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#dark cloudy fall night aesthetic

neopronouns · 4 months

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flag id: a square flag made up of 9 squares, which are divided into 3 rows of 3 and evenly spaced with small black dividing lines between them. the squares, from left to right and top to bottom, are near-black, very dark brown-grey, dark dull brown, faded brown, light silver, pinkish-grey, dark silver, silver, and purplish-grey. end id.

image id: a 3 by 3 moodboard. from left to right and top to bottom, the images show a close-up on a completely black eye; an illustration of numerous silver shooting stars falling across a cloudy night sky; an intricate astronomical illustration done in silver on a black background; a black crystal ball and several dried plants arranged on the open page of a book; a barn owl over a blurry black and silver background; a mostly dark photo of a silver and brown nebula; another photo of a silver and brown nebula, but this one features more distinct stars; a close-up of a page of notes on astronomy with an uncapped pen slightly overlapping it; and a black crystal ball on a gold stand on a grey surface over a blurry nature background. end id.

banner id: a 1600x200 teal banner with the words ‘please read my dni before interacting. those on my / dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. the text takes up two lines, split at the slash. end id.

flag | moodboard

mulviastrodark: a gender that can only be described through the aesthetic moodboard above

[pt: mulviastrodark: a gender that can only be described through the aesthetic moodboard above. end pt]

for @magnificentsweetscheesecake! colors are taken from the moodboard and the term is 'mulvi' from 'mulviboard', 'astro' from 'astronomical', + 'dark'!

tags: @radiomogai | dni link

#mulviastrodark #mulviboard #inviane #my flags #my terms #new flag #new term #mogai flag #mogai term #mogai

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skyrim-better-weather-modmb · 2 years

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Better Weather[Fabric] //////Forge/Fabric Mods minecraft

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥 It had been ten years this year since Skyrim was released. The popularity and longevity of the series have largely been due to its large modding community that had been breathing fresh life into the game. With thousands of mods available for the game, no two modded Skyrim will ever be played the same. Before looking to improve SSE Skyrim Special Edition with mods, it should be noted how much weather and lighting have improved from the original Skyrim to the Special Edition. With the Special Edition, game images have a higher resolution that shows crisp details on surfaces. Lighting had also been given better ray tracing and ambiance to make the Special Edition the definitive vanilla experience for the game. Considered as one of the best weather mods in the original Skyrim , Climates of Tamriel is just as impressive in the Special Edition. The sheer file size of Climates of Tamriel will tell you that this mod will significantly impact the base game. Climates of Tamriel adds hundreds of weather variations and lighting effects that are not found in the base game. The weather can now be cloudy, stormy, foggy, and more. You can even experience snow blizzards. The mod has also added improved sunrises and sunsets to make Skyrim come alive. It also has replacements for almost all the vanilla weather-related systems, textures, particles, and sounds in the game. Lighting, for example, was improved to create more realistic thunderstorms and fogs. Clouds have been given new textures and even volume so they can have an impact on the sun rays falling on the ground. Your evenings will also be improved by the addition of the auroras glistening in the night sky. The new weather system also has new sounds to accompany them. There are new thunder sounds as well as exterior and interior rain sounds. There are also optional plugins that players can easily install if they want to customize the game even further. The plugins will impact lighting and darkness for interiors, dungeons, and even night time. Vivid Weathers is a compilation of different mods working together and are compatible with overhauling the vanilla weather. And create breathtaking effects without even installing an ENB. Because of that, Vivid Weathers is the most significant weather mod on Nexus. Vivid Weathers creates more than different weather patterns and variations by combining the various mods and revamping the vanilla weather. From light snowfall to torrential blizzards and from a drizzle of rain to violent thunderstorms, Vivid Weathers will give the local Skyrim weatherman a tough time predicting the weather,. Sky-gazing will now be constant as the mod adds more than cloud textures, night skies that show stars and galaxies, and impressive sunrises and sunsets that will take your breath away. Vivid Weathers also adds new effects and enhancements. Snow flakes are now more transparent and more discernible. Storms are now howling and Fogs have different levels of density. It even has 16 new sounds of thunder. Rustic Weathers and Lighting enhances the rustic and medieval aesthetics that Skyrim has. The mod does not feel like the additional settings are shoe-horned into the game but feels more organic. It adds fog, lens flares, god rays, new weather, and its own set of storm sounds. Though much smaller than the previous two mods, this mod is more focused and streamlined than expansive. If you want to bring the Lord of the Rings to Tamriel, this mod is the way to go. Dolomite Weathers brings the fantasy world of Skyrim to life. This particular mod makes everything look sharp and gorgeous. It is like an ENB that enhances the weather. This mod is perfect if you want the colors of a fantasy world to pop out. This mod is lightweight as it only tries to modify and improve the vanilla weather system. This mod makes sunsets linger longer. And it adds another dimension to the snow particles and additional storm sounds that are unlike the repetitive vanilla sound. Natural and Atmospheric Tamriel certainly fits its name. Unlike Dolomite, NAT reals in fantasy in favor of realism. At least, so it seems to me, nothing feels too over the top or stylistic in this mod, something many certainly appreciate. That being said, everything is still redone. The most notable feature of this mod is the included spell, which allows you to play with nearly all aspects of this mod, including enabling and disabling effects and even turning on random weather. It is also included in the FX option similar to ENB that is lightweight and three options for configuring bright, dark, or balanced weather patterns. Popular features are also included, like sunlight effects, particle effects, and subsurface scattering. Obsidian Weathers and Seasons adds around 90 new weather to Skyrim. Not only that, but it adds new environmental and cloud lighting as well, and this includes subsurface scattering. The different regions are given specific weather systems to make traversing the other regions immersive. Aside from the weather, the seasons also change depending on the current in-game month. You start by choosing from the many style options that range from vibrant to fading, rustic, and cold. The mod also gives you shorter days and winters. It adds new storm sounds and lighting effects for characters. This mod improves the textures of the game to show changes in seasons and weather effects. The settings can be adjusted using the MCM menu. This will give your avatar total control over the climates of Skyrim. This new power will let you control brightness, saturation, contrast, tint, and bloom in real-game-time. Your avatar can also change the season and the level of darkness of night. You can now fulfill your dreams of being a weather wizard. True storms is a weather overhaul mod that improves the heavy vanilla weathers of Skyrim. It adds new rain and snow particles, features, and visual effects. IT also adds new sounds to make rains, winds, and thunders more realistic. This mod adds a few new weather types like heavy rain, dense fog, dust storms, and blizzards. Lastly, True Storms does not localize weather systems, so you should now expect snow in Whiterun. The different weather mods of Skyrim enhances the vanilla game to create better immersion and experience for players. No one mod is flawless, so it all depends on the preferences of the player. But these are just a handful of the mods that are available for download. There are other mods out there that you can always look into. With the longevity of Skyrim, there is definitely a weather mod out there that you can use to improve Skyrim the way you want to play it. Contents show. Climates of Tamriel. Vivid Weathers Definitive Edition. Rustic Weathers and Lighting. Dolomite Weathers. Cathedral Weathers and Seasons. True Storms. Share Facebook Twitter Pinterest Reddit. You may also like. February 26, Skyrim Best Visual Mods February 26,

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universitysarah · 4 years

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Beginnig of Fall - Academia Aesthetic

hair in a messy bun, smudged eyeliner, dark red fall-y lipstick, wrongly buttoned blouse, comfy jeans, black boots, massive HEADPHONES

brown seemingly bottomless bag, carried over one shoulder, filled with a view notebooks and collegeblocks, a lot of loose pencils and pens

happily chatting with friends on the way to class

morning fogginess and wett grass from the cold nights

sunny days, often cloudy, orange and red and brown leaves crunch while walking over them

sittting on a park bench trying to read a textbook and take notes but being constantly distracted by playing children or animals or the last few warm sunrays of the year

going for a picnic with friends

laying on a big scarf on the rooftop with your laptop youtube - studying

standing on top of a hill, letting the wind pick up your hair and throw it everywhere, closing your eyes, breathing it in, feeling alive again

lighting up the first candle of the season, watching the light flicker in the slowly darkening room

going stationary shopping with your friends and finding the cutest little notebook and eraser

finally being able to wear your favourite long pair of sweatpants again

drinking a hot beverage out of your favourite big mug, feeling the heat of it in your hands, smelling the sweet aroma drifting through the room, tasting it on your lips

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jayeeintheclouds-inactive · 3 years

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what comes to mind when i think of my moots

i have literally no more energy so here

if you aren't here, please don't feel upset, i still do love you all! it's just that i'm not as close to you, but i would like to get to know you better :]

@mikachuchu mika reminds me of a baby room with pastel coloured walls, many baby toys, and innocent looking in general. there is a canvas with paint in the middle of the room. it is quiet and nice.

@chichikoi thinking of koi brings me to a warm fireplace. everything is dark, the both of us are alone in front of the fireplace, and we're sipping hot chocolate. no talking whatsoever, but still there is peace.

@almondto-fu i imagine winter, and while it is snowing outside, i go into a warm, aesthetic coffee shop and meet sarah there. we order warm lattes and sip them together while we gossip about anything.

@almond-adeptus the thought of almond brings me back to where we live, singapore. i picture us walking side by side along a nature trail, pointing at randoms stuff we find interesting. it feels like home.

@simplyxsinned with sin i imagine train or airplane rides. we're planning to go on a holiday together, and in the train we plan our next destination, and maybe fall asleep on each other's shoulders.

@3rdgymbros sam brings the feeling of warm but homey summer. we'd be out at the beach and feeling the sea breeze, sipping some coconut juice and relaxing at the shore.

@hqrbinger curse and i would be in a haunted house together, holding each other while trying our best to not get scared by anything. we'd come out of the attraction victorious and saying "nah, we weren't scared at all."

@noirkkat somehow, ez reminds me of golfing? yeah, i've never done actual golfing, but we'd be out under the slightly cloudy sky and doing mini golf, then grab a quick brunch right after.

@hushyouu ven is specific: wind, grey skies, a lone pine tree. don't ask why. it is a simple, relaxing sight for me. the wind blows in my face, and i see the pine tree sway. grey skies have never felt so homey.

@ohmykazuha although i hate baking, if jia did it with me, i wouldn't mind. maybe we'd make bread, maybe we'd try gingerbread cookies, but whatever it is, the kitchen is warm, just like her heart and soul.

@severedftaes perhaps it is because she kins mona, but with toki i imagine stargazing. we've even brought a telescope along with us. maybe a picnic too? and competitions on who knows the most number of constellations.

@yeetmeoffjueyunkarst the first thought that comes to mind when it comes to J is an amusement park. we'd dare each other to sit at the front row of the scariest rollercoaster and eat lots of caramel popcorn.

@ajaxeology sherry brings the feeling of a christmas tree in a cozy home. we'd both be in ridiculous sweaters, hanging weird ornaments on the tree, and perhaps karaoke until midnight.

@yumpty-dumpty abbie gives me a feeling of now. our childhood is relieved while we make snow angels, snowmen, have snowball fights. we'd end up being covered in so much snow, but it's worth it.

@captaincryolicious maybe it's her kazuha pfp, but i imagine autumn with zep. just normal strolls under falling leaves, and perhaps if she doesn't mind, we'd jump into a big pile of leaves together.

@mayple like their blog theme, may reminds me of a disco club. not anything r18 though, like an actual club with mocktails and karaoke competitions, and so much adrenaline and fun in general.

@abyssheart genesis reminds me of games...? it is the first thought that comes to mind. just sitting down on a friday night, playing a few board or card games that turn very intense sometimes.

@nolawritesfanfics nola brings the feeling of a big, old library. i'd scan through all the books and shelves in awe, maybe look at the ancient paintings and decoration for a few minutes, and admire everything in general. so aesthetic.

@teyvattherapist we would both be wrapped with warm blankets in a room, and through the window lane and i see a cloudy night with a light drizzle. the sound is comforting, even without words.

@marius-z definitely see karma and i going out to buy street food from stalls. maybe it is a food fair that just so happened to appear near us, and we'd run there and buy every snack we find yummy.

@nurserinnn like may, rin's theme comes into play as well. we'd be in japan, wearing kimonos and walking under sakura trees. take a few selfies for rememberance too.

@bookuya the grandest one here; i imagine boo as a grand ballroom. the walls are lined with gold, the chandelier is humongous, and the floor is marble and shiny. i can't wait to run all over it.

@bluexiao a lone qingxin in jueyun karst. it's placed on top of the highest cliff, watching over liyue. sometimes it sways in the wind. there is no sound, but watching it makes me feel alive.

#moots!

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lehouxnap2 · 2 years

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@sophiedoesherbest and I did a "words you associate with X character" of the 104th cadets

(This is all our own subjective feelings on them that i felt like sharing, keep that in mind)

Eren:

Sophie= Lucious green forests and mountains, cinnamon scent, the color green, grundge, the silence before the storm, hawks, chocolate cake, really dark and bitter coffee without milk and sugar, Demoralization, turqouise ponds, glory and knights

Me= Dark green, angry, madness, determination, beautiful eyes, crybaby, rock, metal, try hard, soft hair, rude, Fights, bruises, blood, satanist, birds, chains, piercings, Turkish food, freedom, anarchist.

Mikasa:

Sophie= I think she's more of a minimalist in clothing stlye? devotion, loyality, the color red, tigerlilies, mango scent, cented candles, gold, a big city like New York, coffee with milk and no sugar, try hard, persian cats, beautiful grasslands, slightly cloudy weather with sunshin and gentle winds

Me= The color black, black cats, goth aesthetic, lots of jewerly, red lipstick, make up, Japan cities, high boots, cute, romantic, altars, knight, protection, loyalty, red, sports, goofy, katanas, bellflowers.

Armin:

Sophie= Clams, Chocolate cookies, Sandy beach woth cloudless sky and bright blue sea, salty, fresh and oceanic smell (I dont know how to describe it but its a really nice smell), Orange icecream, Organic teas (especially from fruits!!), and Golden retrievers

Me= Water, blue, beach, fishes, shells, Sand, maths, manipulation, lying, fear, studies, glasses, early morning, cardigans, anime, vest, swimming, tea afternoon in a british old house.

Jean:

Sophie= British shorthair cats, strength, thunderstorm with big lightnings and heavy, wind , the sky is almost blac, rich little town in the mountains, polaroid photos, daisies, arrogance, memories, endless grief and love, vulnerability, bright yellow - gold colors, lemon frappe, pumpkinpie, scent of orange and lemon, beanies, grundge stlye with black and red checkered shirts, long lashes, gothic cathedrals.

Me= Beige, punk, shy, mommy spoiled, bullying, envy, leader, maturing, masculinity, horses, french dogs, french food, football, eiffel tower with sunset light, bread, motorcycles, brown boots, wrist watch, ponytail, insecurity, cigarettes.

Sasha:

Sophie= checkered shirts and dresses, sunflowers, jeans, border collies and bloodhounds old, tabby colored barn cat, a good old all-you-can-eat restaurant, cherries, a summer night when all the stars are out and you just gaze at them while the crickets are chirping, old pickup trucks, horses, barn animals, barn life, sunglasses, hunting trophies, big family, warm colours, a cup of warm grey tea, running in the near fields, cornfield, Fall Out Boy songs, rock/alternative clothing, boots, rustic small village where everyone know everyone

Me= Hunting, woods, wild, short jeans, thigh high stockings, funny, friendly, self image, big dogs, bow and arrows, sparkles, sniper, cream, russian restaurant, peruvian food, rifle mouser model, frappuccinos.

Connie:

Sophie= Parrots, cold cozy winter nights with warmth inside the house and being with the family, grey palettes, a big village with full of warm hearted, friendly people, larkspurs, maaaaaany animals, big family house that were theirs since aaages, abandoned mine lakes, cheetos, pancakes, cocoa with gingerbread flavour, cinnamon, lemongrass scent, alcohol and house parties, extroverted, funny, cheerful, friendship, tragedies, big heart.

