#where it splits into two paths and i remember it so vividly because there was this gate security and i had to type in my student id to get

[mondaymelon]

me n who ?!?!?!? ME N WHO GUYS ...

picrews: 1 2 3 4

mking silly girlfailure picrews are the only thing saving my sanity which took quite a number of blows today ( its hanging on by the measliest thread but i think its better to consider it go n e )

anyways i wanna make a silly tag game so we are going to make a silly tag game because in the wise words of martin luther king i think wait it was probably gandhi "be the change you wish to see in the world" arent i so cool guys im taking like the first step forward and :stareyes: ahahah

(no pressure) tags !! 🏷️ : @cienxpidity, @ilyuu, @anonbinaryweirdo, @suntoru, @tuesdayberries, @lume-nosity, @mrcrazyvillainvillainn, @ceneid, @amalythea, @xianyoon, @aeon-yao, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @auroratumbles, @snobwaffles, @the-white-void + everyone i probably forgot to tag (SPS IM SORRY) n anyone else whod like to join !!

[wanderingthroughsands]

Wandering through sands

Author's note: I wrote this fic two years ago in my native language. Due to differences in our "fanfiction cultures," in mine I use a first-person narrative, and also, my protagonist actually have a name because I wholeheartedly believe (and I think so does Neil Gaiman) that names do have meaning. If any of you feel discouraged by this, I'm sorry. But I hope you will come along on the ride with me anyway. And of course, I apologize for any language mistakes.

This is my spare blog btw. I'm too embarassed to post this fic on my main account.

Premise: My mom always says I was "a child of her dreams". I rarely cried, even more rarely got scared, and never, ever—something she still loves to emphasize—woke up screaming at night. And indeed, even today, I cannot recall ever having a nightmare in my life. But this does not mean that nightmares never happen to me, for in truth, I see nightmares quite often, maybe even more often than a regular person. It’s just that—these are not my nightmares.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x original fem!character

Timeline: Netflix series-verse with hints of comics, post-season one

Content Warning: swearing, angst, tension, threat, basically Dream being Dream, mentions of sexual abuse later in the story, not proofread :(

* * *

Prologue

And meet me there Bundles of flowers We'll wade through the hours of cold Winter shall howl at the walls Tearing down doors of time – "Promise" by Ben Howard

Ever since I remember, I’ve always had this feeling that there was something wrong with me. But not in the typical sense of "wrong", with all the usual trappings of being different from the rest of the world and nurturing a sense of uniqueness that, understandably, no one ever openly admits to. It was rather something that had always existed within me, something indefinable, that, despite my biggesr efforts, has thus far prevented me from being happy.

Over the span of my twenty-three years, I must have heard my mother’s incomprehensible pride at least a million times, as she recounted to all our friends and acquaintances that I truly was a child of her dreams. I rarely cried, even more rarely got scared, and never, ever—something my mother still likes to emphasize—woke up screaming at night. And indeed, even today, I cannot recall ever having a nightmare in my life. But this does not mean that nightmares never happen to me, for in truth, I see nightmares quite often, maybe even more often than a regular person.

It’s just that... These are not my nightmares.

It all began with the accident that confined me to a hospital bed for several weeks, just before the end of high school. It's amazing how vividly I remember that day, though it was not unlike the others, filled with discussions about college choices and tentative steps towards packing my bags. On the day of the accident, I slept longer than usual, so when I finally entered the kitchen, my mother was just closing the apartment door behind her. I remember what I ate, what I wore, what I listened to as I left the stairwell, which bus I took, and at what time I headed to the library. I remember the face of the elderly man sitting next to me and the woman with a child pressed so tightly to her chest that it might as well have been an extension of her own body.

I also remember the moment I got off near the park, where, as usual, it was bustling with people. A group of young boys were tossing a ball, couples strolled along the gravel paths, and children dashed among the trees. I paused on the sidewalk, adjusted the bag on my shoulder, and some impulse, an inner compulsion, made me look toward a distant bench, as if I expected to meet someone there, although I was supposed to go in the opposite direction. It was a unique feeling, something between fear and anticipation, like when you hear the sound of rustling bushes during a walk through a dark, silent forest. In that split second, before I took a step in that direction and was brutally struck by a man speeding on his hoverboard, I saw two people: a beautiful, dark-skinned woman and a man with black hair and skin white as snow. And then...

My mother told me, sobbing, that I had been unconscious for two days, though I could swear that in my mind, decades, if not centuries, had passed before I came back to life.

At first, I was surrounded by boundless fields of green, which I traversed with an incredible calmness I had never felt before. I could literally feel the softness of the grass under my feet, the gentle breezes stroking my hair, the pleasant warmth of the sun's rays on my skin. I’m almost certain I didn’t wonder if I had die at that time —however ridiculous it might sound, in that beautiful place full of greenery, I felt more alive and present than ever. It was as if something had awakened within me, filling me with a fresh, invigorating energy I had sought in vain for years.

Absorbing this newly discovered tranquility, I wandered forward for countless hours until I finally came upon a door hidden among the trees. When I passed through it, the soothing greenery disappeared—replaced by a picture of a young woman, visibly terrified, hiding from something or someone in an old, dilapidated residential building.

I was sure I had never seen her before, yet I immediately felt her fear, her vigilance, though not quite as if they were my own—rather, as if my heart somehow knew their source, their origin, and their meaning. I looked around and, seeing no threat she was anticipating, decided to approach her. The woman acted strangely, casting glances everywhere, breathing heavily and whispering something to herself. When I drew near, at first she screamed, then threw herself at my knees and, gripping my hands tightly, she sobbed:

"Please, you have to help me escape, I can't go through this again! You must help me, please, please, get me out of here!"

"Where are we?" I asked confused, kneeling in front of her. "What is this place?"

"You have to help me, I won't survive this again, he'll be here any minute now!"

"Who? Who will be here? And how can I help you?"

The woman burst into tears and pushed away my hands, curling up in the corner of the corridor and burying her head in her arms. I heard her whispering again, but I couldn't make out a word.

"Please, tell me what’s happening here?" I approached her slowly, and when I came close enough for my face to almost touch her hair, I finally managed to hear her say:

"I just want to wake up... I just want to wake up... I just want to wake up..."

"So this is a dream?" I stood up and looked around again, only to realize I had never been in a place like this before, and certainly had never dreamt of anything like it in my life. Was I now dreaming the nightmare of a stranger, then? Why? And was that a reason I felt no fear myself but could actually know hers with every fiber of my body?

The woman kept whispering to herself, sobbing between words, and completely involuntarily I began to ponder if, and how I could help her wake up.

"You know you're just dreaming, right?" I said to her in the gentlest voice I could muster. "And you actually can wake up if you choose to?"

When she didn't respond, I touched her arm and continued, "When there's something I don't like in my dream, I try to change it. Like when I run too slow, I imagine I have roller skates on my feet, and they appear instantly. Once you realize that you’re dreaming, it is actually quite easy to wake up, at least most of the time. Would you try that for me?"

"He'll be here soon, he'll be here soon," she whimpered, as if she hadn't heard a single word I just said, and when she abruptly turned her face to me, I saw true anguish on her face. "Help me escape from here, please, I’m begging you, just help me get out!"

"Alright, alright, it’s okay! Please, at least try to calm down," I said and closed my eyes tightly as I strained to find a solution to her trouble.

The woman was too terrified to rationally analyze her situation and pave her way to awakening. But I wasn't. Despite all the bizarre happenings in my dream, I felt nothing but compassion for her and her overwhelming fear. And since apparently it was my dream, not hers, no matter how twisted it might be, I could try to do the same thing I always did when a dream turned unpleasant—change it.

"Give me your hand," I requested, and she reached out her trembling hand, allowing me to help her up. "I'll try to take you home."

Staring at the stone wall, gripping her fingers, I thought about the door, behind which she could wake up. On the other side it could be her room, her bed, her home—didn’t really matter to me how they might look, because it all was just one of my dreams and the girl probably didn't even exist at all... But if I could somehow do anything to actually bring her peace, I would try to take her wherever she wanted.

As predicted, and utterly against all logic, the doors appeared almost instantly, seamlessly integrated into the dilapidated building as if they hadn’t appear there at my unspoken request.

"You'll walk through these doors now," I said, taking a step towards them with her. "And when I close them behind you, you'll wake up, and this nightmare won't haunt you anymore."

"I want to wake up..." She kept repeating. "I want to wake up..."

"This way you can escape from here. Go. And I hope your next dreams will be much less frightening."

The girl disappeared in an instant, but she immediately got replaced by a frightened boy at a school board. Then there was a monk, who saw devil faces in the image of Jesus. Then a man standing with bloodied hands over a child's body. Then a couple engaged in a fierce argument. Nightmare after nightmare, I participated in hundreds of scenarios, witnessing pain, death, illnesses, wounds, rejection, loneliness... and each time, helping dreamers to awaken, because they just couldn't end their nightmares on their own. It was the longest, most astonishing dream I had ever experienced.

And when I finally woke up myself, I immediately felt that something was wrong with the place I had re-entered. And with me as well—except this time, I clearly felt as though I had transitioned from a safe haven in the dream world into my personal nightmare of reality.

I had suffered a serious head injury and a broken leg. My mother watched over me almost constantly, first in the hospital and then at home. Friends dropped by occasionally to bring me school updates or simply to check on me. After a few painful weeks, the cast was removed, and I began rehabilitation. I recovered relatively quickly... at least from a medical standpoint.

Because my bizzare dreams never ceased. They returned regularly, offering me a kind of respite from everyday life, despite the terrifying images and intense emotions of the people I encountered. Awakening people became my own personal mission — meanwhile, I started college, then finished it, and applied for an internship at a small publishing house.

The accident rooted yet another thing within me. Fear. And anticipation. Several times I returned to that park, waiting for the mysterious couple to appear again — the beautiful, young woman and the man as dark as the universe. However, years passed, and they never came.

Until that one night came, the night full of awakenings like many other nights before. And then suddenly, amidst all the nightmares, I finally encountered Dream.

[cdroloisms]

TW; Death mentioned

I had this thought, I was watching the Hunchback of Notre Dame and remember in the beginning where the Gypsy mother ran to the church and claimed sanctuary, but she died on the church steps

What if c!Dream either was let out of the prison or escaped and c!sam chased him down (for whatever reason you want) and Dream runs to church prime in the Holy Land, claiming sanctuary, and maybe Sam accidentally kills Dream on that land in front of the church

this was a FUN ask, anon, sorry it took so long for me to get to it

tw: DEATH, DEREALIZATION, religious themes, blood, grief, vomit, murder, violence, implied torture/abuse, dark themes, dark content, prison arc/pandora’s vault

To be honest, when George opens his eyes, he has no idea if he’s awake or not.

This has become an...alarmingly common occurrence. He’d been bothered by it at the beginning, had spent hours stuck in his own head, dropping and picking up items, counting forwards and backwards, seeking any sign possible that what he was looking at was real and not just a figment of his own dreams. In the end, it’d all been for nothing; he would be 100% sure in reality, that what he was looking at was the real world, only for it to dissolve into shadow and himself back to lying on that same bed in the middle of nowhere that he’d never remembered lying down in. At some point, he must’ve just...given up. It’s not like the dreams were unpleasant; they were the exact opposite, most of the time. Unlike that one reality-bending fit of wakefulness that had ended in him boxed in by lava in the middle of a chamber of red, one that wasn’t a dream, surprisingly enough, his dreams are usually just- normal. He goes to his field, harvests some wheat. Talks to Quackity and Sapnap and Karl, though he’s almost certain he’s not talked to any of the three in a long time in the waking world. Sometimes, he’ll even be visited by a god wearing Dream’s face, XD, though sometimes XD is there in the real world, too, so they’re hardly a determining factor. If he’s really lucky, in the dreams, he’ll even see Dream.

Dream, as he remembers him, not as the monster he’s been told he became. Once, the dream had even dropped in the flustered, confused form of Dream from the beginning of the server, all fluffed up hair and boyish joy. Usually, he’ll see a Dream that’s been let out the prison, hale and whole and sheepish, stuttering through brief apologies and hugging him in that overeager way that makes his ribs ache and then the three of them, for the lack of better words, prance off into the sunset without a worry in their minds.

And then he wakes up.

George rubs at his eyes, looks up at the sky to reorient himself; it looks real. It feels real. The sun is warm on his skin, the grass still wet with dew from the morning, brushing against his ankles as he stands up. He’s in the area behind Punz’s house, his walls and towers looming in front of him, and George blows a breath through his teeth as he goes towards the direction of the Prime Path. There’s no knowing if this is a dream or reality, but either way, standing in one place does nothing for him. Better to get the rest of the day over with than to waste it here.

He’s not even halfway to the Prime Path when sirens sound on the horizon, giving him pause. That’s never happened before. They’re loud, and shrill, and something niggles at the back of his head in a vague sense of familiarity, begging for him to understand and take note. He frowns, and picks up the pace- if he gets on the Path, he might get a better idea of what’s going on. At the very least, if there’s something dangerous, his best bet is the Holy Land.

Surprisingly enough, when he gets there, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around, only the consistent drone of sirens on the horizon. George strains his eyes along both sides of the path; nobody comes, or speaks, or makes their presence known. There’s only George, alone. It’s strangely eerie.

Is this a dream? he considers briefly, before shaking his head. It doesn’t matter.

It’s another several minutes before anything changes. He stands there, at the edge of the Holy Land, until he hears a faint clamor that draws his attention, prompts him to edge forward along the path. The sound, starting faint, quickly swells in volume, underscored by the hum of the siren still ringing in the distance.

First come the shouts, overlapping, too muffled for George to quite pick the words out between the sounds. Then come the footsteps, low and rumbling, making the path creak and shudder. Then-

“Get him!”

George watches, eyes wide behind his goggles, as a dull orange blur reaches the crest of the hill and stumbles down it in a dead sprint, not paying him a second glance as they swing under the arched entrance to the Holy Land to enter within it. They collapse into a heap on the quartz steps- and oh, that’s blood seeping out of them, staining the white red, their hands tight on the stairs as a shivering string of sounds leave their crimson-speckled lips. Their face turns towards him, unseeing, and George feels something splinter, irreparably, in his chest, because that’s Dream.

He’s dreamed about Dream a lot, but never like this. Never injured, like this, face hollow and haunted, scars splitting his skin into shards. The wheezes in his dreams had always been from laughter, not this seething, spitting rattle that emerges from his chest, worryingly wet and irregular. He’s collapsed on the bottom steps of Church Prime, legs bent strangely in a way that must be uncomfortable against the ground, arms resting against the edges of the stairs, all skin and bone and still-bleeding cuts, and he looks like he’ll never be able to stand up again.

“Please, please, pl-please,” he stutters through his sobs, meaningless begs and platitudes falling on George’s ears and making him cringe back at the sound, “please-” and George doesn’t quite know what he’s begging for, doesn’t know what has left his friend in a ruin on the ground, leaving bloodstains on the stone, but the words worm under his skin and into his skull and refuse to leave. Footsteps continue to pound on the path behind him; George turns around, gasps at the sight of two figures, fully in enchanted netherite, thundering over the wood and into the Holy Land.

“What-”

“There!” The voice is rough but familiar, and the figures dash over to where Dream is lying, defenseless. His pleads rise in pitch and volume, becoming almost unbearable to listen to, and there’s an angry clamor of voices and an awful, wet crack and a shrill scream-

Silence.

“Holy fuck-” George’s head is spinning, the voice finally registering- that’s Quackity, stance wide, a sword in his hand. Beside him, tall and imposing, stands Sam, his full set of Warden armor shining brilliantly under the still-rising sun. His hands are wrapped around his trident, gleaming cyan, the end speared straight through Dream’s chest.

“You killed him,” Quackity hisses, head raising and only then meeting George’s eyes. “Sam- what are we going to- you killed him.”

“I-” Sam shakes his head. “I had to, he was going to get away-”

“Sam-” Quackity’s voice pitches higher, more desperate, “Sam, did you- oh fuck, we’re in the Holy Land-”

The air shatters.

That, at least, seems to be the only way to describe what happens; George watches, breathless, as the air shimmers and warps unnaturally, the way his dreams do right before he wakes up, only centralized in the Church entrance instead of surrounding him on all sides. Blood continues to run down the stairs, stark against the pure white of the quartz, so dark it almost seems black. The ripple clarifies, deepens; there’s a sound like ripping fabric, and something carves a tear through what seems to be existence itself. Behind, there’s a starless void, alluring, wanting, calling, dark and deep and everlasting and the End this is The End-

A whirl of white and green and gold, and the tear is gone, leaving something entirely other in its wake. George shivers in his place; he thought that he’s seen XD angry, before, remembers vividly the feeling of being chased, the God’s voice calling after him as he shut the doors of Punz’s house behind him. He remembers the way their voice had glitched, growing deeper and distorted, the rage with which they had growled at him when they thought they were being used.

That all pales in comparison to this. That was all nothing compared to this.

“YOU-” the deity booms, voice echoing and crackling and rolling like thunder and cracking ice and the roar of the ocean on the sand, making George clamp his hands to his ears in vain. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”

George remembers being uncomfortable, back then, at how inhuman XD had seemed. Their jokes, gory and violent and startling, their idea of a prank being playing with people like dolls subject to their whims. It had taken him a while to really seem to get the God and for the God to understand him in turn, a while for him to understand that ignorance did not mean malice, that even a God that had never once known mortality could be so startlingly human. Here, their wings spread over them, seeming large enough to block out the sun, something dark and writhing behind the mask they wear, a sourceless wind howling around their robes and battering against the walls with aimless fury, George is reminded by how powerful they really are. That they are still eldritch, still a God, that they will not hesitate to judge those below him, the ones that they stare at, now, helpless and mortal and trapped within their gaze.

Sam stumbles back on the church steps, grip loosening on his trident. It continues to stick up out of Dream’s unmoving body, splattered with blood halfway up the handle.

“Oh no-” he hisses, and Quackity backs away with him, “no, no no I didn’t want to kill him,”

“THIS DOMAIN IS MINE.” Anyone else and it might’ve sounded petulant, childish. Here, with the deity’s fury directed on the two of them, even on the sidelines all George can feel is terror. “YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIFE UNDER MY PROTECTION, MORTALS.”

“Sam,” Quackity’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Sam, we gotta- we gotta run-”

“WHERE WILL YOU GO, LITTLE MORTAL?” XD disappears, then flashes back into existence at the Holy Land entrance, making Quackity and Sam shriek with their escape route blocked. “YOU HAVE ABUSED THE AUTHORITY YOU HAVE BEEN GIVEN AND DESTROYED WHAT WAS NOT YOURS TO BREAK. YOU HAVE PURSUED POWER BEYOND YOUR UNDERSTANDING AND OUTSIDE YOUR POSSESSION. YOU HAVE ENTERED MY DOMAIN, MY REALM. DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU SHALL LEAVE UNPUNISHED?”

“XD,” Sam shouts, and thunder cracks overhead.

“A LIFE FOR A LIFE,” XD rumbles, their words final, and in the end, just as every other time, all George can do when the world ends is watch. Lightning spears to the ground, striking both Sam and Quackity with twin flashes of brilliant white, striking from a clear blue sky. The air sparks from the power, charged with static electricity and making George’s hair stand on end; thunder claps, seems to shatter the world into two as they disappear in twin shrieks and the smell of burned flesh. Just as quick as it happens, it ends, and George is once again left alone in the Holy Land, vomit clawing up his throat and tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he dry-heaves into the grass.

“XD,” he more begs than says, eyes fixed on Dream, still lying too-still on the church stairs. The deity turns to him, their face strangely blank. “XD, please- please tell me this is a dream.”

“Would that make you happy, George?” the god replies, and George sobs, face collapsing into his hands.

“Please, XD, please tell me- please tell me this isn’t real, please-”

“I don’t understand, George. Would that ease your distress?”

“XD- THIS CAN’T BE REAL- THIS- I-” George sinks to the ground. “He- he was supposed to be okay. He was supposed to come back, he wasn’t-” he grips their robes within his hands. “Please, XD, you can bring him back, please bring him back- this has to be a dream, he can’t be- he can’t be dead-”

Through his cries, the sirens continue to wail.

[nochuvalencia]

𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 - jhs

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 :: jhope x reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: “you taste like heaven angel.”

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 :: SMUT

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 :: 8.2k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 :: CUNNILINGUS, multiple orgasms, spanking, hobi is a prick, ex!hoseok, they kinda almost get caught, reader acts like she doesn’t want him, he chokes her like once, jealous hob, the tiniest bit of taehyung x reader but it’s just flirting, toxicbf!hobi

It had been over six months since you had broken up with Hoseok and you still couldn’t get that bastard out of your head. It was exhausting really only because he was the most toxic, manipulative, yet amazing boyfriend you have ever been with all at the same time. To your dismay, you remember every daunting detail of the day the two of you broke up with a precision that is pathetic to say the least. You vividly recall the way he blatantly flirted and danced with your best friend at the time. The way he caressed her arm the way he had done to you millions of times. The way he whispered into her ear. The way he curled his hands around her waist and glanced over at you with a knowing smirk. All because you didn’t object to a free drink from the hot bartender that night. He was always jealous and insufferably so which was one of the reasons why you stormed over to the pair, kicked him in the shin and swiftly broke up with him with a quick “we’re over” in a cloud of heated fury. Obviously you had been very upset after that but the most upsetting thing was the fact that he reacted to your kick more than he reacted to you breaking up with him so you had stormed out of the establishment before attracting any additional unwanted attention. You cried on the sidewalk outside of the rowdy night club for hours before receiving a text from him that really set you off which read, ‘you’ll be begging for me again my angel <3’ You weren’t really mad at the context or the way he worded it or the snarky smirk you could feel radiating off of the text, you were mad because a part of you actually believed what he wrote. That you’d come crawling back to him like a pathetic little puppy. You hated the fact that you were always so obedient and did exactly what he wanted when he wanted, so you’d promised yourself that from that day forward, you wouldn’t do just that.

He had done shit like that before, acting out because of the dumbest things, upsetting you or making you wildly jealous just because he loved how you got when you were mad but those weren’t the only reasons you broke up with him. In the club that night while you watched them dance and talk, tauntingly aware of your presence, you wondered how your life would be in the future if your relationship continued. You thought he might have loved you but he was controlling, jealous, uber toxic and you didn’t know how those traits would translate in the future. So you panicked and bailed, thinking, ‘will he act like this if we grow old together?’ and ‘how will he be if we get married?’ or ‘would he even want to get married?’. All the worried thoughts swirling in your head mixed with the alcohol and jealous rage contributed to your rash decisions and you were way too ashamed to turn back after the deed had been done, no matter how much you cared for him. You were too ashamed to admit your mistake and were still trying to figure out if it even had been one. Your relationship from start to finish was just a rollercoaster of mixed signals and you were ready to get off that ride and find something more stable. Something that would last, and you knew you wouldn’t find it with him and you knew it even after being apart from him for so long, so why was he still on your mind?

The man left his mark on you, his residue thoroughly coating your brain and sticking like frozen tar, firmly ingraining itself in your mind and further convincing you that you were still his. But you weren’t. Obviously, and you thought at first that you merely needed to convince yourself of that with countless nights of alcohol and terrible drunk sex with strangers. That was really the only time your mind was ever free of his wrath. Not during the sex though, you mainly just recalled of all the ways Hoseok was better than the guys that were sleeping with you. You figured that was one of the reasons you couldn’t get him off of your mind, his tongue was phenomenal in itself. While you were together, he once made you cum four times with his mouth alone, which blew your mind completely and only made you attached even more to your dismay. Only one of your several hookups came close to being as good as him but it was still a bit disappointing if you were being frank. The man was sloppy and not in a good way. However, you never really retained the energy to complain about them anymore.

You currently stood outside the nightclub owned by none other than the devil himself, Jung Hoseok. It sounded like the absolute dumbest thing you could do since you had been spending the last half of a year trying to get over him but the bartender was a really good friend, you always got in free after he put you on the VIP list whilst you were in a relationship, and you knew his work schedule. He never worked on Saturdays because the club was way too full for him to bear so that was exactly when you went, even though in truth it was a little too full for you to bear as well. You had no idea why he never took you off of the VIP list but you never questioned it as long as he didn’t know you had been in attendance so you approached the entrance wincing at the loud yet muffled bass thumping through the threshold. The bouncer nodded and opened the rope invitingly upon seeing your familiar face to which you bobbed your head back, scurrying through the doorway with a scowl as the skull splitting music thumped violently into your ears. In no time you had shimmied a path through the massive sea of sweaty bodies and pushed your way up onto a barstool before locking eyes with your favorite bartender and quite literally your only friend, Taehyung. A wide smile broke out on his soft features as he set eyes on you and you returned the gesture whilst sliding onto the obnoxiously high stools at the bar. The man was ridiculously hot, a fact you hadn’t ignored as you had been trying to get him to sleep with you, or even go for a damn coffee with you for the past three months which was stupid on your part because he was one of Hoseok’s best and most trusted friends, so he’d never do that to him. But you didn’t care, Hoseok didn’t deserve friends in your opinion, and he’d basically dry humped yours the night you broke up.

“Hey handsome.” You waved him over, greeting him with a wide toothy grin and leaning closer to his slender form by crossing your arms on the counter top. He blatantly checked you out, his gaze raking slowly over the thin satin dress that hugged your frame exactly where it mattered. You bought this dress right after your breakup and officially gave it the stupid name, your “lucky fucky dress” after getting laid because of it around five times and you looked phenomenal in it. Taehyung tossed the small hand towel clutched in his slim hand over his shoulder before placing a small glass on the counter in front of you, filling it to the brim with some sort of dark liquor.

“Hey gorgeous” he greeted, his warm smile quickly becoming weary as he warned, “you probably shouldn’t be here tonight.” you quickly chugged the small glass, wincing at the delicious sting in your throat, the corners of your mouth turning down at the words he spoke. Sliding the glass back to him with a short inhale you open your mouth, about to question what he meant before he quickly answered the ‘why?’ dangling on the tip of your tongue. “He’s here babe.” Taehyung deadpanned and your soul basically dropped to hell. Your heart began pounding in your chest as you attempted to disguise your heightened emotions. This was his club after all and you couldn’t avoid him forever, but you sort of hoped that you would be able to. Although a small part of you hoped he would spot you at least once, just to flaunt how good you were doing without him, but that wouldn’t be a possibility because he was most likely cooped up in his office like the workaholic you remember he once was. You chuckled curtly at the man that stood before you, his pitiful eyes staring at you as if you were a child that just fell off their bike. He could see you were still hung up on him. It was completely obvious. Why else would you show up at his club every week? Why else would you react to Hoseok’s presence in such a manner? This was the exact reason he would never sleep with you. You were amazing, funny, and gorgeous beyond belief, but your heart still belonged to Hoseok. You were still devoted to him no matter how much you denied it. It hurt him to watch you mask your pain and he definitely wouldn’t take advantage of that.

“Okay?” you laughed out falsely, your mind running rampant with ways to change the subject. “Pour me another drink Tae.” you smiled up at him, acting as unfazed as you possibly could as you watched the glass refill and downing it in a matter of seconds before your eyes scanned the crowd of bodies dancing messily on top of each other. They looked like they were having a blast and you needed something to take your mind off of Hoseok's presumed presence. “I take it you still won’t come dance with me?” you questioned toward the handsome young bartender as you hopped off of the stool, running your hands down your dress and staring up at him as he shook his head.

