#vibrato hurts

[evilguywhoisevil]

ryuu...

[jils-things]

no thought brain empty just him singing his theme in acapella eheheheheee ilyilyilyily love u golden man

[the-woild-is-y-erster]

oh how i hate being a soprano💥💥💥

[yuquinzel]

FORMS OF AFFECTION feat ⨾ blue lock !

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ contents ⨾ gn! reader, fluff, bllk boys as forms of affection!

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ characters ⨾ rin, sae, nagi, reo, isagi, chigiri.

ITOSHI RIN. . .

fills the gap between your fingers with his own, entwining them tightly and lovingly. he does it to keep you close in crowds— firm and protective, making sure to always keep you in his sights. he does it on mornings he wakes up before you, always following it up with dusting his lips across your knuckles. he holds onto your hand when you're watching his horror favorites, and if you ask him, it's not really intentional— he just does it subconsciously, seeking for your hand like it's only natural to be connected to you. it grounds him. it makes him remember that you're with him, and he holds on to your hand with the sincerity of never wanting to let go.

ITOSHI SAE. . .

rakes his fingers through your hair— soft and tentative, brushing back the strands of hair behind your ears. he repeats it with a rhythm, of low hums and silken touches under the night. he knows it calms you, a wave of serenity washing over your senses when you feel his fingers thread along your hair. if he's being honest, it's more of a selfish act than a serving one because you don't know that the feel of your hair in his hand is nothing but a gentle reminder of not being alone. he feels all his worry knots unwind the moment you smile at him, so really it's much more selfish than he wishes it was.

NAGI SEISHIRO. . .

bites your fingers— never too harsh but always following it up with a chaste kiss to soothe whatever little hurt it could leave in its traces. it's laced with a childish mischief, but something intimate. the cuts of his teeth brushing lightly against the tip of your finger before you feel the softness of his lips. its a habit leftover from way before you started dating, something that makes your heart skip millions of beat in one second. he does it to get your attention, and then to keep it, and it's something that always works.

REO MIKAGE. . .

kisses your wrists, fingers loosely wrapped around it under the cold pooling your sheets. he's sweet and shy, his laugh nothing but a vibrato of sound spilling against your skin as much as the moonlight. it's a foreign feeling that you're growing accustomed to, and he holds your hand till his fingers slip to your wrist. then, he brings his lips to meet the warmth of your skin. his lips linger with the ache of home, time melts before you pull your next breath and he smiles against your skin, again.

ISAGI YOICHI. . .

greets you with the press of his lips to your forehead— never lasting more than a few heartbeats. his lips are warm unlike his hands, and he can never resist the smile tugging at his lips when you dip your head forward just seconds before he kisses you. it's how he greets and it's how he bids a farewell, a muffled love you, i'll see you later escapes his lips and it feels as though times melts into infinity before he can kiss you again.

CHIGIRI HYOMA. . .

ruffles your hair, it's always followed up by a i promise i'll see you later because he's leaving and you're pouting and he thinks you look so cute. his laugh sputters through the air like scattered breaths and echoes till it leaves reminders of him. he rests his hand on the crown of your head, giving it a few pats before ruffling your hair. and he'll do the same when he sees you again, maybe less for the act itself and more for your reaction— the pink dusting your cheeks. he thinks he'll definitely see you again.

© yuquinzel2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights! ]

[barrymccaulkinem]

I was always confused when ppl say johnny depp cant sing when they talk about Sweeney Todd bc like, i dont like the man anymore or nothing, but he is sure singin. on pitch, consistent full tone. having only seen the movie I really liked it

I'm watching a stage recording and I see why now. everyone else in the movie was trying to emulate the stage performance and depp is in a whole other octave and taking his own liberties with his delivery. maybe if i hadnt seen it first i'd agree but unfortunately i do kinda like it more. i like it in that octave at least, i dont like this deep voiced sweeney

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[goddessesofeverything]

Your Song Fills the Empty Cracks in My Bones

Skully J. Graves x GN!Reader/Yuu

Yeah...The New Guy got to me...

If you'd prefer to read it on AO3, it's there too :3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/59525989

Halloween Town was alight with fright and mischief as its denizens eagerly buzzed around preparing for their cherished holiday. As the town’s band prepared a jaunty tune to liven up the spirit, they paused seeing a certain newcomer swiftly make their way right toward them. A jittery gait to his step, they watched him as he halted just a couple feet away. 

“Esteemed musicians of Halloween Town!” Skully J. Graves greeted with a bow. He pushed his glasses back up his nose as he rose. “So sorry to trouble you in the middle of your work, but might I inquire if you happened to spot one of the lovely dears that accompanied me pass by this way?”

The musicians looked to each other, not quite sure how to answer. 

“Ah, pardon me. I meant the one usually accompanied by the small cat.”

“Ohh…” the musicians nodded in understanding then. “Your little friend went that way,” the saxophonist jabbed a thumb to the direction of the town’s entrance gate. 

“Thank you!” They curiously watch as Skully bowed again, before speeding away to the gate. Through his glove, he lightly bit his nail as he waited for the gatekeeper to let him out of town. The musicians commenced their performance after he left. 

“To think of just walking out at such a critical time,” Skully muttered. “What could they possibly be doing…!”

Skully overheard his traveling companions mention that their “Ramshackle Prefect” was nowhere to be found after completing some of their given tasks. There’s still so much to be done, though! They couldn’t just simply up and flit away when Halloween was only days away. He made it his own mission to find the Prefect and hurry them straight back. I mean, it also wouldn’t do to wander off alone, of course. 

As he made it to the graveyard by Spiral Mountain, Skully began to hear something odd carried through the wind. At first, he thought he somehow heard the musicians back in town. But, no. It sounded like someone singing. 

Lala…lalaa…lalalalala…

Was it the screaming pumpkins? As he got closer to the mountain, the bespectacled boy realized someone was standing at its peak. What were they doing…

Ah. He could hear it more clearly now. The figure on the mountain was singing. He did not hear any lyrics. The tune carried vocally—melodic and haunting. 