Me= Asexuality, aromantic life, clown kid, funny, pranks, YouTube shitpost, cool kid, defender, cute, gray purple colors, innocent, bucket hats, caps, ankle rope bracelet, necklace, sunny beach in Miami, colorful converse, sweet sugar, grumpy, weed.

Reiner:

Sophie= lilacs, mint and choco icecream, melancholy, rain with wind an light grey clouds, gingerbread latte, dark chocolate (the bitter one), pitbulls, maine coons, abins in the woods, punk rock and leather jackets, motorcycles, blood and ruises

Me= Sadness, rain, cloudy beach, tears, depression, sleep, nightmares, guilt, double life, yellow, pink, milk, self loathe, admiration, flannel shirts, guitar, dark circles under eyes, eyeliner, cloudy city in Germany, 80's rock.

Bertholdt:

Sophie= Intense snowstorm with really strong wind, foxgloves, pinetrees, pineforest and grim, rocky, dark mountains, dalmatians, brownies, scent of freshly cut grass, isolation, abandoned roads, 1970's Mustangs, twenty One Pilots songs

Me= Marine blue, no determination, undecided, follower, medicine, chill, selfish, appearence, gray, sweaters, cloudy, sweat, nervous, shy, storm, trees, bad luck, coffee place in Denmark.

Annie:

Sophie= demisexuality, purity, hydrangeas, cool weather when there is no snow but things are freezing, overfreezed lakes with unfortunate animals in it like deers, foxes, etc., angora cats, scottish shepherd dogs, vikings, north, goth or scene, checkered skirts, ripped stockings, anime/cosplay stuff, dreamer, repressing emotion, candies, donuts, nutella, sweet coffee with milk and like 4 sugarcubes, campfire, electric guitars, 80's bands and music, eyeliner, electric blue and black, tiny tattoos, death's head hawkmothes, small deserted town with unfriendly people, anxiety and melancholy, chocolate cakes, evergreen forests with forgotten temples and ravens, the urge to deep in the heart hug someone and feel their warmth and love, isolation, regret.

Me= Snow, winter cold, Pearl like earrings, light blue, 2000's rebel style. Guitar, long eyelashes, black eyeshadow, boots, hoodies, white, Stones, wolf, boxing, introvert, nightmares, brute, cats, ice skating, ice cream, donuts, isolation.

Historia:

Sophie= macarons, pastel pink and blue, sparkles and glitter, hot chocolate with cottoncandy, roses, sweet fragranced perfumes, fluffy clouded wheather where the sun shines, the birds are chirping, but the rain is coming, dedication, undying love, grief, pink carnations, Imagine Dragon songs, accessories made from clams, lazy days in cafés, cottages, writing at a fancy laptop, Ragdoll cats.

Me= Royalty, pink, gold, crown, white cats, bells, wedding, mean, 2000's fashion popular girl, velvet, white swan, perfection, imperfection, rebel, cute make up, rings, feminine, perfume, bubble baths, greek gods, two faces, farm animals.

Ymir:

Sophie= Sand, the scent of vanilla and pomegranade, applepies, gold and dark brown earth colours, volcanos, fire, hot, humid summer days with clar skies, a lonely, clear blue river in a rocky mountain, capuccino, bullterriers, Tiger eye stone, bath bombs, loyalty, tragedy, true love, intricate.

Me= Love, pastel orange, cakes, honesty, thief, money, orphans, kind, funny, tickles, catholic church, fresh wind, towers in Norway, fruits, ties, bride, autumn, goddess, true to yourself

Marco:

Sophie= lavenders, deserted /creepy cementeries and villages, some sort of freshness and cleanliness, sunsets when the sky is light blue and vivid orange with pinks and purples, and the clouds are majestic and fluffy, witchcraft, white lilies, warm, cozy feelings, white chocolate

Me= Lavenders, white lillies, music, laughs, sex, kinkyness, sweet stuff, white, chocolate colors, love, sadness, lonelyness, desperation, friend, books, religion, tight jeans, cookies, sunny city in Italy, uptight, high expectations, raspberry, blush

Part 2

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halcyonstorm · 3 years

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The Girl at the Library Chapter 1

Short Fic - Levihan

Themes: College AU, Library, Fluff, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Female Hange Zoe, Student!Levi

Word Count: 5730

Chapter: 1/3

Warning: Mild Language

Read on Ao3 - The Girl at the Library

Summary: Levi is a college student who needs help on his research paper. Luckily, Hange is a book worm and works at the library.

Levi was stressed and annoyed, mainly because he was in college. Of course with college comes infinite amounts of homework assignments, 100-question exams with astronomical amounts of topics on them, unnecessary research papers, and staying in a dorm room with a kid that happens to have no problem inviting his friends over every night to hang out and party with no regards to his sullen roommate.

Levi had a paper coming up. He had to come up with a topic, find sources, and finish his paper by the end of the semester. With three weeks left to go, he decided he’d rather get it over with. He began his brainstorming in the study lounge at the center of his dormitory floor. He was starting to stress. He sat on the big yellow leather couch in the way-too-bright study lounge with his laptop in his lap. He tapped his pen against his head as he tried to think of an idea.

“You have to write about a topic related to your major,” The professor explained. “This is the one and only paper you will have assigned this semester. I suggest you get it done as early as possible.”

If only it were that easy. He had the rubric pulled up in one tab, and a ton of “How to pick a research topic” websites in others. His major was pharmaceuticals, a field he was inspired to take on because of his mother. She was very ill when he was very young, so they were in and out of hospitals. He was sitting on the edge of his mother’s hospital bed when a nurse came in the room to administer her medications.

“This is…” His memory was blurry. “This medication will help… and make you feel better.” And it did. 9 year old Levi was fascinated. This one little pill or bag of what looked like water helped his mother feel better. Within hours, his mother’s skin went from pallor to beige. Her hands were warmer. She looked more awake, more alive. She didn’t wince at Levi’s touch. She was in less pain. She got better, like the nurse predicted.

Since then, Levi always asked questions whenever they visited the hospitals again and again. “What kind of drug is that?” “What does it do?” “How long does it take to take effect?”

Levi recalled the memory with a deep sigh. He missed his mother. She was at home, not too far away. Levi never had the time to travel the hour through the big city to visit her. When he did have free time, he spent it studying or sleeping. He felt his heart twinge at this. She had sacrificed everything to help him attend college and to give him a good life.

Now with his head cloudy, he went to reach his water bottle in his backpack. He opened the lid and took a sip. At that moment, he could hear some obnoxiously loud students throwing tennis balls back and forth to each other. He recognized these kids too, they were some (of many) of the lovely visitors his roommate had over most nights. Suddenly in the blink of an eye, Levi’s water bottle spilled all over his laptop, a tennis ball on the floor next to him, and some worried voices approaching him. Within seconds, the laptop started to steam and the screen went black.

His laptop was fried, he determined. He felt heat start to rise inside of him.

“Oh my god, man. I am so sorry,” One of the kids said, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah, man. We didn’t mean to.”

Levi took a deep breath and stood up. These kids… were gonna pay.

He closed his broken laptop and stood up. These kids were much taller than him, but looked to be easily intimidated by Levi’s presence.

“Do you have the money to pay for this?” He sneered, getting very close to their faces.

“Eh… no, but we have jobs! We can pay you back over time,” One of the kids trailed off. They seemed to be intimidated by the short man. “You live in 112 right?”

Levi nodded, his face heating up with anger. “This laptop cost me a lot of money.”

“We get it, man! We said we’re sorry,” the other kid explained. “We’ll pay you back or whatever.”

“Tch,” Levi clicked. He was extremely pissed. These kids should not be throwing balls at each other in the hallway. Also, they spilled his water which made a mess. “Which room are you both in?” They responded with 118. The one kid explained they get paid on the 15th and 30th of each month. Luckily, their pay day was 4 days away.

“I’ll stop by Tuesday, the 16th,” Levi decided, before gathering his things and heading to the stairs. He began to walk through the campus. Fuck, now where was he gonna go? How was he gonna find his topics? His computer was fucked. Putting it in rice wouldn’t have helped. He was so occupied having a debate with himself about where to research, he almost missed it. If he looked the other way or even blinked in that moment, he wouldn’t have seen it. It was the campus library. No, not the campus library, but a campus library. It blended into the surroundings, hidden from the passerbyers. There was a sign in the window “We’re Open!”.

The library was small, to say the least. It was old fashioned, which contrasted the modern aesthetic of the university. It was a small, dark brown, wooden building with four-pane windows. The door was a lighter shade of brown. He decided it was easier to check out this little library instead of walking another 10 minutes to get to the main library. He didn’t have time to waste. He had to get started with his paper right away. He walked up to the door and opened it. When he did, a little bell rang at the doorway.

“Just a minute!” A woman’s voice called from the back. Levi decided to wander around. There were many books crammed on the shelves. There were two computers on each side when he walked in. They looked out of place, considering they were very modern compared to the architecture of the library itself. The books were all shades of bright, vibrant colors. It was strange. From the outside, it seemed creepy and gloomy. Once he walked in, it was very cozy. The dark walls of the library contrasted the beautiful colors of the books.

Then, he saw the woman come out. She came up to the desk. He expected an elderly lady with her glasses on a chain, but he assumed this woman was a student. She was a young woman who wore thin oval glasses and her brown hair thrown up in a messy half-up-half-down ponytail.

“Hi!” The woman said. “How can I help you?”

“I want to use a computer, please,” He announced. He glanced at her nametag which hung like a necklace around her neck. “Hange” was the name on the tag. It was strange and unordinary, but it had a nice ring to it. The name seemed to suit her.

“Sure! You are allowed up to two hours a day,” Hange explains. “You can choose whichever computer you’d like.”

The computers were unoccupied. In fact, the entire library seemed vacant except for him and the employee.

“Does anyone actually come here?” Levi asked, setting his stuff down next to a desk, and looking her way. She looked like someone who would work at a library.

The brunette chuckled. “You are my third visitor today!” She exclaimed proudly. It was already about 3pm. He remembered the sign in the front says “12pm-6pm weekdays”.

Levi chuckled silently, air huffed out his nose. “How do you stay in business?”

“Well, the university thinks it’s good to have a small library in the outskirts of the campus so students have access to books and computers because the main campus library is in the center of the plaza. Sometimes we get about ten people a day, and sometimes they don’t even take anything out. Sometimes I wonder how…” She began to ramble now. She definitely has not had anyone else visit her today.

She was starting to get on his nerves. It’s been 20 minutes since he arrived, and she was still talking. He zoned out until she caught his attention.

“Hey,” She said. “What’s your name? I have to track whoever comes in to use the computers.”

Why? No one else comes in. He noticed her clipboard with the sign-ins was blank.

“Levi Ackerman,” He announced. She scribbled his name down. “Okay, it’s 3:30 now, so you have till 5:30 if needed.” She pointed to the clock with her pen as she explained. He nodded and proceeded to walk towards the table with the computer he claimed. He sat down and began working.

He was an hour into his research when he finally threw his hands up in the air in frustration. He still couldn’t think of a topic. He groaned aloud.

Hange was leaning against the main desk, her nose stuck in a book. “How Trees Communicate” was the title. When she heard the young man groan, she looked up.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, peering over her book at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mumbled. “Fine…”

Hange raised an eyebrow. She placed her bookmark at her spot, then strolled around the desk and walked over to him.

“What are you working on?” She asked, sitting in the seat next to him and put her hands on her knees, looking at him curiously. He scoffs. It was none of her business, he thought to himself. And it’s an invasion of privacy.

He was frustrated and desperate. Hoping for a miracle, he managed to tell her anyways.

“I need a topic for my paper and I can’t think of any…” Levi began. “It needs to be based on pharmaceuticals, my major. It also needs scientific evidence to back up my research…”

She was fully absorbed in what he had to say. She was bored, so helping Levi would’ve been something to do at least. Besides, Levi was in luck. She was an avid reader, always reading about anything and everything. She was studying plants and botanicals, but she found herself frequently taking out books about cooking; religion; war; animals; and medical topics including surgery, pathophysiology, anatomy, and pharmaceuticals.

“What about how diuretics affect blood pressure?” Hange suggested. Levi was taken aback. His eyebrows furrowed, and he shook his head in confusion. “Or if anti-alzheimer drugs actually help slow the progression of Alzheimer’s? Why do you take different medications during certain stages of Alzheimer’s disease? Or how do anti-seizure medications work? That is something I ask myself all the time. You take this little pill and BOOM! You’ll be fine, no seizure! Oh, oh, oh! Or, how certain medications cause certain adverse effects? How come so many medications cause anxiety?” Her eyes started to light up as she talked. They were a dark brown, but when she started to talk, they seemed to morph to a captivating hazel. He felt he could see every color in her eyes. He saw brown and green and the little lines of her iris. Hange’s hands would move as she talked, and her smile grew wide. She couldn’t keep still. She was getting excited by coming up with all these ideas. She seemed so passionate and so willing to help; he was overwhelmed by her.

Levi was in shock. His day started off horrible. Now, he was almost glad his laptop was fucked. This woman was making his mind race with ideas.

“Are you okay?” Hange asked for the second time within his visit there. Levi nodded slowly. “I am just… How do you know all that? Are you a med student?”

Hange chuckled and waved her hand at him. “No… I am a bookworm! Also, my mom is a nurse, so she used to teach me about nursing stuff all the time. Oh! You could write about the pathophysiology of anticholinergics! Or beta blockers! Or how the body reacts to the use of long-term steroids?”

Levi took a deep breath. He felt euphoric. He had been casually trying to think of topics since last week. All of a sudden, this woman can just ramble off hundreds of ideas? Levi smiled visibly.

“Actually… I really like the final topic you suggested. About steroids.” Levi admitted.

Hange smiled back at him. “Great! I can try to help you find some sources or books.” She directed him to open a new tab and to go to a certain database. “This is where you can find reliable sources. Over here,” She pointed to his screen at the left side. “You can add filters. You can change how old or new you’d like the sources to be, filter out certain words or phrases, et cetera.” She had been closer to him now; she scooted her chair closer so she could explain the database to him. It was hard not to look at her as she explained. She was captivating.

Levi began to type in words for his topic.

“Steroids”, “Long-term use”, “Cushing’s Disease”, “Addison’s Disease”, “Addisonian Crisis”, “Pathophysiology”.

He felt like he was finally getting somewhere. He was finally making progress.

As Levi was walking home, he couldn’t get his mind off that girl. He decided to brainstorm about his topic in his room once he got there. The thing was, though, he couldn’t think of any more ideas. He found it funny. Of course he was full of ideas and inspiration when he visited that library, but now he’s void of any.

Levi’s weekends were no different than the weekdays. He made it appoint to visit the library again the next day, Saturday. It was a sunny, cool Saturday morning. Levi had inspiration to write. He needed a computer and Hange’s ideas. When he arrived, it seemed busy. There were three other patrons at the library. He recognized Hange right away, helping a tall blonde man with a big nose. He wondered if she was the only employee there. The man she was helping was taller than her, so she had to reach up on her toes to point to items. She was an average height, but this action made her seem shorter than she actually was.

Hange looked his way and greeted him with a toothy smile. Levi waved at her and started to head down one of the aisles of books. He was in the nonfiction section, but was lost. For now, he just casually browsed the section, but quickly got impatient. He needed Hange’s help to find books for this paper. He heard her laugh with the patron. Maybe he’s a friend, he thought to himself. Her laugh was airy and full of heart. It seemed genuine and passionate. Levi felt an urge to make her laugh, too.

She finally made her way over to him. Levi was looking down at a book when she caught his eye. “Hey, stranger!” She greeted him with a wave. “Whatcha looking for?” She placed her hands on her hips.

“I’m trying to find some sources for my paper. Steroids is the topic,” Levi explained.

“Oh, right. I remember! After you left last night, I tried to look for some books for your topic,” She said. She was trying to help me? Levi thought to himself.

She curled her finger in a “follow me” gesture and he did. She brought him to another aisle or two over from where they were. “These are the 600’s, where you’ll most likely find what you’re looking for. I found a book or two about Addison’s disease, but it’s more of a memoir. You can look around though if you’d like. Anything in the 610’s should be right up your alley.” She explained as if she was going to leave, but she didn’t. Hange looked for books with him.

