesn’t ask, we will do it voluntarily.”

“We just couldn’t leave you alone,” the other agreed.

Your eyes widened at their honesty but quickly tried to look away to hide the warm color of your cheeks through sipping your tea; Brûlée failed to notice your reaction much to your delight; however, Chiffon saw that subtle reaction.

“Big brother Katakuri is awesome… he’s the most independent sibling out there, and he is so strong that we all aspire to be as strong as him,” Brûlée explains while biting a cupcake. “Anyway, it must be hard for you to be married to him.”

The thought already crossed your mind: marrying him is no easy task. No, marriage is not easy; it bounds you for eternity. It is life-changing because you have already observed it from your siblings and parents. When you agree to be tied to him, you already know that there are things you have to compromise.

“What makes you say that?” you genuinely questioned.

Brûlée clears her throat and pauses, contemplating her sentence, “I mean… big brother is always away and, most times, when he’s here, he is always at work… I can very much perceive the difficulty of having time with him.”

Chiffon frowned at her sister’s question, “Brûlée! That’s not nice…” she turned to you with curiosity shining in her eyes. “Say, sister, what is it like to be married?”

It was the silence that engulfed you. The weight of the girls’ words is evident, leaving you silent for a minute. Chiffon’s question ran into your mind. Usually, you would answer it with fine, but in those moments, something akin to your desire to answer life-changing makes you want to say something different.

“Brûlée and Chiffon…” you softly called and straightly looked into their eyes. “Marriage is something that everyone should take seriously, it is not just the union of both sides, but it is a lifetime chapter that will shape the rest of your life.”

In between your pause, Chiffon interrupts. “Our family focuses on political marriage because it is what our mother wants… Most of us shut the idea of marrying for true love because we are bound with the responsibility of making our mother’s dream come true…” she lowers her head, dejected at the idea of marrying for convenience. “I’m gonna be honest… to see you and big brother Katakuri being in love gives hope that I – would someday have the same bond with you two.”

You could taste the tiniest hint of faith in her tone of your husband’s siblings. Chiffon is the most upfront about marrying for love. You cannot blame them for losing hope in finding affection in marriage; you’re also the same as them. A wave of sympathy came over you that you almost gave her false hope, which you never did.

You stood up and went over between the two girls who were lost in their reveries and gently placed a hand on both, “I cannot deny that political marriage tends to end up tumultuous, but that does not imply it could happen to the both of you. You must also remember that things may turn the way you do not want, but that does not mean it is the end of everything. There is time in everything; perhaps who knows that you and your siblings will find love the same way your brother and I do, or way better than ours.”

You gave them a reassuring smile; you know it is not the best advice, but it was what you could offer. The two-sister-in-law of yours seemed dazed, for all they could do was hug you, which you answered by leaning at their embrace and tapping their cheeks gently.

“We are so lucky to have a big sister like you,” Chiffon uttered, making you smile.

“And I am delighted to have you as my sisters,” you answered truthfully.

The three of you remained in that position as they showered you with questions about the life of matrimony; mainly, it was Chiffon because Brûlée entertained herself with the sweets they brought for you earlier.

“Is the life of being married hard?”

You thought for a second, “I-uhh... Maybe at first? Because of the sudden changes in your life, but as far as I can see… it is not…” you paused, thinking about the days you were newly married.

A feeling of sorrow starts to sprout that you choose to kill it off instantly, you’re with his sister, and it is not the right time for that. “You must learn to compromise; you have to give up something and in the same manner accept him wholeheartedly – his flaws, family – everything!”

“What about you?”

“Me?” you cleared your throat when Chiffon nodded. It didn’t escape from you how Brûlée glanced – also waiting for your answer. It is not because the question is difficult, you already have your answer, but before responding to the young girl’s curiosity, you sipped your tea.

“Well… I also have things to compromise, which is not a big deal because… I want to be part of your brother’s life.”