“No, sorry babe. I gotta make drinks.” He replied, making a small pout form on your red tinted lips as you backed away from the counter. You shot him a curt wave as you spun around and strode onto the cluttered dance floor, pushing your way through the mounds of gyrating bodies and locking eyes with the first decent looking man you spotted in the crowd. You shot him a playful smirk as you approached him, beginning to sway your body slowly along with the music. He raked his hooded eyes up and down your body shamelessly before snaking a strong arm around your waist and spinning you so your back was flush with his hard abdomen. He was doing much better than most guys you had encountered so far. You closed your eyes and began dancing in synchronous with him, flailing and writhing rhythmically to the music as you bumped bodies with the man behind you who’s dancing skills were quite impressive to say the least. You slowly snaked your hands up your body as you continued to sway before tossing them behind you and rowdily intertwining your fingers at the back of his neck which in turn pulled him even closer to you if that were possible.

You tilted your head back to rest on his shoulder with a sigh not long before opening your eyes to be met with a sight you didn’t expect to see even after being warned by Taehyung. He said Hoseok was here but you had either expected him to be joking like he was many times before, or you had expected the man in question to stay holedup in his office like he was on almost every work night in the club. But no, there he was, hunched over the VIP balcony, his bloodthirsty glare piercing through you with the intensity of a thousand suns. He looked absolutely amazing, if you had to admit, clad in a black turtleneck with matching charcoal slacks, patent leather shoes and a black and gold Gucci belt wrapped tightly around his waist. Your heart stilled in your chest as you continued to grind on the individual behind you, your eyes and thoughts fully trained on the man above as you breathed deeply. But you weren’t going to let him get to you like he had so many other times. You utilized the liquid confidence swirling through your veins and huffed assuringly before gyrating harder into the patron behind you with a satisfied smirk as he snaked his arms down your sides.

You noticed Hosek cock his head to the side, his stoic expression never changing as he stared you down dangerously from above. Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth slowly, you clamped your teeth down on the sensitive flesh as you remembered him doing so many times before and you knew for a fact it drove him insane, but his expression remained cold as he watched. Closing your eyes once more, you spun back around to face the man you had been dancing with, smiling consistently as you felt his hands wander to the expanse of your ass whilst the both of you spun and weaved on the dance floor. Glancing up at the balcony once more, you were shocked to find the place Hoseok was perched to be vacant, however you thought nothing of it as you swayed rhythmically, raising your arm to wrap it around the man’s shoulder. Barely a second later, a rough hand abruptly took hold of your wrist mid air, gripping it tightly and yanking you away from the crowd of bumping bodies. You could barely see who it was before you were dragged up the glass staircase, through the VIP lounge, and into Hoseok’s office. It was then you automatically realized who had abducted you. In no time, you were pushed into the large office and shoved roughly against the door, the force of your body slamming it shut as you stared into the fury filled eyes of your ex boyfriend with a scowl on your face. He shoved you so hard your back stung where it collided with the hard wood but you could hardly care. Too many emotions were swirling in your mind to pay attention to such a frivolous detail.

“What the fuck do you want Hoseok. “ You deadpanned, obviously knowing exactly what he wanted but furrowing your brows to seem unfazed. You struggled to maintain your resolve under his heated gaze as you fidgeted and trembled nervously, the fear and pure shock being almost too much for you to bear. You knew he was jealous from the moment you caught his gaze on the dance floor but you never expected him to do anything about it, at least not after six months of radio silence between the two of you. But he never failed to surprise you and in an instant, his hand shot up to grip the base of your throat, your eyes watering as you attempted to maintain your stoic facade.

“You know what the fuck I want Angel?” he spat, more of a question than anything as his grip tightened on the sides of your neck before he answered for you. “I want you to stop sharing what’s mine.” he replied before leaning in and enclosing your lips in the most raw, steamy kiss you had shared with anyone in a while. Before you delved into the tempting lure of the kiss, you had enough rational thought swirling in your little mind to really think about what he just said. His? You were His? You were supposed to belong so someone who used to constantly go out of their way to show they weren’t yours? His thought process made absolutely no sense and you’d become fed up a long time ago. You had enough of his bulllshit and hated how much control he had over you and your emotions so you resisted his charm for the first time in a while, twisting out of his hold and stepping away from him. He turned to face you and before you knew it, the palm of your right hand collided with his left cheek. The sound resonated through the empty room even with the loud music playing outside as you gasped in unison, a chaste groan coming from his mouth while you clasped both hands over yours. You both stood in complete silence for what felt like forever, completely speechless as you contemplated what you should do at that very moment. Half of you wanted to hit him again, the other half wanted to scream and run out of the door, but a small part just wanted to see what he would do first. No, a big part wanted to see how he would react so you stood still, absolutely stoic, just waiting until he did what you never expected him to do. He laughed. A small yet terrifying chuckle fell past his lips as his borderline murderous gaze set on you again. You held your limp hands against your chest as he began slowly walking toward you making you take small steps backward as he advanced. You ultimately hit the wall behind his desk with a sharp intake of air, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Hoseok, wh-...” your words died in your throat as you swallowed thickly, pressing your palms into the wall behind you as if it would do anything to help you. “What are you doing?” you choke out as he finally approaches you, his soft minty breath fanning your face as he speaks.

“No, what are you doing ____?” he asks, spitting your name out like a weapon as you stammered. You looked down for a split second before your chin was caught in his fingers and you were forced to meet his glare. “You’ve been here 19 times in the past five months Angel,” he continued, calling you out in a way you didn’t think he paid any mind to. You knew he had access to the guest list, you’ve just never noticed him pay attention to who is in attendance unless police are involved and even then he truly never cared so you furrowed your brows. “Yet you’re still acting like you don’t want me.” he muttered, his voice hushed in contrast to the muffled bass that boomed outside his closed office door.

“That has nothing to do with wanting you Hoseok.” You murmured, glaring at him as his grip tightened, immobilizing your jaw and pushing the back of your head into the wall while he neared your face with his own still staring into your glassy eyes as your lip began to quiver, his minty breath fanning your face from the proximity. He was right and you knew it. But, he was a good boyfriend at absolute best, so why did he take refuge in your mind for so long? You began to tell yourself it might’ve been because you still love him but the daunting reality of that would be too much to bear. It would mean he won, and you didn’t wish to give him that satisfaction because no matter how much you loved him, he was still a conceited prick.

“I know you miss me baby just say it.” His voice is soft, his eyes are warm and convincing, and you almost succumb to his charm but you shake your head, groaning in disagreement as he still maintains his iron grip on your chin so you can’t respond. “You miss us, I know you do. Just need a reminder angel.” he purred seductively, his familiar rasp like heaven in your ears as you shake your head once more, your resolve still strong. “But…” He let go of your chin and stepped back once, the eye contact never wavering as he taps his left cheek which is still red from your slap, a smirk emerging on his face as he speaks. “If i’m wrong, hit me again. Do it.” he’s testing you, he knows you hate violence. He’s playing off of the fact that the first slap was a spur of the moment adrenaline rush that most likely won’t happen again. Sneaky bitch. “Come on baby, do it. Hit me angel, right here.” he muses in a teasing tone as he points his face to you. Rolling your eyes, you avert them annoyedly as you shake your head, refusing to talk to him. Taking your silence as a triumph he smiled widely before happily stating, “that’s what I thought. You love me too much.” and you finally speak.

“I don’t fucking love you anymore Hoseok. I’m not even sure why I did in the first place, you’re such a fucking prick.” you state coldly and his eyes darken once more as a challenging grin graces his hard features and he nods understandingly.

“You don’t remember why you loved me?” he questioned, almost sarcastically with a dark chuckle. “Let me remind you then Angel.” Almost suddenly, impetuously, his mouth was on your neck, his left hand coming up to hold the side of your face as he roughly yanked you closer to his body with his arm around your waist. You had no choice but to wrap your arms around his torso, in fear of falling if you hadn’t done so as he practically made out with the soft expanse of your flesh. You pulled your lip into your mouth, simultaneously biting it and the side of your tongue is an attempt to mask any sounds of enjoyment that wanted to escape. You held onto him for dear life as he deftly found your sweet spot, your knees basically turning into jello as you hummed, the noise sounding muffled through your attempts to hide it but it was audible nonetheless and you could feel him smile against your neck. He sucked hard, leaving an obvious hickey as he ventured down, his kisses and bites leaving your skin hot where his fleeting touch was remembered and he removed his hand from your face, taking it down with him and placing it in the nook under the swell of your clothed breast.

Unravelling his arm from your waist, he slowly slid the thin strap that took refuge on your left shoulder down, freeing your breast to him as it took the triangle shaped coverage down with it. He spared no fleeting moment as he lunged forward, taking the nipple in his mouth as he sucked with the force of a dyson power vacuum, his other hand pushing the fabric that covered the other breast to the side. He cupped and squeezed the ball of flesh in his hand while fervently sucking the nipple of the other, your muffled hums soon turning into low gasps and mewls as you no longer felt the need to conceal them. You sent a shaky hand down to tangle in his hair, the other taking purchase on his wrist as he clutched and kneaded the soft skin, his index and middle fingers moving up to softly tease and pinch at the erect nipple. He had no sort of incomprehension at how to pleasure you as he knew your body like the back of his hand after worshiping it like religion while you were together. He knew how to make you feel good and he was planning on showing you just how much you missed his extensive knowledge.

His tongue swirled skillfully as he tweaked, licked, and sucked all over your sensitive nipple, your little gasps and pants letting him know he was giving you exactly what you needed as he latched onto you hungrily. It had been but a few moments before he had released his mouth from its place on your breast and by then, you already looked a mess, your dress wrinkled and eyes dilated as you breathed as if you just concluded a 5k. He loved seeing you like this, making you like this. He loved seeing you already so ruined after only a morsel of his touch. He couldn’t count on one hand how many times he had to fight the urge to spin you around and take you against the wall, just how you liked it, but he relented, reminding himself to pace your pleasure, to only give you exactly what you wanted in small increments, to remind you what you craved with just a taste, and make you beg for more, or less, whichever came first.

Hoseok resumed his descent, marking his path in a trail of kisses, kitten licks, and hickeys along the expanse of your abdomen as his hands followed, running along the sides of your body slowly before he abruptly dropped to his knees before you, staring up at you with a mischievous glint in his deep chocolate eyes. You had read the look in his eyes almost instantly as you had many times before while you were together and you almost didn’t object, but the side of you that actually has morals, told you this was not okay. No matter how much you absolutely craved to feel his touch once again.

“Hoseok, we’re not together anymore, you can’t just...” you stammered as he attached both hands onto your thighs, running them up and down the exposed skin softly, brushing underneath the hem of your dress with each pass. He stared up at you, only uttering a dramatic, ‘hmm?’ at the uncertainty of your words before leaning in to place multiple quick kisses over the skin of your legs. A wave of warmth and realization hit you at the same time and you couldn’t figure out which to focus on as you stared down at him, then everywhere except him. You wondered if this was really happening, or maybe you were dreaming and would wake up at any given moment in your comfortable bed. It had occurred many times before. But this felt way too real. It felt way too good to be a dream but you couldn’t stop him, probably because you didn’t want to but you’d never admit that to yourself as he kissed his way up your legs, his nose lifting the fabric of your dress as he moved higher. You just stared down at him dumbfoundedly, breathing heavily with your hands pressed against the wall.

In an instant, his hands were underneath the fabric of your dress, caressing the bare skin of your hips and the supple swells of your ass which were exposed by the black lace thong you wore. Of course you choose today to wear his favorite kind but you didn’t wish to dwell on it, but he did, as he slid his hands up, using the backs of his wrists to lift your dress so he had full view of your panty clad heat. He let out a deep sigh, placing a soft kiss on the area above your slit with a smirk as you made eye contact with him over the bunched fabric of your dress.

“No bra? My favorite panties? Really ____? It’s like you planned this all out.” he remarked as you furrowed your brows. You knew exactly how it looked, you showing up at your ex boyfriend’s club, wearing his favorite type of panties, and staying even after his friend told you he was here. There wasn’t much evidence in your favor so you decided to stay quiet, rolling your eyes and leaning your head back onto the wall to avoid eye contact. You heard him chuckle as he resumed, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and tugging them to the floor allowing you to step out of them hesitantly before softly slipping the platform pumps off of your aching feet, kissing the tops of your knees one at a time as you bent them to allow him to remove the torture devices on your feet. You mainly had no idea why you were so compliant, his hold over you was way too strong. Or maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t had a good orgasm in months and you knew he could give it to you.

“I can’t wait to taste you again baby.” Hoseok muttered and maneuvered his hands between your parted legs, taking hold of your thigh and lifting your left leg to bend it over his shoulder before reaching under your other thigh to lift you completely off of the ground and bend it over his other shoulder so you were sitting right in front of his face. You sighed, struggling to separate the intimate aspects of this from the romantic aspects and you decided, to do so, you weren’t gonna look at him as an attempt to remain detached from this devil of a man. After a few moments of still silence, you felt him snake his left arm around your thigh to stabilize you as he traced the pad of his thumb down your surprisingly wet slit. You hadn’t even noticed how turned on he made you as you gasped almost inaudibly, taking your bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on it nervously as you anticipated he would say something about it. “Already wet? Wow, you missed me more than I thought you did.” and you were right as you fought back the strong urge to roll your eyes.

“Hoseok-” you began to chastise until he cut you off.

“You can still call me hobi babe, don’t be shy.” You finally gave into the overwhelming urge and rolled your eyes, remembering the nicknames and all the great memories you shared with him despite promising yourself you wouldn’t do that so you changed the subject to avoid your unwanted feelings as you had done many times before when it came to memories of him being the topic of conversation.

“What about cocky bitch?” you retorted with an amused snort, earning a chaste slap to your right asscheek. You yelped, peering down at him as he smiled up through your thighs. You had to admit, he looked hilarious and a bit adorable with his face squished between your legs but you shrugged it off once more the avoidance of sentimental topics being the only thing on your mind as you cleared your throat.

“Hey, watch your fucking mouth.” He replied quite stupidly if you had to say so yourself. You chuckled, raising your eyebrows down at him as he grinned wider. He hadn’t seen your smile in six months, so he revelled in this chance he was given and just took the time to bask in the glow of your happiness, even if just for a moment. One of his favorite things to do was make you laugh and he took it for granted until he lost the chance to do it.

“Do you know how hypocritical you sound right now?” you asked, another laugh falling from your lips as he chuckled back heartily with a shrug that lifted your entire body as you had been sat completely on his shoulders. He moved his face closer to you, his smile never fading as he placed a quick kiss to your clit, your smile fading as you took a sharp intake of air.

“I miss hearing you laugh ____.” he murmured before licking a big stripe up your slit before you had the time to answer, your words getting caught in your throat and a moan escaping instead. “But that’s what I miss the most.” Your face heated up swiftly as your eyes darted frantically around the room. He was doing it again. That mental manipulation bullshit he pulled to get his way all the time. You recalled he used to convince you of anything while his dick or tongue was inside you because he knew you weren’t lucid enough to think about anything rationally. It sucked but it worked everytime, and you were going to make sure it didn’t work this time to the best of your ability. He flattened his tongue running it up and down your slit repeatedly, pushing the tip into your entrance a few times just to tease a bit as you whined softly, shutting your eyes harshly as he continued to speak. “You taste like heaven angel.” and you zone out as an attempt to block out his dangerously sweet words and only focus on his stimulation.

He kneaded the flesh of your ass carefully as he began to draw circles on your clit with his tongue, alternating between the tip and surface of the muscle as you leaned your head back onto the wall, feeling the pleasure just begin to build up. There weren't many things he had been good at regarding your relationship but this definitely had been one of his attributes. The man knew what he was doing. He puckered his lips around your pleasure bud, licking and flicking it with his tongue as he glanced up, just to catch a glimpse of how you reacted to his mouth. You began to slowly move your hips closer to his face as almost inaudible whimpers and mewls fell past your lips, as a reaction to his every move.

He released his lips from your heat, his tongue sticking out to swirl and curl on your wet center teasingly, the waves of pleasure increasing in intensity as they crashed on your shore, yet you still refused to look down at him as you felt his gaze stabbing into your face. The continuous movements of his tongue remained at a steady pace for a while as he inoculated a continuous stream of ecstasy to your core only to increase his speed incrementally as the time passed. He sucked harshly on your clit, drawing a silent whine from your lips as your mouth fell open while he hooked his right arm around your other thigh to get as close to you as possible. He flattened his tongue, shaking his head back from side to side as fast as your thighs would allow him to as you felt an orgasm approach, the feeling bubbling up in your stomach with every passing second as you moaned, one of the first, clear, audible moans accompanying the salacious lapping sounds echoing in the empty room which only spurred you on more.

“Cum on my tongue baby.” he muttered, the vibration and commanding tone only bringing you closer as you finally opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling. He always knew when you were about to cum because he studied the signs like religion while the two of you were together so he could tell from the very instant you felt an orgasm coming. He groaned into you, the sensation acting as the catalyst as you fell over the edge, your body convulsing as your thighs squeezed his face harshly. Hoseok used his arms to pull them apart so he could continue his attack on your cunt and he licked further down, catching the juices of your release with a satisfied groan. You believed he would slow to a halt once you had finished but oh how wrong you were as he continued lapping up your core, the moderate speed of his tongue never slowing for a mere second as he held onto your legs tightly. He waited while you squirmed to release yourself of his iron grip until the sting of your overload passed before he slowly unwound his right arm from your leg to bring his hand up to your dripping entrance. You shivered as the rough pads of his fingertips made contact with your wetness as he began to circle his index and ring fingers around the soaked hole and you gasped, the cries of your orgasm dying into repeated pants and moans as you felt his fingertips enter you slowly.

With almost no hesitation he slipped his slender fingers in, swiftly curling them inside you, your back arching off of the wall as he repeated his motions slowly, his fingers only adding to the feeling of his tongue stimulating your swollen pleasure bud. You lifted your hands which hung limply by your side up to your chest, attaching them to your bust as you began squeezing and fondling the sensitive mounds, teasingly running your fingers over your embarrassingly hard nipples that stood out proudly and wincing at the lascivious feeling it provided. The offensive noises leaving your lips one after the other were Hoseok’s main source of energy, the only thing keeping his heart, and fingers, (and tongue) pumping as he persevered, never growing tired of his favorite activity. Your face reddened at the x-rated noises provided by his fingers thrusting in and out of your tight cavern at an accelerated speed as he continued to shake his head furiously, his lips and tongue stimulating your clit constantly which is when you felt the euphoric pleasure of your second orgasm approach, the heat spreading through your limbs as you cried out in anticipation.

Breathing heavily, you fought off the urge to stare down into his wide brown eyes while he worked, the orgasm creeping up on you until mere moments later, it finally arrived, quicker than the first, probably because he used his fingers but you didn’t have the time nor the mental capacity to decipher the minutiae as you trembled harshly, your voice cracking as you called out a wanton cry of relief. The wave of heat that traveled through your limbs was almost debilitating as you released your hands from your chest to foozle with the hem of your dress, balling the fabric up in your hands. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the feeling of immense release and you stared up at the sleek gray fan that hung in the middle of the ceiling, still refusing to look down and hyperventilating as his pace still did not relent. This man was going to be the death of you.

He continued lapping up your clit, skillfully pumping his fingers in and out of you as your juices leaked out and onto the floor. You cried in overstimulation, your eyes closing as you released various noises of orgastic pleasure and you struggled to form any sort of coherent thought. Although, in an instant, all the commotion in your mind slowed as you heard a soft knock resonate from outside his door and you squirmed, trying to move away from his face as whoever was at the door knocked again, a bit more harshly this time. Your face contorted into an expression of complete horror at the thought of someone entering the room and catching a glimpse of the indecent scene. The pair of you looked absolutely obscene to say the least. Anyone who walked through the door, which was unlocked, would get an eyeful of your bare chest at first then catch a glimpse of the man that was knelt before you, devouring the treasure between your legs as if it were his last meal as you sat backwards against a wall, completely on his shoulders. The thought terrified you and your first thought was to get Hoseok’s attention.

“Hoseok…” you struggled out, trying to maintain your composure as he remained glued to your cunt feverishly. “Hoseok there… there’s someone-” you stopped, barely able to finish your sentence as you released a lustful whine, tilting your head back as you relished in the pleasurable feeling that passed through your body. He reluctantly removed his face from your pussy to your dismay as he looked up at you, the bottom of his face glistening with juices of your pleasure as he smirked up at your exhaustion. But to your surprise, his fingers did not waver in their pace as they curled, twisted, wound, and pumped in and out of your cunt. The feeling not nearly enough compared to his tongue, but it held you over as he addressed the interrupting party.

“What do you want?” he called out, your eyes widening as you realized he had no intention to stop pleasuring you to conduct business and would engage in casual conversation even as he was knuckle deep inside you, you wiggled around, earning a quick slap to your ass a he glared up at you, daring you to do something he wouldn’t like before listening to what the man outside the door had to say.

“I have the statements from yesterday's liquor shipment.” the man’s voice echoed from outside the door as your eyes travelled around the room nervously, afraid he might notice what’s going on inside the room. Hoseok’s grin returned as he lifted his thumb up to circle your clit, the sensitivity shocking you to say the least as you shook your head in his direction, knowing if he continued then you would surely cum.

“Oh, alright, does everything look correct?” Hoseok questioned calmly as you stared down at him in disbelief, salacious sounds of ecstasy falling from your lips with every movement of his hand. You felt your third orgasm approaching as you covered your mouth with your right hand, a muffled whine coming through when you caught a glimpse of the way he furrowed his brows and shook his head disapprovingly. You had often attempted to muffle your lecherous cries and whines when you were with him and he hated when you tried to stay silent. Your moans were akin to the heavenly songs of an angel, which lead him to the much adored nickname, and concealing them in his eyes would be the ultimate sin. You knew this fact entirely, so you hesitantly removed your hand, biting your lip to secretly mask the sounds of your approaching release.

“I’m gonna cum.” you whispered down to him as the man outside the door yelled an affirmative and Hoseok shrugged dismissively, his thumb moving back and forth in unison with his fingers that still curled in and out of you.

“Cum then.” he stated blankly before glancing over the door. You attempted to hold it back for as long as you could, but your willpower could never outrank his fingers and you felt the wildfire spread throughout your body at the speed of light, the feeling having your back arching and toes curling as you cried his name over and over, the ability to stay silent no longer in your control. You cried out, quickly becoming unaware of the man that was still standing outside the door waiting for an answer which was also a thought that left Hoseok’s mind as he stared up at you with a smile, completely awestruck by your beauty. He snapped out of his trance if only for a second before yelling out. “Okay, bring them to me later. I’m busy.” and returning his mouth to your cunt. At this point you really couldn’t take anymore as he replaced his thumb with his tongue, the wet muscle writhing on your clit once again as you skook and sobbed from the overstimulation, your breasts bouncing from the intensity of your trembling. You moaned his name over and over, tangling your fingers in his messy mop of brown hair as he chuckled into your heat, sending more vibrations of pleasure into your warmth, much more than you could possibly handle.

“Hoseok. Hoseok please it’s too much.” you cried out, shutting your eyes as your back lifted off of the wall in an attempt to get away from his punishing tongue, but he followed you with his face, even as your thighs squeezed his head so hard you’d think his skull would pop, but it didn’t and he persevered. “I can’t take anymore. I can’t-...” you sobbed out again, begging for him to stop or at least give you a break to come down from all the orgasms and pleasure he served to you. You shook your head exhaustedly, gripping onto his hair so hard your knuckles turned white as he groaned, probably in pain but he continued his actions unfazed.

“Look at me.” Hoseok commanded and you shook your head as you clenched your eyes shut, avoiding eye contact with him at all costs before you moaned quite loudly after feeling him land another quick slap to your bare bum. “I said fucking look at me.” he demanded and you obeyed, hesitantly staring down into the beautiful brown eyes of the man you were probably in love with as he devoured you. Hot mascara filled tears fell from your eyes but you weren’t sure if they were from the blatant overstimulation he was serving you or the untouched feelings that resurfaced once your eyes met. You told yourself you wouldn’t let him break you, but that was an obvious lie and you knew it, so you stared into his eyes, your resolve slipping by the moment as your release neared. “You can do it angel. Come on, one more time.” he egged you on, bringing you to the cusp of yet another orgasm as he talked you over the edge, his fingers thrusting mercilessly into your cunt as he ate you out relentlessly like it was his only job. “One more time baby, come for me one last time.” he continued, shaking his head rapidly as the feeling built up, much stronger than before and in no time, you were quite literally weeping as you shook and bucked against his face, basically screaming out as the ecstasy hit you like a train, knocking the energy out of you as your cries died down to silent pants.

He finally slowed his movements to a halt for the first time in a while as he reluctantly slipped his fingers out of you, your legs still shaking around his head. He smiled as he brought his fingers up, placing them in his mouth and licking them clean like he had many times before with a hot groan that had you smiling dumbly. Trailing his tongue around his mouth, he moved your thighs off his shoulders, propping you up on wobbly legs as you leaned against the wall tiredly, staring up at Hoseok in anticipation. He grinned triumphantly at you, snaking an arm around your waist and leaning in to capture your lips in a passion filled kiss, his tongue delivering the taste of your juices into your mouth as you sighed, unable to lie to yourself anymore. You missed him, and you knew it the entire time, you just didn’t want to deal with his bullshit so you shoved your feelings deep down where you hopefully didn’t have to face them. He obviously saw right through you from the day you broke up with him, but he decided to give you your space, figuring you’d come back to him when he was ready. That plan hadn’t worked out because it was obvious you weren’t going to approach him directly, your pride probably playing a huge part in that fact, so he decided to make his move, just to prove his point that you still wanted him.

“You did so good for me angel. You think you can keep going?” he questioned, holding the side of your face carefully as you nodded in response, figuring you needed a moment for your nerves to relax after that attack to realize you wanted all of him, and you wanted it bad. It was obvious he wanted you too when he pulled you flush against his body and you felt his painfully hard erection press into your lower abdomen. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you on my desk just like I used to?” he continued as you nodded compliantly once more. “Words baby.”

“I want you to fuck me on your desk. Please Hobi. I did so good for you.” you pleaded, to which he groaned, leaning down and sucking hard on the exposed mound perched on the right side of your chest, leaving a mark as he began a trail of open mouths kisses up as your eyes fluttered at the feeling. “Please.” you breathed out softly placing your hands on his sides with a deep breath, preparing yourself. He kissed higher and higher up the side of your neck, abruptly stopping once he got to your ear as he bit softly on the lobe, whispering in your ear almost inaudibly.

“I told you you’d be begging for me again angel.” he purred, giving your overstimulated clit a quick tap. You yelped, staring at him questioningly as he turned and strode out of his office, shutting the door behind him and leaving you in absolute silence. You shook your head, taking in what just occurred with a quick inhale as you stared around the room with wide eyes, an unreadable expression on your face.

“What the fuck just happened?” you asked as you leaned tiredly against the wall, staring at the door he just walked out of as you slowly processed the occurrences of that night.

[gracegriller949]

Shining Devotion

Chapter 1

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1588

Pairing: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker

A/N: This is the first chapter of my first Din/Luke fanfic. Find it on ao3 here

Luke is tired of meditating.

Him and Grogu have been doing so for hours now, and Luke feels as though the Force has showed him everything that there is to know for today.

The jungle bustles around the pair as they sit in comfortable, focused silence. Usually during his meditation sessions, Luke is adamant about keeping his mind clear and focusing on his connection with the Force. But now, Luke takes a deep breath and lets his mind drift to wherever it wants.

He catches himself seeing flashes of silver metal and a set of watery brown eyes that he can’t seem to forget.

Luke’s eyes snap open and he glances around at his surroundings. He takes a shaky inhale as his eyes land on the vines and trees that surround him and his companion. Luke looks over at the child now, perched carefully on top of his smaller, yet identical boulder. His little green forehead is furrowed in concentration, his small body swimming in his brown robes as he stretches his small hands out on either side of him.

Grogu senses Luke’s eyes on him and turns his tiny form towards the other Jedi and opens his shining eyes to gaze curiously at Luke.