He could see now. The Prefect was alone, vocalizing next to the moon. 

Perfect. Now he just needed to call to them, and bring them back to town. Yet, as Skully tried to make his way to do so, something itched at him. Something was against him doing it. He watched the Prefect be completely absorbed in their own world. Their voice carried out in a soft vibrato, and produced a sweet, yet melancholic tune. It was quite beautiful. 

…It couldn’t hurt to let the Prefect finish. 

Skully didn’t consider how awkward he must look watching from below. He couldn’t really care. Not when he was enraptured by this impromptu performance. 

The Prefect’s silhouette was captured so enchantingly under the moonlight. Like a shadow on the moon taking the form of a lone, dark ghoul. Lamenting its sorrows to the piercing night. It only added to their loveliness. All the while, their voice carried through the graveyard, sharing its woes to the beyond. Skully, though, was the only one with the honor of being a living, breathing soul among them. Captured by all the Prefect gave them. 

Yet, it was over before it even began. With a final note, the Prefect had already ended their song. Skully sighed in bliss as the proverbial curtains drew to a close. But, that felt much too fast! Perhaps he could request another…

Both Skully and the Prefect were snapped out of their trance with the familiar bark of a certain ghost dog. 

Adrenaline kicked into Skully, and he dove behind a gravestone large enough to hide his tall figure. Zero whooshed past him, barking for the Prefect’s attention as he floated up the mountain. 

“Hello, Zero!” the Prefect cheerfully greeted the ghost dog. Skully peeked from behind the grave to continue watching the two. Zero was enthusiastically nuzzling into their affectionate pats. “What brings you here?”

“Bark bark!” Zero gestured his head toward the town. 

“Oh, are people looking for me?”

“Bark!” Zero nudged at the Prefect. 

“Okay, okay, boy!” They spared one last glance to the moon, before a small sigh escaped them. “Guess I gotta go back now…?” 

The Spiral Mountain unfurled itself so that the Prefect could walk down. With a kind smile, they thanked the animated mountain, and quickly made their way down the mountain. Skully shied away into the shadow of the gravestone, watching on as the Prefect followed Zero back to town. 

As the duo trotted away, Skully let out the breath he subconsciously held onto. Leaning back against the gravestone, he grasped at his chest, feeling his heart flutter in a flurry of emotions. 

Could it be…

He just emulated his beloved idol! To be captivated by the sweet, solemn music as the one who’s captured your heart serenaded you atop the Spiral Mountain…It’s just like the stories said! Skully could feel his face warm in elated joy. His hands made their way to cover his cheeks, and he lightly bounced in place like a giddy school girl. Truly, his lovely dear was a blessing—inadvertently granting him a chance at recreating such an iconic moment in his own story. Does that mean he was the esteemed Sally to the Prefect’s Pumpkin King? Or was it the other way around?

Doesn’t matter!

Rejuvenated by his self-affirmations, Skully readjusted his glasses and suit, and began a cheerful gait back to town himself. Plucking a dark rose from a lone bush on the way. He had to thank that sweet, lovely dear for the performance of a lifetime, after all. One he so gladly was a part of, whether they knew it or not. 

It must’ve simply been meant to be. 

[tojisun]

dbf!simon (and erin)—

you stare at your phone, lips pursed, as it continued to sputter, simon’s contact photo staring back at you with his little pinched smile. it flickers. the incoming call ends. your phone turns off. then, another one.

you groan as you swipe to receive the call, pressing your phone to your ear as you look back up at the television, not really watching but using it to distract you from the throbbing of your heart.

“still sulkin’, huh?” is what greets you, his voice a steady vibrato.

your hands twitch, the hold you have on your phone getting stronger. you don’t even even get to have the chance to respond when he adds, “c’mon, love.”

“shut up,” you murmur, controlling the anger before it can leak further in your voice. “just. what do you want?”

you hear him sigh from the other end. christ, he’s just becoming more crude, isn’t he?

“i missed y-”

“don’t. simon, just don’t.” you swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the back of your eyes burning. “just tell me what you’re calling for.”

“is it too much to believe that i’m calling you because i missed you?”

you roll your eyes. “yes.”

there is a pause on simon’s end like he is waiting for you to say more, but you wouldn’t. you don’t think there’s anything more to say after–

“i didn’t mean it,” he murmurs, almost indecipherable amidst the static.

you scoff, your hand reaching for the remote control to turn off the television. you sit in silence, ears ringing at the weight of your loneliness. of your hurting.

“i think that that makes it worse, simon,” you say after a while, your voice trembling as tremors racked your body. “it doesn’t even excuse what you said. god simon, you-!” a sob punches itself out from your throat and you jolt, startling as tears begin to pour out.

“i’m sorry.”

is he? is he sorry for making a fool out of you? in front of her, nonetheless. is he sorry for making a fool out of your love, your relationship, because he’s been lying to you all this time?

“you couldn’t even call us for what we were—what i thought we were.”

“…i know.”

you hum, wiping at your cheeks. “of course you do. you let her whisk you away the whole night, after all.” you take in a shaky breath. “don’t even call me anymore.”

“love?”

“goodbye simon.”

you crumple into yourself, your breaths stuttering as tears continue to pour down, staining your cheeks. your lungs feel weak as you battle to breathe in air amidst the cries, but you feel so weak — stripped into nothing but your pain.

betrayal sings at your nerves, almost burning you from the inside.

it hurts. everything hurts.

he’s just one of your many heartbreaks, you know, but this one hurts more. this one hurts differently. your heart caves in, and you feel so hollow even with all the pain that smothers you.

sped through this for no reason other than to hurt myself <3

[otteranha]

Eddie’s trying not to beg Steve to stay. Harrington’s already gone above and beyond for him, he deserves a night to sleep in his own bed. But God, does it have to be now? No one will talk about it except to pat his hand and tell him with tight lipped smiles that there’s nothing to worry about- legally the mob can’t do anything. Eddie’s been declared innocent, a tragic victim of the copycat killer.