After a moment, she made a noise. “Look at this!” She exclaimed. She reached next to him to reach for a book. She was on her toes again. “Mmmm,” She moaned as she tried to reach. “Actually, I’m gonna get the step stool. I don’t think I can reach it.” Quickly, she left and came back with the stool. It looked unreliable, but Levi was sure he’d be able to prevent any accident from occurring. Hange placed it on the ground and stepped up on it, grabbing the book with ease. She stepped down with the book in her hand. This book had a white cover with a blue label and was titled “Coping with Prednisone”. Levi was surprised she even knew what prednisone was.

“Here!” She reached it out for him to grab. He took it and looked at her face. She had that same look in her eyes. “Did you want to use the computer?” He nodded and she led him towards the front of the library. The library was small from the outside, but very deep inside. It reminded him of a forest.

“I got your name, don’t worry,” She said, clicking her pen and writing his name down on the sheet.

“Oops!” Hange made a quick grimace. “I added an ‘e’ at the end. I’ll just cross it out.” The statement sounded like it was addressed to herself rather than to anyone else. She crossed out the extra letter.

“Ackermane”. Levi was gonna attempt to make her laugh.

“If you thought I looked like a horse you could’ve just said so.”

Mane, horse mane. Get it?

It felt like forever before Hange responded. She looked up at him, starting to laugh. It was a short but audible laugh. Her head nodded back and she smiled. Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes lit up for a moment. It made his heart skip a beat. It was a bad joke yet she still laughed. She chuckled. Giggled? No. Laughed lightly. Chortled? Maybe that’s the right word. Whatever it was, he wanted to do it more, maybe even more than that.

He followed her to the computers. The blonde guy she was helping earlier was on one computer. She led him to the two computers across from the other ones and sat down in the chair next to him.

“What are you doing?” Levi asked, placing the book she found for him on the table.

Her eyebrows raised, and after a moment she reacted. She waved her hands in front of her.

“I’m sorry! I thought you may have needed help. I should get back to work anyway. I gotta go through a new box of books that just came in.”

Levi looked up at her. Is she blushing? he asked himself.

“I’ll let you know if I need help.” Levi responded. She smiled at him before quickly walking away.

He started to find some evidence-based practice articles about how steroids can cause long-term side effects, especially if stopped abruptly. He made sure to keep the tabs available. He’d have to cite them later. Levi’s mind was racing with words and sentences and ideas. He had to get them down on paper. He opened Documents on the computer and started typing away.

The clicking of the keyboard soothed him. He was a pretty fast typer, he didn’t make many mistakes either. The library around him began to become quiet as his typing got louder and he got deeper in thought. Before he knew it, his two hours were up. He felt someone approach him from his right.

“Hey,” Hange said, gently tapping the table next to him. “It’s 2pm. I gotta close up.”

Levi snapped out of his focused trance with a quick head shake. “Right. Sorry.” He pulled out a flash drive from his backpack and plugged it into the computer. He transferred his document. “I got the first page done.”

Levi asked himself for a brief moment why he was sharing this information with someone he just met. Maybe since she helped him, he felt she should know.

“That’s great! It seemed like you were really focused,” Hange said, walking away to shut off some lights. Only then did he notice the white noise of the overhead lights quickly dissipate. The room buzzed with silence now. Levi and Hange were alone in the library. Suddenly, Levi felt nervous. He watched Hange walk around the room frantically, making sure to shut off all the lights and computers. She grabbed a bag. The bag was a fabric material with a patchwork design that had a long strap that hung on on her shoulder. Maybe she made it herself. She grabbed her big mess of keys and walked towards him.

“Ready?” She said. He nodded and walked outside, holding the door for her. She thanked him, locking the door behind her. They began to walk down the street slowly.

“Want to grab lunch?” Hange asked, looking at him. Levi looked back at her. She looked pretty.

“Sure, I can eat.” Hange chuckled at that. He didn’t try, but it made her happy for a brief moment. He seemed nervous but she was too.

They decided to eat at a cute restaurant on campus called “Life in Paradis”. It was a small, dainty place with a green and yellow checkered awning. The building was made of yellow brick, and the door was bright green. There were flower pots outside on the windowsill. Again, this place seemed totally out of place in the modern aesthetic of the university.

“This place is adorable!” Hange exclaimed. “I love the food here. You’ll love it too. They have all kinds of food here.” Levi felt a smile grow on his face. The way she talked made his heart flutter. She was always so passionate. They entered and got a table for two. This is not a date, Levi kept telling himself. Then why were his cheeks red?

They sat down and looked through a menu. Levi wasn’t extremely hungry even though he hadn’t had anything but tea this morning. He peered over his menu to look at the girl. Her hair was different today, he determined. Today all her hair was in a ponytail, and it was higher on her head. She wore a light yellow button-down with a long, light blue cardigan. Hange caught him staring at her and blushed.

“What would you two like to order?” The waitress asked him first.

“I’m gonna get a sandwich, I think,” He said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Turkey sub.” “I think I’m gonna get a chicken caesar salad,” Hange said. He nodded, grabbed the menus, and walked away.

Hange began to talk about how beautiful the flowers outside the restaurant were. They were all variants of pink, purple, yellow, and red. She described the petals and the leaves, the flowers’ origins, and all the meanings of the flowers. Levi wasn’t annoyed by her tangent this time. He actively listened to this girl talk about what fascinated her so much. He found it soothing. It made him wonder how her brain can contain all the information she was spewing at him. He enjoyed watching the way her eyes lit up when she talked. The beautiful green that blossomed at the bottom of her irises when the light hit her eyes at the right angle. The way her lips curled into a big smile when she talked to him. Her cheeks flush to a light pink when she describes the petals of the flowers or how flowers were used to express feelings when words cannot. It made his heart race.

“Levi,” Hange said. Her affect was the opposite of earlier when she was rambling. She wore a frown on her face, feeling guilty.“I’ve been rambling… sorry. It’s such a bad habit of mine. I can talk for hours and hours.”

“Don’t apologize, four-eyes,” Levi replied, leaning his elbows and forearms on the table in a crossed position. Hange smiled at him. Levi meant it. She shouldn’t apologize for talking, especially if it’s about something she loves. The food had arrived at the table. They ate. Levi felt the need to open up to her about something. He already learned so much about her, and her presence made him feel like he can open up.

“I like to run,” Levi said abruptly. Hange looked at him intently, chewing on a forkful of salad. “I don’t do it competitively or anything, but I enjoy running. I try to run once or twice a day.” Hange’s eyebrows raised and she nodded in agreement.

“That’s awesome!” She smiled again at him. “I like to run too. I’m really slow and get tired easily, but I enjoy feeling the wind in my hair and feeling my heart pound.” She took a bite of her meal again. Levi nodded and began to eat too. This sandwich was really good.

After talking some more about hobbies and school, they both finished their meal. The waiter brought over the check. Hange reached into her pocket for her wallet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Levi asked. Hange furrowed her brows.

“I invited you out to lunch. I will pay,” Hange determined, her wallet now in her hands.

“No,” Levi said too quickly. “I will pay. It’s the least I can do. You helped me with my paper after all.”

The bickering lasted a very long minute. Before she got to think of the idea, Levi grabbed the checkbook and shoved his card inside before handing it to the waiter. Hange looked surprised. She sighed, putting her wallet away.

“Thank you, Levi. But you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

In all honesty, Hange didn’t have much money. She worked at that library four times a week, but the money she made went towards paying off her tuition. She really wanted to treat this man, her new friend. She wasn’t sure if he thought the same way about her. Did he consider her his friend? She felt slightly embarrassed. She did most of the talking and felt like she was annoying him. Maybe he just wanted to pay so she would lay off.

But the truth is, Levi felt the opposite way of how she was thinking. He was interested to hear more from her. He was addicted to the way his heart raced when he saw her.

Over the next couple of days, Levi would go to that library whenever he was available. He knew it was closed on Sunday, so he went Monday and Tuesday to the library. Fortunately, he got his first batch of money from the brats that fried his computer. He received $100. Of course it was not enough, but it was a start. Wednesday the 17th came around. This specific day was a wild card. The weather was unpredictable. Levi entered the library just in time; it had started to downpour. The little bell rang as he entered the library. To his surprise, Hange was not working that day. There was a boy behind the counter who was tall and had a brown bowl cut hairstyle. He almost thought about turning around and leaving when he realized she wasn’t there. The rain charged towards the earth viciously, so he decided to seek shelter in the small library. It almost looked like a hurricane. He felt his mood change into a bad one. He didn’t remember to ask how often she worked.

“Hi there!” The man said. His name tag read “Moblit”. That’s a dumb name.

“I wanna use a computer,” Levi muttered, walking up to the main desk.

“Okay. Name?” Moblit grabbed the clipboard and a pen.

“Levi Ackerman.”

“Oh, I see you’ve been here before. A lot, actually.” Levi scoffed and rolled his eyes at his comment. He turned around, picked a computer, and sat down. He felt really stupid to not ask her about her schedule.

The two hours he spent working on his paper was incredibly slow. He didn’t get much done that day. He had writer’s block. He was almost done, so he didn’t worry about it too much. He didn’t know Hange’s schedule. He knew she worked Friday, the day they met; Saturday; Monday, and Tuesday. Maybe she only worked four times a week? Before he knew it, he asked Moblit aloud. It was almost an accident.

“Uh, she’ll be in on Friday,” Moblit replied. He probably couldn’t give out that information to some creep who began visiting daily with an attitude. He muttered a “thanks” before finishing up and heading out. The weather was holding up for now, so he decided to make a run for it. He didn’t say goodbye to Moblit.

He didn’t have an umbrella. The sun was trying to shine through the dark, eerie clouds. It wasn’t trying hard enough. He heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

Levi realized that this girl was all he thought about the past few days. Something about her enticed him. Something about her eyes and her presence drew him towards her. His heart skipped a beat whenever she’d graze his hand on accident, or even when she just talked to him. She made him happy. He hadn’t had too many friends in college. Although they just met last week, he felt a deep connection with her.

Suddenly, the sun poked through the clouds for a brief moment. The world lit up. It was at that moment he recognized a familiar face. Hange. She was walking towards him. She grinned when she saw him. She wore a fitted black t-shirt and baggy, light blue jeans.

“Levi!” She exclaimed. “I forgot my jacket in the library, so I came down to get it.”

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t working today.” Is all Levi said. Once he said it, he realized how creepy it must’ve sounded. A man she just met happens to go to this library to work on his project every day, who happens to come up with multiple reasons to interact with her. Maybe she thought he was a perv.

“Ehh!” She sighed. “I’m sorry! I thought I told you I was off today.” Levi shook his head. The comment itself may have sounded rude, but it wasn’t. She genuinely felt bad. “Walk with me.” Levi followed. Guess not.

“I don’t work Wednesday’s and Thursday’s. Well I’m not supposed to be,” Hange explained. “Mobilt, one of my co-workers, is always calling out sick. So I basically run the place.” They walked towards the library again and entered.

“Hey, Moblit. How’s it going?” Hange said in a normal tone, heading towards the back of the library. Moblit responded briefly, following Hange. Levi decided to hang back, he figured it was a secure area. He looked around awkwardly.

“Hange, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Moblit said, following her towards the back.

Hange chuckled nervously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said bluntly. “He’s just a friend.” Moblit scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If he’s not your boyfriend, how come his mood entirely changed once he saw you?”

Hange found her jacket, folding it over her forearm. “Huh?”

“He was, like, in a bad mood when he came in. He used the computer but he seemed to be pissed or something. Now that he’s with you, he seems… tolerable.”

Hange laughed, feeling her cheeks blush. “It’s nothing like that. People have bad days, you know.”

Hange rolled her eyes and smirked, then headed towards the front of the library. “Ready?” Levi nodded and turned around.

“See you Friday,” Moblit called out. “See ya.” Hange replied.

The two started walking down the street. The air smelt of rain, and the ground was wet from the rain earlier. “Which building is your dorm in?” Hange asked. He was a bit surprised she asked him that, and she was so direct about it.

“Saint Maria,” He replied. She smiled. “Me too! I can’t believe I haven’t seen you around!” The wind picked up and the sky turned darker than before. They both looked up. “If you can’t make it to the library, you can use my desktop in my dorm room,” Hange offered. Levi’s cheeks turned bright red.

“Thanks, maybe tomorrow I can stop by,” Levi said. It was more of him thinking aloud than a statement. It was too late though, Hange already heard him. He could’ve sworn he didn’t say it aloud.

“That’s fine! I only have a class early tomorrow morning. Come by around 11, okay? My room number is 506.” Levi nodded. Thunder rolled and sounded closer now. They were almost at the dormitory building when it started to downpour. The rain was forcefully coming down on the two. Levi groaned in annoyance. He hated being in the rain. He hated being wet; he hated the wet socks and how gross he felt when it rained. He would’ve started to run to the building to seek cover, but he was taken aback by his new friend.

She was soaked and embracing it. She lifted her head up to face the sky and she laughed. It was loud, happy, genuine, and it took Levi’s breath away. Hange reached her hands out wide and spun around. He saw a strike of lightning light up the sky. He stared at her in awe. His heart swelled. Levi smiled big. After laughing, Hange looked at Levi and shared the look that he wore just a few moments ago. She loved his smile. She wished to make him smile more. She was also determined to make him laugh, too.

She grabbed his hand. “Let’s take cover!” And she pulled him into the dormitory hall. Saint Maria’s hall was beautiful. It had ceiling-to-floor glass pane windows that were always crystal clear. There was a big black modern chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It contained visible light bulbs. Hange secretly loved it. There were the same big, yellow, leather couches in the living room as there were in the study area on his floor. They both wiped their feet off on the big rug in the entryway.

“I love the rain,” Hange deduced, turning her head to look at him. As if Levi couldn’t tell. Her hand was still holding his. Levi looked up at her. “I like it, too.”

#levihan #levi x hange #levi x hanji #levihan fic #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk fic #aot fic #rivahan

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sugoui · 4 years

Text

BTS Reaction ⁙ Getting Touchy On The Ferris Wheel

soui’s note » since it’s the pit of summer, here is another oldie for them summery vibes. bless the anon who helped me remember this, lub u.

» [ click here for my masterlist! ] °˖✧

k i m s e o k j i n ⇀ Throwing his head back, he lets the crisp air of the night seep into the small box belonging to the ferris wheel as he slowly catches his breath. “I can’t put this back on,” your voice perks up, and his eyes glances to the soiled panties bundled up in your hand as you stare to him with flushed cheeks.

He nods, reaching out for the thing and swiftly taking it from you before he shoves it into his pocket, and it isn’t long until you are both getting off the ride. Wide grins are planted onto your lips and as he throws his arm over you shoulder and kisses the top of your head — he notices a group of teens giggling and eying the both of you as they avert their gazes to a tent of monitors..and he is mortified.

Blown up wide for everyone to see, is a picture of you two caught amidst a gleaming quickie among other photographs of people just enjoying the ride, and quickly, he begins to move to the opposite direction. “Hey,” you ask with a confused expression, tugging on his t-shirt as you’re about to look into the direction of your sinful activities, “what’s wrong–“

“God, jagi, don’t look.” He spits, tugging you towards the exit of the carnival, “please.”

m i n y o o n g i ⇀ “Seriously, Yoongi?” You frown the minute the ferris wheel begins to move to let the other passengers aboard the cart below yours, and Yoongi is only pouting as he bites back a viscous grin, “right here?”

And it doesn’t take long before he has you curling up at the tips of his fingers, dress pulled up above your waist as you carefully ride him as to not have the box you were in tragically fall off the wheel, but it was just hard when his fingers were moving aggressively against your clit in a way he only knew how.

You try not to make a sound, and when Yoongi unexpectedly rams into you — the cubicle begins to rock dangerously as it grins with premonition. “Ah—fuck, Yoongi,” you growl, “calm down.”