“You tired of meditating too?”

Grogu cocks his ears to the side and coos at Luke softly in reply.

Luke sighs and slides off his meditation spot. He turns to Grogu and scoops him up from his rock to tuck him into the crook of his arm. Grogu babbles enthusiastically as Luke starts on the long path back to their camp.

Much like when they were meditating, Luke finds his thoughts drifting onto other matters. This time, however, he thinks of his sister.

Leia lives on Coruscant and is currently trying to clean up the mess that is the New Republic. Her expertise in politics has never ceased to amaze Luke. He has never been one for diplomacy and watching her navigate all the politicians makes Luke’s head hurt. He makes a mental note send Leia a Holo sometime soon.

Luke looks down at the green and brown bundle in his hands as he steps over a large root. He is met with big eyes and another curious gaze.

“Are you ready for some dinner? I think we have some Runyip back home”

Grogu’s ears perk up at the sound of food and he coos happily at the notion. Luke smiles back fondly and moves some vines with the Force to step through the opening.

Soon, they arrive upon a small hut that the two Jedi call home. The humble structure is a welcome sight after a tiring day of training.

Luke walks them both inside and sets Grogu down on his favorite chair next to a small metal table they use for eating. Grogu gurgles happily and reaches for the tiny wooden ball that Luke made for him when they first came to Yavin-4.

Luke looks around their tiny kitchen area and sighs at the mess that he finds there. A rickety old table is pushed haphazardly next to a half-sized conservator that Luke found in some old wreckage. The table is littered with utensils and empty nutrient packs that Luke forgot to clean up from earlier that day.

Luke walks up to the conservator and opens the door to the dismal contents within. He grabs the pack of the last pieces of fresh Runyip meat and shuts the door to the conservator.

Grogu instantly turns his intense focus from his ball to look excitedly at the pack of meat in Luke’s hand.

“It looks like this is the last of it.”

Luke gives Grogu the rest of the meat and turns to work on the mess he left for himself.

Feeling more self-indulgent than usual, Luke starts to think about the things that have been eating at him as he sweeps the crumbs off of his makeshift counter. Luke loves being a master to Grogu, but Grogu isn’t really one for conversation. He can’t help but wish that there was someone around that he can talk to about…. well, anything. Luke has always known that the life of a Jedi would be lonely, but he never expected it to feel like this.

His sister enters his thoughts for the second time that day. Luke imagines Leia and Han, living together on Coruscant. Last time Luke spoke to them, they’d seemed the happiest they’ve ever been. Well, in their own way. Luke has never fully understood their relationship, but he does know that they are each other’s person. Luke misses them so much and again makes a note to talk to them soon.

Done with his task, Luke grabs a protein packet from its storage container and takes a seat in his own chair across from Grogu. Luke watches as Grogu finishes his last slice of Runyip and his big black eyes droop heavily with sleep.

Luke scoops Grogu up and sets him gently in his hammock. The little green womp rat falls asleep as soon as his little head hits the bed.

Luke’s gaze lingers on his tiny student before he turns away and grabs his nutrient packet off the table and walks out of the hut. Leaning against the side of it, Luke takes a bite from his nutrient bar. He tilts his head up towards the night sky to gaze up at the looming planet of Yavin and finally lets his mind go where it has been wanting to all day.

Brown eyes.

Luke remembers the first time he met the Mandalorian like it happened yesterday. He was wearing the shiniest Beskar armor that Luke had ever seen. They spoke only a few words to each other that day, but it’s a conversation that Luke can never seem to shake.

“Are you a Jedi?”

The first words that the Mandalorian said to Luke make him chuckle now.

The thing that Luke remembers the most vividly is the way the Mandalorian carried himself. There was something about it that makes Luke’s heart flutter.

Even before he took his helmet off to say goodbye to his child, Luke could already sense the amount of love that the Mandalorian had for Grogu. A pang of guilt strikes Luke’s heart at the thought of the kid being taken away from the only father he ever knew, but his own words from that day come back to him.

“The child will not be safe until he learns to master his powers.”

Luke looks down at the last piece of his nutrient bar, his mouth suddenly feeling sandy at its dryness. He exhales and tosses the nutrient bar into the jungle and wanders over to his latest project.

When Luke decided to move to Yavin 4, the original plan was to have a whole new temple of Jedi younglings to train. However, finding Force sensitives has been a harder task than he first anticipated. Luke is only one person, and he doesn’t even know where to begin to find other Jedi.

If there are any to find.

The only way that he was able to find Grogu is because the child reached out to him. Most Force sensitives don’t know how to do that and that is where Luke’s problems lie. How does he find kids who have powers who don’t know that they have powers?

However, Luke was nothing if not hopeful, and has begun building another hut that is similar to his own in anticipation for the students that he will eventually find. The circular wooden walls of the structure have mostly been formed, but the roof still needs some work. This hut is a little bit bigger than the one he made for Grogu and himself, and since Luke has learned the ways he went wrong with his first hut, building the new one has been going a lot smoother than the first time around.

A sudden, high whistling beep comes from inside the walls of the hut. R2D2 zips out to meet Luke as he approaches the hut.

“Hey Artoo. How have you been holding up?”

Luke receives a few beeps in reply as he pats Artoo’s head affectionately and moves to analyze the hut to see what else needs to be done.

The sides seem to be sturdy enough, but the ground below is a bit uneven in some places. Luke decides that the ground can wait to be filled in, and instead focuses his attention on the top of the structure. He looks up across the top of the walls he has already built and uses the Force to start moving vines and sticks to construct the roof of the hut.

As he is doing this, there is a flash of light and some movement in the distance that catches Luke’s eye. He looks up at the horizon to see something moving rapidly through the air, flying towards Luke’s location. Flying is probably too generous of a word, falling would be more accurate. Luke’s eyes widen and his heart starts racing as he can now see that it is a ship hurtling towards the moon’s surface.

Luke knows that ship.

He watches as it passes overhead and crashes into the tops of the trees and disappears a few kilometers away. Smoke rises in the distance. The sight makes Luke’s heart skip as he takes a split second to take in what he just witnessed.

A second later, Luke’s feet are pounding the ground as he sprints towards the crash site.

[lettersfromthecatcave]

Dear Father,

Note: Our officiating priest asked us to write our versions of our love story. I made mine in the form of a letter. Thought, I'd share it with you to give hope to those who feel like they won't ever find the one.

Love stories are often started with a ‘meet cute’ like in the movies. But ours, would have to start by sharing who I was two years before our paths crossed. In 2017, the man who I was supposed to marry, gave up and left me. Back then, I was struggling with medically diagnosed anxiety among other traumas and him leaving me broke me beyond words. How I recovered and stood back up, I could only attest to be nothing else but God’s grace. That break-up, however, destroyed my idea of love too, and with it, my desire and hope to be married. Still, Father, what I remember most vividly were my prayers. When anxiety gets too much that even medicine or running (literally, 10-15 KM) are not enough, I would go sit in Paco Church and pray among healing and peace: “Lord, lead my way to a man who would love me more than I love myself.” Then, I’d close my eyes and imagine a kind of love that gives warmth, that gives calm to my chaos.

In 2019, a familiar name messaged me on Facebook. He was a highschool batchmate and he asked me about my recent birthday trip, an immersion to the Aetas of Pampanga. He said, his company does charity trips too, and he’d like me to connect him to the Aetas. Then, he messaged me again, several occasions and reasons – sending videos of a band I liked that he watched live, photos of some shoe sale of a local brand I support, and a photo of a Law Entrance Exam Reviewer. The last one made me reply causing us to talk and him offering to lend his reviewer. So, we met and then we found out how we are both photographers. Messages kept going back and forth. He would pop out of nowhere to my office (both at Makati and BGC) or to wherever I was doing my evening runs to trick me into having lunch or treating him for coffee (i.e. he won a photo contest). He would ask for my help with some conceptual photoshoots as it was my forte, while he is more into candid and streets. He would invite me out on photo walks where we’d spend all day just talking. But, even with him bringing me one kilo of avocado at 6AM (meaning he left our home town at 4AM), I did not see him as anything more than a friend. I was, ever since, always one of the boys after all. And he never gave me the usual passionate, kilig feeling I get when I was in love before…. With him, I was always free yet grounded, excited yet calm.

Until, we went on a trip to Zambales, as I agreed to bring him to my “secret” surf spot to help with one of his photo contests theme. We were there as friends but then he kissed me. Being the fiery feminist that I am, I gave him the lesson about consent before even asking why. He’s not a man of words Father, but he just said he knew that I was the one he prayed for, too. And in life, there are split second moments where everything just changes - that kiss changed it all.

When you know, you know. I never believed this until I met him. He is proof that God truly rewards the faithful, for he is not what I want but what I need. He came when I wasn’t looking, but he showed me that I need no fixing or completing. I am whole and enough, as I am, and love needs no reason or logic. I often likened myself to a tsunami (daluyong) – strong and at times, destructive – but, he gives me peace (panatag) to be who I am. For someone who is diagnosed with anxiety, finding arms who would bring silence to the noise inside your mind is more important that the passionate, fiery kind of love. This time, when I close my eyes, I no longer need to imagine the kind of love that gives warmth and calm to my chaos… because it exists for me, every day. I did not only find the one who my soul loves, but the one who reminds me to love myself when it becomes difficult for me to do so.

[mimiwrites2000]

Legends

Chapter Nine ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

Words count: 3157

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

“You did what?!” Armin’s eyes widened, he thought he didn’t hear right because there was no way Eren actually-

“I asked her to marry me,” Eren said once again, not turning or moving in the slightest.

“Are you fucking serious?!” Armin paced around, his hands on his head, his eyes flickering to Eren then to the sky then to the ground.

“What were you thinking?” Armin asked, appalled and at the same time grateful that he was the one in this situation; not Jean. Armin took two steps forward, sat beside Eren, more like dropped beside him, and for the first time got a good look of his face.

Eren’s beard was growing out, though uneven; some places on his chin were empty, or did he pluck these hairs out? His hair was growing past his shoulders. He had a poker face on, and that frustrated Armin even more.

“Did you really…” Armin said through his teeth, surprised that his own voice sounded breathy and compressed, “d-did you really think she’d just… she’d just say yes?!”

Eren didn’t respond, but he did fidget for the first time, and Armin could tell that he was getting uncomfortable. Armin wanted Eren to beg the earth to split and swallow him.

“Eren, you’re… you’re…” Armin was trying to look for a suitable word, but his mind went blank, and he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he blurted out: “y-you’re stupid!”

Eren cracked a smirk at that, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Armin noticed that his eyes were blood shot, just like Mikasa’s.

“Okay, uh, w-what else did you say to her?” Armin asked, both his hands on his head, ruffling his hair.

Eren took a few seconds to answer, as if he was having trouble remembering: “I apologized to her.”

“Yeah no shit! You don’t say you actually did that!”

Eren didn’t reply to Armin’s sarcastic comment, instead he watched the stream, a golden fish was thrashing its tail against the flow, fighting versus the undeterred water, flipping on its back countless times.

Armin wanted Eren to look him straight in the eyes and tell him that all of this is a joke, but Eren didn’t, and Armin had no idea what he was supposed to do with him.

“At least… you could’ve at least waited! you can’t just straight up ask her that. God, Eren I know you’re a hopeless romantic, but that’s just… stupid!”

“Well, I don’t really know what to do!” Eren said, exasperation interfering with his monotone voice.

“You could’ve asked for advice, dammit!”

“Advice?”

“I don’t know! Anything! But not straight up proposing!” Armin took a deep breath, “you know Jean is waiting for a chance to kill you, and you just gave him the perfect opening.”

“You think he’s better for Mikasa, don’t you?” Eren asked out of nowhere, chewing on the inside of his cheek, making his cheekbones prominent.

“I…” started Armin, but he didn’t know how to finish his sentence, “I don’t know…”

“We both know that Jean would treat Mikasa better, he’d never hurt her like I did,” Eren hugged his knees to his chest, burying his face between them, he looked small and weak.

Armin’s lips opened the tiniest bit at how Eren’s hunched back reminded him of their days on the streets, before they joined the training corps. Back then, Eren was just a weak kid with anger boiling inside of him.

Chaotic times, but much simpler than these days.

Armin closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, then said: “Jean would never hurt Mikasa in any way, everyone knows that.”

Eren sank more into himself.

“But,” Armin continued, “it’s not about Jean, it’s about Mikasa, she’d never want to be with Jean, because…” Armin rolled his eyes over his own feeble choice of words, “everyone knows… how much she cares for you.”

After a few moments of silence, Eren sighed, the sigh weighted and labored, then he whispered: “I’m not begging for atonement, what I did is… irredeemable, but…” He threw his hands in the air, “Mikasa has nothing to do with it! I-”

Eren stopped, he looked at his hands, those hands that did horrible, atrocious acts. Red moisture oozed from between his fingers, tracking down a path of crimson down his wrist.

Thud, thud…

They dripped on the dirt, puddling into a damp darkened spot.

Eren swallowed and shook his head; this is not real. He lowered them, tilting his head down to his feet, and whispered: “I just want to make it up for her…”

The sounds of the stream accompanied with the wind rustling the leaves, creating a harmony, a tone orchestrated by nature… forming a relatively calming blend.

“Would you forgive me?” Eren asked, his eyes not wavering from the rocks underneath his shoes.

Armin wondered; would he be able to forgive Eren? Can he forget what happened and move forward?

Did he want to forgive Eren?

Armin’s eyes darted to the stream, the golden fish was still fighting the current, writhing in the water, until another golden fish wrestled its way to it, then nudged it with its head several times. Then, both turned and swam together with the stream, further away from Eren and Armin, where the water wasn’t violent, but it was tranquil and undisturbed.

“I’ll try…” Armin finally answered, still watching the trace of the two golden fishes. He confessed these words from the bottom of his heart, no lies, just a naked truth.

“Thanks…” Eren muttered, hugging himself.

Insecurity and uncertainty draped over Eren. Armin gawked at him, dozens of questions swirling in his head about the rumbling, the founder, the past and the future, but at the same time he had the sudden urge to hug Eren and forget all about it. Instead, Armin stretched a hand and patted Eren twice on the back.

“So, uh…” Armin started, the memory he saw also took a considerate space in his mind; the one with himself standing on an altar by the beach, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it, so he dodged his own thoughts and resumed: “did you had a ring?”

Not the best dodge.

Eren snorted, and Armin saw him smiling the first genuine smile in months, if not years.

They spoke with hushed voices, not wanting to disturb the nature around them, and they didn’t get back to the cottage until sunset.

When Armin walked into the cottage with Eren by his side, Jean threw daggers with his eyes at them, Armin rose his eyebrows, gesturing for Jean to not do anything reckless, but he didn’t seem like he planned anything; Mikasa probably told him so.

The next morning, Magath, Hanji and Gabi sat off towards the harbor, leaving the rest with nothing to do but wait.

~~~

Annie had a plenty of time on her hands to observe everyone as much as she wanted.

Connie was remarkably taller; she vividly remembers him being the dwarf of the 104th squad. Jean’s long hair suited him, and he looked older than his age, he looked like the type of guy to live in a fancy apartment and have wine on breakfast on Mondays.

Mikasa seemed… charming, but now it’s more prominent than ever, her hair alone was gorgeous, and Annie wondered how it would look like if it was longer…

Historia was and would always be the goddess.

Annie tried to avoid Levi as much as she could.

Annie talked to Reiner, but they avoided the heavy topics. An inaudible deal was shared between them to never talk about any sensitive matters, to never talk about what happened after she crystalized herself, about Bert’s death…

Eren was completely different too, the eager kid she remembered seems to have never existed. His forests glinting eyes were substituted with dull orbs, dark circles framing them, protruding them, sinking them more into their sockets, however, he seemed to get his spark back the more he spent time with Armin.

And yeah, Armin.

Now the dwarf of the group.

After some time thinking about it, Annie decided, from behind, he looked like a tough man, with broad shoulders, but the moment he’d turn and she laid her eyes on his face, the 15 years old kid with the weakest muscles is all she could see.

Armin’s face never changed, even with his new haircut, his baby face is something that would never change about him.

Armin would catch Annie staring sometimes; when he’d be sitting up the table, Annie would be on the farthest couch tracking each of his movements, and when Armin catches her, he’d smile and continue whatever he was doing.

Annie wondered if he thought of her as a creep.

But one day, Annie was the one to catch Armin staring.

Annie was outside, it was her turn to hang the laundry, and in the middle of it, she turned around and saw Armin standing at the threshold of the cottage, a basket filled with laundry in his hands. Armin’s cheeks immediately flushed red, and he stuttered some intangible words before he thrusted the basket in Annie’s arms and hurried inside.

It seemed that someone else noticed this ‘glances’ contest going on between them.

Mr. Leonhart.

Incontrovertibly, Mr. Leonhart would never be fine with someone he barely knew glancing at his daughter, and what triggered him more is that his daughter was stealing looks at him too.

And that was the same person who ratted his daughter out four years ago.

One evening, Mr. Leonhart followed Armin outside when he left to get wood for the fire.

“Good evening, young man.” Mr. Leonhart greeted.

Armin jumped and the wood he was carrying fell, missing his toes by an inch, he didn’t bend down to pick them up, instead, he stood erected and stuttered out: “O-oh Mr. Leonhart! Good evening t-to you too!”, his voice was a few notches higher.

“I was meaning to talk to you.” Mr. Leonhart said, one hand behind his back, the other clutched around the cane handle.

“Y-yeah sure! Is something wrong?” Armin rubbed his hands together; it was chilly outside.

“No, nothing is wrong… yet,” Mr. Leonhart took a step forward, “I was just thinking that I should inform you that…” He tapped his cane twice on the dirt, “after all of this is over, me and my daughter, Annie, are going back to Marley. We are aiming to compensate all those lost years and live in peace for the rest of our lives.”

Armin didn’t know what Mr. Leonhart expected him to say: “Yeah, sure, I want Annie to be happy-”

“Annie being happy or not has nothing to do with you, or this place.”

Armin’s brain paused, he blinked thrice trying to catch up with what Mr. Leonhart just chucked at him, he wanted to say something but couldn’t risk it, he knew he would stutter and make a fool of himself.

But when Mr. Leonhart turned his back and walked leisurely to the cottage, his chest puffed up despite leaning on his cane for support, the words flew out of Armin’s mouth, as if he had practiced them a million times before: “Annie’s happiness isn’t associated with someone or with a place, her happiness can only come from within herself.”

Mr. Leonhart halted in his steps, turned his head to the side, examining Armin from the corner of his eyes, but he didn’t reply, he merely drew circles with his cane on the dirt, got a better footing for it, and with deliberate steps, headed inside the cottage, leaving Armin standing there, looking down at the wood scattered by his feet.

~~~

Armin kept an eye on Mikasa, and he realized that he was the only one who knew that Eren proposed to her, but everyone was aware that something was up with her; she was distracted all the time. One time, she almost spilled boiling soup all over herself, after it, no one trusted Mikasa with anything that could hurt her.

Jean was the most irritated about this, but each time he tried to talk it out with Mikasa, she’d politely shove him away, and told him that she’s okay.

Jean never believed her.

The way Mikasa would dodge Eren was almost unbearable, she’d sit on the farthest available spot away from him, never look at his direction or acknowledge him in anyway. She would turn around if she crossed paths with him, she would distract herself with the hem of her shirt if the conversation involved Eren.

Until one night…

Just like they got used to; everyone shared the living room as a bedroom. The only two bedrooms were occupied with the two people in need of a bed; Historia and her kid, and Levi.

As always, Mikasa would lay her sleeping bag in the farthest available spot from Eren.

That night, Armin sleeping with Eren on his side, his mind never shut down, his thoughts were buzzing in his head, one time he would be thinking about Mikasa and Eren…

Armin was clueless of what to do with his two childhood friends, a part of him wanted to lock them in a room until they figured it out, but the other part told him to let them be, maybe it was better if he should let them find their way back to each other, even if it would take years.

Another time Armin would think about Annie, he had so many things to tell her, he wanted to sit by her side all day, he wanted to be with her, but some concealed barrier was holding him back.

Something in him told him to stay away.

And what was he supposed to do with her father?

Armin understood where Mr. Leonhart was coming from; Annie is his only daughter whom whereabouts were unknown for nine years. Any father would be protective over his daughter…

But Armin didn’t want any harm to Annie, hell, he would rather hurt himself than see a tear down her cheeks.

Annie went through enough.

She deserved peace.

She deserved happiness.

And if her happiness meant to stay away from Armin, then he would gladly vanish from her life.

Even if it would shatter him…

Armin’s thoughts would jump to Hanji and the rest who still didn’t come back-

Armin heard the shuffling of someone getting up.

Then he saw Mikasa tiptoe carefully across the room, slithering between sleeping bags, and when she got closer to him, he closed his eyes and pretended to be fast asleep.

However, Mikasa didn’t stop by him, she sneaked to the person sleeping next to him.

Eren.

Mikasa slowly lifted Eren’s blanket and slid beside him. Eren stirred, opening his eyes, which widened the moment he saw Mikasa’s eyes right in front of his face, he blinked twice, not sure if he was still dreaming.

“Mikasa…?” Eren whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion, the pupil in his eyes doubling in size, trying to figure out Mikasa’s silhouette in the pitch-black room.

“Yes,” Mikasa said, her voice a little bit louder than Eren’s.

“Yes…?” he asked, then his eyebrows gradually rose up his forehead.

“I mean… if your… proposal… is still up…” Mikasa said, regret seeped into her mind, snickering in a corner, and she started to question if it was too late now to hop back into her sleeping bag.

“Yes!” Eren said, suddenly enthusiastic, shooting up on his elbow, Mikasa put her finger on his mouth, shushing him, then he laid down again and repeated in a lower voice, nodding his head, “yes, yes...”

Eren glanced at Mikasa’s finger on his mouth, and she immediately withdrew it. Her cheeks were heating up with each time her heart pumped blood into her veins, she didn’t know if Eren could see her face, but she was sure he would feel the heat radiating from the embarrassment she inserted herself in.

Eren’s mouth was agape, he couldn’t see Mikasa in the dark, but he saw the unmistakable shiny black orbs of hers. He kept his hands by his sides, his fingers trembling, yearning to run in her hair. Eren wouldn’t want to creep her away, he still didn’t believe if she was by his side or if his desperate desire to hold her close had finally turned him into a lunatic.

“Good,” Mikasa muttered, she sighed and sank deeper into the blankets, Eren only stared at her, and she avoided his eyes because one look at them and she’d really run back to her own sleeping bag.

A moment of silence passed, Eren’s eyes still wide and unbelieving.

After two hesitant failed attempts, Eren wrapped both his arms around Mikasa, and with equal hesitance, she hugged him back, burying her face in his chest, hiding her flaming cheeks.

Armin heard everything, and he was smiling at himself like an idiot, he was using all the power he had to not shoot up and hug both of his childhood friends.

The fog in Armin’s mind cleared up, and slowly the excitement he felt was wearing off, and sleep was taking over him.

That night, Armin slept with a bunch of ‘I love you’s muttered behind his back until they faded out, and everything was tranquil and quiet.

The next morning, it was a shock, to say the least, for everyone to wake up to Eren and Mikasa sleeping on the same pillow, with their bodies pressed together.

It was Historia who found them; she was an early riser and the first to wake up, and when she checked on everyone else, she noticed that Mikasa’s sleeping bag was vacant.

Historia didn’t give it much thought, Mikasa would probably be outside already, working out or something, but when Historia got to where Eren was sleeping, she saw that he seemed… curled on himself, she got concerned if he was in pain, but she couldn’t tell because the covers were over his face.

Historia crouched beside him and slowly lifted the blanket up.

Her squeal woke Armin up.

Armin shot up from his blankets, ready to strike, but froze when he saw Historia peaking at Eren with her eyes even more significant than they already are, her hand covering her mouth.

Historia only motioned between the two heads under the blanket.

A laugh escaped Armin, and it wasn’t at Historia’s childish behavior; he too felt like squealing, but that Eren and Mikasa were in an unstirred sleep to the point where everyone woke up and was staring at them; they didn’t even fidget.

Mikasa wouldn’t look into anyone’s eyes for the next week, probably, Armin thought, folding his blankets.

After the shock wore off, everyone decided that it would be better if they let them sleep some more, they both were undoubtedly sleep deprived for being out of it during all the chaos.

They slept until noon.

.