It doesn’t change the fact that there’s been a group of people standing vigil outside the hospital since he got there. It doesn’t change the fact that the group has been growing in numbers until all of Hawkins seems to either be fleeing in desperation or taking up camp four floors below the room where Eddie lies unable to walk as far as the bathroom without help. It doesn’t change the energy of the mob, steadily humming louder, faster, with the intensity of a hive about to swarm.

“Should have known he’d be hightailing it when trouble came,” Wayne tells him. He’s furious on Eddie’s behalf that Steve would leave now, when the police protection detail has been declared no longer necessary. When the mob below is bigger than ever and angry enough that Eddie can feel it all the way up here.

“He didn’t want to go, he needs to sleep.” Eddie saw how badly Steve wanted to stay, how he was sweating and jaundiced and worse looking than he had since that first fight with the demobats. Steve needed to go home, deserved to go home. But part of Eddie, most of Eddie, wails inside for Steve not to leave him. Not tonight, please not tonight. He’d tried not to let Steve see it, doubted how well his subterfuge had worked.

“I wish I could stay but I just can’t, not tonight. I’m so sorry. But I promise- Anything goes wrong Eds, I’ll be here. I have to go now but if anyone needs me, if you need me, I’ll be here, I swear it.” He’d done a strange thing then, pressing Eddie’s hand to his brow before kissing the back of it like something out of one of the tales of courtly love Eddie had devoured as an Arthurian-legend obsessed kid. And then Steve was leaving. It was almost nightfall. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Eddie, his face anguished.

True to form, Eddie rallied. “Go on, and don’t worry about lil’ old me. I’ll be fine.”

The mob waits until just after midnight, then comes for him. They drag him from his bed, and Eddie has an insane thought apt to this insane situation that he’s glad he wore sweatpants under his hospital johnny so at least he’s not going to die bare-assed in front of the remaining population of Hawkins. Or maybe he jinxed himself by assuming the worst when he decided to wear them that night.

He sees the kids being held back by their parents, screaming for him as he’s hauled to the elevator, hopes desperately that Claudia and Karen and Sue and Charles will be strong enough to restrain them. The kids aren’t babies anymore; they’re tough and too used to fighting to protect their own. But this isn’t a fight they can win and he prays that parent-adrenaline will be enough let them wrangle his stupid, brave friends away from his side. He couldn’t keep Wayne away, they’d shouted at each other, all terrified love, him trying to make Wayne go, until the moment the door broke down and he was being dragged, his uncle’s grip still white-knuckled on Eddie’s wrist hard enough to bruise.

Everyone is shouting, himself included. He’s pleading his innocence, swearing he never hurt Chrissy. Until he sees the pyre and all the words evaporate inside him and he’s just screaming. They’re jeering at his tears, his terror. Calling him killer, devil-worshipper, Satan himself and worse. And then- something in the atmosphere shifts.

Eddie doesn’t see why the mob’s screaming changes, he’s hypnotized by the pyre. Do I weigh more than a duck? He thinks. You can’t burn me if I weigh more than a duck and then oh I’m hysterical.

“Get away! Get away from it!” They sound higher pitched now, a note of vibrato in the clamor. The shift in his captors’ tenor finally seeps in and Eddie looks around. The number of people buffeting him to a hideous end is shrinking, people peeling off and running. He can hear gunshots and then-

Snarling. Crunching sounds. Someone- something roaring into the night. It’s just the men holding Eddie now, Carver’s crew mostly. Wayne’s run up beside them and they don’t spare him a glance as he wrenches Eddie away from them. There’s a wolf. Massive, tawny, scarred, absolutely furious- lunging for them, slashing them with razor sharp claws until none of them are left standing. When the last of the mob is gone the wolf pads close and presses against Eddie’s side with a whine.

The kids come sprinting to him. “Jesus Christ, Steve! Well now they’re definitely going to think Eddie’s the lord of evil!” says Mike.

Eddie looks down at the wolf. He still feels like he might have a heart attack any minute, but the warm, soft fur is grounding. Steve Harrington looks up at him under the light of the full moon and wags his tail.

[spyderlondon]

Could you write a showtime fic based off the non-canon kiss image from the time capsule au?

A/N: Anon, I could kiss you for this request! /lh I was just telling Mango that I was gonna sneak that kiss into the 1957.

This is non-canon so I'm gonna do stuff that Mango has told me doesn't happen lol

Ko-fi

Time Capsule AU and art by @the-amazing-digital-time-capsule @mangotangerinepastry

Song in Harmony

Music swirled around the air as a young jester played her violin for a crowd while dancing around the stage before going down off the stage and continued her dance on the circus floor. As she performed, as another girl approached her to take over the dancing as the violinist let herself stand still as the welcomed red silken dancer went to the center of the circus' grounds to perform their dance- having the audience's eyes move from the violinist to the dancer which allowed Pomni to breathe a sigh of relief at the way all the eyes left her.

Well, that was except for two eyes that she could feel watching only her from the shadows. While still letting her bow glide and her fingers dance on the instrument, she looked over her shoulder to see The Ringmaster staring right at her, watching her every move. The shadows blocked his expression but she believed she could almost see his fingers moving as if playing along with her on his piano. She smiled warmly at the movements before she flinched as she saw his fingers suddenly contort in a painful fashion making him forcefully halt what he was doing. She didn't miss the painful, saddened look that caused him to have.

The violinist's head turned back to her violin as she went back to focusing on her performance, hiding a grimace behind her smile. She didn't want the guests to complain to an already hurt and depressed Ringmaster. She took a breath before increasing the tempo as she did a crescendo to a fortissimo as above of her a couple acrobats began to swing on the trapezes on beat with her music and a couple silk dancers joined Gangle in her performance.