By that, you know it to yourself. When you agree with the marriage, you already see yourself in a different side of life – a life shared with someone who you vowed with your heart to cherish and love. The only person with whom you’re willing to set everything aside and risk things to be with him.

Chiffon leaned against your embrace, touched by your answer, while Brûlée, with food stuffed in her mouth, chimed in, “I always – no – all of us will forever wonder how marriage life works for the both of you….”

You laugh heartily at her blatant remark. “There are just things that you cannot understand, girls… but soon you will,” you smile.

Brûlée chuckles, “I can still remember that he said almost the same thing.”

You glanced at her – astonished. Did your husband talk about you with his siblings? You cannot see him being like that… even in the house you share with him, he’s different. Nonetheless, Charlotte Katakuri never fails to subside your doubts whenever you think of one; he may be thousands of kilometers away. Still, somehow, he can always make a way to connect with you in every possible way. Honestly, he continues to leave your thoughts at bay. This demeanor of Katakuri is what you’ve been holding onto that tiniest shade of light you see in this marriage.

The girls didn’t stay too long, although they insisted on waiting until you fell asleep. You refused because you were really not ready to rest. It was also getting late, so they had to return to their own shelter because there were responsibilities to do once the sun rose.

Once they left, you started to clean and brew another tea. It has been a long day, but some of you wanted to stay in the living room. You took a blanket and covered yourself as the coldness started to make its way under your clothes. For the past five months, it became your routine to simply sit over a cup of tea with a book in your hand and wait until it is late enough for you to stand up and head to your chamber.

Despite the comfort of the silence and being alone in the middle of the night, words cannot digest in your mind, for your intuition is somewhere in the conversation with Chiffon and Brûlée earlier. You cannot help but think about your answers.

Everything you said is the truth, but when you try to contemplate it… somehow it feels almost illusory.

You thought back on the days of your life before being married.

Political marriage is a thing for powerful families, and you’re familiar with it. When your father broke the news over a fraught dinner, no one was surprised… instead all of your siblings simply nodded, questioning who would be the chosen one while you just silently listened.

As your name left your father’s mouth, everyone was astonished, but mostly, it was you who was lost for words. You have siblings who are far prettier and more adventurous than you are, but it was nerve-wracking when your father shared that the Emperor of the Sea specifically chose you.

Your family is a product of political marriage; as much as you wanted to see the love between your parents, you failed. Being the youngest, your father was very strict with you, which you cannot understand, but you could tell it was mainly because you looked like his wife who ran away from his land.

The marriage was a yes-only answer; when the Emperor of the Sea speaks, no one can say no – or if there’s one, it takes a lot of courage; it sparks a war. But you’re no warrior, just a lady with the blood of royalty of vast influence that the emperor needs.

Since you were young, you knew about the Navy, Emperors, and pirates because of his distrust of you not to run away. He brought you with him to Whole Cake Island whenever he met with the residing Yonkou – Big Mom. You will forever be aghast by the sight of the island and how everything is paradise, everyone was friendly, and you have become accustomed to their treatment to the point that they allowed you to enter their workplace and even baked with them.

You’re a good cook. Being almost restricted to the outside, you busied yourself with cooking. When Big Mom took a liking to your baked cupcakes, that was also the time she became fond of you – which was also a good thing for this political marriage. She can be the worst nightmare for everyone, but she appears to be delicate and sweet whenever it is with you. However, you’re like everyone in her eyes on some occasions.

You shifted position and took notice of the symbolism of your union with Big Mom’s son, bringing you back to your senses. He inserted the ring on your finger with no words to say, yet his actions were enough for you to feel over the moon.

“I could never regret this decision,” you mumbled, smiling as you traced the gems of your wedding ring.

No matter how you think this marriage was your escape from the life you had come to feel suffocated, it is no secret that Katakuri took your hand and led you to a new promising one. He is known to be the strongest general, the ideal brother of his siblings, and you cannot in any way taint his image as the perfect son and sibling. Before you came into his life, there was his family, and you wholeheartedly accepted it.