.

~~~

uh, are you guys enjoying this?

[nodusomnis]

title: brilliance of land pairing(s): tsuzuru minagi & reader characters: tsuzuru minagi, reader, citron, sakuya sakuma, masumi usui, itaru chigasaki, izumi tachibana, omi fushimi synopsis: even the land can be admired by the sky, too. word count: 6.7k

@emilycollins00 ‘s entry:  Morning! ^^ Uh, I'm getting a bit shy suddenly! I really love your edits and writting style! and I was hoping I could ask, if you had time of course and wanted, a TsuzuruxmatureUnistudent!reader? as,Tsuzu starts getting selfconcious around them but doesn't connect dots and some member mention it or make fun! It doesn't have to end in kiss/confession, I wanted to see how they would react in the situation. Maybe it's a little too vague...? in any case, thanks in advance, keep up the good work!

a/n: My apologies for taking me this too long to write. I was too caught up in the moment that it took me ages to finish this LMAO on the same note; the premise provided me an inspiration, so I was so avid to write for this 😅 well frankly, the other reason was because I was busy with my online classes, too. So I do apologize for making you wait this long 🙇‍♀️ anyhow, thank you for loving my edits and writings 😊💖 I’m truly grateful! Thanl you for requesting as well! I hope you like this one. Enjoy reading! 💛 

Tsuzuru’s recent bearings had him befuddled quite a lot in these past few weeks, which affected the performance in his classes, and mostly during their practice for the forthcoming spring troupe’s next play. He was altogether aware of how he’d easily become strained and a stuttering mess when confronting someone sometimes. However, the action he presents you doesn’t correspond to the individuals he has interacted with before. Rather, it was unfathomable for his intellect to bring in the answers he desires to know. Prior to these inexplicable emotions unfurling in his chest, he hasn’t endured these sorts of sensations that were surprisingly pleasant, yet with a smidge of pain blooming in the depths of his heart. If he were to ask as a scriptwriter to describe the feeling he’s experiencing as of late, Tsuzuru would effortlessly say that it was similar to a beautiful flower blooming in its perfect season, yet has thorns adhered in its stem.

It’s so poetic that he, himself, was even surprised to muse about such things.

It’s true that at the beginning of your rendezvous, he was tense and tripping over his words. He could not even look at you straight in the eyes for his timidity reining over him. But he already reckoned the reason; it was only natural of him to do that toward the people he has yet to meet before. And now that he has known you for about almost a year, he guaranteed that the shameless behaviors of his would launder and was comfortable to be around you. But to his dismay, it only reverted to him.

In university, it was inevitable to see and cross paths with you. After all, you are his classmate in one of the subjects he’s taking. More importantly, you two are seatmates, so how can he avoid you? And if ever you detected his preternatural actions, it would alone incite your suspicions and inquire what problem he has to be so apprehensive around you. And if you are, then he doesn’t know how he will explain it because he, himself, does not know where to begin with. He has no notion as to why he's being like this anyhow.

Well, to be honest, he got comfortable, but those unpleasant emotions only came back as though it brought him back to your first meeting.

It was hell for him, and he won’t deny it.

He could not concentrate on their lessons as he would occasionally glance at you and noticed himself that his head was over the clouds for staring at your face for too long.

Most of the time, when the two of you were in your breaks hanging out in the library or any facilities with fewer crowds, his actions seemed to be so limited that he felt like there were shackles wrapped in his wrists and ankles, restricting his every move. Furthermore, his answers were deliberate that it would take him quite a long time to answer the questions you had asked him. The only reason he can hand over is that he doesn’t want to screw himself up in front of you, especially since he refused to give you comments or suggestions that won’t be of any help at all.

For what it’s worth, he wants everything to be perfect, which he wasn’t like that toward someone even to his friends—well, except to his scripts by all means. But for some reason, whenever he was with you, adrenaline would rev up, and the torrents of rush would drive him in frantic that Tsuzuru sorely knew it would only make the situation worse.

Therefore, that winds up to him being so darn lame in front of you by tumbling over his words excessively rather than usual. He was getting restless and reckless at the same time. Not to mention, he would invoke a disaster in your environment by tugging someone and spilling their drinks or foods by accident. He was so foolish for being like that when he didn’t intend to from the get-go. The only thing he has done was a mere contradiction of the actual situation that he covets.

Damn, he was so ashamed of his recent demeanor that Tsuzuru wishes to vanish into thin air, or the ground would just split up into two to eat him fully. Every time he recalled his upsetting blunders had him wishing to melt to where he was standing at this exact moment.

In spite of not knowing his newfangled emotions, he does somehow remember when these feelings sprang up.

It was the time when he spotted you in the school’s field, leading your classmates with your current project for the upcoming event of your program. He discovered that you were the leader of your group and appointing them to a task they have artistry in so it won’t be onerous for them to manage their positions. There were some instances he’d pass your classroom and then would take a peek, only to discover that you were working with the arrangements for the forthcoming event until the sun would set on the horizon.

He could vividly see how zealous you were in your task and doing your best for your group mates. It wasn’t a hurdle for him to recognize when he’d witness the way your eyes would glisten every time you found a lead, followed by the corners of your lips bending into a smile like a child getting an ice cream. With just that one simple smile, Tsuzuru couldn’t help to form a smile as well and feel the warmth starting to swell inside his chest. It was like a scene in the films he has watched, a scene that will seize your attention and will never forget even if time goes by.

It was picturesque for him. He couldn’t get rid of that scenario until now.

And that's when he mostly paid attention to you.

“Tsuzuru. Hey, Tsuzuru!”

“E-Eh?” The mentioned guy has awakened from his trance after hearing his name being called. “A-Ah, (Name)-san. Sorry for spacing out like that.”

You scrutinize him for a brief second before eliciting a sigh. Face brandished with worry about the guy “Why are you saying sorry? It’s only natural for you to be engaged in woolgathering like that, considering you’re a student, a part-time actor, and a scriptwriter, too. It’s justifiable that it would take its toll on you. If there’s anything I can assist you with, don’t be shy to ask me, okay? I’m always here to help you.”

Tsuzuru hastily whips his head to the side as he feels the heat soaring to his cheeks and heart hammering fast from seeing your bright smiling face once again. He was thinking about your smile not too long ago, and you’re already attacking him like that. He’s not prepared!

If only you knew what he’s thinking about… and yes, it’s somehow important to him, he figured.

“It’s nothing, really. But I appreciate the thought,” Tsuzuru assures you before deflecting his attention back to his book.

Both of you are in the library as it was your lunch break for today, and it’s your duty as a library assistant to be present in the place. Tsuzuru utterly knows that he likes to evade you at all costs since these idiosyncratic feelings will abruptly overflow like water breaching the walls of a dam once his eyes catch sight of your form. However, despite recognizing the consequences, he still dared to visit the library. It seems like there was some alien voice in the back of his head, whispering to him to go, just for him to see your lovable face.

He has no idea why he acquiesced with it as though his entire existence was being enchanted by an unknown. For that reason, he is now in the library meeting with you like he normally does, and the sensation of apprehension washes over his being again.

“You know, you’re acting odd these past few weeks. You’re getting more jumpy than necessary, you see.” As soon as he hears your claim, Tsuzuru nearly chokes on his own saliva and falls off his seat. He tries to keep up an undisturbed facade, but his attempt was all in vain once his eyes locked with yours.

“I-I am?” Once the words slips out his mouth, Tsuzuru urges of slapping his face so hard for asking a stupid question that is already obvious.

“You’re good at looking after people, but when it comes to yourself, you can’t.” A light chuckle tickles through your throat as the scriptwriter merely shows a bashful look because it was a fact. It was insurmountable for him to dispute your remark.

His grip on the pen tightens as he senses the weight of your stare on him. Because of that, Tsuzuru feels the sweat gradually emerging on his temples as he is positive that you are inspecting his gestures and expression to figure out what was troubling him. You’ve always been like that. Trying to scrutinize him as possible, for you can lend him a hand with the heavy burdens he is bearing. Although he never asked or confided in you about his problems sometimes, you were quick to determine what it was, and before he knew it, you were already there beside him and awaiting him to confide to you.

“(Last name)-san.” Both your attention diverts to a familiar girl walking toward your way. Tsuzuru realizes that it was one of your classmates he has seen during your scheduled meetings.

He doesn’t understand why you were so ardent of helping him out when you have other personal concerns as well? Tsuzuru couldn’t help but be culpable for boosting the baggage of your onus. That being the case, he was compelled to return the benevolence you had given him, too.

“Enomoto-san, have you discussed it with the program chair?” you immediately ask once the said girl approaches you.

“Yes. Currently, we’re reviewing the expenses we had for the event. The program chair wants to note every material we used and bought.”

“Is that so?” you say with relief as though your load has been alleviated. “Then, we should recheck the preparations and the venue we’re going to occupy. I will later make a list of the materials and give it to the program chair. Anyhow, is Suzuki checking the technical equipment?”

Your classmate nods in response. “Yes, he’s with Hiyori-kun. By the way, (Last name)-san. The program chair’s asking for your presence in the faculty room. She needs to discuss the guest speakers coming next week.”

Tsuzuru merely listens to your exchange. Seeing you working this up-close had made him admire your diligence and the way you carry out your responsibilities as the organizer and leader at the same time. You do your duty with calm and confidence, as though you’re already a professional working in a certain industry. Tsuzuru doesn’t have those outstanding qualities for which he envies you for having the poise when confronting someone. If he’s in your position right now, he knows for sure that he will be scatterbrained and couldn’t utter a sentence without stumbling over a word.

Even in your part-time job, you handle the customers with discretion and decorum. You would not forget to show them an amicable smile and talk to them with a careful articulation that would eventually convince them and give you their trust. No wonder why some customers would often call your name and greet you with enthusiasm like you were friends for a long time. After all, you’re an approachable and trustworthy woman for them to just scorn.

You two sure are opposite to one another. You’re like the sky, and he’s the land. You’re unattainable, yet so exquisite and bright. And as for him, he’s just a land who would keep looking at you from below, but won’t get tired from admiring you in the meadow.

“Ah, Tsuzuru, I should go ahead. I have to do some important matters to take care of,” you notify him, to which he snaps out from his musings again and sloppily nods his head.

“Sure. Take care, (Name)-san,” he says, moot in his voice.

Staring at him for a moment, you shove the thoughts away and grin at the chap. “Well, see you later. And don’t forget what we talked about, okay?”

With your last giggle, you saunter toward the counter to inform the librarian about your leave. And subsequently, you skedaddle from the library with your classmate.

As the spring troupe’s practice went on until the clock struck to nine, Izumi dismissed the practice for them to take a rest and continue tomorrow. The members agreed and sat down on the floor to regain their normal breathing and have their usual meeting after every practice. Sakuya was the first one who initiated the discussion about their performance just recently. They looked back at their mistakes and gave each other’s advice on how they will improve their acting for their specific roles.

While they are in the middle of their analysis, the sudden ringtone of a phone had paused them from their doings and looked to one another to ask if it’s theirs. Tsuzuru instantly knew that it’s his due to the familiar ringtone. Therefore, he rummages through his pocket and takes out his phone to see who the one is calling him at this hour.

As soon as he saw your name, his senses had woken up from the weariness he just had from the practice.

“I-I’ll just take this call,” he says to his fellow troupe members. Tsuzuru takes a breath before accepting the call.

“H-Hello, (Last name)-san.”

“Hi, Tsuzuru! I apologize for calling you at this hour. Am I not bothering you?” you worriedly ask.

“No. A-Actually, we just finished our practice. So, why did you call?” Tsuzuru feels his throat getting parched by the minute the call goes on. Everyone was quiet, even Citron, who would start a noise around and spout some words they don’t understand. He doesn’t know why their eyes are on him, seemingly scrutinizing and eavesdropping to your conversation.

“About that, I was just wondering if you’re free next Saturday. I want to invite you to the after party of our program’s event. So… are you?”

After hearing your sudden invitation had rendered him mute. His jaw slackens, and his eyes blink a few times before processing the message into his brain. And not only that, his loud beating heart is resounding in his ears that he’s not quite certain if you’re still talking on the other line.

“Hey, Tsuzuru. Are you still there?” Thanks to your voice, it broke him from his stupor and for showing a ridiculous face in front of the members.

“Y-Yeah. I-I’m free next Saturday.”

“Sweet! Then see you tomorrow. Don’t take it back, okay?” Tsuzuru replied yes, and you cutely chuckled, which isn’t good for his poor heart.

“That’s a promise! Anyhow, if you don’t mind, can you reserve me a ticket for your troupe’s next play? I’m looking forward to watching it.”

“I’ll tell the Director about it. I’ll give it to you as soon as she gives me the ticket.” Once he said that you squealed in excitement out of the blue. And that alone shocked the scriptwriter, and his heartbeat only intensified.

“Thank you so much, Tsuzuru! I’m excited about what script you have written for this. Watching your scripts getting converted into plays sure does make me overwhelmed and happy for you. I really love your scripts, Tsuzuru. They are beautiful.”

Your sudden adulation left him stunned without failure. It appears that time had slowed its tick, and his cognizance was only directed to the dynamic thumping of the organ in his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. And there’s this funny feeling in his stomach that is like a feather being slowly rubbed across his belly. It tickles, yet he wants to feel it more. Above all else, he’s sensing himself wallowing in the warmth engulfing his body, like he’s bathing in the warm rays of the sun in the morning, kissing his skin with its golden light.

“Well then, I guess I need to go. I still have to do my homework,” you say, almost whispering. “I hope you have a good night.”

Tsuzuru suddenly felt his heart drop at your announcement, and the tingling sensation in his stomach instantly vanished.

“Sure, (Name)-san. Good night, as well.” Once both of you said your farewells, Tsuzuru ended the call, and a sigh escaped his lips, knowing the fact that he won’t hear your voice for this evening any longer. He does admit, hearing your voice during calls makes him feel at ease for some reason.

“Are you okay, Tsuzuru-san? Your face is red,” Sakuya remarks, causing him to look at their leader with confound.

“What are you talking about, Sakuya?”

“Was that (Name)?” Citron follows a query. With just a mere mention of your name had Tsuzuru felt the flow of heat ascend to his face and couldn’t constrict himself from answering with his usual stutter.

“Y-Yeah, she only asked if I’ll be available next Saturday.” Upon his response, Citron abruptly hollers and jumps on to his manzai partner.

“Oh! Is this a date?!” When he announces it aloud, Sakuya’s face instantly reddens, and Itaru whistles in amazement, whereas Masumi charges at him with a frown etched on his face.

“How dare you be the first one to be on a date before me?” Masumi’s voice was baritone, glaring daggers at him in proximity.

Tsuzuru doesn’t know where to begin since his mind is becoming clouded with embarrassment, and more importantly, he refuses to confront his fellow troupe members, for he knows that they will take the information erroneously. Particularly Citron, who has a penchant for misunderstanding the story he has heard. Then, everyone will believe him with his incredulous disclosure. Although Itaru knows that it’s the contrary of Citron’s word, he will still ride on it and teased him about it just for his own amusement.

That being the case, his vengeance for the salaryman was to give him an arduous role through his written scripts.

“It’s not a date!” Tsuzuru exclaims, abstaining the two who were surrounding him and interrogating them with their folly. “(Name)-san only invited me to come to their event. She’s one of the organizers.”

“But it’s still called a date if a girl invited you to a special event!”

“What kind of mind do you even have to assume like that, Citron-san?!” Tsuzuru rebuts to the grinning foreigner beside him.

“This is unforgivable.” Masumi hauntingly closes the gap between him and the scriptwriter. The frown on his face does not seem to dissolve despite clarifying the misinterpretation Citron had announced.

“I told you it’s not like that!” He asserts and then looks over at Sakuya and Itaru who are watching him being swarmed by the two. “A little help here, Sakuya, Itaru-san!”

Hearing Sakuya’s name being called had snapped him out from his stupor and drew his attention to the poor bloke who’s being crowded by their two fellow troupe mates. As Sakuya was about to lend him a hand, Itaru, who recently finished his quests, adheres him in his place by putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Eh, Itaru-san?” The leader confusedly questions. But the aforementioned guy only presents him a whimsical smirk before casting his fuchsia irises on the interrogated university student.

“We should leave him be. This is a good opportunity for our dear scriptwriter to experience romance once in a while,” the salaryman says, voice hinted with mischief.

Tsuzuru hadn’t misheard what the oldest had said to Sakuya. In honesty, he heard it loud and clear despite Citron’s and Masumi’s annoying voices reverberating throughout the practice room. That alone incites the foreboding that he has, and his lingering irritation for the two only heightens due to Itaru’s provocation.

Asking for help from the working man was the worst decision he had made for now. He had forgotten that he can be immature from time to time, albeit that he’s already an adult and has the authority in their troupe. It’s supposed to be him who would manage and mollify everyone from their mess at his age. However, it wasn’t. Itaru is also one of the pain in the asses to deal with, and to his misfortune, Tsuzuru was the one who fell in the position that was supposed to be Itaru’s.

He couldn’t even clean the mess in his room and not eating a proper meal sometimes. Tsuzuru doesn’t know why he was the one cleaning his room even though it wasn’t his. Well, he couldn’t help himself because it’s already in his nature to look after others first before him, especially that he's been taking care of his little brothers in most of his life. Hence, he has grown to carry it wherever he goes, and despite that he refuses to do it, his instincts tell him otherwise.

“Good luck with your date, Tsuzuru. You have our blessings. It’s now your time to show your charming side to her,” Itaru encourages with his shit-eating grin that did nothing but exhaust and aggravate him.

“Itaru is right! You also have my blessings!” Citron enthuses as though he was his mom, congratulating her son for his breakthrough. “You should give him your blessings, too, Sakuya.”

“E-Eh… Do your best, Tsuzuru-san! I give you my blessings, as well!” Sakuya says, quite frantic, which Tsuzuru doesn’t know if he’s afraid or ecstatic about his situation.

“I refuse to give my blessings,” Masumi emphasizes with obstinacy in his tone.

Tsuzuru knows full well that his efforts to clear the misunderstanding will only pass through their ears and tease him further. That is why he surrenders from his attempt to defend himself and just let them do what they please. He refuses to exhaust himself to a greater degree by simply convincing them with the truth. It will merely drive him insane.

The closing night for the second play of the spring troupe has come to an end. It was an absolute success in which everyone congratulated each other and knowing the irrefutable fact that the audience loved the play and the actors performing on stage. The cheers and applause were indeed delightful to hear. Their hearts were pounding in rapture as their smiles grew wider by the second they heard the ovation of the audience. They can even witness the merry faces of their director and their manager behind them. It was an eye-tearing experience. Despite they already knew the feeling of success during their debut show, the second is still the same as they had known of.

Once the curtain had closed and said their gratitude to everyone, you congratulated them and gave them a bouquet as your present for the cast in the staff room. The director was happy to see you as always. You never missed watching their troupes’ performances, even if your initial purpose was to only watch the spring troupe’s play because of Tsuzuru, who you knew, for he is your classmate.

However, you had grown to love the other troupes, for they have their own charms that drew your regard to each one of them. They have their aptitudes and themes that you’d never get tired of watching everyone shining and sparkling on the stage with their content smiles and sense of devotion to acting their roles with perfection and thrill. It was a magnificent view for which you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring the Mankai Company’s troupes.

They are charming in their own way.

The director invited you to their after-party in their dormitory, which you gladly accepted as you were timid to decline her humble invitation. Moreover, you have been celebrating with them every now and then when you have nothing else to do for the day.

As you had figured, Omi was the one who cooked the food for the party, and being the kind and considerate person he was; he cooked their favorite dishes and treats. Although he’s a guy, he has this cooking skill that you surely commended. His talent for cooking and baking anything amazes you. Whether the dish is foreign to him, he’ll cook it with the same delicious taste just as his usual cooking.

“Good evening, It’s nice to have you here, (Last name)-san,” Omi greets you as he puts a plate of dishes on the table.

You smile and return the greeting, “Likewise. Your cooking is amazing, as always.”

“(Name), I’m happy that you joined us for the after-party!” Citron says with excitement while pushing Tsuzuru toward you.

“Citron-san, what are you doing?!” complained the scriptwriter, struggling to free himself from his hold. But the mentioned guy solely flashes him a grin that Tsuzuru swiftly notices the underlying meaning behind that smile of his. He suddenly felt his stomach churn, having a bad feeling about this.

“Tsuzuru’s script is amazing as always, ne?”

“By all means.”

The only reaction that Tsuzuru dispensed was to blush at your compliment and stare down at his feet for you not to see the pink hues spreading across his cheeks. Even though you’ve been giving him credits ever since the start of their debut, he’s still not used to you suddenly blurting some beautiful words to him. It wouldn’t fail to make him on edge and as if his heart was going to burst in his chest.

In all honesty, it’s a delightful feeling but really not good for his heart.

The party commences. Everyone was talking about their hurdles before the outset of their second show, particularly Masumi and Itaru, who didn’t get along well at first. But their relationship had progressed when the adult visited him in their school and tried to understand one another by playing a game.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their humorous circumstance. In the end, they didn’t understand each other, but their relationship had developed.

As the conversation went on, suddenly, you became the next subject of their discussion.

“We learned that you invited Tsuzuru to an event!” Citron pipes in, causing the said man beside him to let out a sharp intake of breath.

“W-Why are you suddenly including that in the conversation?!” Tsuzuru frantically says, seeming to reprimand the foreigner.

“Eh? But I wanna know if it’s a date or not.”

With that, Tsuzuru’s face starts to color in a bright shade of red as the director gives you two a surprised reaction. You were quite astonished as well if you say so yourself. Well, there’s no point denying it since you did invite your classmate to come to your program’s event. But one thing that grabbed your attention is why he’s asking if it’s a date or not. You don’t blame Tsuzuru if he’s getting embarrassed since you’re equally embarrassed as he is.

“I told you countless times already, Citron-san! It’s not a date!” That’s when Tsuzuru’s last thread of patience snaps. He hadn’t intended to shout at his manzai partner, but considering that he’s making the atmosphere awkward between you two is something that he will never have the patience with.

He recognizes your confusion and discomfort with the current situation. He feels obligated to tell you a sincere apology, but the words he wants to tell across seem to attach in his throat. His mind is getting hazy by the minute, making it difficult for him to recompose himself in this dire plight.

“W-Well, if you take it into consideration as a woman and man, it does seem that I’m saying it will be a date in a roundabout way,” you chuckle with a grain of humor in your voice. This immediately catches their attention and presents you with bewilderment written on their faces.

“I told you it’s like that,” Citron laughs, feeling satisfied upon knowing that his hypothesis is true.

Unbeknownst to you, your answer was the last straw for Tsuzuru’s heart to explode. His heated face only increases its temperature, which he assures that everyone can notice that he is blushing.

Why are you always attacking him unannounced like that? If you’re often like this, it will drive him crazy.

“Heh, Tsuzuru looks like he wants to be splashed by cold water on his face,” Itaru teases before he takes a sip on his drink, not removing his apparent diversion toward his troupe mate.

Sakuya, who heard the older’s comment, merely grabs a cold water and hands it to him. “Your face is red, Tsuzuru-san. Are you okay?”

Tsuzuru doesn’t know what to do anymore. Being with his troupe mates is surely gonna be the reason why he has white hair growing on his head at such a young age. Sakuya’s not helping in the situation, too. He’s too gullible for his own good in which everyone is taking advantage of, particularly Citron, who loves to tell stories about his adventures that are not even true.

He’s not really okay. He just wants to flee from the place and go to his room to rest.

“You know, whenever you’re around, Tsuzuru’s getting self-conscience!” Citron chirps, which makes you bewildered at the particular word he said.

“Self-conscience?”

“You mean self-conscious,” Itaru corrects.

“Yes, that’s it!”

“I am not!” Tsuzuru instantly defends, but the two ignore his complaints and tease him further.

You haven’t had the slightest idea why Tsuzuru’s becoming self-conscious when there’s nothing to be in the first place. Recalling the scriptwriter’s recent strange bearings only affords you an idea from your question of why he was suddenly becoming uneasy when you were with him. And on top of it, his habit of stuttering became worse than the original. Now you piece all the confusions you had together.

So he’s getting self-conscious? But why? You don’t understand.

“Remember the day when you and (Name) went to the mall to buy some school supplies? I was there, too! I saw that you were being fidgety and stuttering a lot! It was hilarious to witness you like that, Tsuzuru!”

“Ah, now that reminds me,” Itaru begins. “I saw you on the terrace, calming yourself and even taking a breath before you answer a phone call back then. At first, I thought it was one of your bosses in your part-time jobs, but I discovered that it was only (Last name).”

“Then, that means he’s really self-conscious!” Citron asserts.

Tsuzuru’s tongue-tied, doesn’t have any words to say in this exact moment knowing his troupe mates had seen him in those shameful moments of his with you. He can’t dispute since it’s all the truth. Even he was bewildered by his actions as of late. He has no idea how to describe his current situation. It was making him perturbed and left him with tons of questions that he was desperately seeking to know.

Now that his troupe mates had given him the answer to his quaint actions, he accepted the words they had pointed out. There’s no room for him to be defensive, considering the answer he was seeking to find out is already there. Furthermore, he has no escape from this embarrassing situation. You already heard everything that he doesn’t want you to discover.

His troupe mates certainly are troublesome fellows.

“Tsuzuru,” you call his name to get his attention. However, it seems that he hadn’t heard you as he didn’t move in his spot. You elicit a small sigh before attempting to slap his cheeks gently with both hands. It didn’t take you seconds to pay you his heed.

“(N-Name)-san?” he stammers, surprised to see your face up-close and holding his cheeks with care. You beam him a gentle smile.

“Let’s talk,” you softly say before retracting your hands from his cheeks with a smile still intact on your visage. Tsuzuru felt his stomach twist, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He utterly knows that you’re going to talk about today, which is why he’s preparing himself for the worst. It will be reasonable if you’re going to avoid him after this. After all, the recent occurrence a while ago is indeed uncomfortable and embarrassing.

Everyone is quiet. The atmosphere is still. No one spoke, even Citron, who’s fond of initiating a commotion in the dorm with others. The director’s only looking at him with a worried face, and Masumi is still the same as ever, looking at Izumi with heart-shaped eyes, not even bothering with what occurred earlier.

He envies his roommate’s ignorance with this circulating tension around them. It must be nice to be so carefree.

“Where are we going?” he manages to ask despite his parched throat.

Upon his query, you direct your gaze to the director. “If you don’t mind, can I borrow Tsuzuru for a bit?”

Izumi blinks her eyes before answering you in a bit of a panic. “S-Sure, we don’t mind.”

You say your thanks and signal to the scriptwriter to follow you to the courtyard.

The journey toward the yard was disturbingly restrained. Only your footsteps and Tsuzuru’s were the one thing you can hear. You didn’t mind the silence since afterward, the two of you are going to talk about today.

You don’t even know that Tsuzuru’s fidgeting and his whole being is getting wallowed in the sea of his anxiety. His fear of cutting ties with you is something he can’t take. After all, you’re the only woman he has befriended this close with whom he can share his problems and rants about his life. And just because of his troupe mates being a busybody, it will estrange your relationship with him.

Once the both of you step into the courtyard, the fresh breeze of spring season whirls through your bodies and affords you a sense of tranquility. You continue to walk as he follows you to the center of their dormitory. The scent of the flowers planted by Tsumugi wafts through the air, which surely helps Tsuzuru to relax his stiff shoulders.

As you two reach the center, you halt your steps. Tsuzuru mimics your action, and a dreadful feeling eventually washes over him. His repose because of the calm ambiance of the garden was only a fleeting moment of his because his apprehension came back to him once again.

“Hey, Tsuzuru,” you say; your voice is still the serene one that he had known, almost subduing the abnormal beating of his heart. You turn on your heels to face the man. “Am I that intimidating for you to be self-conscious around me?”