Pomni's bow began to have some of its hair snap in half with the intensity and speed that she was playing at. Her eyes closed as she just listened purely to the music, imagining Caine's gorgeous piano playing right along with her which increased her passion even further.

The crowd was entirely silent for once as the song got closer to its finale, the trapeze artists both flipped high in the air to prepare for end of the song. Gangle began to dance closer to Pomni as she joined in on the dance once more, her eyes opening while smiling at the masked girl.

The bow slammed on the strings just hard enough to do a subito fortissimo a few times while one of the trapeze artists' expertly grabbed onto the ankles of the second one right before the latter of the two grabbed the incoming trapeze bar, all before the violinist ended on a decrescendo that ended at a mezzo forte whole note that she made sure to punctuate with a nice vibrato. By then, the trapeze artists both landed on their separate platforms.

There was silence all through the circus as the audience just stared with their expressionless masks and the performers who had ended on their final poses were breathing heavily after a long and successful performance.

It wasn't until about thirty seconds later that the crowd erupted into boisterous cheering and excitement over such a thrilling act that was put on by everyone.

While the rest of the performers were waving and grinning at the audience, the violinist's attention was towards the shadows where she was able to see that The Ringmaster, Caine, actually had his eyes wide open with an actual sparkle of life inside of them as he clapped just as, maybe even harder, than the audience members while staring straight into her eyes with such pride and adoration that her heart couldn't help but swell in her own pride.

Gangle paused as she saw her friend staring off at the shadows and followed her gaze before chuckling to herself. She gently pried away the violin and bow from her, "Go on. We both know what you are so desperate to do." She whispered to her with a knowing smile.

Pomni blushed a bit at that statement but simply muttered a quiet thank you before racing off towards the man standing in the shadows with a large, bright smile on her face. She ran as fast as she could that her jester hat blew right off of her head but she couldn't care less as she leapt straight into The Ringmaster's arms where he caught her in surprise but held her high to his face as her knees touched in a way that wrapped around his torso, both knowing exactly what they craved.

Caine closed his teeth as she placed her hands underneath his jaw before she leaned in and kissed him with her eyes fluttering shut in her passion. They both felt nothing but complete adoration for each other that The Ringmaster even fought off the AI that tried to force him away from her since the guests were still in the audience.

In that one moment, both of them just felt nothing but their warm, loving hearts beating to the song of their love.

[eqt-95]

untitled supercorp excerpt

It was a clever plan. It was so clever Lena was about to pat herself on the back.

Until the cursed wheelie chair whirred across the grated floor and brought the last thing she wanted to see on this or any other depraved planet back into view.

“What are you doing?” Kara asked.

“Going out,” she replied stiffly, adjusting her bag and checking that her scarf was tucked securely into her neckline. She’d only finally extracted the last grains from her last sand-ezvous, and she was not keen to revisit that experience.

“Uh, no you aren’t,” Kara said flatly. It put Lena’s teeth on edge.

“Funny,” Lena began, rounding on the blonde now towering over her by four annoying inches, “I don’t take orders from Supergirl.” “They weren’t orders,” Kara huffed, her arms crossed and stepping between Lena and freedom. Well, sort-of-freedom.

“Then get out of my way.”

“I wouldn’t expect someone so good at holding grudges to be so forgetful,” Kara replied far too smugly.

“I'm fully functioning in that department, thanks.”

“Oh, so then you didn’t forget the Goobs lurking around every corner.”

“Hardly. Now please-”

“We should wait until the next cycle. Until I can go out-”

“That’s eight days away, and in case you bothered to notice, we’ve got just enough amorphous gray goop to last two.”

“Then I’ll go" Kara said, all cheeto-puffed out chest and heroic vibrato. "Solo.”

Lena scowled. “You are incompetent and powerless.”

“Not if you radio the instructions to me.”

“How do you expect me to instruct you to do something I haven’t even seen?”

“I’ll… I can describe it to you.”

“You may have won a Pulitzer, but don’t be so misguided to think it had anything to do with your vivid imagery, Supergirl.”

Kara flinched, her chest deflated, and Lena felt emboldened.

“I’ll take my chances,” Lena said, pushing past Kara. “I’m not risking another setback.”

“Lena-”

“What?” Lena snarled, fingers gripping her sunglasses with a threatening creak.

“Let me.”

“Why?” Lena asked, swinging to face Kara.

“B-because,” Kara stammered.

“Because? That’s why?” Lena scoffed haughtily. “Because, because, because,” she continued, a mocking tone, “Ambiguity is no different than deceit, Supergirl. What is it this time, hm? Can’t trust a Luthor? Can’t risk me sabotaging your heroic return? Can’t-

A chair flying, glass shattering, and a symphony of clanging metal-on-metal interrupted her.

“What the fuck Ka-”

“Because I can’t fix you!” Kara shouted.

Lena blinked, her corporate demeanor stunned by the shards of glass glittering the floor and the seething anger coming from the powerless Kryptonian in front of her. The wheelie chair spun uselessly as a final stack of scrolls tumbled to the ground and spilled across the floor.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t… You’re not,” Kara began, looking perplexed, disoriented - scared? It did nothing but feed the inferno of loathing Lena felt. “You’re not a gadget or some gizmo or… you’re not me. You can’t be fixed with a sun or a-a lamp. If you get hurt - you could get hurt.”

"You'd get your wish then," Lena replied icily before pushing open the door and stepping into swirling winds of dust and red haze.

[yuzuyoon]

can you explain more about jimin's vocals sounding different? i noticed something but i know nothing about singing 😭😭 he said that he had been taking singing classes for 2.5 months tho

Ofc I can explain. I'm not very good at explaining things and I tend to trail off into tangents, so just bear with me for this. 

To understand how his vocals have changed, we have to look back on his old vocals and what made them “bad” compared to today. I'm sure you’ve unfortunately seen the clip all the antis use to drag jimin from the fake love performance with charlie puth. I hate the clip because Jimin seemed super tired and sick, but it is regretfully the best clip to show the difference between then and now. In the clip, he sings his lines, but they’re super shaky and it just doesn't sound good. You can hear that he sounds tired. His vocals lack control and stability and pitch. It’s just not good. 

