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sugasimply · 4 years

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𝙱𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝙴𝚙.𝟸 | 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝

✦ Mafia!AU

✦ OT8 x Reader

✦ 21+ Series

✦ Warnings: Smut, cursing, creampie, wax play, very slight mention of drugs(pharmaceutical)

✦ Word Count: 4.1k

-----Filter by @/forsakenxtutorials-----

Your night with Hongjoong passed without a hitch. And when you woke up next, checking his side of the bed, he was gone.

You assumed a mission or meeting had come to pull him away while you were deep asleep. Seeing as a shipment of guns were stolen, you guessed he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.

Tossing the blankets that covered your body, you groggily get up and do your usual morning stretches. The nights’ previous positions left your body aching for relief, especially, your poor neck.

Moving your neck caused quite a bit of uncomfortable pain, so deciding to get dressed and grab some good old painkillers was your best option. Today was a free day after all.

If Hongjoong was gone, the other boys were gone as well. That’s how it works with them usually, meaning you were completely alone to do anything you pleased.

Well...semi alone.

Although all the boys were gone, the guards stationed outside, and inside the house were not. This is still a mafias mansion after all. They’d be fools not to have or leave an extensive amount of security.

The only privacy you held was found in the bedrooms and bathrooms. At first, it was quite bothersome and prison-like to have people watch over your every move, but over time, you’ve gotten so used to it that you sometimes forget they’re there.

They are there to protect you and your lovers after all, so you can’t really complain.

Descending the staircase, you greet the guards stationed at the bottom with a small smile and hello. Today, they oddly did not greet you back like usual, only a curt nod and blushed cheeks were returned.

weird, you thought to yourself, making a beeline towards the kitchen- it was probably nothing, right?

Your mood drastically picked up at the thought of a nice quiet day alone to yourself. The boys weren’t always gone, and it’s not that you wanted them gone, but silence was a luxury in this house.

Swinging the kitchen door open, you start to hum a joyous tune, thinking of the relaxing day ahead and basking in the enjoyment of a boy fre-

…….

“Hey, Y/n,” Seonghwa greets casually from where he was seated by the kitchen counter before taking another bite of his cereal like he didn’t just shatter your whole entire day.

Dumbfounded, you stand at the entrance of the kitchen contemplating your plan to get away with murder. You could quietly strangle seonghwa or lure him to the woods and-

“Y/n?”

Snapping out of your premeditated murderous thoughts, you awkwardly walk over to the other side of the kitchen counter and look at Seonghwa confusingly.

“Umm Hwa, don’t get me wrong I like that you’re here, but why are you here?” you inquire, trying not to sound rude.

Seonghwa looks up at you with a confused expression as well, but he quickly realizes why you were asking that “Ah my services weren’t needed, so I decided to stay home all day with you,” he shrugs

You stare at him enthralled, “maybe the woods wouldn’t be the worst option.”

“Huh, what about the woods?”

“Nothing!” you dismiss, going back to the original task you set before Seonghwa shattered all your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Your boy free day would sadly have to wait till another time.

Living in a mafias house meant a shortage of painkillers was impossible. The boys were always bound to come back home with some sort of injury or bruise. The medicine cabinet was basically stocked with more medication and drugs than an actual drug pharmacy.

Pouring yourself a glass of water from the pitcher placed conveniently on the counter below the medicine cabinet, you grab the strongest painkillers from the cabinet and shake out the recommended dosage.

“What happened to your neck?” Seonghwa’s voice questioned behind you as you swallow down the painkillers.

“Your leader has a vampire kink,” you answer blatantly, turning to face Seonghwa with a straight face.

Seonghwa challenges you with the same straight face till he couldn’t take it anymore and cracks into a fit of laughter that fills the kitchen entirely.

“So he was that mad over what they said?” he ponders, wiping the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes that had formed.

“Of course he was mad! His men were- wait you knew he was mad?”

Seonghwa nodded nonchalantly at your question.

“And you did nothing to calm him down?” you marveled

“We didn’t necessarily do nothing; we sent him to you!” Seonghwa admits with a proud smile.

……

“Would you like to take a walk in the woods hwa?” you suggested in a low voice, your right eye twitching ever so slightly.

“Huh?”Seonghwa blurted out, seemingly thinking about something else so deeply he didn’t hear you.

Signing heavily, you decide to let go of all murderous thoughts(for now). “Nothing just glad Joong didn’t tear down the whole house...again”

Dropping the conversation, you both went back to the normal routine. The painkillers would take some time to fully kick in, so you figured a breakfast smoothie was the least exhausting thing to make and it didn’t require chewing.

Seonghwa had long finished his cereal by the time various fruits scattered the chopping board, half already chopped by you, and the rest awaiting your fatal knife. Instead of leaving the kitchen, he opted to stay and watch you.

Intently watch you at that. Gazing up at him while cutting the strawberries, you could tell from his contorting facial expressions, he had something on his mind. “What’s on your mind hwa?” you question, getting down to the last few strawberries you had to chop.