Tsuzuru breaths in, recognizing the playfulness in your voice. Your famous smile didn’t seem to disappear as it was still the same smile you wore every day. It baffled him for a second. He assumed that you’re going to give him a serious look with no smeared of jocularity in your eyes. But it was all the opposite of what he presumed.

“E-Eh?” That was the only reaction he could give. He was still in the process of understanding your words.

Your grin expands before letting out a giggle. “So that’s why your behavior is strange these past few weeks. It’s because you’re self-conscious around me.”

Your friskiness had Tsuzuru’s face to blush and lips to tremble in shame. No coherent words are available for him to say. He remains still in his spot as he simply watches you laughing at his embarrassing acts.

When he paid his attention to you, it seems that you’re too far away for him to reach. Every time he saw you from afar, it looked like you were sparkling in his eyes. Your smile that couldn’t be tarnished, your confidence that he admires, your etiquette in various circumstances, and also your benevolence that isn’t exclusive for just one; it’s for everyone.

Everything about you, Tsuzuru adores. And knowing that you two are the exact opposite, his chest would unwillingly wrench. It pains him to look at you because he's completely aware that he’s out of your league. You’re too bright for his dim light.

“(Name)-san,” he subconsciously calls you, and it catches your attention in an instant. You wait for him to speak, and Tsuzuru wants to retreat. However, his melancholic musings are encouraging him to do it. “If you only know how I greatly admire you as an individual. It’s like you’re too far from me and I can’t reach you. You’re like the sky that is so bright, too beautiful, and pure for me. Me, as a land, doesn’t want to tarnish your beauty. My position was to merely admire you from afar. I'm too way out of your league. There are so many who want you, people who are well-known, and have more recognition than me. They’re the ones who have the right to be beside you, unlike me, who’s dull and a complete nobody.”

Tsuzuru looks up to watch the stars glimmering in the night sky. After that speech of his, both of you didn’t utter a single word as you let the silence engulfs you two. Distinguishing his impression of you had rendered you stunned, as you hadn’t expected him to give you such regard.

Tsuzuru shifts his body, inserting his hands in his pockets while not averting his gaze from the sky. “We’re completely opposite, (Name)-san.”

You purse your lips, jaw clenching since Tsuzuru was not giving credit for himself. His degradation makes you upset. You do appreciate how he sees you in high regard, but you dislike it when he’s self-deprecating when there are things and qualities that you admire him for. He doesn’t know that he’s much better than you are. He’s too blind to notice the wonderful qualities he has.

“You see,” you say as you stare at the view above. This time, Tsuzuru diverts his notice to you. “The land is much better than the sky itself. The land gives life to all the living things; providing animals and humans with shelter, growing beautiful trees and flowers with its soil, a place where people can freely walk to, magnificent landscapes that are breathtaking to capture, and especially nature that is essential for our survival. Isn't it similar to you, Tsuzuru? The land is an all-rounder; it has many attributes that it can provide. And you, you can do almost everything, even everyone is aware of that. Your troupe mates can spell it out for you if you still doubt yourself. They even called you jack of all trades, aren’t they?”

You tear your gaze away from the sky to peer at Tsuzuru, whose eyes are wide. Afterward, you shoot him a smile, assuring him that you’re sincere to the words you had said.

He’s too speechless to give you a meager response. He feels his chest fluttering in glee and as if someone’s caressing his heart to feel so fuzzy inside. Tsuzuru will be lying if he says he’s not happy to hear your words, because the truth is, he’s elated to the point he wants to leap in ecstasy and hug you right here, right now. But Tsuzuru still has the decency not to breach that boundary. Therefore, he controls himself from caging you in his arms.

“I-I…” Tsuzuru had strived to speak, but to his dismay, the shock was too much for him to recover immediately.

You let out a hearty chuckle. “That’s the brilliance of land, which is why you need not degrade yourself like that. You’re perfect in your own way. Further, you have so many things you can offer. You’re not out of my league. We’re only the same. I admire you because it’s you, and you admire me because it’s me. We have our own abilities, so there’s no such thing as inferior and superior between us. We’re equals. Moreover, you have this unique potential that many don't own, so don’t neglect it. Be that as it may, okay?”

With that, Tsuzuru couldn’t help but smile at your encouraging words. You sure know how to uplift his spirits. And he’s glad to know that your relationship won’t get estranged because of his pain in the ass troupe mates. He really felt relieved.

“I really adore you, (Name)-san,” he declares before tilting his head upwards.

“I admire you, too, Tsuzuru.” You look at the sky, as well. Then without hesitation, you grab his hand.

Tsuzuru flinches at the warmth of your small hand on him. That’s why he hastily snaps his head to you, only to see you grinning at him so cheekily. Comprehending that you're holding his hand makes him flustered and unable to think. His heart is strenuously beating against his rib cage that he's compelled to rip away his hand from you in order for you not to notice his violent heartbeat.

But in spite of it, the other him is melting in your touch and refusing to let go of your hand, especially because your warmth is transporting to him, which makes him calm and feel comfortable like his home.

Therefore, Tsuzuru squeezes his hold on you and shows you a sheepish smile, fending off the worries and shame that’s intruding on his mind. Those emotions aren’t needed in this heartfelt situation with you.

Both of you look up at the sky at once and savor the moment that was given to you by God.

[sciencespies]

To Boost Black Men in Medicine, Advocates Turn to Sports

https://sciencespies.com/nature/to-boost-black-men-in-medicine-advocates-turn-to-sports/

To Boost Black Men in Medicine, Advocates Turn to Sports

Emily Laber-Warren, Undark

Aaron Bolds didn’t consider becoming a physician until he tore a ligament in his knee while playing in a basketball tournament when he was 15. His orthopedic surgeon was Black, and they hit it off. “He was asking me how my grades were, and I told him, ‘I’m a straight-A student,’ and he was, like, ‘Man, this is a great fallback plan if basketball doesn’t work out,’” recalls Bolds, who is African American.

“He looked like me,” Bolds says, “and that was even more encouraging.” 

If not for that chance encounter, Bolds, 34, a doctor at Mount Sinai Health System in New York, might never have gone into medicine, he says. When he was growing up, there were no physicians in his family or extended social network to model that career path. And at the schools he attended, he says, his aptitude for science didn’t trigger the kind of guidance young people often receive in more privileged contexts.

What Bolds did get attention for was his athletic ability. He got a full basketball scholarship to Lenoir-Rhyne University in North Carolina, where his team won a conference championship. But when he transferred to Bowie State University in Maryland, where he also played basketball, an academic adviser discouraged his pre-med ambitions, Bolds recalls, saying his grades were low and he lacked research experience.

Bolds is not alone in finding in athletics a fraught lever of educational opportunity. Whereas Black players comprise more than half the football and basketball teams at the 65 universities in the top five athletic conferences, and bring in millions of dollars for their schools year after year, the graduation rates for Black male college athletes are significantly lower — 55 percent as compared to 69 percent for college athletes overall — according to a 2018 report from the USC Race and Equity Center. Many Black college athletes end up without either a professional sports contract or a clear career path. 

Now some educators and advocates are looking to reverse this trend by connecting sports, an area in which African American men are overrepresented, and medicine, where the opposite is true. As of 2018, 13 percent of the U.S. population, but just 5 percent of doctors — according to the Association of American Medical Colleges — identified as Black or African American. (The AAMC data notes that an additional 1 percent of doctors identified as multiracial.) Decades of efforts to increase diversity at medical schools have made progress with other demographics, including Black women — but barely any with Black men. “No other demographic group is broken down with such a large split between men and women,” says Jo Wiederhorn, president and CEO of the Associated Medical Schools of New York. “And none of them have stayed stagnant, like that group has.”

According to data the AAMC provided to Undark, the proportion of Black men enrolling in medical school hasn’t changed much since 1978 — with only some headway being made in the past few years.

The absence of Black male medical professionals ripples across the health system, experts say, contributing to widespread health disparities. African Americans tend to be diagnosed later than White people with everything from cancer to kidney disease, leading to more advanced disease and earlier deaths. Meanwhile, a recent study suggests that Black men who see Black male doctors may be more likely to follow medical advice. Other research also suggests that racially concordant care, in which patients and doctors have a shared identity, is associated with better communication and a greater likelihood to use health services.

“We are in a crisis point, nationally,” says Reginald Miller, the dean for research operations and infrastructure at Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai. “I don’t think it’s a stretch to suggest that the health of communities of color are directly proportional to the number of practitioners available to see,” he says. “It’s just that straightforward.”

Last year, the National Medical Association, a professional organization representing African American physicians, embarked with the AAMC on a joint effort to address the structural barriers to advancement for Black men. “We need to look at this with a unique lens,” says Norma Poll-Hunter, senior director of workforce diversity at the AAMC.

There is no single solution to such an entrenched and multifaceted problem, Poll-Hunter says. According to her, some medical schools have adopted a holistic admissions process that evaluates many personal factors rather than relying on standardized test scores, which can exclude promising Black candidates. In addition, she says, students of color need better access to high-quality K-12 science education, particularly in under-resourced public schools. “There are a lot of barriers that exist early on,” she notes, “and that then creates this narrowing of the pathway to medicine.”

But the novel strategy of wooing athletes is slowly gaining traction. Advocates point out that high-performing athletes possess many of the skills and attributes that doctors, psychologists, physical therapists, and other medical professionals need — things like focus, a commitment to excellence, time management, and problem-solving skills, as well as the ability to take constructive criticism and perform under pressure.

“When you say, ‘What’s your ideal medical student?’ it’s not just a kid who’s academically gifted. It’s a kid who’s got resilience, attention to detail, knows how to work on the team,” Miller says. “Because science and medicine are team sports.” And by virtue of being athletes, these young men are already attuned to nutrition, fitness, and other aspects of human biology.

Two former NFL players, Nate Hughes and Myron Rolle, recently became physicians. And there is evidence that competitive sports experience contributes to medical success. A 2012 study of doctors training to become ear, nose, and throat specialists at Washington University, for example, found that having excelled in a team sport was more predictive of how faculty rated their quality as a clinician than strong letters of recommendation or having attended a highly-ranked medical school. Likewise, a 2011 study found that having an elite skill, such as high-achieving athletics, was more predictive of completing a general surgery residency than medical school grades.

Advocates of the athletics-to-medicine pipeline point out its practicality. Thousands of Black men are already in college, or headed there, on athletic scholarships. It would only take a small percentage of them choosing medical careers to boost the percentage of Black male doctors to better reflect the proportion of African American men in the general population, they say.

No one thinks it will be easy. One obstacle, advocates say, is a lack of role models. Black sports celebrities are household names, but some young athletes may never encounter a Black medical professional. “People don’t believe they can become what they don’t see,” says Mark R. Brown, the athletic director at Pace University.

And for the best chance of success, many say, these young men need to form and pursue medical aspirations as young as possible, along with their athletic training. “Those kids who are able to do both, the rewards at the end are enormous,” Miller says. But the adults in their lives may not believe the dual path is possible. “The second that a kid says to a science teacher or someone else that he’s an athlete,” Miller says, “they go into a different category. ‘They’re not really serious about science and medicine, they’re just here, and so I don’t expect this kid to really achieve.’”

Rigid course and practice schedules also make it challenging for busy athletes to undertake demanding and time-intensive science majors, observers say. What’s needed is “a cultural change, and not just a cultural change with the athletes. It’s a cultural change with the whole structure,” Miller says. “Everybody’s excited about the idea” of the physician athlete, he adds, “because it makes sense. But when the rubber hits the road, it is challenging.”

Donovan Roy, the assistant dean for diversity and inclusiveness at the Western Michigan University Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine, was one of the first people to envision the potential of directing Black athletes toward medical careers.

Roy, 48, who is Black and a former college football player, grew up in the working class, primarily Black and Latino community of Inglewood, California. Attending an elite private high school on a football scholarship was eye-opening. He vividly remembers the first time he ever saw a walk-in pantry, at a friend’s home. “It was stocked like a convenience store,” he recalls. “Five different types of Hostess, Ding-Dongs, sodas, every type of snack that you ever wanted.” Equally startling was speaking with another friend’s mother, who was a lawyer. “I’d never seen a road map to success in my community,” he says.

Roy’s athletic talent continued to open doors — at 18 he got a scholarship to the University of Southern California — but poorly prepared by the under-resourced public schools he had attended through ninth grade, he struggled academically, and left both USC and later another university that he also attended on an athletic scholarship.

Eventually Roy found his footing, and when he did, he became a learning specialist. After working through his own academic struggles, he wanted to help others with theirs. Roy took a job as a learning skills counselor at UCLA’s medical school. There he helped the students who were struggling with classes like anatomy and genetics. In early 2015, he returned to USC as the director of academic support services at Keck School of Medicine.

Something Roy noticed at both these medical schools stuck with him, though it would take a few years for the observation to crystallize. A certain kind of student sought help despite, by ordinary standards, not needing it. These were the athletes, and many of them were Black or Latino. “They always talked about, ‘How can I excel? How can I get better?’” he recalls. They “were getting 90s and they wanted to be 100.”

Roy began a doctoral program in education in 2015, the same year the AAMC published a damning report about the lack of Black men entering medical school. This was a crisis Roy understood both personally and professionally. For his dissertation, he decided to interview 16 Black male students at Keck School of Medicine. What was it about them, he wanted to understand, that had gotten them there against all odds?

The answer, he discovered, was what academics call social capital. For medical students from privileged backgrounds, social capital might take the form of a family friend who arranges a summer internship at a biotechnology lab, or a well-funded high school that offers advanced placement science classes. The young men Roy interviewed did not, for the most part, have access to those sorts of resources.

“Growing up, I didn’t see a Black male with a college degree until I got to college,” medical student Jai Kemp said in a separate interview Roy conducted for a documentary he’s making on the topic. The social capital these young men leveraged to get to medical school took the form of parental support, science enrichment programs and clubs, peer social networks, faculty mentors — and the perks that come with athletics. “For me it was just sports that got me through,” Kemp said.

The pieces started to fit together. Roy knew from his own experience all the benefits athletes get, not just entrée to educational institutions, but travel, enrichment, and academic advantages like tutoring and early class registration. Athletes also tend to possess social cachet on campus and, with more exposure to different types of people, may feel comfortable in environments that seem foreign and forbidding to other young people from disadvantaged backgrounds. Roy also recalled the drive for academic excellence he had observed in the athletes who came to his tutoring programs. “I got this epiphany,” he says. “Why don’t we look at student athletes in order to increase Black males’ representation in medicine, because they have the most social capital and the most network on predominantly White campuses.”

Donovan Roy at the Western Michigan University Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine, where he is now the assistant dean for diversity and inclusiveness. While working on his doctoral degree, Roy interviewed Black men in medical school and discovered one key to their success: social capital.

Mark Bugnaski

But when Roy began talking to his medical school colleagues about recruiting athletes, who according to a report from the Center for American Progress — a liberal think tank — make up 16 percent of Black male college students receiving athletic aid in the Big 12 athletic conference, he says most weren’t receptive to the idea. The same thing happened when he got up the nerve to make the suggestion publicly at a 2018 conference in Orlando, Florida. The idea ran against type. “I think people tend to lump athletes into this box,” he says. “They just think that athletes are big meatheads.”

Roy knew this truth viscerally, because with his offensive lineman’s build of 6-feet-6-inches and 300-plus pounds, he sticks out in academic settings. “People stare,” he says. “They do not expect me to be in the role that I am in.”

What Roy didn’t know was that the idea was percolating elsewhere, including at the National Collegiate Athletic Association. Brian Hainline, the NCAA’s chief medical officer, says he and Poll-Hunter of the AAMC are in talks with several universities about launching a pilot program to support African American athletes interested in medical careers.

Meanwhile, in 2018 Miller founded the organization Scholar-Athletes with Academic Goals (a.k.a. SWAG, a name he hopes will resonate with young people). The initiative connects promising athletes with a range of available programs to help them pursue and succeed in science and medicine. Recently, Miller worked closely with leadership at Pace University to create a program, expected to launch next year, to support Black college athletes interested in attending medical school. Pace officials want the initiative to become a magnet for out-of-state athletes and a model for other schools. “My hope is that two years from now, colleges and universities will call” and ask, “Wow, how did you do this?” says athletic director Brown. “Once we have some success, and proof of concept, then I think it can really grow.”

Bolds graduated medical school in 2018 and is now doing his residency at Mount Sinai. His focus is rehabilitation medicine, and he plans to tend to injured athletes and serve as a team physician. He got a business degree while in medical school, and his long-term goal is to open his own interventional spine and sports medicine practice specializing in preventing and rehabilitating injuries in both athletes and non-athletes, as well as helping serious players enhance their performance.

But there were tough moments along the way, such as the encounter with that academic adviser, which Bolds says only served to motivate him. At the time, he thought, “Wow, this person doesn’t believe in me. So let me make them a believer,” he recalls. “That was, moving forward, really a turning point for me, honestly. Because I knew that people aren’t going to believe in you unless you give them a reason to.”

Bolds began to apply an athletic mindset to his pre-med classes. “That same grind of having to get up, 5 a.m., get to the gym, get shots up before anybody gets there, to put in that extra time — I was doing that with my studies,” he says. “I would get to the library before anybody.” Once Bolds turned his grades around, professors began to notice and help him, he says. Still, he says, his score on the MCAT, an entrance exam required by nearly all U.S. medical schools, was borderline. Instead of giving up, he attended multiple events at Howard University’s medical school, where he met people who advocated for him. It was the only medical school he got into.

Whereas Bolds had to bushwhack, he saw other Black students fall off the medical path — and his fellow Black teammates avoided it entirely. Many athletes find themselves enmeshed in a profit-making system that may not prioritize their education. The NCAA has been criticized in recent years for its long-standing policy which prohibits profit-sharing with college athletes — a policy that was only recently reversed under interim guidelines. Others have said that Black labor has been especially exploited.

In his residency, Bolds is focusing on rehabilitation medicine, and is pictured here working at Mount Sinai’s sports medicine clinic.

Jeenah Moon for Undark

As of 2014 reports, fewer than 2 percent of athletes in the NCAA will go on to play professionally. But for self-serving reasons, critics say, (Clemson University’s football team, for example, made $77 million in average annual revenue from 2015 through 2017) universities often direct athletes to “academic paths of least resistance.” Many schools practice “major clustering,” in which players are steered to the same relatively undemanding major, such as communications, so they can devote themselves almost entirely to their sport. Major clustering is more pronounced among athletes of color, according to a 2009 study of football teams at 11 universities. At six of those schools, the study found, over three-quarters of the non-White football players were enrolled in just two academic majors, although dozens of majors were offered.

Sheron Mark, an associate professor of science education at the University of Louisville, co-authored a 2019 case study of two young Black men who arrived at college on basketball scholarships, with the intent to pursue respective careers in computer science and engineering. But both found it difficult to balance academics with athletics because of pressure and blandishments from coaches and faculty advisers.

“For so long, they’ve been sold this message that you don’t have many choices, that banking on a professional sports career is one of very few options for you if you want to advance your station in life,” says Mark of many Black athletes. It’s important to have a plan B, she says, since “the odds just aren’t in their favor.” But coaches can discourage academically demanding majors because they may cut into practice time, and college athletes are not always capable of pushing back, she says, because their financial packages are tied to fulfillment of their team responsibilities.

Many Black college athletes are already strong candidates for medical school, advocates say, but others may need extra academic support to compensate for deficits acquired at under-resourced K-12 schools. They may also need post-graduation training to take science classes they did not have time for while working long hours as athletes — with some working 20-plus hours a week. “How are they being mentored and guided and protected in planning for their futures?” Mark asks. “They are high achieving in sports, they want to be high achieving in academics. Why don’t we support them?” When people wonder whether student-athletes can cut it in science and medicine, Mark’s response is: “It’s on us. It’s on us to help them do so. That’s how we can grow their representation.”

That’s what Pace University intends to do. The school already nurtures academic success in its athletes, who collectively had a B+ average last school year, but premedical studies have never been a great fit, in part because afternoon practices can conflict with long lab classes, says athletic director Brown. As part of the school’s new initiative, Pace science departments have pledged to offer flexibility in course section offerings in order to accommodate football commitments. Athletes of color from any sport will be welcome, but football was prioritized because it is the largest and one of the most diverse teams and has the most complicated schedule, Brown says.

The school also plans to adjust its advising, tutoring, and library services to ensure that pre-med athletes won’t falter when they struggle with personal issues or tough classes like organic chemistry. “Rather than saying, ‘Oh, chemistry, nobody likes chemistry, you’re right, you should just drop that,’ instead now it’s going to be, ‘Yeah, you’ve got to buckle down. And here’s how we’re going to do it,’” says Hillary Knepper, the university’s associate provost for student success.

Meanwhile, Brown will be directing his coaches to actively recruit Black and Latino high school athletes who are interested in medicine. In the past, Brown says, his coaches were less likely to select such students because of anticipated scheduling challenges. But now Pace is trying to establish a partnership through which a nearby medical school would give preferred consideration to pre-med athletes who have completed the Pace curriculum. “With our new approach, you’re not only going to have the ability to do it,” he says, “but you’re going to have a support system, to make sure that you follow the path.”

Some advocates for the athlete-to-doctor paradigm see this work as part of the larger movement for social justice. “Look what Jackie Robinson did, right? Look at Muhammad Ali, look at Colin Kaepernick,” Roy says. “Athletics has always been the vehicle for social change.”

Medical professionals can influence public policy, accumulate wealth, and help empower others in their orbit. “The impacts ramp up really quickly, from just that individual benefiting,” Mark says, to “your family, your neighborhood, your social network, and society — people you won’t even meet, and across generations.”

Studies suggest that African American doctors are more likely to choose to work in underserved communities. They also may be more attuned to, and motivated to combat, the disparities in health care. A study published last year, for example, suggests that Black newborns are half as likely to die when they are cared for by a Black physician.

Bolds is keenly aware of the health disparities for Black communities, and he jumps at opportunities to mentor other young Black men, to show them that they, too, can become doctors. “It seems like there’s so many steps that just are never-ending,” he says. But, he adds, to see someone “that you can connect with that’s at that finish line or has already passed that finish line — I think that’s very key to their success.”

One of the people Bolds has connected with is Darius Ervin, a talented Black basketball player from Crown Heights, Brooklyn, who is now a sophomore at Cornell University. The two met when Ervin attended a virtual event late last year, sponsored by SWAG, at which Bolds spoke. Afterwards, the two chatted, and Bolds now checks in periodically with Ervin, who says he appreciates the encouragement. “Those are people that have once laced up shoes and got on the court and played just like how I did, and now they’re in the hospital helping people,” he says. “Being able to speak to those people gives me the visual, allows me to see that it’s an opportunity and it’s definitely possible for me to do.”

UPDATE: A previous version of this article referred imprecisely to the institutional affiliation of Donovan Roy. He is at the Western Michigan University Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine, not the Homer Stryker M.D. School of Medicine at Western Michigan University.

Emily Laber-Warren directs the health and science reporting program at the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism at CUNY.

This article was originally published on Undark. Read the original article.

Doctors

Health

Medicine

Race and Ethnicity

Sports

#Nature

[black-quadrant]

at long last, i give you chapter 2 of my demon AU! not as thrilling as chapter 1, unless you like a bunch of exposition! we’ll get to the juicy stuff soon enough. thanks for the interest and motivation to build out this AU!

He could have sworn he hadn’t consumed a drop of alcohol last night. Even a skeptic like him could assume spirits and real spirits would mix as well as oil and water, but ultimately he was staying sober for his friends in case they got themselves into some kind of actual real living trouble beyond their impulsivity to raise the dead, or... whatever.

So why did he feel completely hung the fuck over? Every muscle in his body ached, even ones he didn’t know he had, or hadn’t used since he was forced to play team sports in school (those were the days... not).

Nevertheless, he peeled himself out of bed, bracing himself for the morni-- er, afternoon. After... noon? With a soul-deep groan, Neku dragged himself into the shower, using that time to scavenge his memories of last night, picking up every mental fragment until he'd reached the end of the evening, where he crashed into bed. And the next conscious anything was a disturbingly vivid dream about being assaulted in said bed by what vaguely looked to be an arguably pretty boy packing a full set of gnashing teeth and ultraviolet whorls for eyes. The kind of nightmare vision appeal that made you hard for danger, the kind of unnerving midnight visitor that people wished would steal in and violate them in the comfort of their own room. And what followed... that made Neku stop everything, and crank the shower dial to blast himself with ice water.

He did not have time to indulge sordid fantasies. That was a hell of a dream though; he couldn’t recall the last time he’d dreamt so vividly. He’d have to... circle back around to that one later.

Right now he needed to rejoin society, and hopefully the flood of city stimuli will dilute and filter out this undercurrent of indistinct eeriness.

A cup of coffee was a good start. That, and an apology, both for bailing on his friends, and for, well, his friends. Taking to the streets, armed with his headphones (he never left home without them), he cranked up the volume until he could no longer hear Shibuya and meandered the all too familiar path to Wildkat Cafe.

He’s taking a gamble here at the shop being open, as it’s known for its proprietor’s inconsistent (putting it lightly) hours, but he’s in luck; it’s open, and Mr. H, upon spotting him, waved him in.

“’Ey, Phones!” He didn’t need hear him to read his lips and know he’s greeting him by his exasperating nickname. He used to think Mr. H simply forgot his name, but after countless attempts to try to replace it with his actual name, and even going without his headphones for a week to train him out of it, he’d resigned himself to his unchanging fate. But such was the nature of nicknames, right? You don’t always want them.

“Hey, Mr. H.” Draping said `phones’ around his neck, Neku strolled in, making his way to the counter where the barista was stationed, currently cleaning down the counter. “I, uh... wanted to say sorry for last night. I--”

Neku paused abruptly as a shadow fell over Hanekoma’s expression, smothering the air of congeniality he had about him. It’s the first time Neku’s ever seen him look so aggravated. It’s not until Hanekoma spoke that he realized he was staring past him.

“Does he know you’re stalking him, J?”

“You’re always ruining my fun, Mr. H.”

Neku spun toward the source of the undeniably snide tone, finding himself gawking at the face that starred in his tawdry dream last night.

“Hello, Neku.” He smiled with normal human teeth. A small comfort.