Now this doesn’t mean Jimin was a bad singer. Jimin has never actually been a bad singer, but he did use some techniques that put a lot of strain on his vocals. This on top of bts’s crazy schedules at the time meant Jimin's voice was getting overworked. It led to his voice sounding quite tired at times and fatigue in general, manifesting in sore throats, losing his voice, voice cracks and even getting sick, like the fake love performance. if you wanna kinda feel what i'm describing, just try and belt incredibly high notes for 5 minutes straight very loudly and see how your voice feels after. I mean, you can just yell for 5 minutes straight too. it's exaggerated, but your voice becomes super tired and raspy after it and trying to sing nicely after it is super hard and your voice is super shaky after it. 

In the minimoni music episode, jimin mentioned how he needs to learn balance between his new and old techniques and said to sing older songs, he sings forward and up in his head, near his nose. Generally, when belting high notes, you want to aim for the power behind it coming from your diaphragm and your abdomen. Jimin saying that's where he sang makes me think he hit all those bts high notes by tightening his vocal cords to hit high notes. This is not good technique if you want to produce healthy sounds. When you watch him sing you can tell it takes a lot of effort to reach and sustain the note. The high tone he has is beautiful but his producers assumed high tone = the capability to belt high notes.

Jimin's voice sounded best when he would use falsetto and head voice. when he would use chest or mix it could sound a bit shaky and weak. this and his vibrato was inconstant and shaky as well. Sometimes these problems would completely disappear, but that’s not a good thing at the core because it meant he lacked consistency to continue with good technique. These are the main things that I notice a difference in. The key word for Jimin's old technique would be "tight.” If there’s anything i’d want you to focus on it’s listening to how high and tight jimin’s vocals used to sound. They sounded thin. It lacked the depth it needed to thrive. 

So what’s the difference now? Well if i described jimin’s old vocals as tight, high, and thin, I would describe his new technique as open, deep, and resonant. I’ll have to find some clips to show the difference side by side. 

he's not tightening his vocal cords to produce higher notes. if there is a note that's very high, he leans more towards a mix voice (head voice and chest voice) to produce a sound that can sound like belting without actually belting and puts breath support behind it to really push the resonance or he goes straight head voice. He’s not trying to hit challenging notes by pushing himself and hurting his voice anymore. he's pulling the weight of singing from lower down now for those more middle to lower notes and then leaning more into a mix for those higher notes. you can start to hear the difference back in the like crazy jazz version. He skips the highest notes to catch his breath and his voice sits more at the back of his throat instead of up in his nose making a lovely sound. I know to make the difference happen in my own voice but i don't know how to explain it, so you’ll have to try to sing the difference for yourself?

Jimin saying that he knew his technique would hurt his voice really was the confirming detail for me. We knew he was never satisfied with his vocals, but we never saw him outright say he knew how he was singing was wrong. I think the lack of vocal lessons back then was probably from their insane schedule and simply just a lack of time to get them done. No time to do vocal lessons meant that their schedule was packed to the point of overwork, which is another reason he was sounding off at that time. With the huge break bts got to work on solo stuff, there was so much more room for lessons, and i'm glad he took the opportunity because now he sounds amazing!! All these differences aside, Jimin still sounds like Jimin, and that’s the most important part

here's a little comparison video so you can try to hear the difference

I explained the fake love clip already, but when you listen to the who clip, you can tell he’s singing from a deeper spot and he’s really pulling strength from his breathing. Those higher notes are actually easier to sing when you use a “deeper” sounding tone. (and earlier in the clip when he sings the pre-chorus the final phrase sounds so crisp and clear an resonant and i basically swoon each time i listen to it)

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (VIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and whatever prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREEis here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here and this is part 8 💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Everybody got lunch! Not Danny, though. :) He was taking a nap. And Wonder Woman

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my awful attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny only doesn’t throw something because he already knew someone was on their way. The alien told him so. It’s not a surprise.

There’s someone new here. In his room. At the edge of his curtain. Too close to his bed. Danny doesn’t like it. He doesn’t hiss, because that’s Rude, but he does push his shadow to be bigger. Longer. Darker.

The human just waves. Waits. Holds something out in its hand. Danny doesn’t care. He can’t see it and he’s not going to go over there.

The human makes more words Danny can’t hear. Blech. He wonders what everyone knows here that he doesn’t. Is it French? Is it German? Jazz—

Thinking about Jazz makes his heart hurt.

Danny curls up further into the dark spots on his bed.

The human steps past Danny’s curtain. Danny does hiss, now, something long and low and halfway out of a human hearing range.

The human pauses. Its black haired-head tilts. It says—something else. Its tone is still gentle.

Danny doesn’t trust it. But it doesn’t get any closer, either. It only…holds out a hand.

There’s something in that hand.

It’s a trap, it has to be. But—

The alien said that they had friends in this tower. That the humans here are…safe. Danny doesn’t believe it. Danny is afraid to believe it.

But one of them gave him food.

…And the younger ones feed him all the time.

So maybe. Danny. Maybe he can. He flinches and he leans forward.

Danny can. He can’t see most things. But something aches in his skull where he is meant to see color and shape and familiarity, and something in his melted brain whispers wait, watch.

Danny’s back arches.

He waits. He watches.

…The object doesn’t do anything. The human simply sets it on Danny’s side table, and then it’s an object. A mostly white, somewhat red object. The other colors might be blue, or gray; they’re not distinct enough to be distinguishable in Danny’s mostly mush eyes. It’s oblong, and sort of round and—

Danny jerks upright. He snatches the item off of the table as quickly as he can, brings it as close to his eyes as he can— IT’S A ROCKET!!!! It is!!!! With fuel thrusters and everything!! If Danny had his whole brain he thinks that he could even recognize which one!!