He peered up to your calm gaze. He contemplated whether he should answer you, but ultimately he voiced his thoughts, “why aren't you mad at hongjoong? I mean he quite literally bit into you,” he remarked

Ah, another million-dollar question. See although the question was certainly unexpected- especially from Seonghwa who never asks about your sex life with the others- you knew exactly what your answer was, “I trust him.” The answer was simple, yet held a heavy meaning.

“I trust Hongjoong too, but I wouldn’t just let him bite me, let alone forgive him so quickly,” Seonghwa acclaimed, bewildered by your answer. He knew how Hongjoong can be rough with you, but a full skin-piercing bite? Even for Seonghwa, it seemed unsettling.

A small chuckle mustered out of you, “I mean a different type of trust dummy. Yes, I trust him the same way you trust him, but I also trust him sexually.”

“I’m not fully following,” he replied, scratching his head confusingly.

Exhaling loudly, you wipe the chopped strawberries off the knife and set it down on the chopping board to join Seonghwa in the chair right next to him. This is going to be a lot to explain, you say to yourself.

Your relationship with the boys was complex. explaining your sexual relationships with one another was practically like explaining directions to a maze with no exit, especially when trying to explain the kinks that others had.

Partially Seonghwa was the worst one to try and explain things too. Though it’s been a year since you’ve come into the family, he stayed cautious with you in bed. The boys all had their kinks and surely had no trouble showing them to you, Seonghwa...seonghwa was the opposite.

You weren’t even sure he had any kinks.

“What I’m trying to say is, when it comes to activities in the bedroom, I trust him with my body fully. I’m not mad at the bite because I knew he wasn’t biting out of anger against me. And even in his full rage mode, I know he’d never hurt me intentionally. That’s the trust we share with each other.”

“We explore each other. Set the bounds, set the rules, and we compromise on everything. He owns my body, and I own his. That’s how our relationship and trust in each other works,” you explain carefully.

“So, do you share that same trust with all of us?” Seonghwa ponders, tone slightly hushed. Inwardly you were slightly perplexed. You never really voiced out your trust with each member, well excluding Joong. You felt they could all silently feel it- hmm maybe that’s why.

“I would’ve been on the next plane to a deserted island if I didn’t trust you all like that, specially with Mingi’s kinky ass,” you snicker, about to get up to return to your previous tasks, but Seonghwa’s hand stops you.

“Hwa?” you question.

“The boys won’t be back till tomorrow, so will you trust me tonight?” he smiles softly.

Heat rises up to your cheeks in embarrassment; it was such a formal and endearing way to ask for that. “Y-yeah…” you stutter out, almost choking from how dry your mouth had suddenly become.

Seonghwa beams up from his seat with excitement, “I won’t let you down!” he exclaims, kissing your hand affectionately before skipping out the kitchen with giddy.

Weird, you thought to yourself, finally getting back to your poor unfinished smoothie.

….

“Did he just skip out of the kitchen like an anime school girl?!”

The day went by in a flash. The last time you had checked the clock it was 9 am, rechecking it, it was now 11 pm. You spent the day cleaning the mess Hongjoong had made of the bedroom and online shopping for new bedroom furniture.

Though the house had no shortage of maids that could’ve easily cleaned up the disaster Hongjoong had caused, no one but you and him were allowed in his room.“I merely feel like my space should be private to us alone,” was Hongjoongs explanation. You understood what he was saying, but cleaning that room was an absolute pain in the ass.

Currently, you were lounging around on the living room couch as a random movie played in the background. It was getting closer and closer to 12, and yet, there was no sign of Seonghwa.

After the breakfast fiasco, he disappeared. You didn’t see him at all around the house, not even a glimpse. You figured he ran off somewhere, but when you asked the guards if he left or where he went, they stifled from answering.

Bzz! Financially at 12 on the dot, your phone vibrates next to you. Turning it over, it was lit up with a message from seonghwa, come to my bedroom.

“Odd,” you voiced out to no one in particular. Nonetheless, you got up from the couch and headed to Seonghwas room.

“Veryyy odd,” you mutter when you see the normally empty hallway lined with candles along the walls. A lighted trail clearly mapped out to the door of Seonghwas bedroom.

The candles in the hallway didn’t have a particular scent to them, but as you approach closer to the bedroom, a scent all too familiar invades your senses. “Vanilla amber,” you whisper in amazement when you reach Seonghwa’s door and push it open.

The room was lined with candles everywhere; the floor, the nightstands, the dresser- everywhere. And right spanking in the middle of the room was the ghost of the day, Seonghwa. He stood there, hair parted and styled to perfection, a pair of plaid pajama pants his only clothing choice of the night.

The sight of him immediately sent fire to your cheeks. You’ve obviously seen Seonghwa’s body before, yet something about the light produced from the candles gleaming on his toned chest sent a wave of desire coursing throughout your body.

It appears you liked the sight a little too much as per the fact that Seonghwa had to fake a cough to get your attention away from his exposed stomach. “Oh umm...h-how did you get all these candles?” you ask awkwardly, trying to keep your gaze at bay.