But he only laughs. “Don’t tell me that didn’t feel good.”

j u n g h o s e o k ⇀ The minute the doors close and the ride began to move, his fingers begins it’s mission to tiptoe around your thigh and under your skirt — and your cheeks flare up in surprise.

“Hoseok,” his name squeakily comes out, “what in the hell are you doing?”

He was jealous, cursing the ticket holder for eyeing your legs and trying to sweep you off your feet as if the hand you clutched didn’t belong to Hoseok. His heart hammered with anger and something akin to longing, and even though he ignored your question due to his rumbling thoughts, it didn’t take you long to crumble before him.

And once the ride took it’s trail to the bottom, he sees the teenager blush and look away in horror as he witnesses Hoseok’s hands kneading your ass while guiding you up his cock, and the older couldn’t help but grin in victory as the wheel whirled you away from prying eyes.

k i m n a m j o o n ⇀ “Wow,” you comment once they close the doors to the cart, “I’m surprised they didn’t let others fill up our slot.”

Namjoon is quiet, heart racing a thousand miles a minute as his mind paints lewd yet invigorating pictures of what he could make happen inside the four glass walls, and as he feels himself harden up, he gulps. “Maybe this is a sign.” He claims, begging to the gods that you’d get the idea before you obliviously glance to him in an innocent manner.

Seconds later with your shorts and underwear scattered across the metal floor, he kneels between your legs as his fingers are knuckle deep inside your pleasure portal, and you are gripping the ripped and tattered plushy seat.

The only thing you could see were neon lights flickering through a dark and cloudy sky once a tongue works away with majestic strokes and swipes as if it were blessing a temple, and before the ride stops at the top to signify your soon departure — your juices sprinkle over the seat.

p a r k j i m i n ⇀ “No,” you whisper harshly, there’s no way that I’m having sex with you on a freaking ferris wheel.”

Yet here you were, sitting on the lap of your boyfriend’s seconds later as his hands rests on the curvature of your hips before they slide up your waist as he hugs you tightly. He is kissing you in a furry to find some kind of closure within the ticking time bomb of the end of the ride, and he tries his hardest to find friction within your clothed core and his dick that is plopped out of his pants, and amidst it all, he pulls away from your lips and laughs.

“What’s wrong with you?” You breathe as Jimin stops, and you feel his finger glide beneath your panty as he smiles brightly.

“It hasn’t even been two minutes since you claimed you wouldn’t do anything,” he begins, flicking your underwear away from your heat, and you soon feel him position himself, “and you’re dripping wet.”

k i m t a e h y u n g ⇀ “(y/n),” you hear, and as you turn away from the scenery of the lit up carnival as the ride slowly moves around, you look to your boyfriend who only looks hot and bothered as he shamelessly glances to the growing bulge in his pants, and you gawk his way.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” You ask as he gives you a cheeky smile, sliding closer to you as his eyes stay glued onto your lips, “this is supposed to be romantic—“

“And it is,” he grunts, fingers sliding beneath your hoodie, “it’s a romantic once in a lifetime experience that we can’t miss.” Your bra is then unclasped, and the grip he has on one of your breasts has the boiling water seeping out of it’s pot between your legs, and you shiver as your hand lands on the sin that lays beneath his pants.

Maybe you didn’t have enough time to mess around on the ferris wheel, but that didn’t keep you two from continuing the touchiness inside the comfort of his car.

j e o n j u n g k o o k ⇀ “Babe,” you hear, and you roll your eyes as you try to enjoy the ride with Taehyung, “sit on my lap.”

Your head snaps to the man in curiosity, and the second you see his dick already hard and standing proudly outside his jeans, you choke. “What the fuck, Jungkook?” You snarl, forgetting about the blinking lights and his best friend who only clears his throat as you become flustered, “are you insane?”

He pouts, “c’mon (y/n),” he whines, and you’re dying inside because seriously, what the hell was he thinking implying you have sex in front of his best friend? And to top it off — on a freaking ferris wheel?

But once the ride stops and all three of you are off, Taehyung is grinning menacingly as he gives Jungkook your polaroid back, and with it, a few aesthetic pictures of you riding your boyfriend like there was no tomorrow. “Thanks for the show,” Taehyung teases, and Jungkook laughs as he watches your mortified state drag yourself back to the car.

“The first and last one you’ll ever get.”

#bts #bts smut #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #hoseok smut #yoongi smut #seokjin smut #bangtan smut #bangtan reactions #bangtan boys #ot7 #bts au

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unknown-internet · 7 months

Text

autumn gloomy days

i remember the look in your eyes

when you asked me

what if this is all you can be; this is

who you are and out of blue

where have you gone?

these gloomy autumn days

are arriving with a shimmer of hope that you might come along

when did everything become so painful?

what life do you have now?

who is laying between your sheets?

i believe your silence means you are happy now.

i used to think of bad words when

you creeped into my mind

but that 3am drunk text you sent this past summer

makes me wonder if you were just chasing a feeling

you once missed

why did you have to think of me

in your loneliest hour?

these gloomy autumn days remind me of a place

that i never saw myself in

they were my loneliest cold days

i was shivering in cold sweat

with a headache that didn't leave for days

and you were around in another place

because you said space is what you needed

i guess that meant avoidant in your language.

in my loneliest hours

i found myself reaching for the phone

to connect with you

in my darkest hours

i found myself in this shit position

in my 3am hours

i found myself crying on the floor

wondering why you were unfair to me

and left me without a response

just the silence of your departure

in those gloomy autumn days echoed in my room.

they say that forgiving is the way to heal

but why have I forgiven you

for a quieter mind

yet you still linger in the vault.

tell me if there is another us

in this whole planet

where we still exist together

where we have kids

in our cozy apartment

in those gloomy autumn days.

maybe in 10 years

we can comeback together

and live the rest of our story

in those gloomy autumn days

or maybe in the next lifetime

you never let me go

and we stay cozy in those

gloomy autumn days.

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hypmic-writings · 4 years

Note

May I request some cloudy winter day fluff headcanons for Fling Posse? Thank youuuuu♡♡♡

━━ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ━━

Pairing: Ramuda Amemura x reader; Gentaro Yumeno x reader; Dice Arisugawa x reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

A/N: Aw man anon, you’re making me miss the winter time! I absolutely love the cold weather and I’m so pumped for the autumn. Wish I could spend winter with Fling Posse that would be so fun. Hope you enjoy~

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Ramuda Amemura

Cloudy? Doesn’t matter! Ramuda would still be down to go out for a winter day walk

loves to hold your hand in his own while keeping his glove on the other hand as the two of you walk in the park

loves to play in the snow and he doesn’t care if you call him a child because he’s going to make the best snowman ever

Ramuda likes to go to bakeries around town during the winter just to drink the sweetest hot cocoa they have with some cake

this usually turns into dates with the two of you eating together

if it’s too cold to be outside, Ramuda doesn’t mind staying indoors

he’s definitely the type to steal your sweaters, so if you don’t want them to go missing, you’ll have to keep an eye on them

or don’t and look at how cute Ramuda looks in your clothes

I headcanon him to be the type that has like 50 pillows and three layers of sheets on his bed (mainly for the aesthetic)

but it helps in the winter when it gets too cold

he’s going to complain that he’s freezing and that you need to cuddle with him to warm him up

will 100% get handsy under the blankets though and when you ask him why his hands are on your chest, he’s just gonna give you a cheeky smile and say that his hands got cold

he’s also definitely the type to run a hot bath and make you join him

it starts off teasing but actually turns out to be super nice and relaxing and you both nearly end up falling asleep

he knitted you a scarf a few years ago and the fact that you still wear it makes him more happy that he’ll ever say out loud

be prepared for him to make you a new one though, especially if the old one is worn out

overall, Ramuda is really creative when finding ways to stay warm and it’s honestly just fun to watch him conjure up winter time activities

Gentaro Yumeno

Winter days with Gentaro are almost magical and remembering them later in the year makes you nostalgic

he always has candles burning in his house, but it’s never a scent that’s too heavy, so the place always just smells lightly fresh and sweet

he claims that it helps him relax and stimulates his brain when he writes

speaking of writing, that’s mainly what Gentaro spends his winter days doing since he says winter is so easy to romanticize that he gets his best ideas during that time

he’ll tell you all the stories he’s writing and sometimes will dramatically reenact them for you

the sounds that fill the apartment in the early morning are those of the ticking of the clock, pen on paper, and rustling of pages

winter days also lend themselves to relaxing with each other, and that’s what Gentaro will want to do with you

he likes it when you bake together, so after you make a pot of tea for him, the two of you would spend the afternoon baking and decorating little cookies

he’ll tease you while you bake though, so be prepared

Gentaro doesn’t mind the cold, and you’ve found that it actually makes him a bit more clingy than usual

throughout the day Gentaro will be touching you in small ways - resting his foot on yours while he writes, grazing your arm consistently while you cook, and playing with your hair every now and then

you would spend the rest of the night enjoying each other’s company either reading or talking or watching something until it gets dark

he’s going to ask if you want to lay with him for a bit, and he’ll pull you onto the bed, holding you in his arms as the two of you gaze out at the falling snow

every now and then, he’ll kiss the top of your head and run his fingers along your arm lovingly, just to let you know that he’s still there

Dice Arisugawa

Dice isn’t too fond of the cold weather, but he can admire the winter for the perks - his favorite being cuddling under the blankets with you

if he had it his way, he would be snuggled in bed with you for the whole day drifting in and out of sleep and never having to face the cold

unfortunately, you would pull him out of bed because it’s your off day and you don’t want to waste the whole day away

you promise to cuddle with him during a nap later in the day and he agrees

once he’s out of bed, Dice won’t actually mind venturing outside for a walk or going to do something fun

he might complain about it a lot, but if you take him ice skating, you’ll be surprised that he’s extremely good at it

he took lessons as a child but he refuses to go into detail about it

if you buy him hot coffee and lunch afterwards, he’s going to spend the rest of the day saying how much he loves and cherishes you

once you get back home though, Dice is determined never to go back outside and only to stay in the warmth of the house

this leads to another cuddle session and the promised nap

after which you decide to make a blanket fort and watch a movie

blanket forts are pretty much annual traditions at this point with Dice and you’ve both become masters at building them

making sure to leave enough room for snacks, aiming the opening towards the TV, putting up fairy lights and balancing the blankets just right so that nothing falls

once you’re all settled, Dice will complain about you being ‘too far away’ until you’re literally either in his arms or on top of him

at which point he’ll give you the largest grin and nuzzle his face into your neck with a happy purr

the two of you would spend the rest of the night happily watching movies and eventually falling asleep in your fort

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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you-turn-it-into-light · 2 years

Text

Keiko - dew (2021) Music Videos Thoughts

Here's that other post on dew's music videos that I sort of promised. There's not a lot to review here, so I'll note my thoughts in dot-point form.

Big thank you to @putschki1969 for providing these videos!

Nobody Knows You

The outfit's cool. Keiko in leather is always a win.

I wish there were more shots of Keiko in the city, the landscape is really pretty. I feel like shots of Keiko including other people also drives the general message of 'nobody knows you and nobody knows me' a bit more. The background is also a lot more interesting than what they chose which is really drab.

I wish they'd kept the ponytail as well.

The camera movements (or lack thereof) are really boring for a more energetic song. I feel like this is going to become a running theme. The spinning shots are rare, most of the shots are static or with very little music.

Filming at night is a great choice for the tone of the song, so why is most of it filmed in the day? I don't get it.

Tooriame (通り雨)

When I watched the preview I thought 'this is pretty, but I hope they don't use these same three shots for the entire music video?' But alas.

The wide shot isn't as saturated as the other two. If you compare the wide shot with the silhouette shot, you can see the silhouette shot is a bit more blue.

The aesthetic of the video is pretty, but watching the shadows move really just makes me imagine someone in the background moving the lights frantically lol.

Keiko isn't very good at lip-synching. This is also a running theme. I think she sung quietly on set, but it looks like she's straight up lip-synching. Her mouth movements match when she sings quietly, but when she you can hear her opening her mouth so the sound is more resonant, her mouth movements visually remain the same. It's jarring.

Latte (ラテ)

Cute. The first outfit is cute and comfy, the hairstyle is really flattering on Keiko. The second outfit... not so much.

I'm not sure what the two Keiko's are supposed to represent, but it's interesting I guess?

Seeing the autofocus kick in sometimes whenever Keiko moves her hand in front of her frame is nice, it gives an authentic and candid quality to the video.

Hachigatsu no Sora (八月の空)

Some of these directing choices confuse me. If the song is supposed to be about or reflecting summer, then why is the sky so dark and cloudy, why is Keiko indoors in this cosy winter house, and why is she wearing something so warm? I get that it was probably cold while this was being made, but there are sunny autumn days to film in you know.

The first line of the song is 'the sky is beautiful', but like it's not??? It's dark and cloudy???

Why a plane??

If there's anything I like, it's the musicality of the editing. It's cute and understated

Genjitsu no Metaphor (現実のメタファー)

For such an energetic song, Keiko sure looks like she's about to fall asleep. I'm not a fan of LiSA, but Keiko should take at least a couple points from her book when it comes to acting in music videos.

Really, this music video is so boring that the only thing I have to say about it is how boring it is.

Kimi ga Nemuru Kara (キミガネムルカラ)

I like the contrast of having Keiko sit on a soft bed surrounded by a creepy warehouse. It fits the vibe of the song in my opinion. Except when she just lies on a piece of fabric on the ground oops

I also like the colour design. It's really pleasing to the eyes but not too overbearing.

Keiko's hairstyle is super cute.

The cinematography(?) is mediocre but at this point I'll take what I can get.

Revolution

The outside setting is gorgeous. I feel like it fits with the 'wide feeling of love' or whatever message this song is giving

Just realised one of the background lines is 'power of love'. Awesome

Despite how much I don't like this song (can you tell?), it's nice to see Keiko being more emotive and expressive.

I kinda like the outfit too, Keiko pulls of leopard print

Lost

What in the world is happening with the autofocus? It keeps just flickering, not enough to get the shot of focus but enough to be noticeable.

I like the way Keiko is framed in each of the shots, it makes her stand out next to the flowers.

I really wish the lighting (other than the scene next to the window) was a bit more dramatic. It's mostly really flat.

I like the different hairstyles, it made me think as if they were different stages of a relationship. But that's just me making things up. Keiko in plaits is cute.

Burn In The Wind

I was yawning by the long unnecessary take until the second outfit appeared and I was like YEEEAH. It's so cute - dunno why that one part of the shirt is tucked in though.

The rest of the music video is business as usual. I like the scenery and I'm glad they decided not to shoot it indoors.

The shots with Keiko I think in the back of a car moving and watching the scenery go by are really nice. It captures the inspirational feeling of the song in my opinion.

Overall:

Most of these music videos are boring. The cinematography is boring. The way Keiko acts is boring. The videos all seem to blend together. I feel like instead of splitting the budget of the album up into making all these boring videos, they should have put it together and made a decent video for one of the songs. Probably for Nobody Knows You, because it's kind of the lead single.

Nevertheless, it was nice to see Keiko in all these cute outfits and I appreciate the work the staff went through to make all these videos.

#keiko #keiko solo career #dew #dew music videos #gifs #text post #long text post #maybe a little bit too negative

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schmokschmok · 3 years

Text

witches are real, and you think this is just a funny fic title

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationship: Martin K. Blackwood x Tim Stoker

Characters: Martin K. Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Danny Stoker

Wordcount: 12,166

Freeform:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

No Fear Entities

Supernatural Elements

Witch & HOH Tim Stoker

Danny Stoker Lives

Halloween

Tim Stoker Deserves Nice Things And I’m Giving Them To Him

Summary:

Martin fakes his way into the Magnus Institute, a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard likes to call it paranormal) encounters. He expects the people working for the institute to be kind of weird but Tim Stoker takes his commitment for a spooky aesthetic to a whole new level.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070366

The thing is: Martin knows what to do with crooked smiles and superficial, flattering words. He knows how to smile politely and stumble through a thank you when someone compliments the jumper he’s wearing, not knowing that he made it himself. He knows how to accept an absentminded nod as gratitude for the tea he’s making every day for the whole archival staff. He knows how to get through a wide array of flirty remarks that concern his appearance, dignity mostly intact. He knows how to smile through a detachedly welcoming nod of a co-worker for years that answers his greeting by name.