He purrs, and he purrs, and he purrs, and he takes his pillow and he settles the hard plastic into his kind-of-damp (but mostly dry!) pillows and leans into it, happy to have this thing he likes and can recognize!!

Fine. Danny can like this human. When it comes back with little pills in a paper cup, it bravely gets closer, so Danny can see black hair pulled back, a tail swinging behind her, a tinge of red under a mostly-opaque white medical gown, and gold bracelets on her arms.

…Danny touches the bracelets to investigate before he can even be scared. They shiver with energy. Danny’s fragile form shivers back.

The human spends a lot of time with words Danny can’t hear on the paper cup, and she pulls out each little pill inside so that she can say more things, show him what it looks like, let him smell each capsule and tablet.

When the buzzing human comes back with a vibrato of joycurio/us!/joy in its wake, eager to see Danny as he is relieved to see it, Danny shows him the little paper cup.

The buzzing human trills with relief! Relief! Relief!

…That’s got to be safe enough, right? …Right?

Danny…

It’s been a while since he tried to dry-swallow medicine down his torn esophagus, but everyone’s immediate rush to find him water makes the swallow easier than Danny might have thought.

Some of the medicine is going to make him sleepy. Danny remembers enough about medicine to remember that. The thought of being vulnerable and not able to wake up is scary; but if Danny is going to get better, he’s going to have to trust that not every human wants to make sample slides out of his organs and jam needle-long electrodes into his brain, and he will have to fall asleep and not cry about it.

The cup of water the quickquickquick human gets him is so nice. His claws clink against the ceramic of the mug. Most of the liquid actually makes it into his mouth, and some of it even into his throat.

Danny lays down, pulls the rocket ship closer to his fragile form, and purrs. The fastquick human takes Danny’s hand so that he’s not alone.

At some point, his paper eyelids shut.

[leosficlist]

Post S4 Getting Together (part two!)

Post S4 Pt.1, Post S4 Pt 3

As always, these are the fics I love that are after S4 in some way or another! These are ones that either don’t feature Rosie with John or she’s just not a focus of the fic! (10)

Following the rules by Beautifulisntit 4.8k words

After the events of Season 4, everything seems to be back to normal in 221B Baker Street. But a case and a strong blow to the head might be exactly what Sherlock and John need to face what is left of their friendship and what could come out of it.

notes: wonderful tension, clumsily eager love confessions. found from searching love confessions & first kiss tags

instruction manual not included by JenTheSweetie 8.8k words

The next day, they very distinctly did not mention it. Sherlock was almost entirely certain that all he felt about that was relief.

For a genius, Sherlock sure has trouble figuring out his best friend.

notes: miscommunications, acting on feelings without talking about them, running from their feelings, they get there eventually

The T Shirt Thief by watsonsherlocksuniverse 7.9k

Request: Sherlock steals John's t-shirt from the laundry. John catches him wearing it one evening, fluff ensues with an endeared yet teasing John?

notes: (love)sick sherlock, fluff, hurt/comfort

Turn the key, and come home by TooManyChoices 2.7k words

Sherlock and John have been dancing around what's between them for years. Will John return to Baker Street, and if so, will things ever be the same?

The Best Things In Life by Calais_Reno 2.9k

Will they talk about this? Hell, no.

notes: unintentional kisses, in a relationship before they know it, parentlock

People We Love by @calaisreno (again!) 6.7k words

After the disaster at Sherrinford, the rebuilding begins.

notes: checking in with all the characters post-tfp

The 2017 Johnlock Advent by sussexbound 4.8k words

notes: 26 days of a fic a day for christmas

notes: lovely read, keeping it around for when I need prescription grade fluff

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound 3k words

He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

notes: jealous sherlock, love confessions while arguing

Afghan Bullets, Beards, and Unlocked Bedroom Doors by addicted2hugh  6.5k words

Set after series 4. The boys are living together again, and John's new style drives Sherlock crazy. He's trying to keep his besotted heart and over-excited libido a secret, but John has other plans. Lots. Of. SEX. And love. And my boys enjoying themselves. If you want some short and smutty fluff to read over your morning coffee or evening tea, this could be it.

notes: light fun, sherlock is quiet during sex

A Hesitation Waltz by UrbanHymnal

He lets the vibrato speak for him: love and loss, triumph and failure, longing for water and a bit of rest after so long a journey. He would follow John into the desert, walk through fire, sacrifice to any God. He would gladly kneel at John’s feet, if only given the chance, and worship him with each breath.

notes: Sherlock has a (good) secret, John pines for him

Now That the Dust has Settled (We Can See the Stars) by SilentAuror 4.3k

Now that the devastating events of three months ago are past, Sherlock and John begin to move on, restarting their life together.

notes: warm soft short coming together, first date and first kiss

Touch the Light, the Heat by Leloi

“Daddy.” Rosie Watson called.

With a sigh Sherlock reached out and caught her about the waist, rolling over with her to deposit her in the middle of the bed.

notes: parentlock, sweet little thing about them having a happy life post s4, teeny bit of smut

The World In Solemn Stillness Lay by J_Baillier 6.8k words

Rosie's first Christmas without her mother is approaching fast, and John isn't coping well with the pressures of being a single parent. Can Sherlock scrape his new family back together?

notes: John & Rosie at baker st, Sherlock supporting them both, Rosie get hurt (& Sherlock outdoes himself ofc)

[appalachiananarchist]

My plan of trying to force myself back into my hobbies (art, piano, violin, writing, and reading) has been more successful than I thought. When the depression got really bad, I couldn't do these things at all anymore. Violin is still somewhat elusive due to the pain it causes my arthritic hands to attempt vibrato, but other than that, I am better enough now (thank you antidepressants) that I can at least try things again. Even if I am still having to force myself a little, I can do more than I could before. I feel more like myself than I have in a very long time.