“... what the fuck?! Where did you come from? There was no one here a second ago.” Neku cast Hanekoma a wide-eyed glance full of disbelief. “...was there?”

Hanekoma barked out a laugh and shook his head.

“Who the fuck is this? Why do you know my name?” Something deeply, disturbingly intuitive Neku refused to acknowledge told him he knew the answer.

“I’m hurt. We met just last night.” It’s then that Neku noticed the petite violet horns seated atop that fluffy head. They couldn’t be bigger than two inches. It’s not like it’s out of place for the season, but it’s a bit too campy for Neku’s taste. Just as he was about to mock them, something brushed his arm.

A legitimate demon tail, complete with spade tip.

“Seriously? You’re wearing that out in public?” He swatted it away, eliciting a squeak of alarm from the little weirdo.

“Gentle. It’s not a costume prop.”

Neku backed himself up to the counter, again looking to the barista for help.

“You know damn well you’re not supposed to be in the RG.” He regarded said little weirdo with such familiarity that he was chastising him. RG? Too much is happening at once. Neku slammed a hand on the counter. "Hello?? I did not meet you, not last night or ever.”

The blonde simply smirked.

“Joshua... that ring a bell?”

The name, combined with his tone, struck him like lightning, and all at once the image flashed back into his mind. Horrorterror teeth, clawed hands, unmistakeable purple eyes--

“...holy shit.”

“There’s nothin’ holy ‘bout him--”

“Mr. H, would you like me to spill your secrets?”

“Which one?” The barista countered with a grin, and Neku literally and figuratively stepped out of their crossfire and snatched Joshua by a horn, cringing at discovering that it’s fixed to his skull. Joshua hissed, but didn’t move.

“Tell me now.”

“Don’t you remember? Your friends didn’t close the door. But don’t worry, I closed it behind me.” Neku released his grip and took a step back, finally understanding. It wasn’t a fever dream. Wasn’t even a normal dream. It had happened, it--

“You were in my bedroom--” Neku’s face went beet red. Joshua giggled knowingly.

“No, we didn’t do that. That was me feeding you some... prospects. Or perhaps it was a premonition?”

“You’re fucking gross.”

“Anyway,” Hanekoma interjected, “Joshua here is, I guess what you would call a demon.” Joshua huffed at being outed.

“This,” Neku gestured vaguely at the `boy’ “is not what I saw last night. Last night I would believe what I saw was indeed a demon. This is just a campy ruse.”

“Well, technically, you’re spot on.” Joshua affirmed, his sinuously long, slender tail swaying behind him, not unlike a cat’s. “Clearly you’re not a demon enthusiast or you’d know that we can take human shape, so that we can walk among you...” Joshua slunk over to the counter, tapping an empty mug in a silent entreaty for coffee. “Just like angels...right, Mr. H?” Hanekoma ignored him for the espresso machine.

“... okay... okay, okay, this has crossed over from fucking weird to goddamn cursed. I have so many questions I don’t even want the answers to, but I’ll summarize all of them: what do you want?”

Joshua, leaning casually against the counter, turned to Neku with a delighted grin.

“You. I like you. You’re a one in a million find in this city.” Behind the counter, brewing Joshua’s cup, Hanekoma scoffed. “You’re sensitive on an energetic level. I’d like us to spend some quality time... and I have been so bored. I was drawn to you because I can see you are bored, too.”

Neku opened his mouth to protest, but he instantly thought better of it. He’s not sure how Joshua could smell the utter ennui on him, but he’d chalk it up to Demonic Shit because he was getting a massive headache from information overload.

“As fun as hanging out with you and being tormented at night sounds, I’ll pass. I’ve got a life to live that I’m not going to piss away entertaining a demon masquerading as a human. The horns and tail are doing nothing for you human passing, by the way.”

“You want to send me back then, Neku? Do you even know how?” This motherfucker. Neku grit his teeth, biting back the urge to slap the pretty off his face.

“Besides, you won’t even see me during the day. I’ll make myself absent to the eyes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I can hop between... dimensions. We’ll say dimensions. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“So you can stalk me some more?”

“Alright, boys, simmer down. `I’ll make your cup a’joes for the road, an’ you can go out an’ get acquainted.”

“You’re not off the hook.” Neku said sharply. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet about this the whole time. Obviously you two are acquainted. What is your relationship to this little cryptid?”

“I’ll tell ya all ‘bout it later, Phones. You have my word.” He pushed the cups forward. “On the house.” Hanekoma never offered free coffee. This did not bode well for Neku, who could tell he’d have to put up with a pet demon until he learned how to slam dunk him back to his own dimension.

“...fine. Are you gonna put away the costume props?”

“No one but you will see my very real extensions of myself. There’s my compromise.”

Neku rolled his eyes.

“You have to get the hell out of here if I go see my friends. I am not explaining you. That’s my compromise.”

“Brr... so cold.” Joshua cozied up to Neku’s side, clearly intent on testing his boundaries (and his wrath). “Take me out to lunch, and I will tell you anything you want to know.”

“I can’t believe this...”

Those purple eyes, for a split second, flare with the glow of last night.

“Oh, Neku... you will. You will.”

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 14

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark casual reminder: this story is r o u g h. themes of rape, kidnapping, power imbalances, etc.. This story does not depict healthy or safe relationships. Trigger warnings for explicit torture, blood, vomit, and the usual. be advised, be safe.

Bucky hadn’t been a good guy in a really long time. He’d done horrible, horrible things and the majority of the remorse he felt was how it all had impacted Steve. The blond had been so distraught when he first pulled Buck out of cryo, a shell of the man he’d been before. He recited information when asked, followed direction without question, never complained about anything. There were no memories, not of his happiness with Steve, not of his betrayal at the hands of Howard Stark, not of his murders. Steve had cried. He vividly remembered the tears and the feel of the taller man’s arms wrapped almost suffocatingly tight around him.

It was Steve who brought him back to himself, as much as he could be brought back. He wasn’t the same man that he once was, but Steve still loved him and that was all that mattered. And in all fairness, Steve himself wasn’t the same man either. The betrayal had hardened him, the ice had frozen his core and never quite thawed. He was still Stevie, still the golden retriever of a man, but his teeth were sharper and his snarl more vicious. There was a bite behind the bark now that hadn’t existed before.

Their development had taken place separately but they still fit together. Bucky and Steve were still two pieces of the same puzzle, they fit together so perfectly that changing the edges of one just caused the other to adapt and warp themselves.

Warped was a good word. Steve and Bucky were still Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, and James Buchannan Barnes, Sergeant of the 107th, but they were warped. They were still them, but the ice had caused cracks in the surface and the debris had fallen away to reveal sharper, more dangerous edges.

As Bucky watched Penny walk several steps in front of him, he wondered what the Original Bucky would’ve thought. Buck had been a good kid, if a player, back in the day. He’d been respectful and kind, would never think to even look at a dame wrong. Was it dark to think he would of killed himself back then, if he knew what the future held?

“Where are we going?”

It was quiet, almost a whisper, their doll feeling the change in atmosphere and getting nervous. Her shoulders were raised up to her ears, arms wrapped around her torso.

"Come here doll," Bucky pulled her back slightly to walk next to him, tucking her under his flesh arm, "we're going to take care of you, don't worry."

"What do you mean?" Her voice shook and he could feel her tremble under his grasp, "why—"

"Hush babydoll."

The tremble increased to full out shaking as the elevator descended, Penny's eyelids fluttering slightly as she visibly tried to regain control of herself. Bucky's enhanced hearing meant he could hear her heart thundering in her chest and he passed Steve a steadying look. They would comfort her after, when she was desperate and seeking any sort of safety.

Getting Penny to crack was going to be a trial and he wished he was more reluctant to make it happen. Instead the idea was almost relieving; it was the first step in moving her along on the path to acceptance.

When the elevator came to a stop, he had to push her along down the corridor. Her little bare feet squeaked against the tile every few steps, heels dragging in an almost unconscious show of resistance. Poor thing didn't even know what was happening, just that she needed to be frightened. That something was coming.

"This way doll," he steered her into the observation room connected to Rumlow's temporary quarters, squeezing her shaking shoulders gently. The light was turned out, she couldn't see what was on the other side of the glass, but instinctively she knew it was horrible.

"You've been real bad today, precious," Steve told her softly as he stepped around them, deeper into the room, heading towards a control panel just in front of the mirror, "you know how we feel about consequences."

"You're an adult, you know better than to throw temper tantrums," Bucky adjusted his arms to wrap around her, pressing her tightly against his chest.

He brushed his nose against her cheekbone, eyes locked on the mirror in front of them. Penny couldn't see, but his vision was even better than Steve's and Bucky was fully aware of Rumlow watching them. The man was propped against a wall, stripped down to a dirty pair of jeans and beat to shit. His entire torso was a mottled mess, bruised in gruesome blacks and purples. His eyes were swollen, his lips split and his nose was broken and smashed to the side.

Rumlow could see Penny just fine if the dark look in his blood shot eyes was any indication. Bucky wondered what was going through the man's head, wondered if he was scared or angry.

A whine escaped Penny, a short, terrified noise ripped from her throat. Danger was suffocating the air, the sound of some kind of buzzer making her jump in Bucky's arms. Slowly, several dim lights began flickering on in the room on the other side of the glass, one by one illuminating the room.

He could tell the second Penny laid eyes on Rumlow, the second she registered who he was. Her body locked up in terror so violently it resembled rigor mortis, her muscles turning to stone beneath his hands. The only thing moving was the jumping of her pulse, throbbing at a startling pace under her flesh.

"Sometimes, it helps to have reminders," Bucky ran his hands up her sides under her shirt, “Of what happens when you’re naughty. Of what could happen if you’re naughty.”

“We promised we’d never hurt you baby and we’d never break that promise,” the blond pressed a button on the wall causing another buzzer to go off, followed by an air lock sound as a hidden door shifted out from beside the two way mirror.

The small cry of fear that came from Penny was heart wrenching, the way she pressed back against Bucky as the door slid open made his chest pound. He loved that she would try to find comfort in his presence. Somewhere in her brain, Penny knew that he would take care of her when she was in distress, when she was scared or in danger. It would’ve been nice to comfort her properly, but instead he forced her closer to the window while Steve stepped into the prison room and Buck shut the door behind him.

“We’d never hurt you, precious,” he repeated softly into her ear, one hand coming up to hold her chin firmly while the other stayed locked around her waist, “so we’ll hurt someone else instead.”

“What is this?” Bucky felt the goosebumps spread over her skin, felt her hair literally stand on end.

She remembered his voice. Bucky was sure she remembered the words he’d said that night, all of them. The taunts. He wondered if she recalled every sound he made while she couldn’t move, couldn’t shout for help. If she remembered the fear and the pain and the humiliation as vividly as he could imagine it.

And then Steve’s fist slammed into the man’s face with enough force that Bucky could practically feel it from the other room. A shudder ran through Penny’s entire body; the sound of pain Rumlow made was like a wounded animal, full of primal fear and desperation.

“Get off,” Penny gasped, pressing against Bucky’s hold as hard as she could, “get off me, oh God—”

Her entire body was primed to run, he could feel her muscles bunching under his hands, could hear her heart thundering in her chest. She wasn’t strong enough to force even a few inches of separation and he locked his arm tighter around her waist. He was careful not to dig his fingers into her chin too hard, not wanting to put bruises on her pretty face. Her punishment would be just as effective if she came out of it completely physically unharmed.

“Shh babydoll,” he crooned, brushing his lips over the shell of her ear, “you know, one of Stevie’s talents has always been interrogation. Getting information out of Nazis was easy, they were all pussy bastards. This future though, it’s harder. He’s always had some aggression issues and they got worse with the serum, but this helps him work through it productively. Well, not in this case. In this case he’s just going to cause as much pain in the next hour as he can without mortally wounding him. It took you just about an hour to destroy the kitchen, so we rounded up.”

“I-I don’t,” Penny hiccupped on her words, terror eating her up inside, “Please, p-please, I—”

She couldn’t finish her sentence before Steve bodily lifted Rumlow and tossed him against the wall with petrifying ease. A sharp cry escaped the man, a bone chilling wail as he hit the ground, leaving a distinct crack behind on the wall. Penny trembled against his chest, watching Steve grab Rumlow by the hair and drag him to his feet.

“He’s in a lot of pain, Penny doll,” Bucky whispered, caressing her jaw with his thumb delicately, “Stevie probably broke a couple of his ribs, if not several vertebrae.”

“Oh god,” her tone was a mix of a gasp and a retch.

“Now see, watch what he’s doing baby,” he murmured, directing her attention at the way Steve was examining Rumlow’s ribs with deft touches, “Rumlow’s had broken ribs before, might have some now right? So Stevie’s looking for the weak points. Oh, there he found one.”

An audible crack echoed in the room, followed by a scream. Penny flinched back against Bucky’s chest with a soft whine, he could see in the reflection that she’d squeezed her eyes shut. The thrill her terror sent through him would’ve made Original Bucky puke. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the excitement was not natural. There shouldn’t have been such an impatient undercurrent in his soul for her to start crying, for her to need his comfort even more.

Steve broke at least 5 ribs with deft, casual hits to Rumlow’s torso. Penny was just trembling in terror and Bucky hid his sigh as she pressed back against him. His eyes caught movement in his peripheral vision and he flicked his eyes up to see Steve gesturing to Penny. Her eyes were pressed closed while his hand continued to hold her face in place and he stroked his thumb gently over her jaw.

“Open your eyes, precious,” Steve’s voice was crystal clear through the microphone and they both knew she was aware of how much the blond enjoyed having to repeat himself when they immediately fluttered open.

“That’s a good girl, Penny,” Bucky moved the hand from her chin to stroke her hair back from where it fell on her forehead, “you don’t get to look away.”

Steve dropped Rumlow to his knees, receiving another agonized sound of pain from the man for his efforts along with a whine of fear from Penny. The blond was sure he’d think she was pretty in every situation ever, but she looked especially sweet in her terror; her cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes shiny and wide, her hair a wild mane. She was so precious, to be so upset over the pain of a man who hurt her so badly. Poor Penny, able to have empathy even for a man who’d damaged a piece of her soul.

“How longs’it been, Buck?”

“Just about half an hour,” the brunet glanced at the digital clock on the wall near the control panel before pressing his lips against Penny’s face again, “Breaking ribs takes a lot of care, you’ve gotta do it just right so they don’t puncture a lung or float. Hairline fractures are the most effective, but our strength makes it hard to only cause fractures. Stevie’s a real talented man, precious.”

“I-I’ve learned m-my lesson,” her voice was shaking, her teeth chattering, “please, I w-won’t do it again, I…”

“Shhh, precious,” Bucky ran one hand up her side again, gently stroking over her skin to offer just enough contact to prevent shock, “we said an hour, remember?”

A coughing hiccup was the only response, followed by a little sob. The tears were starting now, her consciousness pushing past the initial fight, flight, or freeze instinct and allowing for a full range of emotion. He could practically feel her desperation to make them happy, to make them stop the punishment early.

Steve drew his eyes away from the crying woman after just a moment, mind whirring with strategies; it wasn’t a full break, Penny was still in control of herself, he needed to up his game for the second half. He hummed quietly, refocusing on Rumlow’s pain with terrifying ease. The man wasn’t going to die today, but he might wish he had.

“Don’t look away, Penny,” the blond ordered as he reached down and grabbed Rumlow’s arm, manipulating his hand carefully, “you need to watch what you’ve caused if you’re going to learn from your mistakes.”

And then, he wrapped his hand around Rumlow’s pointer finger and twisted. The man shrieked as the tendons and ligaments were ripped, the sound increasing in volume when Steve didn’t stop twisting; the bones broke, the skin tore, and then Steve pulled. The finger came off with terrifying ease and Steve very casually shoved the digit into Rumlow’s mouth, covering it with his hand to keep him from spitting it out.

Bucky smiled when Penny fell forward over the arm around her waist and vomited all over the floor, her lunch returning to splash against the wall and their feet. She heaved several times, gagging and wailing in terror when Bucky gently manipulated her to stand upright again, pressing her front carefully against the glass.

“Didn’t Stevie tell you not to look away, precious?” Bucky was fully aware that she’d had no control over her movements, that she either aimed her puke at the ground or she would’ve projectile vomited all over the mirror, but the soft sob she made in response felt like a win.

She threw up twice more in the next ten minutes before going mostly catatonic in his arms; her eyes were still locked on the two men in the other room as she’d been instructed, but Bucky knew she wasn’t actually seeing anything anymore. The trauma was setting in, the shock too overwhelming for his steady touches to combat.

“That’s time, precious,” he told her gently, reaching out to knock against the glass to alert the blond it had been a full hour, “let’s go back upstairs.”

Steve would catch up; he’d need to bring someone in to treat Rumlow’s wounds to prevent him from bleeding out and then he had to wash up. Unlike Bucky, the blond thought with a fond twist of his lips, he avoided bringing bloodstained clothing into the apartment.

Bucky took Penny straight to the bedroom when the elevator stopped, stripping off her leggings and the t-shirt she’d been wearing. It was a testament to how far gone she was that she didn’t even react, just sat silently on the edge of the bed in nothing but a pair of little panties. Bucky had to reel in his libido; taking her while she was in such a state wouldn’t be conducive to building the relationship they were going for. He pulled the long sleeved henley he was wearing over his head and gently dressed her in it.

“Come ‘ere, babydoll,” he murmured, scooping her up into his arms and holding her close while he climbed into bed, pulling the comforter up over both of them, “JARVIS, lower the temperature in the room to 70 degrees and tell Stevie to grab one of the weighted blankets out of the closet before he comes in.”

“Yes Sergeant,” JARVIS sounded cold and a touch irritated, which in turn irritated Bucky; the AI was becoming a pain in his ass.

The technology in the tower was great. Bucky had always loved innovation and science, loved the idea of intelligent buildings and flying cars, but it was hindering his ability to fully ensnare Penny and that was a problem. The kind of problem he wouldn’t tolerate for much longer if JARVIS kept up with his current behavior.

Penny was uncommonly still where he lay on his chest. He’d expected shaking and crying, but instead she’d gone entirely blank. It wasn’t the first time, she had a tendency to retreat into herself whenever she became emotionally taxed, but he didn’t like it. He wanted her to break down, they needed her to crack but she kept reinforcing her foundations instead. She pulled away and stewed in her fear and anger instead of releasing the negative emotions.

“How’s she doing?” Steve questioned softly as he walked into the room, a blanket in his arms that he was quick to spread out over the bed.

Bucky hummed and looked down at where Penny’s head was rested on his chest, examining the blank look in her eyes, “not well.”

The blond rolled his neck, hand reaching back to squeeze the tense muscles, worrying quietly that they’d gone too far. Honestly, he wondered if maybe just the sight of Rumlow would’ve been enough to do the job, if the fear of knowing he was so close by would’ve been punishment enough.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, kicking off his shoes and nudging them under the edge of the bed before stripping off his clean shirt, “we’ll need to be extra sensitive for a while.”

Bucky made a noise of agreement, watching his boyfriend shuck the sweats he’d put on after the quick shower with pleasure. Steve was sex on legs and any amount of undressing was generally enough to get the brunet hard as a rock. The temptation to throw him onto the bed and fuck him senseless was strong, he wanted to lay the man on his back and rest Penny on his chest, tuck his knees as far up as they’d go and then plow him through the mattress. He could imagine the look on his lover’s face, the sight of Penny’s cute panties taunting him as he wrecked the blond beneath him.

He forced himself to drag his eyes away before Steve caught the expression on his face; now was, unfortunately, not the time. He tugged Penny a little higher up on his chest, carefully adjusting her head to rest in the crook of his shoulder.

"It'll come, Buck," Steve murmured, addressing the sadness in the brunet's eyes as he looked at their girl, "we gotta be patient."

"I don’t want to be patient. I want her to break," there was no reason to watch his words, Penny was nearly catatonic, "but she keeps doing this instead."

"You and I both know she can’t hold out forever, self-preservation will win out—”

“Captain, Ms. Maximoff urgently requests to see you. She is on her way in the elevator,” JARVIS interrupted, causing the blond to roll his neck in irritation.

Most likely, Wanda had gotten word of Penny’s impending punishment and was irate with them; like several of their companions, Wanda had become immediately protective of Penny and Peter even without meeting them. He pulled his sweats back on and flashed a quick I’ll be right back hand gesture to Bucky. The elevator arrived on their floor as he crossed the room, his enhanced hearing picking up the sound of the doors even through the soundproofed walls of their apartment.

Upon opening the door, he was immediately met by Wanda shoving two squirming furballs in his face, "pick one and take it to Penny."

Steve nearly fell back when she lifted the kittens threateningly towards him, bobbing the mewling little things intently. Both were light in color, one almost entirely white with spots of cream and the other with a white belly and legs and a pale orange on top. Each one was entirely too fluffy, with tails nearly the size of their little bodies. The mostly white one had ridiculously short legs and the other had fat chubby cheeks.

"Wanda—"

"Don't argue Steve! She needs a companion she doesn't hate! Especially after what you idiots just did to her!" The redhead was fuming, a slightly glow in her eyes warning him that he was edging on her very dangerous temper.

He heaved a sigh; maybe a cat would do Penny some good. He looked between the two critically. Both cats were unnecessarily cute. Their burden of adorableness was too heavy for such small creatures. They reminded him of Penny in that way—they were so small and precious and—shit.

Steve carefully took both kittens from Wanda, ignoring the victorious look on her face and turning back into the apartment without a word. He used his heel to shut the door on her before she could taunt him the way he could clearly see she wanted to. Two kittens would be a challenge but Penny needed something to keep her busy anyway.

She was still entirely out of it when he walked back into the bedroom, half lying on Buck's chest, but Bucky's eyes went wide immediately. The brunet's gaze was locked securely on the cats, not even twitching to his half dressed boyfriend for a second.

"Oh my God," he whispered, reverently and with so much feeling that Steve couldn't help but grin.

"Gifts from Wanda," he explained as he carefully climbed onto the bed, laying the kittens on the pair's stomachs.

"Oh my God," Bucky's voice was almost a whine as the chubby kitten stumbled across his chest, accidentally head butting him in the chin, "oh my God, Steve."

The white kitten made a squeaky meow before clawing her way up the Henley Penny was wearing coming to rest in the crook of her neck. It turned in place several times before snuggling down and beginning to purr like a tiny motorboat. It was loud enough that Penny startled, her eyes regaining focus as she tilted her head down.

"Oh my God." Steve knew he had a type but the uniform reactions from his lovers just reaffirmed the knowledge.

"Its cute, huh?" He reached over to scratch its neck, enjoying the way that Penny didn't even flinch at the proximity.

Then, she burst into tears. Massive, heaving sobs that shook her entire body. The kitten let out another squeaky toy like meow before crawling onto Penny's chest, settling between her breasts and purring even louder.

Bucky's eyes snapped to Steve's immediately, a very clear What the Fuck expression on his face. The blond mostly ignored him, instead settling himself on his side as close to Penny as possible, one arm going around her waist while the other slipped under her pillow. The emotional outburst was welcome no matter the cause.

"That's good baby," he murmured quietly, brushing his nose against her cheek, "you're okay, let it out."

Penny's arms came up to wrap around the kitten, just barely managing not to squeeze it too tightly. The reaction led to Bucky quickly depositing the other kitten onto her stomach.

"Look doll, here's another," he cooed stealing one of her hands to run it over the chubby cheeked cat.

Some sort of sobbed sentence escaped her, entirely incomprehensible to either of the soldiers, and she tugged the second kitten up her chest to lay next to the white one. It took nearly an hour for her to calm down, the exhaustion of the day settling over her shoulders.

When her eyes started fluttering shut, Steve carefully scooped the orange kitten off her chest and handed it to Bucky. Before he could take the white one Penny startled awake, almost violently.

"No please!" The kitten made a distressed noise when the brunette abruptly clutched it to her chest, tears once again spilling from her eyes, "please don't take them, please! I'll be good please, let me keep them please!"

“Shhh, precious, I’m just going to put them in a drawer to sleep for the night, until we can get them beds,” Steve cooed.

“C-Can’t they stay,” she begged, dark eyes shining beneath her heavy eyelashes, “please, can’t t-they sleep in the bed?”

Steve passed Bucky a speculating look, to which the brunet just shrugged. He heaved a quiet sigh, knowing his boyfriend was as far gone on the kittens as Penny was, before nodding and settling back into his position at her side. Bucky placed the orange kitten back on Penny’s chest, watching both of the kittens amble around for a few seconds before curling into each other and falling back asleep.

“We’ll need to buy everything for them in the morning,” Steve murmured quietly over Penny’s head, watching Bucky curl his flesh fingers gently into Penny’s hair.

“And get Wanda a thank you gift,” the brunet added with a definitive nod.

“Yeah, and that.”

[be-more-chill-evan-hansen]

BLACK FRIDAY SPOILERS

The following post contains spoilers for the new musical, Black Friday, by Team Starkid. Continue reading at your own risk. 

MY FAVORITE PARTS FROM THE BLACK FRIDAY DIGITAL TICKET + OTHER COMMENTARY (IN ORDER OF HOW THEY APPEAR) WHILE WATCHING IT FOR THE 4TH OR 5TH TIME [contains very harsh and explicit language]

**These points will be brought up in another post (involving the Hatchetfield Universe theories)

The ENTIRETY of the Wiggly jingle at the beginning

Jaime saying “his belly’s so squishy!” while jumping up and down

The tights

“Uncle Wiley, where does Wiggly come from?”

James Tolbert (Team Starkid choreographer-turned-actor) STOLE the show

Curt Mega’s dancing in that song killed me

“DO THE WIGGLE!”

ROBERT AND JAMES DANCING WAS EVERYTHING

**Paul still doesn’t like musicals? (I have a theory of where this show takes place in the Hatchetfield Universe but that’s for another post)

The way Paul looks at Emma when she’s on her Cabbage Patch Kid rant!

“I’m Paul. I’m Emma’s...boyfriend.”//“Well, we haven’t put a label on it yet.”//“But we are intimate.” (Bonus: Emma’s glare)

Paul is still awkward I love him.

“I do not get flashbacks. I remember bad things vividly.”

“Thank you for your service.”//“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Ski-ball sucks.” (I wholeheartedly disagree but whatever)

Grace Chastity is Tom’s babysitter for Tim confirmed

Okay. Okay. Okay. OKAY. 

TOM JUST WANTS TO MAKE IT UP TO HIS SON BECAUSE HE FEELS GUILTY ABOUT THE CRASH I’M SOFT

DYLAN SAUNDERS STILL STEALING HEARTS

WHY DO YOU GIVE DYLAN ALL OF THE HEART-WRENCHING SONGS????? I DON’T NEED TO CRY AT 4AM

THE LIGHTING 

 “Excuse me, miss. Do you think it’s okay for me to park here?”//“Yeah, it says ‘no parking at any time’ but I’m sure the loading trucks can just park across the street. Does that work for you?”

“If I won’t support my drinking habit, who will?”

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. A fuckin’ furry little monster’s gonna make me a pile of cash.”

“Tell me, Lex. Do you know why they call it Black Friday?”//“Because it comes after Thursday?”

“Well, friend-o. I have a feeling that these little babies are going to take you so far into the black that you ain’t never comin’ back.” *long uncomfortable pause*

“Oh, you’re gonna make a killin’. That’s an Uncle Wiley’s Toys guarantee!”

FRANK HUGGING THE BOX OF WIGGLYS

“Hark, the herald angels sing. Glory to a newborn king. Peace on Earth, and lots of money. MONEYMONEYMONEYMONEY just for ME.”

JON’S VOICE AS WIGGLY I CAN’T

“mALL security we got a shoplifter. Drop that doll!” (His voice crack killed me oh my God)

HIS OUTFIT (The first time I saw him I went “Oh my God he’s emo”)

“Where’s my sister?”// “Oh no.” *stares dramatically* “Hannah?” *even more dramatic* “Is that what you’ve been telling me every day for the past four weeks? To pick up your kid sister?” *grabbing Lex* “Oh, I must’ve forgot because I’m so stupid.” Ethan needs to take up drama

“Do I gotta put a leash on you like a dog, or my cousin Oliver?” 

“Don’t pull her.”//*voice crack* “I’m nOt.”

“Alright banana split.” i’m not crying 

“You see this hat? This was gifted to me by a great warrior.” *Lex laughs*/*Ethan turns around slowly* “Don’t you fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’d make a great dad, I’m just sayin’.” (Ethan isn’t a horrible person he’s just misguided)

“My mom’s a bitch!”

Honestly the way Ethan looks at Lex

*in the middle of singing* “That’s not how cameras work, babe.”

Hannah’s dancing

ROBERT’S WIGGLES DURING “We’re missing in action.”

“Dear mom, it’s been real."

“I’d say you did your best, but I’m not a liar.”//“Oh, L-I-E-R, babe.”//“We get it Ethan, you’re a good speller.”

“PS: Get yourself a new trailer, because this one? Is BROKE AS SHIT!”

Robert in skinny jeans. Can Robert wear skinny jeans more often please?

Hannah doing the “smoking” thing with her hands.

“Hannah! What the fuck is this [imitating it]?That better be fucking FLOSS.”

UGH LAUREN AS LINDA MONROE IS LEGENDARY

“That’s called a bribe, sir, and it’s illegal...or it should be.”

“I have four boys. Four beautiful, blond, boys.”

“Do you really think your children are better than everyone else’s.”// “In so many words, YES.”

“I hope you don’t get a Wiggly. I hope you fucking die.”

“Well, my children were accidents.”

“Stop crying, Gerald. I wasn’t talking to you.”

The way Tom and Becky looked at each other when they met again ugh.