The thing he can’t handle, under any circumstances, however, is kindness. Never been good at it, not even as a kid.

He knows his mother had been kind when he had been a child, had brushed and braided his hair every single night and told him fairy tales and stories, she had stayed up with him after nightmares and during thunder storms, had told him she loved him even when he was angry with her. And she hadn’t expected him to love her back, is the thing, hadn’t wanted him to brush her hair or hold her hand or meet every of her stories with one of his own. Maybe that’s why he gives back now, loves her even if she doesn’t love him back, brushes and braids her hair even if she doesn’t want to look at him, tells her stories of his work and the friends he doesn’t have but fabricates just to maybe ease her mind. (And if she doesn’t want him coming back, then he will stop. Kindness, sometimes, is about the things you’re willing to give up for the ones that you love. – On some days she calls him cruel for coming back and coming back and coming back, but she doesn’t tell him to leave, doesn’t tell him to stay away. So, he returns like a record broken, jumping on the same syllable until she stops the needle digging into him.)

His father had been kind, too, he thinks. Had to be to be loved by a woman like his mother once had been. Martin doesn’t remember anymore.

Mostly, the kindness directed his way is about bargaining favours and weighing the things he does against sweet spoken words. Which is alright, he thinks, because giving his last shirt for a sincere thank you has been his modus operandi since his father left. He wants to give and give and if that leaves him curled up on his bed on a Wednesday evening at eight o’clock then it’s just because he’s not strong enough to carry the weight of his own thoughts.

It starts like this: Martin takes up work in the institute with no real credentials to support his curriculum vitae or his claim of knowledge about anything, really, but he’s tired of working minimal wage, of cooking mediocre food late at night for his mother who wants to move out desperately to stop being all on her own in their empty flat, of working three shifts in a row in two different jobs and still struggling to meet ends. Martin’s tired of burning on a borrowed flame, shovelling hollow coals on a dying candle.

So, he’s faking CVs, so many that he loses count of them. He sends them to every job listing he finds, twisting and tweaking the details, staying up late at night on his battered laptop that takes almost five minutes to boot. He shows up to as many interviews as he can manage but he never gets called back in. Until Elias Bouchard phones him on a cloudy day and tells him that he can start working in the library, if he’s able to move to London in the next month that is. He accepts, of course he does. His mother would never forgive him declining the only job offer that would get them to pay their bills on time and pave the way to a nice nursing home where his mother doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Martin moves to London. His mother doesn’t.

He starts working in the Magnus Library which is a capital L kind of library as he gets told on his very first day. It’s a joke, he thinks, a library science master’s joke that he doesn’t get but laughs about anyway. (It’s a Magnus Institute’s joke, but Martin doesn’t know that yet. His hands are full juggling the Dewey Decimal and his customer service smile while looking at the impatient faces of half of the faculty members trying to loan basic material books he hasn’t ever heard the titles of.)

It’s not a secret that he’s incompetent, Martin thinks, they all know it, and no one says anything to his face which is probably meant as kindness but feels like cruelty. Because Martin isn’t daft, Martin isn’t incapable of learning, Martin isn’t unwilling to put every last ounce of himself into being better. But nobody seems to think that he’s important enough to be corrected. They see his misfiled loaning records and his misplaced books, and they say it’s not a problem, don’t worry and they take care of it without offering to teach him any better. And Martin, well, Martin is too embarrassed to ask them how to handle it in the future. He will figure it out, he thinks, in time.

(He’s right, but he doesn’t know that yet. It takes almost a year for him to memorise the layout of the library with its seemingly everchanging bookshelves and corridors. It takes almost one and a half for him to get to know every Library staff member and their preferred way to drink tea. It takes almost two years for him to remember the faces of the faculty members that don’t visit the library regularly. It takes almost three years for him to know that it’s Research and Archives and Library and Artefacts but human resources and accounting and information technology. It’s around the same time that he feels like maybe he’s part of the team now; the same time that his co-workers stop looking at him like he’s a bumbling fool without any skills; the same time that he stops calling his mother every three days or so even though she hasn’t picked up in a long time.)

The very first week that he works in the library is filled with many apologies, too many to keep record, a much and much of awkward apologeticness. A few conversations are held, he gets to know Rosie „the heart of the institute” Martinez and Lydia „from HR” Yılmaz. They are good people and talking to them makes the muscles in his back relax just the tiniest bit, although the panic never stops flaring up in his stomach that, somehow, they will know that he’s a fraud.

It’s the first day of his second week and he feels slightly more prepared because he used every minute of the weekend to pull up every article ever written about the institute and its library. He tried reading published papers, too, but without the institute’s access they’re securely locked behind a paywall he can’t get through without a credit card and loads and loads of money to spare. He snacked on canned peaches while reading about filing systems, but in the end he’s none the wiser.

So, he comes in an hour early and unlocks the front entrance of the institute with his key card. It’s eerily quiet in the dark lobby and hallways leading into the back of the building. The noisiness of the street and the embankment gets swallowed by the thick walls and the closing door behind him and the only thing he can hear is the tapping of his own shoes on the marble floor. It’s a mixture of unsettling and peaceful, but he’s not sure which takes precedence in his sleep addled mind. The unfamiliarity of the cream-coloured walls and the polished, almost black floor makes every shadow move in a way Martin can’t comprehend and he turns to look at them a few times only to realise they’re potted plants or laminated notes hung up next to different door frames. He passes a few glowing exit signs and the door to the stairwell that leads up to the second floor.

When he approaches the entrance to the library, a weight gets lifted from his stomach at the prospect of a light switch he can use to chase out the darkness that slowly gets more unnerving than comforting. Spinning the key card in his hand to keep busy and hold his anxiety at bay, he rounds the last corner and stops dead in his tracks. Because sitting right in front of the door is a person only illuminated by the harsh, cold light of their phone. Right the second Martin loses hold of his key card and it meets the floor with an echoing plasticky sound, their eyes snap up and fixate on Martin.

“Oh, lovely, you’re here,” they say, standing up from their hunched-up position without even touching the floor with their hands. (Martin takes a moment to envy that movement because every time he thinks about sitting down on the floor he has to either make sure something’s in close proximity to help him lift himself up or the ground’s not too dirty, so he doesn’t have to wash his hands right the second he stands upright again.) “I was starting to get worried I’d have to wait another hour for someone to open up.”

“Uh–,” is everything Martin gets out before the stranger picks up his key card and hands it over to him. They smile at him, slightly deranged but without a doubt handsome in a way that makes Martin’s breath catch in his chest. While Martin reaches out carefully to grab the offered card, they say: “Sorry for dropping in unexpectedly and unannounced but Veronica will have my arse if I don’t hand in this follow up today.”

Silence falls over them when Martin doesn’t react in any way and just continues staring at the stranger who keeps staring at him as if Martin should know who Veronica is and how important it is for them to do their follow up. (As if Martin should know what a follow up even is.)

“Tim,” the stranger provides when Martin doesn’t show the slightest inclination to do anything other than, well, stare at them. “I’m working upstairs in Research in Veronica’s team.” They wait for an agonising moment for Martin to return the introduction – which he fails to do, still trying to process that he’s really in an actual conversation with another human being before seven a.m.

“As lovely as it is standing here with you, …” Tim continues, allowing Martin once again to submit his name. Which he fails to do, again, because his mouth feels so dry he’s afraid if he opens it now there won’t come out anything else than a pathetic cough. Tim doesn’t seem too stressed about it. „I really need to go in there,” Tim gestures over their shoulder to the library, “and cross-reference a few things and brush up a few of my foot-notes before it’s time to clock in again. Veronica is really adamant about this follow up laying on her desk at eight thirty sharp.” The manila folder in Tim’s hand gets lifted for emphasis and apparently that’s all Martin needed to get it together and finally move. Without him intending to do so, his lips form a customer service smile that’s been ingrained into his very being from years upon years of working in ice cream shops and pizza restaurants and a movie theatre that’s long gone now.

“Yeah, uh, yeah no problem!”

He steps around Tim and presses his key card against the sensor underneath the door handle. After the soft opening click of the lock, he steps aside to let Tim enter the room behind him and he searches for the light switch with his outstretched arm because he’s pretty sure that one has to be on the wall to his left.

“Thank you, really, you’re doing me a favour, mate,” Tim says and legitimately bows with the biggest grin before he’s off into the depth of the library, swallowed by a shelf Martin could swear hadn’t stood there on Friday when he left.

Finally, he lets go of the door and gets closer to the wall to search with both hands for the switch, until the little finger of his right hand bumps against the hard plastic shell of a set of light switches.

“Gonna be bright for a second,” he warns loudly, unsure if Tim’s even able to hear him or not. Then, after a few seconds, he presses the switch and the lights above his head sputter and blink to life with the solid snugness of old halogen lamps.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness, then he treads over to the counter, rounds it and closes his eyes for just a heartbeat or two. He’s got this. Tim wandering somewhere, hidden behind shelfs, is not going to change the fact that Martin’s got this. His brain, heart and stomach just need to be convinced, that’s okay, he can handle a wee bit anxiety and nervousness.

Without further ado, he pins his name tag to his monochrome button-down (because that’s what adults wear at work) and starts to open the various drawers underneath the counter to catalogue the innards.

There's probably a system, stapler and pen and pencils in one drawer, neatly arranged in a compartment next to sticky notes and paper squares in bright colours and an uncountable amount of paper clips. In the drawer underneath, he finds envelopes, more paper in various shapes and forms and sizes. Another drawer reveals the minute book in which Martin should document Tim’s presence. (Probably? He’s not entirely sure if the minute book is for every research assistant or students only.) Right next to the minute book, Martin can see the keys for every terminal in the library, and a few personal items of his co-workers which should not be in there as far as Martin’s been informed. The last two drawers contain RFID tags, barcodes and printed ID cards. The space reserved for lost and found is surprisingly empty. (Martin thinks he remembers Janette taking everything back into the small storage room in the back on Friday afternoon.)

It takes almost fifteen minutes for him to open and close every drawer (multiple times) and he's still not sure if he memorised the most important things. It's quarter past seven, however, and he couldn’t find a single position plan, which is why Martin steps around the counter and starts to make his way through the maze that is this library. Clipboard and pencil in hand, he outlines the approximate layout of the outer walls and tries to draw in the shelfs he passes, marking them with things like Local History A—V and Ghosts (general) J—Z, scribbling down letters and numbers of the signatures that seem important to him. (He's got a run down last week but the library uses the most arbitrary synthesis of Dewey Decimal and an intern system that the first library staff must have implemented before trying to shove the Dewey Decimal into the small space left.)

Martin's good at making maps, if he's allowed to say so. He can read a map, he can draw a map. (It wouldn't hold up against a professional map but his always worked fine enough.) So, he feels righteous indignation when someone steps into his space, throws a glance on his makeshift map and says: “This isn't accurate, sorry.”

Martin furrows his brow, but the customer service smile is on his lips again before he’s able to will it away.

“Why wouldn't it be?” Martin asks even though he doesn't want to know what Tim has to say. “I mean, yeah, you couldn't do an accurate projection, but it's not meant to be. It's about the order of the shelfs, the signatures.”

“As much as I hate to disappoint you,” Tim says and lets his finger hover half a centimetre above Martin's map, “but the ghost section is three shelfs down to the right next to Russian literature. I walked past it a few seconds ago.”

“Well, the only reason this map says ghost is because I walked past the ghost section,” Martin retorts (and feels very brave about it). The desire to snatch the map away from Tim's finger and hold it close to his chest so that Tim can't spare another look is strong but Martin also knows it's childish and he shouldn't indulge in such impulses.

“Well, Martin,” Tim must have seen Martin's name tag, which is nice because Tim says his name with an exasperated fondness that Martin shouldn't have earned yet and it spares Martin from the mortifying ordeal of introducing himself after his fauxpas this morning, “I don't know if nobody told you but this Library is like the rest of the institute: A big pile of magical bullshit.”

Tim grins and the skin next to their eyes crinkle with mischief as if they're sharing an inside joke with Martin, as if Martin should understand. (And like every other time someone implies or references something Martin doesn't understand or jokes about something Martin doesn't know, he gets this violent urge to scream into the knowingly smiling face in front of him. But he chokes it down, more or less successfully.) And he smiles.

“Don't beat yourself up,” Tim continues, unaware of the wee bit of hatred Martin feels in this very second, “a map won't help but soon enough you'll get the hang of it.” Tim winks. “When I first started using the Library, I swear to you, every single shelf I walked up to was sporting the cryptid selection. Every single one. I stood between two shelfs and it didn't matter in which direction I turned, there it was: The cryptid section.” Tim's eyes don't leave Martin's face for a second, which is kind of unnerving but at the same time strangely reassuring. As if Tim's more than just aware who they're talking to. “This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space.”

Tim laughs again and Martin tries to join in, but it gets caught in his throat. Tim's flittering fingers and Tim's sing-songed “spooky!” only elevate the closed up feeling in Martin's chest and the knuckles on his hand that still holds onto his clipboard turn white in their effort to not drop it.

A quick glance to the watch on Martin's wrist puts a stop to Tim's easy posture and they say: “Fuck, I should really get going. Veronica's still waiting.” Then Tim hesitates and smiles at Martin again. “It was nice to make acquaintance with you, Martin. This won't be the last you'll see of me, but if you every think about going for a drink after work, hit me up. Sam or Rosie should have given you access to the institute's instant messaging system. I think you would get along well with Sasha — she's also in Research — and me.”

Tim shoots Martin a finger gun (which is incidentally the most obnoxious thing Martin has ever had to witness) and strides past Martin towards the library's exit.

And then he's gone like the first soft layer of frost in November after the first rays of sun.

It's quarter to eight and there's not much time until one of his colleagues will try to open up the library, but Martin uses the remaining time to lean against a shelf and stare at the ticking clock on the wall above the counter, trying to will his heart into a slower rhythm not dictated by anxiety or the sudden realisation that Tim had been close and Tim had been beautiful.

And like everything else in Martin's life: He fails.

This could have been the end and Martin's been sure that it would be. When the clock above the counter strikes twelve however and Martin gets ready to leave the library to go down to the in-house cafeteria, the door to the library gets shoved open and Tim stumbles in, closely followed by a no less beautiful stranger who Martin assumes could be Sasha.

“Martin!” Tim exclaims right before they're fist crashes into their chest right above their heart. “Thank the Lord, you're still here!”

The-stranger-who-could-be-Sasha-but-might-not-be rolls their eyes but smiles, before shoving Tim out of their way.

“Ignore him,” they say and turn a smile on Martin, he can't help but answer with one of his own. “He can be a bit …” They make a circle shaped gesture with their rolling wrist in clear search of the right word. So, Martin tries to jump in: “Dramatic?”

“Yes,” maybe!Sasha says at the same time Tim declares: „Oh, please, I have flair that's something entirely else.“

“You're a theatre kid,” maybe!Sasha says, ignoring the dismissive hand Tim waves into their face.

“Martin, you should ignore her,” Tim presses on before maybe!Sasha gets a chance to say anything else. “When I got back to my desk, I realised we never exchanged surnames which are crucial for the instant messenger.” Martin nods, slightly dazed and not at all sure if he understands the importance of Tim’s surname. “So, Tim Stoker.” He bows outlandishly.

“And Sasha James,” maybe-or-rather-definitely-Sasha jumps in, curtsying with the same kind of derisiveness. “Glad to be of service.” She rests her elbow on Tim’s shoulder and leans forward, just the tiniest bit, but it makes Martin feel strangely included. “You want to get lunch with us?”

The smile spreading across Martin’s face feels real, digging into his cheeks and showing dimples he kind of forgot he had. He casts a look at the clock above his head and says: “Yeah, sounds lovely.”

The thing is: Martin is a dreamer, day and night and dusk ‘til dusk ‘til dawn. He likes to think about all the possibilities he will never ever take, the wonderous things he wishes to happen but knows will always remain a fantasy.