I am also trying to eat 2-3 actual meals a day with healthy things, not just grab a granola bar in the morning before work and a candy bar or similar junk at night and call it good enough. My stomach has actually been hurting from how poorly I was treating my body. I hit a point there where normal grooming was just not happening the way it should be, mostly brushing teeth and hair, so I am trying to address that, too, and doing decent. Adequate water and sleep are still proving to be difficult hurdles to overcome, but I am absolutely determined to get better by sheer force of will, so I will keep trying.

I wish it did not feel like I have to fight a battle just to exist, but this is what I've been dealt, and I am trying really really hard to get it together.

[sillyvampireboi]

A new letter, in my electronic mailbox!

AO3

Summary: Armand starts receiving loads of love letters to his electronic mailbox, as he calls it, after the success of Daniel’s book, bombarding his useful iPad with notifications.  Why do strangers “love him” so much? Writing such intimate letters to him? While Daniel never writes anything. He must find out. 

contents: pov Armand, first person, Armand x Daniel, fluff, slight angst, slight emotional hurt, comfort, romantic, armand needs some love and reassurance!, he is sad meow meow

a/n: I just want some happiness for Armand ok? Also this whole fic was born from musings with @okaytosave <3 I hope you’ll like it :D | 👁️^👁️ <- this is Armand as emojis. No one can change my mind

let me know if you would like to be tagged :)

-English still isn’t my first language-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New era, new technology. New pace of life, new social norms. 

I saw the slow death of my mortal life’s world dying, inventions, religions and ideas popping out of thin air, countless wars and and even more deaths. The rotting of old academies which were the only acceptable faiths a few years prior, abandoned places and cities that were used for more polished ones’ base, art styles changing, fashion and garments changing, dialects changing, languages changing. Changing, changing, changing. 

Ever since I opened my eyes under the eternal night, I knew that change will be constant while I remain the same. This rotation happened rhythmically, slowly, inevitably, leaving enough time for its creatures to adapt. However as we waltzed into the 20th century, this sleepy melody began to alter. The music sheet decided to rewrite itself, to twitch here and there like a beetle on his back, but still following the original melody with these slight changes. 

Then came the 21th century, with his new suit and confident lettering. He glanced once onto his fathers’ theme and murdered it with a steady move of his pen. The tune turned from the unhurried pace and formed into a metallic scream. 

Changing, changing, changing. 

This one word has never been more true to any other century than this present one. 

My interest first started to grow with a funny device called the telephone. I could speak to someone in France while I was in any other part of the world with it! As years danced by me, I witnessed that same machine evolve. First it shrank. Got smaller and smaller, until at last I could put it in my pocket. 

Then came the ‘Internet’. It changed even more things in this racing century and— 

“Are you still looking at those emails? Really?” - I heard Daniel’s low vibrato next to me. We were laying on our shared bed in our new apartment. Long, thick curtains framed the windows, now placed on either side of the pale blue painting that was the sky. The blinking stars were invisible in this new hour, covered by the polluting light of the streets. 

Oh my sweet, seeing through me Daniel. He knew what worries or excites me without being able to read my mind. He simply sees me for what I am.

“Ever since you published your book, mortals keep sending me letters. People I don’t know nor have ever met. I don’t understand how they know my address.” - a loud snort was the only answer that Daniel honormed me with. He was covered with our heavy blanket that he liked, reminding him the warmth and comfort it brought him when he was still a human. As the owner of all the pillows, even mine, he was half laying - half sitting while he was scrolling through the application called twitter, now renamed as X. Not a smart decision in my opinion. It’s always been more flourishing for a company to have some kind of unique or catchy name. 

“Daniel, beloved, please listen to me. — for a moment he glanced at me, the half amused expression in his eyes with his half mocked eyebrow that jumped up on his forehead — Yes, I’m still looking at these ‘emails’. I’ve been browsing through these letters and many of these individuals have been referred to me as ‘little meow meow’ and ‘dear’ or ‘demon kitten’. Please love, what does it mean? Of course, I know what kitten and meow means, however I still fail to understand how these apply to me. But Daniel, what do they mean by ‘demon’? Is this a reference to my vampire nature? If so, I would ask you to tell your followers it’s not true! Love - why are you laughing? 

Daniel’s laugh filled my ears, borrowing a giggling sensation into my body. I loved his laugh. His sarcastic wheezings were frequent and without a stop, falling like rain upon a curly head. His good hearted laughs like this however! They felt like a special occasion of my heart whether I made him laugh or not. Although I felt my dead heart skip joyously when I caused his self forgetting roar. 

“ It’s because of your face.” 

“ My face? I don’t look like a cat! I’m far from it.”

“ They think you look very pretty and adorable. Like a little kitten, who can’t do anything wrong.” 

“ ….Are they the only ones who think I look pretty and adorable?” 

“ Flirting with me huh? Are you looking for compliments, now that I’m your fledgling? You know well how I feel, I don’t need to spell it out.” 

But I don’t! Please say it! I need to know! Please please please! I can never be so sure in my or your feelings. I can lull myself into the lie of love as I did with Louis, but I'm so tired. Fatigued by the endless knot of loneliness around my neck, please spell it out for me! 

I wanted to say, but I didn’t. Just stared at him silently with my usual expression of calmness as his face was illuminated by the light of his phone. I know my face was the perfect practiced mask, but I assume my eyes showed a glimpse into my turmoil because Daniel’s features changed.  

He put down his phone, somewhere amongst the folds of our bedsheets, and oh so gently he held the left side of my cheek in his palm. I leaned into his touch immediately, melted like snow under the mellow heat of the sun. He pulled me towards him and hinted a kiss on my other cheek. 

I slanted towards him, wanting more, not simply the only child kisses here and there, but the whole family and its storm. I wanted to be devoured by his all so consuming love, finally melting out of the ice I've buried myself in. 

“ I love you.” — heard my love’s voice close to me. He placed another kiss on my eyelids, the most intimate part of the body. How frequently do you see someone’s closed eyelids? When they are in deep sleep, flying among their safe dreams? — “ And no. They are not the only ones who think you are pretty and adorable, just so you know, you dickhead.” 