Katakuri has been away for five months, and you’ve been married for half a year. In the first month, he was at the main island, primarily due to his duties, and when he came home, it would be late… too late that you would fall asleep waiting for him and wake up in your room with him already gone. That series of actions became the routine of the two of you, no matter how you look at it… you just cannot hate your husband.

It has always been like that until now. For the past six months, you waited for Katakuri every night, even when he asked for your permission (despite believing that your words have no power over your mother-in-law), that he’ll be gone for five months. You were waiting for him.

Sometimes, when the sun rises, you bring yourself to your chamber and drift to sleep. Each night seems tiresome, but your determination to see him first once he’s back winning over your weary system.

Your in-laws have no idea about this, Brûlée would sometimes express her distress over you - staying up late, but you would just answer her as you’re not yet tired. In reality, you were just waiting for your man.

Life with him is way different from what you anticipated, but you do know it is bound to happen as he is a man of responsibility. But with the series of absences, you would have concluded that perhaps… he did marry you out of convenience? Or was it just you who thought that this might turn out differently?

From the book you’ve read, different genres, and authors, you had come to believe the hope in everything, and right now, you were clinging to the faith of this marriage.

Compromise. It is one of the things you compromise; you chose to understand him. Above everyone, now that he is married, isn’t his wife’s job to believe in him? Be at his back and support him in everything? You understand him. Never in each second did you resent him for the odd interactions where you are sleeping soundly while being carried by him back to the room shared by the two of you? His responsibility is still his to take, even being tied to you. The least you could do is not add another to his plate, for he already has too much.

Katakuri never raised a hand against you… as a matter of fact, he’s different from what you expected; the subtle treatment of him each night is a message of his affection for you… but you know there is more to it, but his responsibilities should be met first. His siblings are way too expressive than your own husband, at least to their knowledge. However, knowing Katakuri for years, you could tell the emotions that lie in those demeanors. However, due to his schedule, there was little to no exchange of conversations with you, which is beyond belief; you thought it might change someday, but it just worsened.

But it is what it is.

“When will you be back?” you mumbled, staring at the ring almost sorrowfully.

Charlotte Katakuri, a man of few words and the man you vowed to love for eternity, has been away for almost all the days of being married. Although it was the start of something new, you cannot help but imagine that you were falling right into where your parents’ relationship is.

It is clear as bright as the sun that you’re missing your husband, but what else could you do other than wait? You have been waiting since your marriage, how you always stay late in the living room with the hope you’ll see his manly figure entering the house… but no.

At some time during the first month of marriage, you were doing as you do as of the moment. There were times that Katakuri was surprised to see you – awake waiting for him. The two of you would eventually spend the night over a cup of tea or in bed in a warm embrace and exchange of perception on deep topics worth discussing. Katakuri is a man of few words, but much to everyone’s oblivion with you, he can be the most talkative person you love to converse on a topic because he is a man with substance and intellect; you just love to be lost in his thoughts.

Those are rare moments; in most cases, you just fell asleep waiting for him.

Hugging your knees while staring at the ring and thinking about this marriage life took your energy, and you drifted to sleep, hoping that your husband would come home this night. The longing is burning you out that seeing him seems to be next to impossible.

The bed is empty without him – everything is just too different. The deafening silence of your longing for him starts to make its way. You were waiting for him all these times, silently. Somehow, right now, saying it would probably ease you in any way it can.

“I miss you,” you softly mumbled before slumber’s darkness overtook you.

Being married to Charlotte Katakuri is a roller coaster of emotions; he could lift you to the top of the Skypiea similarly and drown you more extensively than the Fish-Man Island. But because he’s the man you never regret marrying, everything about him is worth compromising.

cont.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #katakuri scenario #katakuricharlotte #charlotte katakuri #big mom #whole cake island #one piece #katakuri x you #katakuri x y/n #katakuri x reader

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