When he was a child, he used to dream about his father coming back and apologising to his mother and explaining that it was all just a big misunderstanding, innit, he never would have left willingly, especially not without further notice. Martin would dream up every reasoning in existence, if his father would have come back Martin would have already heard his excuse. He’d just have to wait and find out which one was true.

When he was a teenager, he used to dream about mending the relationship with his mother, of sharing a smile with her instead of directing it at her disapproving or distant face. And he dreamt of a boy without a face but with calloused hands and experienced lips that would come and sweep him off his feet – literally at first, and figuratively when he hit that growth spurt in tenth class.

When he became an adult, he started dreaming about working nine to five and a two-day weekend. He dreamt about working in a café or restaurant and earning enough to sustain his mother and himself. He dreamt that one day he would open up his own place, a small restaurant or a flower shop or a shop selling something with turquoise. And he dreamt that he would meet a man, a nice and good man who would make everything just the tiniest bit more bearable; who Martin would like to be around and who would like to be around Martin. A man not merely tolerating him but seeking his presence.

Martin is a dreamer, but he’s not delusional. Or at least not anymore. The older Martin grew the simpler his dreams became. Now that his income is secure, he dreams about the domesticity of a social network and a warm body next to him when he tries to fall asleep. (And it’s the first time his dreams seem to be within his grasp. As if he can reach for them and cup them in the hollow of his hands. He just has to believe.)

It goes like this: Martin slowly grows desperate because the Magnus library doesn’t make any sense at all. One day Local Myths is on the shelf next to the counter, the next the shelf is empty, and the one after that Martin sees Vampires and Werewolves neatly arrayed on it. It doesn’t make sense, and frankly it makes Martin angry. This is a library for crying out loud, and Martin’s a librarian who can’t even fetch a monograph without getting lost. (Or is he a library assistant? Is Yvonne the only librarian? Everyone in this institute always seems to be an assistant, maybe Elias Bouchard is the only person with an actual degree in here.)

“Is something bugging you?”

A voice comes out of nowhere, causing Martin’s head to snap towards the frowning face of Tim Stoker. It’s been three weeks since their first getting acquainted, and Tim and Sasha drop by at irregular intervals to chit-chat for a bit. At this point, it’s something Martin has come to accept and look forward to but not necessarily expect to happen. Usually, they tell him about their research (it’s creepy and Martin never ever wants to enter artefacts, thank you very much) or their co-workers (including one Jon who Martin is yet to meet but who’s apparently really close with both Sasha and Tim) or the things they did on the weekend (they’re both incredibly busy all the time). But it’s not like they’re self-centered by any means, they ask about him, too. On a normal day, he hates this part of the conversation because he can’t really tell them nice stories about meeting friends and going out of town to kayak or whatever because he spends his time with his mother or home alone with knitting needles either documentaries or heteronormative romcoms queued up. And, let’s be honest, that’s not a compelling story to tell.

Today however Martin’s almost glad someone’s asking him about his mood because he does have an answer: “You were right! My map isn’t accurate. And I don’t get why!”

The startled look on Tim’s face makes Martin realise that he’s a bit loud and his tone is maybe a little aggressive. He ducks his head, heat spreading over his face, and continues in a more dignified manner: “It’s really not that bad. I’m just trying to shelve the returned books. But I can’t find the shelfmarks. It’s a little frustrating, is all.”

He tries to smile through his outburst, but he feels bad almost immediately. It’s not Tim’s responsibility or amicable duty to listen to Martin’s displeased rant, and they don’t know each other well enough for Martin to burden him with unimportant stuff like this. (The thought that Tim seems to be genuinely interested in what Martin has to say and that Tim complains all the time about uncooperative clerks and impossible to keep deadlines which likely means that he would be alright with Martin complaining a teeny-tiny bit crosses Martin’s mind but he tries not to dwell on it. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he would be mistaken.)

“You’ve been here for, what,” Tim says, his index finger tapping against his chin, a questioning look on his face, “like, a month?” Martin nods. “It’s absolutely normal to get confused. Like I told you: This Library is more a Feeling than an organised space. You can’t go about it with logic.” At this, he shrugs dismissively. “After that Cryptid incident, I literally brought my pendulum to work just to locate the sections I was looking for. And guess what, the Library didn’t care. It sent me running around the shelves nonetheless.”

Martin can’t help himself, his face scrunches up in a grimace. He should have anticipated weird antics when he first started working here, the Magnus Institute is a research and archiving facility for magical and supernatural (or as Elias Bouchard calls it paranormal) encounters. But Tim had seemed like a normal guy.

Quickly, he schools his expression into a more neutral one, before he says: “No offence, really, I hope I’m not intruding but using a pendulum seems kind of, well, esoteric?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he feels awful. Who raised Martin to be this impolite? Certainly not his mother. So he tries to backtrack: “I– I mean, I don’t want to impose or, uh, ascribe something to you or, or invalidate you.”

“It’s okay,” Tim interrupts him with a smile. He doesn’t seem mad. “I’m a witch, so everything I do is kinda esoteric. Can’t hold that against you.”

The wolfishness of Tim’s grin makes Martin think that this is an inside joke, too. Or, oh no, maybe it’s Tim’s religion and Martin’s a real jackass about it. Is witch a religious term? He has heard about wicca and druidism, but he has no idea if they call themselves witches. He doesn’t want to disrespect Tim or his belief system, but he also wants to know. Is it disrespectful to ask Tim about his religion? Martin wouldn’t do it if they didn’t know each other, but their friends (somewhat, kind of) and asking as a friend is more considerate than intrusive, right? (Or is he just rationalising and justifying his own curiosity, while masking it as attentiveness? Is Martin overthinking this?)

“So,” Martin starts and it’s an out of body experience where he sees himself driving against a wall without the chance to stop himself, “does that mean you’re wiccan?” He bites his tongue, waiting for Tim to tell him he’s an insensitive twat.

“Oh, no. I’m agnostic,” Tim replies, still wearing the same expression of content and reassurance.

For a moment, they’re both quiet. Tim leans against the counter, his elbows on the surface and his face almost in Martin’s space. It could be unpleasant, but he rather likes Tim’s complete disregard of personal space. (In part because he has seen Tim interact with Rosie who dislikes physical touch to a stark extreme in a respectful way, always keeping his distance. He knows if he ever were uncomfortable Tim would back off. And that’s reassuring in its own way.)

“Give yourself some time,” Tim says eventually. “Let the Library get to know you.”

“You talk about the library as if it were conscious.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” Tim chuckles. “Yeah, I do.” He sighs and straightens his back. “It’s not, though, so don’t worry.” The way Tim says it, though, makes Martin think that this is not the whole truth. That there is something Tim’s not telling him. But it’s not Martin’s place to inquire further, he thinks. There’s definitely a plausible explanation for all this, Tim just likes to pull his pigtails.

“Shouldn’t you be out today?” Martin asks to change the topic and feels incredibly rude at the same time. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s still quarter an hour to lunch.”

“Came back earlier than expected and thought I could mob you ‘til twelve and kidnap you for a lunch date,” Tim replies so nonchalantly, warmth spreads across Martin’s face and he attempts to swallow down the laugh that wants to escape – but he fails. (He has never been mobbed, and even though Tim doesn’t think of this as a date date, Martin wants to indulge in that thought. At least for a moment.)

“I think,” he says slowly, and a little bit mischievously, “I could take my break early today.”

The thing is: Even though Martin thought Sasha and Tim would grow bored of him sooner or later, they don’t. They stop at his desk when they use the library for their research, they pick him up sometimes for lunch or ask him to meet them outside if they’re doing field work. Martin gets roped into pub nights and trivia quizzes, Sasha takes him to her pottery class and Tim invites him to a poetry slam where his brother performs. (This is remarkable because of two things: First and foremost, because Martin has never been invited to meet family members of anyone except for the parents of a few classmates when he stayed for lunch. And secondly, because Tim and Danny are as close as brothers can be, and it feels like a seal of approval – or as if Tim needed Danny to approve of Martin before he could spend more time with him. Martin’s not sure which way round it is.)

It goes like this: Despite the cool September night air, Martin is way too warm in his thick knitted jumper. He runs hot, always has been, but today is not the day he wants to be soaked in sweat just by existing. (Truth be told, he never really wants to be this warm, but there are at least times where he doesn’t mind as much. Meeting Danny Stoker for the first time is not one of those times. But he’s also pretty sure that he can’t take off his jumper because he’s been too hot for too long at this point. Tonight’s going to be fun and he just needs to power through.)

Martin tries not to shift his weight from one foot to the other too often, instead he’s focusing on the way the soles of his shoes line up with the asphalt of the pavement and ground him. He counts his breaths, his hands burrowed deep inside the pockets of his trousers. He can absolutely do this, he has known Tim for a few weeks now and he doesn’t think Tim would introduce Danny and him if he’d think they wouldn’t get along. (This may be more of wishful thinking though.)

A small part of him wishes, Sasha would come too, to ease the tension in his shoulders and uncoil the knots in his stomach. But she's with her family, celebrating the birthday of one of her cousins, and the text she sent him a few hours ago sits in their chat, mourning her absence and telling him to enjoy Danny's performance, it will likely be one of a kind.

Right when he seriously starts contemplating to go home again and fake a stomach bug, Tim rounds the corner with a man just a few years younger than him who looks like a referenceless, free-hand drawing of Tim. Which isn't a bad thing, by any means, just noticeable in how alike they look, just different enough to not be mistaken for each other.

When Tim's gaze falls upon Martin, his face splits into a wide grin and he waves enthusiastically, almost smacking Danny in his face in the process. This causes Danny to look directly at him, too, and his eyebrows shoot up while grinning almost half as wide as Tim. (If there had been any kind of doubt about them being brothers, now there weren’t.) Danny turns his head slightly and nudges Tim with his elbow. When Tim turns to look at him, Danny says something to him, moving his hands in unison, that makes Tim stop grinning for a second and start furrowing his brow. It doesn't last long, only three or four steps, then he looks at Martin again and his face softens. (Martin desperately wants to know what Danny said because people looking at Martin and whispering usually means something bad. And if Danny already wants to make fun of him, then Martin needs to go. Immediately.)

“You came!”

While Martin was still weighing his options, measuring staying, but anxiously against going, but anxiously, Tim and Danny have come into earshot. And Tim sounds pleasantly surprised as if he had been unsure if Martin would come.

They come to a halt in front of Martin and Tim pulls Martin in for a quick hug, which isn't a surprise per se but still unexpected. Subsequently, he turns towards Danny and introduces them. (He says this is my friend Martin, I told you about him. He says friend, not co-worker. Which, yes. They're friends but it's still new and nice and positively overwhelming to hear him say it out loud.)

“Hey,” Danny says, his smile unwavering. He's either a good actor or doesn't hate Martin on sight; at this point, Martin gladly takes both over open hostility. "Tim told me so much about you. I'm really pleased to make your acquaintance." He pauses to make room for Martin returning the sentiment. (Which he does, thank you very much, just because he's a useless gay around beautiful men and can't handle surprise small talk at arse o'clock, doesn't mean he can't hold a conversation.) “I gotta be honest with you, mate, I need your help tonight. This is my first slam and Tim’s a shit critic. I need some real feedback.”

A reassuring smile takes over Martin's features because, of course, Danny is nervous. Martin would be, too, he supposes. The thing Danny had said had probably nothing to do with Martin per se and everything with meeting someone for the first time at his first performance. (And maybe his only if Sasha is right.) However, before he can retort in any way, Tim jumps in: “Danny, bro, Martin is probably the last person you should ask to tell you how awful your skid is. You didn't practice it once and he’s a nice guy.”

“Well,” Danny replies, mischief in his eyes and a mocking tilt in his voice, “I'm just gonna wing it.”

“You're lucky, you're a Stoker.”

“You're just jealous because you didn't inherit that gen,” Danny shoots back before turning to Martin and stage-whispering: “Everyone always thinks that Tim is naturally gifted and everything comes to him easily. But in reality, he has to learn things and work for them. Embarrassing, right?”

Getting roped into friendly, brotherly banter. That's good! That's involvement in a good and workmanlike manner! And, actually, way out of Martin's comfort zone right now. (Is this a test? Is Danny teasing Tim in front of Martin to see if Martin jumps in and practically stabs Tim right in the back? Or does he want Martin to disagree with him and stand in solidarity with Tim? Or is Martin’s brain just overreacting like, well, always?)

“You’re embarrassing him,” Tim accuses Danny, before shoving at him and laughing. It’s obvious he doesn’t mind Danny teasing him or Martin, because it’s good natured. (Or at least Martin wants it to be. He desperately wants it to be.)

“No, I’m honest with him,” Danny retorts, before shoving Tim back which causes him to almost crash into Martin. “Someone needs to take you down a peg or two. Once in a while at least.” He grins and it’s more on the boyish side.

“I think Sasha’s doing a good job keeping Tim in check,” Martin interjects bravely. With every second in their presence, the fists in his pockets lose a speck of tension and Martin can feel his nails easing out of the heel of his hand. He feels weird being the only one neither knowing nor using sign language while talking but he’s thankful that they’re including him, talking loud enough for him to hear. (It’s a whole new side of Tim Martin has never seen before, it’s nice. Very nice, actually.)

“I love Sasha,” Danny sighs wistfully, batting his eyes. Before Tim slings his arm around Danny’s neck and pulls him in, he says: “We’ve been through this, Sasha’s way out of your league.” (And probably aro, Martin thinks, if the small pride flag pin Martin spotted on Sasha’s satchel bag is any indication.)

“Yeah,” Danny says. “True.” Then his eyes fall on the clock inside the display window of a chemist on the other side of the street. “We should head in.”

They make their way into the pub, through a small crowd consisting mostly of people in their twenties and thirties, milling and chatting in wait for the poetry slam to begin. Danny makes a beeline for a bar table, even though multiple tables with chairs and benches are empty. Martin wants to point out that he doesn’t think standing for multiple hours is something he wants to do, but right when he decides that he can at least try, Tim grabs Danny’s arm and steers him toward a round table with four chairs at the back of the room.

“You won’t make me stand through your performance,” Tim proclaims loudly, then he sits down and pats the seat of the chair next to his. Demonstratively, Danny sits down on Tim’s other side – closest to the stage – and Martin rounds the table to sit next to Tim. While Tim and Danny shrug off their coats, Martin once again regrets his choice of clothing. (Maybe a beer or two into the evening will ease his nerves enough to pull off his jumper. Now he takes a deep breath and focuses on the soft chattering of the crowd.)

Underneath their coats, matching shirts come to light. An Aegean blue with white lettering, a loopy script proclaiming bestoked with the tiny caricature of a witch with a pointy hat on a broomstick. Below that, Martin recognises small print that reads: Witches are real, and you think this is just a funny t-shirt slogan. He chuckles.

Tim makes a questioning hmm-sound and Martin points at their shirts, saying: “It’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Danny replies, exchanging looks with Tim. “Sasha made them for us.”

“Why witches?” Martin asks. Opposed to standing outside having to face both of them, sitting next to Tim puts Martin at ease. (It feels more organic sitting alongside Tim. Most of the time when they head out together, they sit on one bench with Sasha on the other side of the table. This is almost the same, Martin tries to reason, Danny is just another Sasha. A person Tim loves and wants him to like, too. No big deal.) “Isn’t Bram Stoker known for Dracula?”

“Yeah, he is,” Danny says with a shrug and Tim adds: “Our name’s Stoker and we’re witches. It’s pretty niche but most people think it’s funny.”

Martin tilts his head in confusion, he opens his mouth through an irritated smile. Before he can actually speak though, someone on the makeshift stage steps up to the microphone and welcomes the crowd to the pub’s bi-monthly poetry slam.

“First up: Gerry with their poem osedax!”