Ah my dear Daniel with his sinful tongue! I relearned with him how it feels to laugh and smile. 

I giggled into his traveling lips, suddenly shy to deepen the kiss. — “ Apart from ‘not the only ones’ , who else thinks that I am those things? I haven’t seen electronic letters from my starred address. 

“Oh, so this is what annoyed you, is it? I’m not rescuing the princess with my typed out words. Will he let down his hair too, if I go to the lengths to send a raven to him ?” 

“Hm! So why this stranger, who sent 5 separate letters to my electric mailbox, all of them detailing an adoration towards myself, could express more appreciation to me then you? 

“ You think I don’t appreciate you? I rather spend my night with more useful things than typing out words I can tell you. We live together, remember? “ 

“ You are on your phone all day beloved, harassing that American ex-president with the yellow wig—“ 

“ Come on, that’s besides the point. I don’t need to send detailed emails since I share a bed with you, Armand. I can tell you how I feel, just like I did now. .. Is that really so important to you? “

I huffed and silently stood up with my iPad. He doesn’t understand. It seems so insignificant to him, such an unimportant act. Of course, he is capable of speaking and expressing his care to me in his own ways, which I really appreciate that we can talk through, but …. 

“ Hey, where are you going?” — Daniel’s voice followed me faintly as I floated out of the window, towards my destination. 

~~*~~

I was standing in front of an apartment complex, with many tiny apartments inside. As I was blinking under the streetlamp, I saw many of them wrapped in shadows at that late hour, but the one I needed still bathed in a faint yellow light. 

How the streets and buildings changed within this century! Seemingly, in a blink of an eye. All life, all beauty and art disappeared from the newly built systems, and lazily leaked into the sewers. Oh how far we got from the Medicis! 

With my iPad still in my hand, I effortlessly opened the front door and floated upwards without a sound, in the center of the zigzagging stairs. 

On the floor, I knocked on the plain white door, which wore the same lifeless appearance as its partners. 

“Who could it be that late?” I heard your soaring thoughts, grumpily addressed to me. It felt like years until you opened your door, so leisure were your movements. Upon seeing me, many different emotions washed over your fragile form, from the first surprise to the blushing anticipation. It seemed like you lost your voice, so great was your astonishment. 

“We’ve never met. I don’t know you, why did you send this? Explain it to me.” — I opened up the Pandora box of my questions, showing your own letters to you on my iPad. 

You just stared, mouth slightly agape, looking between your own words on my screen and my face. As I waited for your answer, my gaze traveled behind you, into your cozily stuffed home. Right in front of me on the wall hung a huge mirror, reflecting me in the weak light from the hallway. My eyes were huge as usual, staring into space while the rest of my face was emotionless. 

I waited and waited and waited, yet you still haven’t talked, merely your skin got redder, your veins pumping your sweet blood into your head with a thundering noise. 

“Pay him no mind.” — all of the sudden I heard Daniel’s deep voice behind me. Looking up into the mirror I saw him lazily leaning to the wall, crossing his legs and arms in a ‘I don’t give a fuck’ fashion as he liked to call it. He was wearing his black, leather jacket and little round sunglasses, which I fancied seeing him in. — “‘He understands parasocial adoration from the old word, he is just your boomer’s boomer.’” 

I felt blood traveling to my cheeks, heating up my cold skin. I saw myself blushing under Daniel’s amused gaze. He lifted his eyebrows in a ‘what now pretty boy?’ way. My blushing was followed by a surprised oh, then I remembered that I was still angry at him, so I knotted my eyebrows to show clearly my frustration. 

“Daniel I have the right to inquire about such letters regarding my self. Parasocial isn't the word that I would - Excuse me for a moment” — here I turned away from you, looking Daniel in the eye — “ I still await an answer from them. And Daniel this is the last time I tolerate your stalking while I pursue- “

“Look who's talking about stalking, Miss Stalker. Also, you left without a word. I thought we had a moment of trauma bonding.” 

“Daniel, I need to know..” — I trailed off, seeing a sudden notification on my lock screen. 

A new letter, in my electronic mailbox! Its title said: ‘Here is your first love letter, fake Rashid’.

I felt my muscles loosen and tighten on my face in a warm, familiar way. I felt my lips dancing, my blood chuckling and the air from my lungs tittering outward. 

“You sent it to me?” 

“Yes I did. And just so you know, there is more where it came from. I didn’t know it was so important to you, Armand. You’ll get my ‘love letters’ princess. 

You, who were of the utmost importance to me a few minutes ago, were locked out of my mind. The only being I saw was Daniel. Daniel smiling at me. Daniel mocking me in a sarcastic adoring way. Daniel waiting for me and holding my hand. 

Daniel, Daniel Daniel, Daniel. 

He pulled me, waltzing away with me into the cool night, back to our home. Our home. What a nectary taste it has on my tongue. 

I felt myself flying while still stepping on the dark earth, laughing unselfishly under the invisible stars, still holding Daniel’s hand, feeling the ice melting inside my heart. 

~~*~~ 

The sun woke behind the blotchy buildings of the era, smiling away the cold shadows. Daniel already slept sweetly in our room, awaiting the next sunfall. 

Only a day passed since his first letter, however my electronic, organized folders were filled with his chaotic letters. 

‘Here is your 27th love letter, fake Rashid’, I read that morning. 

I’m pretty sure he meant to annoy me with the number of ‘emails’ he queued to be sent. Instead of annoyance, they became a sacred prayer I waited every day. I’ll need to buy more space to store them securely. Or I could print them out, hang them on the wall. It would irritate Daniel so much! 

After reading his 27th letter, I ambled into our bedroom. He was deep in his vampiric sleep, laying on his back, still as a corpse. 

I climbed next to him, throwing my arms around his neck and stealing kisses all over his cold face and lips. 

“I love you Daniel.” — I whispered into his ear as I snuggled into the crook of his neck. “Thank you for your letters.”