Whatever that song is called when the Hatchetfield citizens were gossiping about it like I think it’s called “What Do You Say?” or something?

“Tom’s put on some weight.”

“I heard Tom is seeing things.”

Jon is serving looks.

The dance they did when they said “all the years that had fun” killed me

Curt Mega is a treasure

“It’s cold out.”//“Nothing really.”//“How are things?”//“Haven’t seen it.”

“Oh my, God, it’s a train-wreck.”//“My favorite.”//“Give me my tub of popcorn.”//“Just skip to the fucking.”//“She’d never--.”//“Either way this is torture porn.”

“I think I’ll step in and save her.”// “You don’t have half of a chance, bitch.”

“THERE, she looked at his crotch.”//“He looked at her boobs.”

“I like dolls. I’m just kidding. I don’t like dolls. At least, not like that.”// “I missed you.” *everyone freaks out*

The dance that looks like a beating heart around them I love.

“Did you know if you spend money, your kids will love you maybe.”

COREY DORRIS NEEDS APPRECIATION BYE

“Give us your fucking money. Give us your fucking cash.”

SERIOUSLY I CAN’T WAIT FOR THIS RECORDING

“Do we have any morality.”

“What’s a grown man going to do with 85 dolls?”// “Well, one will stay in the box for posterity. One will be used exclusively for bath time.”

“If you’re going to make with the hysterics, TAKE IT TO MACY’S.”// “How dare you. Are you hearing this, Gerald? Yes, call my attorney.”

“I’ll tickle one doll, and one doll will tickle me.”

The bidding war.

“Get your hands off her.”// “Fuck YOU.”

The lighting slowly gets red when they start bidding.

“$800.”//“$3.”//“Can I use these coupons?”

“Well, if you’re not going to sell me that doll, I guess I’ll just gonna have to take it.”

“If he gets one, I’m getting four.” *Linda climbs the counter like Draco*

So the lighting during “Feast or Famine” is just???? The green and red??? Like holiday colors but at the same time it’s representative of greed and rage???? 

Just all of “Feast or Famine”

“What’s shaking banana, you okay?” I’M HAVING FEELINGS UGH

“What’s up with that grammar. Even I know it’s ‘more badder’.” Ethan no

ETHAN NO

“Give me that fucking doll I’m in a hurry.” Okay, Jeff you freaking gremlin man

WHO BRINGS A KNIFE SHOPPING?? Unless he stole that, too.

“Do you see him? Do you see him? Do you see him?”//“YES, I fucking see him!”

James as “Obama” I’m crying

“I’ll hold onto the little...uh...whippersnapper.”

“While you three devise a strategy, I’ll hold on to the little friend.”// “Shut the fuck up!”

“You’re nothing more than a Harvard Law School community organizing prick!” I’M SCREAMING

“Take one step closer to my fwendy-wend and I’ll rip your fucking throat out with my own teeth.”

“No, he’s mine! Back off or I will send a laser-guided ballistic missile to your house in Denver. You’ll be scraping off what’s left of your kids off the FUCKING pavement.”

“MORRIS. Give me that COCK-SUCKING MOTHERFUCKING COCK-A-DOODLE-DOLL” CURT MEGA IS A TREASURE 

“I’ll bite your dick off!”

THE AUDIENCE (AND MY) REACTION TO MCNAMARA 

*Obama voice* “Oh, I’m gonna vomit.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I let myself in.”// “Into the oval office?”

“Monsters and Men” IS A BOP

*yeets the Wiggly off stage*

“DECK THE HALLS” IS A BOP

I would 100% watch “Santa Claus is Going to High School” unironically

“Jingle! Jangle! If anyone sees two elves in my locker, I’ll get expelled for sure.”

The dancing UGH

Lauren is the cutest elf ever

PART THREE OF LAUREN AND ROBERT DOING A CUTE DANCE TOGETHER

“What the fuck am I watching?”

Becky talking about her ex-husband breaks my heart. I would die for her.

“You say you killed your family. I hope I killed mine.” My heart is breaking help me

Becky and Tom are freaking CUTE

“Take Me Back” is the cutest song ever

All of the times the characters mention other dimensions and stuff??? Each has a different context, but Joey’s character did say that Hatchetfield was a special town earlier in the show so????

All of the making out I’m done

Becky’s leg

“I knew you weren’t Santa.”//“A red tricycle.”//“SANTA!” *starts making out*

“This is the best movie ever!”

Robert has to make out with two people every day.

**PEIP deals with Paranormal, Extraterrestrial, and Interdimensional stuff, so if TGWDLM was Extraterrestrial, and BF is Interdemensional, will Nerdy Prudes Must Die be Paranormal? Will we see PEIP again? [I’M GOING TO MAKE A SEPARATE POST ABOUT THE THEORIES WITHIN THE UNIVERSE]

**“There are many dimensions, sir.”

“You want to send me into the fucking Twilight Zone to have a sit-down with the devil?”

“They will build him his birth canal.” Ew

Sherman Young is so freaking creepy

“Wiggly is good. Wiggly is just.”

“Bring forth the infidels.”

*as Linda walks onto the stage* “MOTHER MOTHER MOTHER”

“I dislike that word, Gerald. Cult. No, it’s a new, exciting religion that I started.”

“I’ve met God, He had nothing nice to say about you.”

“Adore Me” is a BOP

“You’ll kneel before me. Kiss my toe.”

“I will destroy everything, and then I will destroy everything. I guarantee I’ll destroy everything in my path. Unless I get what I--shit, Gerald.”

The followers repeating “I get what I shit.”

THE TIE AROUND JON’S HEAD KILLS ME

“I want you to know what I mean when I say my evil shit, ‘kay?”

TEAM STARKID PLEASE MAKE LAUREN A VILLAIN MORE OFTEN

“What’s shaking banana?” DON’T DO THIS TO ME

Evil Ethan hurts me

Hannah doesn’t deserve this

“I’m in the Black and White now. It’s just like California. It never ends.”

“I swear on my own grave.” I’M

Hannah calling Wiggly out on his bullshit

“Well, Webby is a stupid bitch.” JON UGH

“I’m going to eat you riiiight the fuuuuck nowwwww.” This scene just makes me want to give Hannah a hug

“We don’t get tricked. We’re grown-ups.” GROWN-UPS ARE THE ONLY ONES BEING TRICKED I CAN’T WITH THIS MUSICAL

“Tom, how could you? You let her get away!”

Dylan jumping at an audience member

I know people think that Ethan’s magic hat thing was bullshit but like the syringe missed Hannah so like?? 

“You think that in the Netherlands they care about some toy? Hah! Nah, they’re too busy enjoying their free vacations and free health care.”

Made In America is A BOP

THE SNIGGLES

BIG WIGGLY

I feel like Made in America won’t have the same punch on the soundtrack.

Joey’s falsetto

R.I.P. General John McNamara

“MERRY CHRISTMAS MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Uh, oh, Mr. Prezy-wez. It seems you’ve misplaced your bomby-womb. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will turn up somewhere.”

“We’ve lost Moscow, sir.”

“He baited us into World War Three.”//*Wiggly giggles* “That tickles.”

“Is this what I live for? To be choked in a toy store?”

“Black Friday” is such a beautiful song though

“Did I need her more than she needed me?” I’m crying please stop

“I’m authorizing you to use my firearm.”

“Monsters and Men” reprise is PERFECT

“Kids don’t want that piece of shit.”//“What?”//“They’re all into Fortnight, dude!”

“I mean, you’re like 40! You probably think your life is over!”

“Everyone is dying, and that includes me, too.” Jeff is a lyrical genius but he needs to back off of whatever angsty juice he’s drinking.

“If I fail you one more time, the punishment won’t match the crime, cause there’s no pain that could ever explain how I let you down.”

“I failed you once, and I will fail again.” I cried when I watched this the first time

“If I Fail You” is such an emotional song

“Alright, let’s go.”//“Fuck, yeah! Should I move these boxes first?”//“Fuck, yeah.”

Charlotte? Where did you come from???

“The only man that’ll have her now is Jack Daniels.”

“And you, you little shit.” Says Draco, the little shit.

“A magic hat? That’s ridiculous. Only dolls are magic.”

“Is this some kind of a joOoOoOoke?”

“Answer me, or I’ll cut your mouth open with my FUCKING KNIFE.”

“You’re a fucking moron.”// “Then you’ve been out-fucked by a fucking moron.”

Lauren’s wiggles during “He will wigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle his way into life.”

“Wiggle” is such a silly song but the harmonies and choreography????? Iconic.

ROBERT’S TWIRL???

JAMES’ DEATH DROP????

EVERYONE’S SEPARATE WIGGLES????

The crying when Becky shot Linda.

“Gerald? It’s Gary. Yep, we need to talk about the will. Goldstein!”

The red light that symbolized Wiggly being on fire.

The followers deciding to burn with Wiggly.

“I have this cooky, reclusive Biology professor.” *audience loses their shit*

“What am I supposed to do without my iPhone?”//“Wear a watch?”

“What If Tomorrow Comes” is such a haunting song

Kendall’s voice is so GOOD!

HOT CHOCOLATE BOY?

MR. DAVIDSON?

BILL?

The dabbing

Hannah and Lex hugging

Paul hugging Emma and Bill

The Hot Chocolate Boy and the Cinema Kid holding hands honestly adorable and I lowkey ship

A little bit of instrumentals from “Not Your Seed” in the end-credit music?? (From the lyric “Look what happened, nightmare time.”)

That’s it. It’s very long, but those were either my favorite parts or small things I noticed. Mostly just my thoughts.

[san-station]

A Quiet Place AU / ATEEZ (Post-apocalyptic)

Chapter 1

↝Word count: 1772

Description: In a world full of silence and dangerous creatures seeking for blood, a group of friends have to survive for their own good and find the safe place they’ve heard about months ago.

Pairing: OC x San.

Note: This story is entirely fictional. The written universe is an adaptation of John Krasinski’s movie A Quiet Place, some terms or actions may or may not be included in the film.

WARNING: The followed story contains descriptions of violence, explicit wounds, mention of blood, death, depression. If you are easily disturbed, please, stop reading for you own good. 

A/N: Hiiii, this is my first serie ever. I hope you like the beginning~! Sorry if there are some typos. Don't be shy, comment what you think about it ;3.

・・・���・・・・

Watch Your Steps

We had to rush, except none of us moved, our feet glued to the cement as if it was still fresh. We knew we had to run but again, none of us could assimilate it. The sound that lasted a millisecond wasn’t even the loudest, however they could hear the smallest chirp of a cricket in the deepest forest, the purring of a cat under a lot of sheets or the yawn of a baby before going to bed as silent as the wind blowing slowly… No matter if we were on the top of the skyscraper, they always heard. 

It hit my shocked face when the growls started. I was tired, thirsty, my legs hurt and I hadn’t eaten a proper food in forever; who would’ve thought that a fucking pile of beer bottles hidden behind the door of a small bird house located on one of the rooftop’s corners could ruined three months of surviving the craziest era humanity ever lived. Once the bottles stopped rolling through the wooden floor, my lungs felt fire due to the air I retained, my hands started to shake inside my coat... and it hit me again. We need to fucking run, was the only thing on my mind, but I was not being the reasonable person I was, the common sense was off the place and so were my hopes.

    Since I was a child, I thought heights were the scariest thing in the world. The moment I stepped into the rooftop I was already hyperventilating, but it couldn’t compare to the feeling of being chased by those bloodthirsty creatures, and I knew I wasn’t the only one thinking about that, of course. The two people with me had the same expression on their faces. Seonghwa, the guy on my right, tall, blue eyes, body shaped, black hair and paternal instinct, looked at me with wide eyes; he quickly put a hand over my mouth and shook his head violently, words couldn’t be exchanged at that moment, not when we were that close to be slaughter, but his eyes could tell everything. Don’t scream. 

In front of us was Misuk, a small and chubby girl with a fearsome attitude who happened to be the other only girl that was stuck with us. She had short blonde hair and the most amusing personality ever (at least for me). She was the one that opened the door nonchalant trying to find bird seed... Oh, I can tell she was really mad at herself; Misuk was the one telling us to be more careful every step we made (even though we knew), and she always put sand or wet dirt on the places where there was none to prevent any of us from stepping on false. Oh, Misuk…  

My body began to feel numb and the cold wind wasn’t helping either. Seonghwa’s black hair danced with the breeze along with his clothes, he was wearing a long beige sheep coat that Yunho had made two months ago, skinny black jeans with ripped knees, sneakers too dirty to remember their original color because of the lack of water and a sharp knife on his leather black belt. The handle of it had his initials, “P.S”, engraved in silver with a lovely handwriting. Misuk had her natural outfit when we had to go scavenging for supplies, a pair of worn blue jeans, old black Converses, a brown t-shirt with the logo of NASA and a big black jean jacket with some alien patches. Funny, she loved those things before they arrived, after realizing that she actually liked the little friendly green buddies like E.T instead of the monsters that came to Earth. Well, after a while she found another affinity: collecting some alien fragments from their dead bodies for her own pleasure. 

Misuk was a weird kid, but everyone liked her in their own way. I, for example, used to have some discussions about provisions or night shifts with her ‘cause of her lack of leadership and consciousness; I always preferred order, and everything had to be calculated, at least in this madness. But she was a free spirit, she never listened when Seonghwa or Hongjoong made a statement about her, she never cleaned when it was her turn, she sometimes laughed way too loud on our soundproof room and got all of us shhhing her,… but you gotta stick together in this if you want to survive.

Thirty minutes ago we were on the crusade to find more supplies for the rest of the group, it was the calm day #438 after the attack, creatures with hypersensitive hearing showed up on Earth after a meteor shower impacted in December of 2020. We head through the city once the sunrise illuminated the area. Seonghwa, Misuk and I were the assigned crew for the task of recollecting provisions for, at least, two long months. Well, we assigned ourselves because we’d been in those walls for like forever. San was pissed about it, but we didn’t care… now I think it was not a good idea after all. 

“Jiyeong,” Misuk called me with sign language when she stopped walking in the middle of the deserted road that connected our place with the city ruins we were heading to. Misuk’s hands followed a sequence while moving her lips simultaneously, “we should split to find more rations by ourselves, right?”, she shifted her bag from one shoulder to another and gave me a bright smile.

I hesitated. The last time we splitted up, we never found Jin, he was Misuk's brother and a friend to all of us. Hongjoong still blamed himself for allowing that option for starters. 

“I think it’s better for the three of us to stay together…”, Seonghwa signed with his hands covered by brown leather gloves thanks to the cold air that surrounded most of the city in late February. We both nodded in agreement, not before Misuk rolled her eyes at him and kept walking over the scattered sand that created a path of silence down our bared feet.

The city was an hour left on foot, people obviously forgot about the cars after the sound of the engine roaring was too loud and mortal for all of us. Step by step we got closer and the city buildings risen before us; sometimes (more than we needed) we found other individuals on the streets doing the same we’d been doing for months: surviving. On good days, we found families or old friends walking silently and moving on from their houses to others. On bad days -not my favorite ones to be honest- there were suicidal types of people that transformed the atmosphere completely just to put everyone around in danger. It wasn’t funny running or hiding for your life when you did nothing for them to come for you… I disgusted those kinds of people that believed they could choose who lives and who dies. Moreover, there were days when nothing happened, like almost these three months that we stayed underground with enough supplies in our soundproof room that allowed us to speak when we needed the most, we just went outside to find more provisions or walk and watch the sunset; but nothing last forever, supplies were almost running out and we had to finally get more.

The rooftop we ended up praying for our lives was our last searching point, Misuk wanted the bird seeds so much that she insisted on going all by herself after two long hours, she said we were slowing her down, however you couldn’t be alone out there. Not when they could hear you anytime.

I could listen my thumping heart on my ears; the growling became louder, closer, and the unpleasant feeling in my stomach gave me nauseous. Seonghwa stared now at Misuk; she had a deadpan face and decided to close the bird house slowly with her right hand while her left hand rested on her mouth for preventing her of letting out a gasp. I shook my head. Just leave it like that!, I wanted to scream at her. But when the beer bottles rolled again and collided with a seed bag inside the little house, it felt dry on the floor with the most horrendous echoing sound. I swallow hard, my head hurt and the shrill shout that came from the rooftop door activated all my senses. My brain proceeded to watch everything in front of me as if it was on slow-motion.

One creature broke the door with a clean slam, a second one followed its entrance. Their knife-hands cut the metal with a perfect precision and distant howls filled the place when one of them jumped higher that a human being could ever do. My shaky breath was held by Seonghwa’s hands when I stepped back, my fingers reached his owns and I squeezed them as tight as I could against my mouth. Misuk turned around as fast as she could when the hand of one creature slammed into her stomach in within seconds, the deafening sound of her ribs breaking made the tears instantly fall down from my cheeks to Seonghwa’s gloves, she gasped. The sore flesh was vividly cut and her eyes, wide and green, looked to the sky while her body jerked on the floor with a thump. The enormous hollow in the center of her belly straight away scattered overflowing blood all over the floor, and the rest of her body rested on the cement, still she found a way to turn her head into our direction and gave us a sad smile. Red drops were now on our clothes and faces, some of her large intestine and lungs were being eaten by both creatures making grumbling noises. It looked like they were having a Thanksgiving meal and we were probably the desert.

Then, a creatures pulled up its head and the sides of it was wide open as we saw the sound sensors vibrating, trying to reach for more victims nearby. Seonghwa and I could only watch the scene petrified. A tiny groan left Misuk’s throat with her last breath and I gasped in silence while my soaked eyes blurred part of the view, the ripping sounds of bones and flesh continued and I felt Seonghwa’s chest shake a little on my back, but he kept his head high aware of the beasts in front of us. I don’t know if he closed his eyes, I just know we stood there still watching our friend die and hoping we wouldn’t be next.

 (…)

Masterlist

[vios-rockland-corner]

Rumors of Rockland: Article 2 Overview

Feeling much more comfortable in your new home of Rockland, you’re eager to return to the bar you remember being quite an interesting experience last time.  You’re hoping to see Whesker again, but what’s that commotion in the alleyway?...

 [Major spoilers below for Rumors of Rockland Article 2]

With the second article of Rumors of Rockland, we receive a much more dynamic experience.  

The first article released was in a much more linear style.  Dialogue options led to different conversations and small nuggets of knowledge you may not get with another option.  It made for a fun overall experience worth replaying to see all the different scripts, even if the choices were very few.

The overall experience of the first article was more consistent.  The major events that occurred were the same regardless of your options, such as introducing yourself to Whesker, watching the exchange between Callum and Avery and meeting Dylan and Tyler. ��As a result, everyone’s MC will remember these events vividly and a few get a call back in the second article.  A new person should definitely play the first article before playing the second to better understand what’s going on.

Unlike the first article though, there is a HUGE difference with what happens to the MC just based on the first choice you get.

The only thing guaranteed that everyone’s MC will have the same knowledge and experience of is what was mentioned in the brief intro (MC feeling more confident in town, having mostly been unpacking, seeing Whesker at the farmer’s market and being introduced to Dexter and Alex) and hearing Callum getting confronted in the alleyway.  After this point though, the people you do or don’t connect with and the information you learn changes VASTLY depending on your choice of action.

You have three choices: You can help Callum yourself, go get help or do nothing.  The good news is, all choices lead to Callum ending up fine, don’t worry.  I know some people might feel a little guilty (like me) about the “do nothing” ending. But I assure you it is worth it to go back and see how ALL these choices play out.  Even the secondary choices you get once you pick a path lead to incredibly different focuses/information.  As a quick example, when talking to Callum and Avery, only one option has you learn that Tyler is a doctor.  Another example, talking to Callum alone, only one option lets you know it’s specifically the Irish mafia that runs the town.

It’s really fun to imagine either self-inserting oneself or playing as a personalized OC, and seeing what exactly happens with your particular MC.  You could either play as what would be the “ideal path” you would want to visualize your MC ends up with, or just play as what is most realistic for yourself or your OC to do/say in that situation and get what you get.  But unless your MC can time travel, you can only learn so much or connect with certain people based on your actions.

Now obviously, a lot of the stuff that happens after the first choice can’t necessarily be called back to in future articles.  Not in a way at least that would cause the MC to react different if they had learned about something prior.  Same with familiarity with certain characters.  The more dynamic paths are more fun because it makes everyone’s story a little different.  The more linear paths are easier to build off of though for future articles.  All MCs experience Tyler trying to sell you drugs, but not all MCs learn in this article that he’s a doctor for instance.

Not to worry, there are plenty of new characters to meet in Rockland and lore to learn that should prevent continuity errors.  

When it comes to character interactions, your choice makes a big difference as to who you end up on good terms with.  For a brief rundown:

-        Help Callum: You get more friendly with Callum, tiny interaction with Avery, and a little bit of friendly interaction with Foal

-        Get Help: You get more friendly with both Callum and Avery

-        Do Nothing: No personal connections made

Now I will say there is a consistent…I guess you could call it a theme, with this article in particular. It differs greatly what’s being talked about depending on your choices, but I’d say nearly every path hints at:  There is something wrong or dangerous with Rockland, BUT the dangers are downplayed or the MC is told they likely have nothing to worry about.  Avery makes it sound almost like you live in a horror film, but if least you mind your own business and don’t do something stupid, everything’s great!  The town is literally run by organized crime, but it’s played off in a way that’s viewed as “okay” or almost beneficial to the citizens.  Those are just a few examples.

The “Do Nothing” choice doesn’t portray this aspect as well as the other two, but we do have the small ending bit with Sydney and Shane (you get Shane’s name from the Rockland website) hinting something questionable happened…but when Shane passes you he just pats you on the head.  No threat about having heard anything because you’re recognized as one of Whesker’s regulars.

The first article just showed tiny hints of a sinister feel about.  This article became more open about some things, but the characters reassure the MC that they’re fine.  At least it seems that way.

Overall, this was a very good addition and I look forward to what the next article will end up being. If it’s another linear path, that’ll be something we could expect to get built on in a future article.  Or we could get another dynamic article like this one where personal MCs take a different journey from one another.

I wanted to give a good overview here for this article, but there’s obviously a lot going on here.  I figured it would be best to split up my thoughts.  Keep an eye out, because I’ll be returning to talk about certain aspects based on the “Help Callum,” “Get Help” and “Do Nothing” paths in the near future.

[abhailiu]

@copiesofme​ asked: "You make me curious in a way I never have been before." Wan to Win

        She knows that she should be afraid of him. It was hard-wired into her that the moment she saw those horses gathering outside her cottage, that there would be a little light switch going off in her head that tells her that she’s in danger. Winifred doesn’t know that most of the time she does run, and she has a hundred times before, only to be gathered up with her wrists bound and taken off into the hills. Most of the time she works as intended. Plays the part of the perfect damsel in distress, the newcomers show up and open fire like they’re supposed to. She offers her gratitude in fake kisses and gushing about her heroes the way she’s supposed to. There were always other times where things didn’t go according to plan like the time the bandits came down from the hills. She could have let them kill him, and she would have been free to return home to do and go as she pleased again. 

       The compassionate part of her had recognised that he was kind enough to have kept her fed, kept her watered and had made no move to hurt her, told her to run when they came howling from the hills, followed by the rattle of gunfire. When he’d hit the floor, she grabbed the rock without thinking. As a woman who was coded to piece people back together, it had felt horrible to be the one to take them apart. She’d felt sick to her stomach when the stone first connected with the bandit’s skull, and the hands immediately trying to get at Wanhaton had flown to his head. She hit him again. Again. Again. Again. He didn’t move after the sixth, and Winifred had flung the stone off to one side, pointed a finger at him and said: We’re even now. I’m going home. 

       Then came the dreams. 

       There were some nights where she dreams of him. Sometimes it’s fuzzy, like an approaching shadow in a badly lit room that reminds her of a spectre coming to claim her. Others she is holding a knife and feeling the warmth of his blood sinking into her fingers. She vividly remembers the confusion, then the horror seeping into his expression and she is completely unsure if he knows of the screaming she does in her own head as she begs her body to comply. Winifred doesn’t like those nightmares. She never has. The memories she has of her parents had taught her that all living beings, mortal or animal were something to be treasured and even the most frightening of spiders must be put outside no matter how much they terrified her. Very little truly frightened her, apparently - but enough nights of waking up in a cold sweat and wondering who he was had been enough to throw her into turmoil. 

      It wasn’t always her who died in these nightmares. Sometimes it was her, too. Winifred remembers it in the way one might remember those moving pictures in the next city over; slow, quiet- save for the gurgle and splutter when she tries to speak again. He doesn’t go for her stomach, but slits her throat, and she never goes quietly. She remembers that he throws the knife away like it’s burned him, and the distinct tremble of his hands as they tried to stop the blood. She isn’t scared of him in these moments because she understands, somewhere, deep down that they weren’t his choice in the same way that they weren’t her own. 

        Sometimes, they die together in these nightmares. She remembers feeling everything and nothing all at once, like there was a gaping chasm splitting her heart in two and with it the last shred of lucidity. They both die in this dream, with her crawling to him and using the last of her strength to brush her fingers from the middle of his brow, down the slope of his nose, over the crest of his lips to his jaw. Black edges her vision and when her hand falls slack, it always does at his throat. Then she wakes up.

       As Winifred watches him now, she wonders if everything is going to go like it had her dreams a few nights ago. Everything else has followed it to the letter outside of a few things. She hadn’t run, and he hadn’t bound her hands but asked him to come with him so she would be safe. The familiarity she feels with him is completely unlike the terror she’d felt in slumber, but something a lot warmer and a lot more comfortable. His lips brush against the tip of her nose and one of his hands settle against her hip. She can feel the heat of his breath across her cheeks, right over his brow before they settle on her forehead. It’s as light as a whisper but it’s enough to make her heart race and her cheeks warm. Winifred has never been this close to anyone before, yet she takes comfort in it and in the heat radiating from his skin. Despite being a woman armed with many long and useless words, nothing comes. 

      Blue eyes try to pick out his expression in the dark of the evening, but struggles. It was now or never. She is surprised to find that as she leans in, so does he. As their lips meet, things feel like they finally make sense. Wanhaton is the one she has found herself waiting for all those days where she’d felt scattered and out of sorts, like they were supposed to be around one another in one way, shape or form. Whether that was like now, with the softest of kisses that linger, or drowning in their own blood. Her path, regardless of any mishaps that happened along the way, always led her to him. Just as she sinks into him, he pulls away and she finds that she is lightheaded and breathless. His lips are close enough to hers that she can feel the heaviness of his breath. 

      “Do I?” she breathes, and Winifred hates how heavy her voice sounds. “Were I thinking clearly, I would ask what makes you so curious.” It’s an attempt at playfulness. Lighten the air around them, even as she moves to brush the tip of her nose against his. “You make sense to me in ways I can’t fathom. Like everything in my life was leading up to this moment.”

[thekitchensnk]

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 14)

Rating: T Warnings: Sexual themes, violence Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

When she awoke the next morning, her head was splitting and her mouth felt stale and dry. She twisted her face sleepily at the awful taste, and scowled blearily.

“Too much to drink last night, Rangiku-chan?” Ayame asked with feigned innocence.

Rangiku could only groan in response, and she pulled her pillow over her head.

“Nope, nope, nope!” Ayame cried. “Up you get, you lazy bones. We have the entire club to mop and I’m not doing it by myself just because someone indulged a bit too much last night. Besides,” she huffed, “Chiyo-san will have your hide if you’re late. She’ll chuck you out, and then I’ll have to do it all by myself until she can hire a new girl.”

Rangiku’s groan grew plaintive and pitiful. “Ayame…”

But Ayame’s eyes were resolute.

“Three. Two,” she counted down in warning.

Rangiku whined miserably.

“One.”

“Okay! Okay! I’m up! You slave-driver! You meglomaniac! You’re as bad as Chiyo-baa-san, I swear. If you’re not careful you’ll get old and wrinkly and start to smell like cabbage just like- gyack!”

Ayame had taken hold of her legs. Rangiku flailed wildly, but it was too late- Ayame dragged her by the legs out of her bed and she trailed blankets and fabrics in her wake. Rangiku found herself sliding on her back across the tatami, dragged by her legs, and it scraped at her as she moved. By some stroke of misfortune, it seemed like her limbs bashed into every object in her path, and her head rang like a bell with her hangover. In the meantime, Ayame had made impressive and stubborn progress towards the rice-paper door, even whilst dragging her roommate behind her.

“I said ‘okay!’ Ayame-chan! Shit! Let go of my legs!” Rangiku demanded, her golden hair fanned out about her face in a frazzled mane.

A red flush sat high on Ayame’s cheeks, but she let go. “Get up on time then!” she ordered.

Rangiku rubbed at her ankles, and she pouted.

“Mou, Ayame, you have a grip like a boa constrictor.”

“Rather a boa constrictor than a fat, lazy cat,” Ayame countered fiercely.

“I used my powers last night! I’m tired and hungry, alright?”

“I didn’t have an easy time of it either! I got landed with a slimy creep, and he forced his tongue into my mouth.”

Rangiku winced. 

“Yeah, actually,” she said sympathetically. “That probably is worse. Someone idiot went for me and got me right in the jaw. Didn’t hurt. Not much anyway.” She paused, and her eyes widened suddenly. “Ayame-chan, did it leave a bruise?” she fretted. If she had a big, ugly bruise on her jaw, it would seriously impact what she could make in tips.