The crowd claps and their conversation is completely forgotten. They listen to Gerry describing a life under water and a life dependent on death. It’s a bit early for spooky Halloween vibes but Martin thinks it’s probably a metaphor for Gerry’s life that’s beyond Martin to understand. (He loves poetry, writes his own in his spare time, but he’s not big on interpreting poems outside of his own limited world view. He likes reading poetry, imagining the lives inspiring the words, and applying them to his own situation. Seeing someone putting their innards on display for dozens of strangers to see, is something entirely different. It feels like trespassing, somehow, trespassing into the soul of another human being. Martin decides that he hates it here.)

Gerry concludes their poem with ragged breathing and closed eyes. For a moment, the pub is silent. Then applause rings out and Tim leans toward Martin and whispers loudly: “Gerry is the one who put the bee into Danny’s bonnet that performing here would be a good idea.”

Danny shushes Tim, swatting at him without looking. Absentmindedly, he says: “It is a good idea, though.”

Martin doesn’t say anything, while watching Gerry retreat from the stage and head back to a group at the long side of the room. They congratulate Gerry, and Martin thinks (for just one measly second) how it would feel to perform one of his own poems. One about his mother or the alienation he felt his whole life. But he’s not a word magician like Gerry, he doesn’t have plausible deniability for the things he talks about. His poetry is descriptive and more of an endeavour to capture a feeling than an analogy in form of a convoluted metaphor.

Next up is someone talking about a hamster. Martin senses a theme.

Tim and Danny stare intensely at the stage, absorbing each and every word being said. And Martin’s torn between getting up and buying drinks, and waiting quietly until the poem is over. He’s unsure about the custom. If it would be impolite to talk during the performance.

In the end, however, it doesn’t matter. They end their poem and thank the audience before they leave the stage. Martin leans into Tim’s space (a bit like Tim would do with him in this situation), his shoulder lining up with Tim’s and when Tim turns around he whispers: “I’m gonna get drinks. Can I get you something?”

“We can just get a pitcher,” Tim whispers back, before checking in with Danny: “You’re not up next, right?” Danny shakes his head and Martin gets up to get them a pitcher and three glasses. (He takes the opportunity to breathe in and out a few times. He thought they would talk more. That Danny and he would have to interact more. But, apparently, Tim and Danny are really into poetry slam and don’t want to disrespect the artists. Which is, well, nice. Considerate. And, yes, he shouldn’t be surprised about that.)

Martin orders a pitcher and pays right up, then he tries to balance the three glasses and the pitcher through the crowd back to their table. He puts everything down and almost misses the staff member announcing Danny’s performance. Lost Johns’ Cave.

With a spring in his step, Danny stands up, makes his way to the stage and takes his place behind the microphone. A small smile on his lips, he clears his throat and starts speaking: “So, John was lost and so was I.”

He pauses.

“It’s a fact and everybody knows that John got lost in this cave. It’s a deep cave, a dark cave, a cave that swallowed us up like a ravenous, soft-teethed beast. It starts with a slope, grainy and wet, and there’s only one way, so it’s impossible to get lost, even though John did.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“John was lost and so was I. I don’t know where he went, and I didn’t come to look, but one moment Kadir and Aylin where there and the next they were not. I didn’t reach the chockstone, I didn’t reach the climb. Three hundred and seventy-five feet and I was lost as John in his cave.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. While he spoke, Martin’s sure he could recognise the spelling of John, but Danny doesn’t spell Kadir or Aylin or at least Martin’s not able to spot it.

“John was lost and so was I. Seconds after minutes after hours after years, no climb in sight, just the steady flow of the stream and my hitching breath. It should stop sometime, I thought, it should give way down to his cave and I will not be a John. Because John was lost and I won’t be.”

He pauses again, a heartbeat or two longer than before.

“John was lost and so was I. No measuring of my position with a pendulum, no signal for my phone, no chance to be heard through the thick walls of the cave. The rush of the stream died down albeit the map depicting the stream and the slope correspondent.”

The air of the pub is filled with suspense and eerily quiet for a crowd as large as this one.

“John was lost and so was I. Limestone encased me and silence took over.”

Danny stops speaking, one and a half minutes gone. If Martin’s right, Danny has three minutes and fifteen seconds left. Every other contestant spoke for about five minutes, so Danny has plenty of time left. But he doesn’t say a thing. Seconds tick by and Martin gets squeamish in his seat. He glances towards Tim, but Tim seems unwound and relaxed. As if it were to be expected of Danny to pull something like this.

Danny remains silent, and Martin uses the tense atmosphere and the quiet audience to take an unnoticed look at Tim and Danny. They really do look alike. They share the same thick, expressive eyebrows, same dark brown hair and eyes, the same sharp jawlines. But Tim is soft around the edges, he doesn’t look as muscular as he is, his tummy rolling underneath his Aegean blue shirt. Up close like this, Martin can see the hearing aid Tim is wearing, and the moles that scatter across the slope of his neck. Especially the two moles that rest approximately half a centimetre wide of his tragus.

So preoccupied with Tim’s, well, beauty, Martin almost misses Danny moving on stage. He extends his right fist, before he opens it, while dropping it a few centimetres. At the same time, he mouths something that could be the word drop but Martin’s not sure because he can’t read lips. Then Danny spreads the fingers of his left hand, holding it flat and vertically aligned in a hundred-twenty-degree angle to his upper body. His right hand is spread in the same way and he moves it towards his left hand. When the pads of his fingers connect to the palm of his left hand, he lets his hand bounce back. The movements of his right hand two sides of an equilateral triangle. Again, he mouths something and if Martin would have to guess he’d say it was echo.

By minute three, Danny has been silent for one and a half minutes and has been through two repeats of the two words. (In all honesty, Martin is surprised that the crowd still watches Danny. That they hang onto his lips like a drop of water at the rim of a cup.)

Then he starts speaking again: “John was lost and so was I. I entered his cave and I got off the right path, I fell into darkness and somehow I came back. I’m not one of the Johns, I’m a Joey deep down. Because John was lost but I am found.”

A smile tugs at Danny’s lips, then, after a moment, he bows outlandishly (in an unbelievably tim-ish way) and says: “Thank you.” Then he leaves the stage in a beeline towards their table, while the audience starts to clap hesitantly.

When Danny sits down at their table again, Tim and he exchange a few quiet sentences. (In most circumstances this would make Martin’s anxiety spike up again, but to his own surprise it doesn’t. It’s just nice to see Tim interacting with his brother. Martin doesn’t have to be included to feel like he’s part of this.)

Martin takes a sip from his drink and throws a glance at the stage. After Danny there are still four people left. The performances are about existential fatigue, about childhood fears and dreams, and (in one memorable instant) about an imaginary soap opera the poetry slammer claims to watch in their head.

When the poetry slam is finally over, Danny grins at Martin and asks: “So, comments or questions?”

“Impromptu interpretation is not my strong suit,” Martin tries to escape the discussion of Danny’s depression? Outing? He’s not lying, he can’t interpret something like this in a few minutes. Especially not while looking right into Danny’s face. “I’m not sure what the cave is a metaphor for.” His tone is apologetic, but Danny laughs startled and says: “It’s not a metaphor. I literally got lost in a cave.”

“Oh,” Martin blurts out. “Well, then … I’m not an expert by any means. But I think it was pretty good, very compelling.” His ears are burning and the coldness of his drink seeps into the palms of his hands, contrasting the warmness in every fibre of his body.

Danny grins and says: “I like him.”

“Yeah, I do, too,” Tim affirms. His smile, however, is more delicate than Danny’s. (And Martin doesn’t want to think about the possibility that Tim likes him, too. Likes likes him. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he didn’t only acquire a job three months ago but friends, too. It shouldn’t matter that Tim is nice to him, because Tim is nice to everyone. Martin isn’t special.)

The thing is: Tim is so very nice. Nice in a way no one has ever been nice to Martin. He’s nice unconditionally, doesn’t wink suggestively at Martin when he hands him a cup of tea exactly the way Martin likes, doesn’t expect Martin to do anything in turn when he lays his hand on Martin’s shoulder in a silent display of support or affection, doesn’t want him to say thank you and how much do I owe you whenever he brings lunch in that he cooked himself, enough to share it with Martin and Sasha and even Jon, if he would ever want to. Tim’s nice and considerate and most people don’t seem to see it. They take Tim’s jokes and pop-culture references as a demonstration of his whole personality, take in the beauty of his face and simmer it down to the essence of his existence.

Tim is beautiful and he is funny, Martin’s the last to argue with that. But Tim is more, Tim is beyond, Tim is the soft are you alright when Martin must step out for a second after a reprimand from an assistant, Tim is the curious no, I want to know what you think about it, Tim is the reassuring you’ve got this and the understanding and if you don’t, I’m still here. Tim is every post-it note on Martin’s desk that says delighted to see you here and you look nice today and take time for yourself.

Tim is so very nice without even trying that Martin can’t help himself but fall in love with him. Embarrassing, right?

It ends like this: Martin doesn’t argue with Tim about his insistence that he’s a witch, because: Who’s Martin to deny Tim anything at all. Yes, he would like to know more about Tim as a person and about the things he does on weekends and, yes, getting cryptic answers like hanging out with the coven is a bit frustrating, but Martin also must confess that he admires Tim dedication.

It’s almost Halloween and since the start of October, Tim has been wearing a pointy hat to work. Which is kind of ridiculous but endearing at the same time because Sasha assures Martin that Danny does it too and that they do it every year in October. (It’s not one of his finer moments, it’s true, but he couldn’t help himself asking Sasha is this is some kind of meme. A Stoker inside gag that everyone is in on, but Sasha just smiles at him and says: “Oh, Martin, love, no. It’s not a meme.”)

When Martin asks him about the hat, Tim tilts his head in mild confusion and replies: “I’m a witch, Martin. Witches wear pointy hats.”

And Martin who’s got enough practice now dealing with Tim’s antics, retorts: “No, I mean, yes, I know, I mean: You didn’t wear it in the summer, why?”

“Usually, I wear my hat to rituals and stuff because channelling energy is way easier with a hat. But in October my coven wears it to let the spirits and the fair folk know they shouldn’t fuck around with us,” Tim explains. And Martin looks him dead into his eyes and says: “Makes sense.”

Three days before Halloween (or Mischief Night as Tim likes to call it), Tim drops off a bottle of essential oil at Martin’s desk. Before Martin can ask about it, Tim says: “I brought you essential oils for your headache.”

“Because,” Martin starts and stops hesitantly, wondering when he mentioned his headaches in front of Tim, without coming up with an answer, “you’re a witch.”

Tim nods, adding however: “But, you know, essential oils don’t need magic to work.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, for the simple reason that he doesn’t know what else to say. This is getting ridiculous, but he doesn’t want to be the buzzkill. He wants to be Tim’s friend (or date, despite the whole witch-thing) and friends are supportive of each other! Friends don’t judge you for your oddities.

Tim changes the topic: “Do you have anything planned for Mischief Night?” Martin shakes his head. “Then I would like to formally invite you to celebrate Mischief Night with me.”

“Wouldn’t a formal invite require an invitation card?” Martin asks back, propping his chin up on his hand, a curious tilt in his voice.

“I’ll get to that,” Tim replies, while he suppresses a smile that threatens to take over his face. “So, it’s a date?”

Martin closes his eyes, short enough to be mistaken with a blink, and says: “Yeah, it’s a date.” The aching in his chest makes him wish Tim would be a little less nice and a little more without ambiguity. Even though he wants it to be a romantic date, this is just a friendly outing with a guy claiming to be a witch.

Fortunately, Mischief Night (or Halloween as everyone else seems to call it) is a Saturday, which means that Tim can pick Martin up at his flat in Stockwell. Neither Tim nor Martin own a car, but Tim borrowed Danny’s well-loved VW Beetle and it’s only about thirty-seven kilometres until they reach Bocketts Farm.

Martin’s glad the midday fog has eased up, and the sun warms the skin on his forearms, since he rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. Tim is right beside him, his pointy hat decorated with probably fake cobwebs.

“I’m a bit disappointed you didn’t pick me up on your broomstick,” Martin says when they walk through the entrance of the farm. Despite the slight fear that Tim will take offence and abandon him on this farm, he feels comfortable enough to make a joke like this. He thinks he knows Tim well enough to know that Tim would tell him if he were overstepping any boundaries.

Tim’s answer is a little more defensive than Martin anticipated: “Flying is hard, okay. Usually, I ride shotgun.”

Martin gapes, for lack of a better word, and almost walks into a fencepost if it weren’t for Tim pulling him aside. Instead of letting go of Martin’s arm, Tim threads his own through and links them in the most casual way Martin has ever seen. This is nice. (Tim is nice.)

“What do you want to do first?” Tim inquires when Martin doesn’t say anything else. “I personally am inclined to start with apple-bobbing.” He points to a small group of people around a water filled barrel. Martin makes a noncommittal sound, shrugging his shoulders at the same time, and Tim steers him softly towards the event.

“Supposedly, the barrel symbolises the cauldron of rebirth,” Tim says while they walk the remaining distance. Martin casts a look in his direction. He’s a bit preoccupied with the thought that Tim wants him to stick his head into ice cold water to fish for an apple with his teeth, so he only says: “Makes sense.” Even though he’s not sure in what way rebirth is connected to divining the first letter of your future spouse’s name.

When they come to a halt in front of the barrel, it doesn’t take long until they have their turn. Tim yields to Martin and he sighs before he steps up the barrel, takes a deep breath and dives in. The water is freezing, tiny pinpricks on Martin’s skin, and it’s really, really hard to actually get his teeth on an apple because every time he touches on, it submerges and sideslips. (It’s frustrating. Like shelving books in the Magnus library is frustrating. He knows he got it right but in reality he doesn’t.)

It takes forever or at least it feels like forever, his face in cold water and his fingers in Tim’s hand. (Wait, when did Tim grab his hand? Did he grab Tim’s hand? Oh, he must have sometime between their arrival at the barrel and his endeavour to bob for an apple.) But then he catches a small one between his teeth and gets out of the water as fast as possible. Tim lets out a loud whistle and his free hand pats Martin’s shoulder in congratulation. Whereas Martin’s free hand gets rid of the water in his face and pulls the apple out of his mouth.

“This is terrible,” he says through a chuckle because he can’t be mad with the sun shining into his face like it’s late summer and not autumn. “It’s your turn.”

Martin has to let go of Tim’s hand because a member of staff hands a knife to him and he starts peeling the apple in one unbroken strip.

Apparently, Tim’s either more practiced in apple-bobbing or he’s really a witch and helped himself along with magic, because it takes him not nearly as long as Martin to catch an apple. He waits for Martin to finish peeling his apple and relieves Martin of the knife.

“You have to throw it over your left shoulder,” Tim explains earnestly. “It’s the side of the heart. It won’t work otherwise.”

“Makes sense,” Martin says, and it kind of does. Still he waits for Tim to finish peeling his own apple. Then they hand back the knife and stand side by side, throwing the peel on the count of three over their left shoulders.

“It looks like a T,” Tim says, when he catches sight of Martin’s apple peel, tapping the tip of his index finger against his chin.

Martin laughs, he's not entirely sure why but he can't stop himself. He replies: “It looks like a C, all of them look like Cs. And if they don’t, then they look like Os.” He points at Tim’s apple peel. “Look, yours looks like a C, too.”

“It’s just a tad short,” Tim retorts. “See, it started to form a small M but only came around to curve into a small N.” He laughs, too. “The apples have spoken, Martin. We’re destined for each other.”

“Well,” Martin says and he can’t shake the soft warmth that curls underneath his solar plexus, “if the apples say that, it must be right.”

They spend a good few hours on the farm, carving pumpkins and turnips, wandering through the maze and passing by goats and sheep and pigs, before they get to a bon fire Tim wants to sit down at to warm up a bit. The afternoon had been warm, but now that the sun has set cold creeps into their clothes and Tim complains about his between-season jacket. Martin who’s still warm despite the cold breeze gently extends his hand for Tim to hold.

For a few moments they fall quiet, only listening to the cracking of the fire.

But it doesn’t take long for Tim to reach into his pockets to fish for something and bring four conkers to light. He presents them to Martin and says: “Do you want to?” And Martin nods, only in part because Tim could ask anything of him and Martin would gladly do it.

They place their conkers in the flames respectively and when Martin’s first one cracks, Tim questions: “Did you name them?”

Martin shakes his head. Only a moment passes by, then:

“Did you name them?” Martin asks, and he doesn't look at Tim. His eyes are transfixed on the two conkers resting side by side. The left is already cracked. Tim doesn't look at Martin either, but he answers nevertheless: “I named both of them Martin. Didn't want to take the risk.”

And this, precisely, is the instant, Martin realises this could indeed be a date. A date date. A rendezvous Tim has asked him on, waiting for Martin to make a clear step towards him or not.

“Is this a date?” Martin blurts out, finally looking at Tim who ducks his head and blushes. He doesn’t want to sound incredulously, but the sheer ridiculousness of the situation sends his head spinning. A laugh bubbles out of his chest before he can stop it. “Tim, is this a date?”

“Well,” Tim starts and has the audacity to sound something akin to shy, “I thought it was a date. It was implied, I thought I explicitly said it was a date.” His gaze falls onto their joined hands. “I thought you knew we were dating.” Then he pales. “Oh, this is really awkward. I’m sorry.”

Tim attempts to let go of Martin’s hand, but Martin holds onto him.

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Martin says, the laugh still on his tongue. His chest feels lighter than ever and he can’t keep the bright smile off his face. “I wanted this to be a date, honestly. I just didn’t think it could actually be one.”

“Oh, that’s,” Tim clears his throat, finally looking back at Martin’s face, “that’s good. Nice. Toit.”

“Does this have deeper cultural meaning, too?” Martin asks after sitting between stacks of hay on top of a wagon. He’s not sure if he’s a tiny bit sarcastic or if he finally accepted Tim’s commitment for his aesthetic.

“No,” Tim replies, while he sits down cross-legged next to Martin. “I just think hayrides are neat.”

“I’ve never been on a hayride before,” Martin says, before he moves closer to Tim, so that his thigh slots underneath Tim’s knee. “It’s kind of romantic.”

“Is it?” Tim teases, leaning into Martin’s space with ease. “I didn’t notice.” Then he pauses for a second, his eyes flicking down to Martin’s lips. “As soon as the tractor starts it won’t be anymore, so if you want to use the magic of hayride romanticism to kiss me, you should do it now.”

Martin moves in closer, too, now he can feel Tim’s breath on his skin. He says: “So, hayrides are magical.” But Tim doesn’t answer him. Instead he closes the remaining distance between them and kisses Martin. (And maybe, only maybe, hayrides are magic.)

Their kiss only lasts for a few seconds before the engine of the tractor starts and the hayride begins. (They’re extremely lucky or magic is involved because they’re alone. The only other option is that hayrides are typically for children and their parents and it’s too late for them to participate. At this point, Martin doesn’t care. He’s surrounded by hay and Tim kissed him.)

Martin laughs breathlessly when they break apart because he catches sight of Tim almost losing his pointy hat due to the jolt of the wagon and says: “You’re right. Romance is dead.”

“My greatest virtue and my greatest curse is always being right,” Tim replies, readjusting the hat on his head. “I’m kind of glad tomorrow is the last day and I can take this thing off afterwards.”

For a second, Martin contemplates saying that Tim doesn’t have to wear it now. That if his aesthetic gets in the way of his everyday life, it’s alright to break out. But he doesn’t. Because this is nice, and he won’t tell Tim what to do. If Tim wants to wear a pointy hat, Tim gets to wear a pointy hat.

In search of changing the topic, Martin looks around the wagon and his gaze falls onto a small lantern at the back of the wagon. It’s supposed to be lit so that crossing folks can see the wagon; like the backlights of a bicycle or car. The lid isn’t fully shut, though, and the steady breeze of the moving wagon has extinguished the flame.

Martin pats his pockets from the outside, before he turns to Tim: “Do you have a lighter?”

Unfortunately, Tim shakes his head. More unfortunately, he says: “Doesn’t matter.” Then he leans forward, opening the lid fully and reaching into the lantern. The tip of his finger connects with the wick of the candle and by the time he pulls it back, the wick ignites and a small flame flickers to life.

Martin, once again, gapes. This is magic, Tim is a witch, Tim is a witch, o my fucking god.

“What?” Tim asks as he sits back down next to Martin.

“You’re a witch,” Martin says, and to his own surprise without the exact amount of disbelief he feels. “This is magic and you’re a witch.”

Tim smiles through his irritation and ripostes: “Martin, dear, I told you I’m a witch.”

“Yeah,” Martin responds and maybe he sounds as hysterical as he is, but this is ridiculous, “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“What did you think I meant every time I told you I was out with my coven?” Tim inquires bewildered, and everything about his demeanour suggests that he’s going to burst into laughter at any given moment.

“Honest?” Martin doesn’t wait for Tim to answer. “With all the essential oils I kinda thought it was a MLM.”

Tim furrows his eyebrows, the laughter dying on his tongue. They stare at each other and Tim says slowly: “My coven is not a group of Marxists who Love Marketing.” He stops dead in his tracks. “Men Loving Marketing?” Tim screws up his eyes. “I don’t know if you’re insinuating that I love men, that I’m a comrade or part of a pyramid scheme.” Before Martin can interject something, Tim says: “I’m working for the Magnus Institute, so where’s the lie?”

He pauses, then he says: “Witches are real, and you thought this is just a funny multilevel marketing meme.”

This breaks something lose in Martin and he honest to God starts giggling: “You’re terrible. Do you know that?”

“I’m doing my best,” Tim retorts, laughing as well.

After their laughter dies away, Martin says: “Is this why you said the institute is one pile of magical bullshit?” He thinks better of it. “Is this why you said the library isn’t conscious? Is it a witch who’s rearranging the shelves?”

It takes a moment for Tim to answer: “No, it’s a ghost.”

“A ghost is rearranging the shelves,” Martin repeats. “Okay, alright, sure. A ghost. Is there something else I should know about?”

“I don’t think so. His name is Jürgen, he died in the tunnels underneath the Institute and thinks it’s really funny to fuck with us.” Tim grabs Martin’s hand again. “You can talk to him and tell him to fuck off, though. Sometimes it works.”

Martin makes a noncommittal sound and lays his head on Tim’s shoulder even though their shoulders line up and it’s incredibly uncomfortable. This is weird and this is nice and they will have to talk about this, but their ride is almost over and Martin wants to bask for a few precious minutes in Tim’s silent company before they have to get off and head back.

Tim draws nonsensical shapes on the back of Martin’s hand with his thumb, and Martin feels content and warm and perhaps a little bewitched.

Before the ride ends, Martin asks: “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Tim says hesitantly, “we’re going to celebrate All Hallow’s Day. My coven’s going to light a fire to ward off evil spirits and ghosts. The ashes of All Hallow’s fire keep calamity at bay and we use it for augury.” He sounds apologetic. “But I could come by afterwards.”

And it’s the first time, Martin doesn’t hesitate or feels that his words are tinged with an exasperated confusion when he says: “Makes sense.” So he adds after a moment: “That would be lovely.”

#the magnus archives #martim #martin k. blackwood #tim stoker #tim stoker x martin blackwood #alternate universe #witch tim stoker #schmok writes #fanfiction #hhhh martim rights

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radiorenjun · 4 years

Text

Habits

part one, part two

Trigger warning 1!1!1!

When you were about to fetch him a blanket, he finally spoke in that hoarse voice of his. "You're gone." he mumbled, his words slurred as his eyes opened half-lidded. "I needed to stay high, all the time." a tear falling from his eye, trickling down his cheek as he spoke.

"To keep you off my mind."

Trigger warning 1!1!1!

You couldn't sleep that night.

Not with Jeno's words echoing repeatedly in your mind like a hollow cave. The boy fell asleep shortly after he said those words, soft snores coming out of his mouth as you froze on the spot, your mind going wild with a million thoughts. Once you managed to snap out of it, you quickly grabbed a blanket for him and spread it out over his body.

You tried to go back to sleep. You really did. But your mind couldn't help but wander to the boy, who you were still struggling to get over, passed out on the couch. You sighed, he went back to his old habits.

Disappointed but not surprised.

He's going to die if this keeps up, he's still an idiot.

...

But he did it because he missed me.

Does he, though? He could've just gotten high because I wasn't there to order him around anymore.

You winced at the thought. Remembering the argument that you two had two weeks ago when you had caught him doing some drugs behind campus. It was more of a screaming match, to see who would back down and apologize first. But it all ended when he told you to stop treating him like a child and get out of his apartment. Which ended with you breaking it off.

You felt your heart clench at the memory. You couldn't sleep anymore. You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands before you turned to your side to see the digital clock on your nightstand.

'5:21 AM '

You got up, deciding that you would be preparing for the day quite early today. You walked into the living room, seeing Jeno's calming figure sleeping softly on your couch. His hands clutching the blanket wrapped around him, soft snores filling the room.

You came up to him as quietly as you could and slowly pressed your hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. 'Great, he doesn't have a fever from staying out there so late' you thought.

You stared at his soft serene expression, he looks so innocent. Despite the dark bags under his puffy eyes, tear stained cheeks, he reminded you of the days where you two would cuddle under the cloudy blue sky and take those unrealistically aesthetic couple pictures you find on Pinterest.

You felt sweat under your palm, he was sweating hard despite being tightly wrapped up like a burrito. "Geez, Jeno, you're sweating." you pulled the blanket down, revealing his nose and neck beading with sweat. You watched as his brows furrowed before pulling the blanket up to his nose, clutching the fabric and nuzzling against it.

A small smile stretched across your face, remembering the times when he wouldn't let you pull him away from your bed because he said it was quote unquote "smells like heaven. And you're his heaven". Such a cheese ball.

Your eyes wandered to his brown hair. Realising now that he had dyed his hair in the two weeks that you two hadn't been together. Last time you saw him it was still a platinum blonde colour, you didn't know how his hair was still attached to his scalp with that amount of bleaching.

Your hand mindlessly went up to stroke his hair, running your fingers through his questionably soft hair. Softer than silk. you sighed to yourself. You felt him lean into your touch, startling you as he stirred, causing you to retract your arm to your side as his eyes slowly fluttered open.

His pupils went to your figure, sitting beside him, fluttering close a second later. Opening rapidly after a small moment. Jeno sat up in alarm, eyes wide, blanket falling to his lap as he slowly got up. His jaw almost dropped at the sight of you sitting right in front of him.

"Y-Y/N?" He whispered out almost inaudibly, his voice cracking. Looking at you in disbelief, what were you doing here in front of him? Was he imagining things again? Was he dreaming?

You smiled awkwardly, waving slightly at him, "good morning." Your voice sounded hoarse, as if you hadn't spoken in a while. "I-shit" Jeno then cut himself off by letting out a pained groan, clutching his head as his face scrunched up in pain. The effects of last night must've been coming back to him.

"Shit I'm going to throw up," he groaned, a little whine in his tone as he got up and ran to the nearest bathroom. "I'll get you some Advil and water." you called out, rushing to get a glass of water and a bottle of Advil from your cupboard.

You quickly got to the bathroom to see Jeno on his knees in front of the toilet, letting out all the contents of last night. You sighed sympathetically, your heart clenching at the sight as you placed the glass and bottle beside the sink and got down to rub his back soothingly like you would back when you two were dating.

He wiped his mouth, coughing in the progress. You reached for the glass of water, handing it to him along with some Advil which he accepted with a weak "thanks". You smiled and nodded at him. "I'll go make some breakfast. Feel free to take a shower. There's an extra toothbrush in the cupboard and some old clothes in my room." you stood up, awkwardly walking out to the kitchen, leaving Jeno in the bathroom.

By the time Jeno walked into the kitchen, he was dressed in an old oversized shirt and sweats he left (which you often wear to sleep when you miss him during your break up) weeks ago. A towel draped over his shoulders, his wet hair dripping onto it. You almost wanted to cry at how much memories his appearance brought you.

"I made pancakes." you muttered, putting two plates of hot stacked pancakes on the table as he sat on the chair in the dining room. "Thanks, you really didn't have to, y/n." he smiled, sparing you a small shy glance. "You're literally hung over, of course I gotta feed you with something." you said with a teasing tone, trying to lighten up the tension between you two.

As you two began eating, an uncomfortable silence came upon the atmosphere. You two were unsure of what to say, scared of what to say next. Letting the sound of utensils clattering against the plate fill your ears. That is, until Jeno spoke up. "So uh, how did I get here?" he asked quietly.

You froze. "You don't remember?" you deadpanned, eyes boring into his intensely. Jeno shrugged timidly, "I was pretty high and drunk last night, everything's just blurry. This headache isn't helping either." he replied, running a hand through his wet hair.

You bit your lip, his words from last night haunting your mind once again. "Well you tell me," you muttered, shoving pancakes into your mouth to mask the sadness in your tone. Jeno's brows furrowed in confusion, "what?" he said.

"You were so high, you could barely stan and comprehend what you were saying. Why? Why did you push yourself that far?" you manage to choke out, the words getting heavy and stuck in your throat. You wanted to know if he's moved on or if he actually got high to forget bout you.

"Why? I mean," Jeno scratched the back of his neck, hesitant of what to say next. "Fuck," he dropped the utensils before burying his face in his hands in distress. "What, Jeno?" you went on, feeling your heart hurt at the sight of him in front of you.

"Eversince we broke up, I just felt like I was locked in this haze, trying to forget you and move on. But my apartment seems so empty without your stuff randomly lying around, it was quite painful." he started, looking down at his plate as a hand went to tug his hair, the other playing with the fork.

"Eventually it got too much and I couldn't go home without getting reminded of you. Considering you were the one, my anchor who kept me from getting high and sane. Without you, I didn't know what to do without you numbing my pain so I went back to my old habits." you heard a sniffle coming from him, his eyes were slowly getting red as tears lined his vision.

"Spend my money on drugs and alcohol, going to parties, getting drunk every night. It was confusing that they weren't numbing or making the pain like they used to. I started missing you more and more by the second. Last night I went all out with the boys," Jeno sniffled, tears eventually dripping from his eyes.

"I remembered how they tried to get me to stop before I get too far. But honestly, I needed to get high to forget that I was missing you. To forget that I keep falling down when everything I see kept reminding me of you. Basically to get you off my mind," he shook his head with a chuckle, his tears dripping to the table.

He put the fork down and bowed his head down to prevent you from looking at his teary face as he gripped his hair tightly. "I'm sorry, y/n. I'm so so sorry, y/n." he choked out. You got up quickly, ignoring the tears that you didn't even realize we're falling, coming closer to the man you love who was pouring his heart out to you.

You quickly got on your knees and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into your embrace and pushing his face to the crook of your neck as he started sobbing. As a reflex, he immediately wrapped his strong muscular arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You couldn't help but cry as well. He hasn't contacted you since that night two weeks ago, which made you assume he stopped loving you. But being in his embrace right now with his shaking self in your arms as you both sobbed into each others shoulders made your heart ache for him even more.

"I forgive you, Jeno. I forgive you." you whispered, pressing soft kisses to his cheek. "I'm sorry, too. I should've talked to you instead of yelling at you like that." you sniffled. "I was honestly thinking bout joining you during these two weeks without you." you admitted with a chuckle.

Jeno's arms tightened around you, as if he let you go, you would disappear to leave him being swallowed up by his emotions. "These past two weeks were a living hell. Please, I'll stop. I'll stop these habits for real, please if you'd just-" you pulled away slightly to press your lips against Jeno's as hard as you could, cutting him off.

Jeno responded to the kiss immediately, pressing his lips onto yours just as hard, if not, harder. You both tasted the tears on each others lips as you ran your hands through Jeno's brown locks as you felt him grip your waist with one hand and cup your face in the other.

From now on you both had each other to make the pain go away without going back to your old habits.

#nct x reader #nct wayv #nct angst #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #nct smut #nct fluff #nct scenarios #lee jeno #jeno x reader #nct jeno #jeno blurbs #jeno smut #jeno drabbles #jeno au #lee jeno scenarios #jeno scenarios #lee jeno x reader

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