Gin would have lied and teased her, she knew, just for kicks. She could imagine it vividly. “Yep,” he would have nodded expertly. “Big black bruise the size of a fist. Ya’ can see all the individual knuckle marks and everything. Ooo, ya’ gonna look a right sight tonight at work. Ran-chan. Ya’ sure that was a man and not a bear? It’s huge. Looks sore,” he would have said, and he would have feigned sympathy. He might even have ghosted his hand over it, and she would have shivered at the nearness of his touch. There had been no boundaries, not between the two of them.

But Gin was not here.

Ayame-chan was, and Ayame-chan did not have an ounce of guile in her (nor, Rangiku suspected sourly, a sense of humour). And though she was bossy, she was kind and she was here, and that was what counted.

Ayame cupped her face gently and studied her jawline.

“Nothing there that I can see,” she said. “Might be a bit red, but you should be okay.” Her hand dropped. “I’m sorry that you got hit. It must have hurt.”

Rangiku paused. “Well,” she said with a grimace, “I should have seen a punch like that coming from a mile off. He was so slow. Must have been the sake I sneaked. Dulled my reactions. ‘S my own fault, really.” She paused and looked Ayame earnestly in the eye. “I’m sorry that that creep forced you. I should have been there to stop him.”

But Ayame was dismissive. “It’s part of the job. Sometimes you’re not around. Sometimes they’re unbearable, sometimes they’re not. Sometimes they’re not even bad. It’s just my luck being the most junior girl here.” She paused. “‘Cept you, I guess.”

“’Cept me,” Rangiku echoed, “but I’m the muscle, not the beauty.” She grinned, entertained at her own wit, and slapped her bicep.

Ayame snorted. “Stop it. You could get a permanent job here in a heartbeat and you know it, with colouring like that. Big blue eyes. Golden hair. I’m almost jealous. Chiyo-san sniffed out a good deal when she found you- beauty and brawn.”

“And brains!” Rangiku chimed in.

Ayame’s eyes sparkled slyly. “I wouldn’t go that far, Rangiku-chan.”

Ayame did have a sense of humour, Rangiku amended to herself. It was just mean.

“Anyway,” Rangiku said pointedly, changing the subject, “Chiyo didn’t find me, actually. That was all me. I found her, and this place.” She patted the wall fondly.

“I’ve heard the story.” Ayame snorted. “You just strolled up and shouted ‘HIRE ME!’, with no references or anything.” Ayame seemed scandalised at the mere thought.

It was not at all far from the truth.

“Yep,” Rangiku said cheerfully. “Pretty much spot on.”

Ayame rolled her eyes. She put on a high-pitched voice. “’Will work- please pay in rice. And mochi if you have it.’”

“Yep,” Rangiku nodded, “Did that too.”

Ayame shook her head again. “Seriously, Rangiku-chan, I don’t understand you. All that power, those looks, and you go and you decide ‘Oh! I know what! I’ll go and work in a whorehouse.”

“Mou, Ayame-chan, be fair. It’s a club too.”

She also hadn’t known it was a whorehouse when she had brazenly demanded to be hired, but she wasn’t going to give Ayame any more of a chance to think of her as a stupid country bumpkin than she already had.

“But hardly what the majority of customers come here for.”

“Not true at all,” Rangiku argued, knowing that Ayame was right. “We have great musicians and great sake. Chiyo-san has put together a great place here. ‘S not just-“ she flushed slightly “-sex stuff.”

Ayame laughed at her then. “Come on, Rangiku-chan, you can say the word. You work here too.”

She could. She did. She had seen people in alley ways countless times in her old district, tangled up in one another, making odd gasps in the darkness, and whores selling their wares on the street, trying to scrape together enough for water and a roof over their heads. She was hardly innocent, and the girls who worked at the brothel had been sure to give her a thorough education. But at the same time, it wasn’t as if she had any practical experience in the matter. Gin had been fond of singing the dirty versions of the songs that they learnt on the streets, once upon a time, but she hadn’t understood what the words actually meant until she had started work here.

She just glowered, and Ayame ruffled her already untidy bedhead. Rangiku batted her hand away with another fierce look, and Ayame laughed. There was only a handful of years between them, but in Ayame’s view, that meant that Rangiku was a justified target for both condescension and teasing. Rangiku was younger, Ayame was elder, and that could only mean one thing: that she deserved teasing.

She hated it. She loved it.

“Come on then, you. Let’s get ready for work,” Ayame said, striding off.

Rangiku quickly tied up her messy hair with one of Ayame’s ribbons. Her hair, which she had kept at shoulder length for all the years she had known Gin, was just beginning to touch her shoulder blades, and had become increasingly hard to tame in recent days. It had only been two years, but she had shot up in height, her thighs and chest were growing thicker, and she grew curvier with every passing week it seemed. All she knew was that it was a constant pain in the ass having to remember that her hips were wider than they had been before; they were constantly littered with bruises from where she’d bashed into furniture running about the place.

For all the years she had lived with Gin, it had been as if her body was frozen in time, as if Rangiku’s innermost wish- for things never to change, for the two of them to stay together, as they were, always- had been reflected in her body. It had been as if the fear of change had weighed even on her very soul.

But time, it seemed, had finally caught up with her.

She threw her sleeping clothes (another novel aspect of this new chapter of her life) on the floor, and quickly changed into the colourful yet simple cotton yukata which served as her work clothes. She was not senior enough to warrant a silk kimono, and it would have been wasted on bar staff in any case, with the volume of spilled drinks she saw. She pulled on some tabi, stood, and straightened out her yukata with a fierce yank.

Her eyes were bright. She dashed through the paper doors after Ayame, her hip catching the door frame clumsily as she did so, and she hissed in pain.

She paused suddenly, and her hand darted to her fingers in panic. She dashed back to her sleeping roll. She fished around under her pillow, trying to find the vital thing she had forgotten. She found it quickly.

Her hands were bigger than they had once been, and so it was difficult to force it on, but there it was, two years later. A simple ring, made of tin, shining on her finger.

Satisfied, she sprinted off again.

“Ayame!” she called out loudly. “Ayame-chan!”

The sun was high in the sky, and silhouetted behind paper doors, the inhabitants of the Floating Moon were just beginning to stir. It was mid-afternoon. The work day was about to begin.

---

Ayame had taken the counter, and which had left her with the floor. How a floor could get so sticky in the course of a single night, she had no idea, and she slopped her mop around in a sulk, merely trailing grime back and forth in her efforts to clean up. Ayame had made a valiant starting effort wiping down sake cups, and she had piled the ones she had done on one side of the bar. Their white ceramic gleamed in the light. Red lanterns hung unlit from the walls, their paper faded and slightly dusty in the light of the afternoon.

There was much to be done before opening.

Rangiku mopped ferociously, her hair sticking to her forehead with the effort, and she felt her mind slip away with the mundanity of the task.

Her job, as far as she could tell, was to be bar maid, bouncer and janitor all in one.

It had been suggested, once, that she also cook the afternoon meal, the meal that they tended to all take together, once everyone had risen. She had been so giddy when she’d seen the sheer number of ingredients available in the kitchen (red bean paste? Natto? Mirin?) that she’d allowed her imagination to run wild and added a little bit of everything to the meal she had cooked. Gone were the days of rice, rice and garlic, rice and scallions, rice and ginger, rice and bone broth, and dawning were the days of the red bean soy curd surprise! It had tasted like culinary gold in her mouth, and she had moaned with the luxury of it.

Ayame had been sick. Yuki, one of the older ladies working at the Floating Moon, had turned a distinct greenish hue.

Chiyo, the brothel’s elderly owner, had stoically eaten every bite in silence, only to turn to her afterwards and announce that she was never to set foot in the kitchen again, because she was evidently cursed. Chiyo feared that her mere presence would turn the precious bounty of their kitchen rancid.

She had protested ferociously at the time.

Gin had never complained about her cooking. He would have laughed to hear that she had a kitchen-curse.

(But Gin was gone, and home was far away.)

Back in the present, she clenched her fist, and felt the bite of her too-small tin ring against her fingers.

She did not mind playing barmaid.

If anything, that was an understatement.

She loved playing barmaid.

She loved the electric thrill of the music in the night, the peals of laughter that rang through the club and bounced off its walls, the chatter and the dull roar of conversation, of deals made and jokes cracked and stories shared. She loved the energy, the atmosphere, the feeling that people were connecting and touching, even if only for one night and under one roof.

She loved the attention they showered on her, the way they would try and wheedle their way into her graces, the way that they would give her drinks and keep their eyes on her. She loved the bantering nature of it, the game-like play of interactions at the bar, the way that they would compete with each other as if she was worth something, as if they wanted her. And better still- the game was rigged. She would always win. She could string them along with a girlish laugh, and bat her golden lashes, and then she could say no, and they could do nothing about it but grumble.

Once upon a time, it had unsettled her, to have eyes linger on her like that. She had felt alien, other, to have her body looked upon in ways she didn’t understand and didn’t want, in ways so beyond her control. It had made her feel powerless. It had made her feel ashamed. She had not understood what they wanted at the time, but had intuited that they were capable of taking it by force, and the thought had frightened her.

She was stronger now. No one could take anything from her that she did not wish to give.

(But it was nice to be wanted for once. Even if only for a night. Even if only superficially.)

And now could use her powers to protect the girls here and make sure that the same was true for them.

She loved to watch the customers surreptitiously as she cleaned out sake cups behind the bar. From her post, she saw lovers and would-be lovers and soon-to-be lovers, their smiles shy, or boastful, or laden with secret meaning, and it filled her with warmth to see them, to see the softness in them, to see the tentative creation of something new.

She yearned for a softness like that, for some small thing that she could call her own.

She would watch them, and she would dream.

It was a common topic of conversation in the earliest early hours, when the dawn had cracked on the horizon and the sun was beginning to sit high in the sky and the party was over for another night. With the bright light of morning starting to caress the shadowy corners of the room, with tired, aching bodies and bright, feverish eyes, the women of the brothel (at least those who still believed in dreams and romance) would talk of love, leaning against each other to support their tired bodies, their heads together and shoulders pressed against each other.

Ayame was a pragmatist. Brushing her sweat-tangled chestnut hair out fiercely, she would say, "No boyfriends, no beaus, no sweethearts. I'm going to make my money here quickly, and then I'll be out of the business for good. I'll use my savings to start my own business, or to get some training, or I'll put it down as a dowry to attract someone rich." Whoring at an establishment like the Floating Moon paid well, and it was a pragmatic career choice for those to wished to get a good head start on the rest of their lives.

They were very lucky. Few girls in the trade could boast better conditions. Commissions were good, and Chiyo, as a former whore herself, looked after her girls to the extent that she could, and took only reasonable rates for commission, room and water. She had even employed Rangiku, a hopeless case who had rocked up at her door clueless of what it was that was actually done at the Floating Moon and who required the extra expense of feeding. Despite her burgeoning beauty and growing figure, Chiyo had not demanded that she turn tricks (though Rangiku suspected that she would offer to increase her pay if she did), but had been content to employ her on Rangiku’s own terms the minute Rangiku had demonstrated her powers.

Yuki, a gentle, small woman in her early thirties who had been at the brothel since her teens, would often disagree with Ayame, though diplomatically, as was her way. She would take the brush from out Ayame's hands, bid her to sit in front of her, and she would brush her hair more tenderly than Ayame ever did herself, working the tangles out from the ends before brushing through so as not to hurt her. "Ayame-chan,” Rangiku heard her say patiently once, “you're very young still. You might change your mind- sometimes, our plans can go awry in ways we never expect. Life throws all sorts of things at us. Love is beautiful, and love is surprising. It's like nothing else on earth."

Sayaka, with her striking green eyes which beneath thick, harsh eyebrows, took a different line again. “Give me a handsome man,” she would declaim grinning through her weariness. “A man who knows what he’s doing for once, for Kami’s sake, and not these desperate, silly little boys and lonely old men. Give me a man with fire in his veins, someone who will pay attention to me, someone who will last longer than five minutes and do more than poke, poke, po-!”

“Sayaka-kun!” Ayame would exclaim in outrage.

“What, little Ayame-chan? You know it’s true,” Sayaka would sigh.

“There are more important things than sex,” Ayame would say primly.

“Sex is important too. Passion is important. You’ll just get bored otherwise, and then where will you be?”

“Sex is important,” Yuki would agree. “There’s a reason why men pay for it, after all. But it’s not everything, Sayaka-chan. One day, you might both be lucky enough to meet someone who fills the gaps at your edges- someone who you realise you cannot do without.”

“Only one gap I’m interested in having filled, Yuki-san,” Sayaka grinned widely. Ayame would bat at her, outraged, and the two would squabble as they always did.

Rangiku, who had no idea about any of these things, would just blink sleepily at them, and long for her bed.

With Ayame’s hair finished, Yuki would pat the space in front of her and beckon to Rangiku to sit in front of her so that she could brush her hair next. Yuki’s hands were soft and just beginning to line. They felt like warm silk, and Rangiku would always lean into her touch as Yuki pushed her hair behind her ears.

“You have beautiful hair, Rangiku-chan,” she would praise. “The way it catches the light- it’s like gold! You’ve been blessed.”

Rangiku would almost purr as her hair was brushed.

“And what does Rangiku-chan think of love?” Yuki would tease quietly. “Are we pragmatic like Ayame-chan? Do we want a stallion like Sayaka-chan? Or are we content to wait and see, like me?”

Sayaka would snort. “The only thing Rangiku wants is to sleep! Such a lazy girl!” She feigned an obnoxious snore.

“It is 7am! We all want to sleep. And I’m perfectly content to wait, Yuki-san,” Ayame would add in a huff.

What did she want?

“I don’t know anything about love,” Rangiku had confessed quietly when asked for the first time.

Yuki’s response had been characteristically calm and gentle. “Who does, Rangiku-chan?” She had paused, the brush still in Rangiku’s hair, as if dwelling on things long since passed. “But you’re here. It’s hard to make it where you’ve come from all on your own.” She pointed at her ring, which gleamed in the light. “Someone must have cared, even if a little.”

Rangiku had mulled that over quietly and had said nothing.

She had arrived at a satisfying answer to give the girls after repeated prompting.

“Give me a boy who knows how to smile,” she would say, and Sayaka would whoop and Yuki would nod approvingly. “Give me a boy who will look after me. Give me a boy who will care.” Even Ayame could not find fault in that.

(But what she really meant was this: I want one boy in particular. I want him to come back.

And she would feel ashamed, because she knew that he had not wanted to stay in the first place, that she had never been enough for him.)

Over time, she began to have fun with her answers.

“Give me a man who knows how to have a good time,” she would start boldly, intent on outrage. “Give me a man who can drink me under the table. Give me a man who will worship the ground I walk on,” she would say, waving her arms about. “Give me a handsome man and a powerful man and an absolute demon in the sheets. Give me a man who will fight for me. Give me a man who would die for me,” she would end melodramatically.

Yuki would just sigh fondly, long since grown accustomed to her antics. “Sayaka has gotten to you.” She’d turn to Sayaka. “You’ve been a bad influence on our youngest girl, you!”

Sayaka would cheer and applaud. Ayame would roll her eyes and groan.

“Give her a man who knows how to cook, because she sure as hell can’t!” Sayaka joked once. Even Ayame had not been able to help but laugh on that one.

Their conspiring would draw to an abrupt end either when girls in other rooms banged on the rice paper doors, shouting at them to shut up because they had worked the whole night long and it was past dawn and well past time to be sleeping, or when they were too exhausted to keep their eyes open.

“Goodnight, Ayame-chan,” Rangiku would whisper into the light, only clumsily beaten back with shades and curtains. “Goodnight, Sayaka-kun. Goodnight, Yuki-san.”

“Goodnight Rangiku-chan,” they would murmur sleepily back at her.

Her sleep was almost always the dreamless sleep of the exhausted, but it never came instantly like it did for the others.

(Squeeze her eyes shut though she would, she always felt his absence at her back, the emptiness like negative space, like she was missing a piece. To her shame, she would replay the moments when he used to wind his arm around her, trying to forget, just for the moments that it took for her to get to sleep, that he had abandoned her.)

Pulling back from her reveries, her mind firmly back in the realities of pre-opening clean up, she turned to shout boisterously at Ayame.

“Oi, Ayame-chan! Pass me a dish cloth!”

“Come and get it yourself, you lazy thing!” Ayame shouted from behind her growing pile of sake cups.

“I don’t want to disturb that massive pile of cleaning you’ve got going on!” Rangiku yelled back. “Just throw it!”

“That’s so ungainly!” Ayame fussed.

“Just throw it!”

“Fine!” Ayame huffed, and threw a wet dishcloth. It span in the air and hit Rangiku in the face with a dull, wet slap.

“How did you do that?” she demanded.

“Do what?” Ayame said, though Rangiku could hear her muffled laughter from behind the counter. She’s not as above it all as she likes to think, Rangiku thought. And she has an aim like a demon. Rangiku smiled widely to herself.

She began to wipe down the tables, and the smell of vinegar and ginger cut through the stale alcohol-sweat smell of the club.

“You should open a window, Ayame-chan,” she called, and slipped back into reverie.

Playing barmaid was definitely her favourite part of the job. It certainly beat mopping.

Sometimes she loved getting to play the bouncer.

But sometime she hated it.

Each of the client rooms had a secret switch. Chiyo had been in the business herself and had been on the receiving end of the worst cruelties of the sex trade enough times to have insisted on it the moment she’d had enough money to afford it. It made sound business sense, she argued, to have safe, loyal workers.

The switches were rigged to a system of thin metal wires which ran secretly through the walls of the club, and in turn attached to a set of small bells under the bar. A clever little pendulum kept them ringing until the switch was flipped on the other end. It was a simple concept, really, and a simple concept which kept everyone safe.

Rangiku lived in dread of hearing one of those bells ring. If more than one rang at once, which did happen upon occasion, her heart would plummet, because it meant that she would then be forced to decide

Save one and in doing so, damn the other.

Unless she was quick.

Rangiku had become very good at being very quick.

When a bell would ring, she would swing into action immediately. Dish cloth would be tossed to the side in an instant, and she would careen over the polished wood of the bar, weaving through customers like a minnow through the kelp, sliding through paper doors like a breeze. She would take the stairs two, three at a time, her hands bright with energy and her heart hammering in her chest.

She would kick the door open with a bang, her lips twisted in a snarl.

She had seen a man with fists the size of dinner plates closing his hands around Yuki’s throat once, his cock fat and erect against her thigh. Yuki’s eyes had been wild with fear and almost popping from her head, and they had darted to her in desperation, looking to her for help. Yuki had kicked at the man wherever she could, and her small, delicate hands had been clawing at his own. She had been making an unnatural gurgling noise.

Rangiku had dreamed about that noise for weeks.

Rangiku had been too shocked to scream, but she had not frozen. Her eyes had widened, but her mouth had set in a strained line. She had shoved her hands, filled with bright, luminous reiatsu, at him with all her force. It was a clumsy, ungainly thing, more like a play-yard shove than a strike, but he had gone straight through a window and out onto the street below. Yuki had doubled over, making ugly, rasping retching noises and deep, scraping breaths.

Afterwards, Yuki had shook like a leaf, but she had folded the howling Rangiku into her arms anyway, and cried a little with her, her neck marked with twin bruises like a Rorschach butterfly. They had rocked together, arms wound tightly about each other, but Rangiku had had to make her way back to the bar after, to see out the rest of her shift. Her legs had trembled the whole night.

But Yuki had been safe because of her. Had she been on the streets alone, like the whores of her home district like Kanae, it might have been a different story altogether, and the thought made Rangiku shiver.

One time it had been Ayame; another, it had been Sayaka. Both alive, both unharmed, both safe because Rangiku had made it up the stairs in time.

She shivered to think what might happen if she ever didn’t make it in time.

Under her hands, the table was so clean that she could see her own pensive, downcast eyes reflected back at her.

“Hey!” Ayame shouted, and Rangiku jolted. Ayame noticed the troubled look on her face, and her expression softened. “Food’s ready, trouble.” She ruffled her hair again.

Rangiku stood stock still and suddenly wheeled around. She threw the dish rag back at her in revenge. It hit Ayame with a slap square in the face, and Rangiku cackled.

“STRIKE!” she cheered. Ayame’s face fell like thunder, and so Rangiku ran with a merry grin on her face.

Most business owners would have thought it an extravagance, to feed the brothel workers once a day, but Chiyo had always argued that it was good for morale (and, more cynically, she deducted the majority of the cost from their pay, so it was hardly an extravagance to her.)

Everyone but Rangiku took turns to cook, and they would all gather around the table to eat together, jostling with their elbows for space. Rangiku was the only one who had to eat out of necessity, but she loved having company whilst she ate. When everyone was present and awake, they numbered fourteen around the table. It was a simple dish, fragrant goma-ae with egg fried rice piled high in a bowl, but Rangiku salivated at the smell of it. Though she was fed just about adequately, she keenly missed the three small, simple meals a day she’d grown used to eating, once upon a time.

They’d had no table then; just a bowl between the two of them. She would restrain herself for his sake, and he would pick at the food with his chopsticks, eating like a bird. When he noticed her looking covetously at his half of the food, he would always feign a sigh and share what was left of his half. He would never complain, not seriously, and he would never begrudge her. She never caught him, but she was sure that he always added more rice to the pot when her back was turned, because he knew that she was hungry.

He had always been kind. Kind enough to carry her home. Kind enough to feed her. Kind enough to make sure she never starved again.

She sat, the first to arrive, and as she did so, she twisted the ring on her finger absent-mindedly.

(It was funny. She had starved for food once. Now she starved for want of him.)

“Head in the clouds there, as always, Rangiku-chan. What does your mind dwell on, I wonder?” asked Rin.

Rangiku started, and allowed a bright smile to bloom across her face. It was not hard to smile when there were so many people who cared. “Nothing, nothing,” she chirped quickly. “Just hungry. You know me, hungry hungry Rangiku.” She laughed.

“I see,” Rin said archly, and she began to place the food on the table.

Rangiku was fascinated with the way in which Rin spoke- her voice was melodious and unwavering, her consonants perfectly formed, and her phrasing almost aristocratic. Her eyes were a lovely violet blue, the colour of the sky in summer the instant before darkness falls, and her hair, pitch black but for a few strands of silver-gray, was styled in an elegant hime cut.

She was beautiful, stunningly beautiful, and next to her, Rangiku felt oddly clumsy; a mess. It was like comparing a bedraggled meadow daisy with a pale, perfect orchid, and her awareness of the comparison made her blush and fumble whenever she talked to the woman, who at least had the grace to pretend not to notice.

If Rin had this effect on her, Rangiku sometimes thought, then no man stood a chance. She had not known women could be like Rin.

“Did you make this all by yourself?” Rangiku asked, impressed.

It was then that she heard the clatter of the sliding door.

“Shit!” she swore dramatically, and she slid off her chair and rolled under the table. Rin arched an eyebrow, but watched on with humour dancing in her eyes.

“Where is she?” Ayame demanded.

“Who?” Rin asked with perfect composure.

“Rangiku-chan! She slapped me in the face with a dirty dish cloth and ran off, laughing all the way. She must have come up here. You know how fat and greedy she is.”

Under the table, Rangiku glared hotly.

“Did she?” Rin asked, and she smiled to herself. “Did you do anything to warrant such an attack?”

Ayame flushed. “No!.” She paused a moment. “Alright, I might have done. She even yelled ‘Strike!’ as it slapped me.” And despite herself, her lip quirked upwards. It was so ridiculous.

Rin laughed outright, and her laughter was as clear and as beautiful as a chime. Ayame’s anger collapsed, and she smiled a small smile at the absurdity.

“That girl is a marvel.” Rin said, wiping her eyes.

“You misspoke, Rin-san. I think you meant ‘monkey’. Or maybe “menace”. She’s too old for this kind of behaviour.”

The rest of the girls were beginning to filter in, some rubbing sleep from their eyes, some with the previous night’s makeup still on, some with hair tangled and still unbrushed. They eyed up the food greedily.

“Where is she anyway?” Ayame asked, far calmer this time.

Rin pointed an elegant finger to the table.

Rangiku yelped from under the table. “Rin-san! I trusted you!” Her face was a picture of betrayal.

“You can come up now, Rangiku-chan. I don’t want you to miss your meal.” Ayame sighed. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Rangiku surfaced, and in the process bumped her head on the table. She pondered Ayame’s words for a second. “Entertainment value?” she offered brightly, rubbing her head as she squeezed in beside Rin.

“I had to drag her from her bed this morning by her ankles,” Ayame informed the room.

“I know,” one of the other whores yawned. “I could hear you two bickering about it for about twenty minutes this morning.” She looked pointedly at Ayame.

“That was Rangiku-chan’s fault,” Ayame complained, mortified.

Rangiku shrugged carelessly, and began to dig in to her food with gusto. After a hard afternoon’s work cleaning the club, after a full night’s work on top of that, her stomach was gurgling with hunger. She piled rice high on her plate. The steam which issued from the bowl spun and twirled in the air, and she inhaled it with deep satisfaction.

Rin eyed her curiously. “Is it that good?”

“Hm?” Rangiku said, her cheeks stuffed with rice. She nodded vigorously, and swallowed. “’s so good. I was so hungry, Rin,” she said plaintively. “I needed this. Ayame-chan is a slave driver. ‘Rangiku, you need to clean the tables until I can see my face in them!’” she imitated in a squeaky impression of Ayame’s voice.

Ayame gave her a filthy look.

Rin looked at her pensively. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel real hunger.”

Rangiku paused, and looked Rin earnestly in her midnight eyes. “So have I.”

Rin looked momentarily disarmed. “What do you mean? You have spiritual energy. Surely all hunger is real to you?”

Rangiku laughed loudly, and it rang out around the room. “This isn’t real hunger,” she said, as if Rin had just said the silliest thing in the world. “There was a time when I had to pick pieces of corn had been left by the animals out of the mud. I used to spend more time collapsed on the road than awake, back then.” She continued to eat on, blithely unaware of the shocked expressions around her.

Ayame looked appalled. “Animal feed?”

Rangiku gave her a look. “Leftover animal feed,” she corrected with a snort.

Across the table, Yuki, who had been listening in and who had always the most soft-hearted amongst them, looked aghast. “Did no one help you? Did no one give you food?” she asked passionately.

Rangiku, with her bright blue eyes and smiles and sunshine hair, shook her head. “Nope,” she said in a matter of fact way. “Mostly they just threw stones.”

Ayame, Rin and Yuki shared appalled looks.

Rangiku looked between them in confusion, suddenly catching on to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. She felt awkward suddenly, to have broken the warm and cheerful atmosphere of their collective meal, and she stumbled over herself to put it to rights.

Her mouth ran rampant without interference from her brain. “It’s alright though!” she said cheerfully. “I’m alright! Look! I have all this rice now,” she brandished her bowl. “This tasty, tasty rice which Rin cooked for us! And I can eat as much as I want, though Ayame will call me a fat pig if I do.”

Ayame’s expression was flat as Rangiku rambled. She would never call Rangiku fat or a pig ever again.

Rangiku continued to ramble. “-and I can go and buy mochi or red bean buns with my pay now, if I’m hungry. Didn’t get those before!”

She was aware of the eyes on her.

She closed her eyes and tried to will their looks away. She paused, and she swallowed, and her hands went to the tin ring on her finger. “There was one person,” she tried. “He-“ her voice shook, and the others all gave her variations of the same intense, pitying look. She looked down, at the ring which she could only just fit on her finger now, and she smiled softly, softly through the pain. She could barely stand to think of him, let alone talk of him “He helped me,” she finished quietly. “He helped me when no one else would.”

It barely began to touch how much he had done for her, how much he had meant to her, but it was as much as she could muster; it hurt too much to think of him, to bare secret wounds to the air.

She missed him. She missed him so much.

(But he was gone. He hadn’t wanted her anymore.)

She looked up suddenly, to see three sets of eyes trained on her. At the other end of the table, Sayaka was engrossed in conversation, her thick eyebrows waggling suggestively and her audience rapt, some giggling madly, others with their hands clasped over their mouths in disgust. Around the table, plates were emptying, and people were beginning to rise to ready themselves for the evening’s work ahead.

And by her side remained Yuki, Ayame and Rin. They looked so sombre, Rangiku thought, so sombre on her account. Because they cared. They needed her and they cared. The thought washed over her like a wave, and it filled her with warmth. She smiled sheepishly, and she ran her hand through her hair with an embarrassed laugh.

“Mou, this atmosphere-“ she began with a laugh.

Rin, dark, magnificent Rin with her hime cut and her consonants like cut glass, put her hand on her head gently. Yuki put her soft, just-beginning to line hand, on top of hers. Ayame, with her huffs and her fussiness, gripped the other. Rangiku’s mouth formed an “o” in surprise.

“As long as you’re here, you will never hunger again,” Rin stated, and coming from her mouth, it sounded like a promise. “You will always have help here if you ask.”

Ayame’s eyes were fierce and she squeezed her hand; Yuki’s, usually so soft, were steely.

The world blurred; Rangiku’s heart ached, suddenly.

“And you,” she promised quietly, looking around at them fiercely. “I’m going to look after you. All of you. I promise.”