“Cute,” Seonghwa muses. “I had to go to a couple of different candle stores, though I see you’re more focused on something else,” he smirks, stepping closer to you slowly.

“I-I…”

“May I?” Seonghwa questions, eyes gesturing down to the clothing you were wearing.

You answer him in a curt nod, unable to find your voice due to the intense atmosphere. He starts with your top first, undoing the buttons at an antagonizing slow pace. “You prepared,” Seonghwa uttered in amusement, eyes basking in your bare chest.

You had taken off any undergarments beforehand knowing full well what was going to go down tonight. The silk pajama shirt discarded to the ground with a small plop. Seonghwa’s warm hands came to your stomach, his thumbs pressing down lightly as they map out every curve to your body. His fingers then come to the waistband of your pajama shorts, successfully pulling them off just as teasingly as your shirt.

You stood there naked looking down at the ground not daring to look at Seonghwa as he observed your body, trying to engrain the picture in his brain.

He raises your chin so your eyes could meet and gives you a pleasing smile, “you’re perfect.” you couldn’t help the tiny flush of embarrassment that went through you at his gentle words, “I’m no-”

“You are,” Seonghwa affirms lowly, then, his soft lips are pressed on yours. No roughness or rushing, it was gently sensual, and you respond just the same. The kissing got deeper and deeper; Seonghwa’s tongue pushing past your teeth and meeting your tongue with ease as you gave no resistance to it.

Seonghwa pulls you closer, his hands resting on your hips while his tongue continues to explore every inch of your mouth- occasionally sucking on your tongue. He was doing most of the work and wanting to satisfy him as well was becoming a heavy need for you.

So, deciding to bold, your hand goes to the tent forming in his pajama pants; you touch feather-like as you start to palm him. Seonghwa groans at the surprise, his lips tilting away from you to let out small puffs of air.

His head drops down to your shoulder as you continue to palm him; your hand adding pressure to his shaft little by little. Seonghwa is withering in your touch, his little puffs of air turning into shallow moans. God were his moans orgasm worthy.

Lifting his head up, Seonghwa’s rough voice invades your ears, “that’s enough foreplay.” he pulls your hand away from his intensely prominent erection and trunks you to push you on the bed- his pants quickly discarded in a flash.

You don’t even get the chance to revel in Seonghwa’s fully bare body before he’s on top of you; his cock resting heavily against your belly, the head of it red with need and leaking drops of precum.

Seonghwa’s lips and hands find purchase on your breast, squeezing and gently sucking them. Teasing one nipple with his fingers and the other left to be tormented by his tongue. His ministrations driving you to whine and squeal as pleasure soars through you.

His torture on your sensitive nipples continues for a few minutes, his hands and mouth alternating between each nipple, your body thrashing, and twisting. Mouth wide open and letting out soft moans.

Once Seonghwa’s hunger for your breast is sated, he pulls away, saliva dripping down his mouth like a rabid animal. However, his fingers continue to work your nipples- twisting them playfully, his grip sometimes tightening causing you to groan and arch your back.

“What happened to no foreplay,” you pant out with a little difficulty due to Seonghwa’s intoxicative touch.

Seonghwa retorts your comment with one last tight squeeze to your nipples and an amused chuckle that dies down as quickly as it came out. His face turns serious, deadly serious. His eyes glance up to yours, no joking expression to be found on his face, “do you trust me?”

The question perplexed you, “of course I do hwa,” you answer quickly without any hesitation.

“No, do you trust me?” he asks again, his voice emphasizing the word trust.

“Yes,” you answer again with no hesitation. You knew what he was really asking and it was the full truth, you do trust him both ways. Still, Seonghwa searches your eyes for any doubt, when he finds none at all, his expression relaxes, and his lustful gaze returns.

“Thank you,” Seonghwa replies genuinely before getting off the bed to position himself between your legs. You catch a spark of thrill course through Seonghwa as he stares down your body in admiration. “Ready?” he questions, lining himself up with your entrance.

You don’t have to even contemplate your answer and give him a firm nod, which he returns. You hold in your breath as seonghwa starts to push inside you. He sank in slowly to let you adjust and for the benefit of feeling every inch of him.

Though there was no resistance, you couldn’t resist letting out a gruntled moan. Seonghwa wasn’t as long as hongjoong, but he sure as hell was girthier making the stretch painfully delicious.

Once Seonghwa’s cock was fully settled in you, he reared his hips back and slowly thrusts back in. He continues with these slow and gentle thrusts, gradually working you open till you’re accepting all of him with ease and small moans.

“Fuck Y/n,” Seonghwa groans at you, “you feel so fucking good around me,” his sultry voice fanning your ear when he delivers a particularly hard thrust causing a loud moan to tear from your throat.“That’s it, baby, take it all,” he praises you, the pace of thrusts instantly picking up from thereon.

Seonghwa moves harder and faster, his skin slapping yours vigorously, and you’re relishing in the bliss. Seonghwa is pressing into you so deeply and dragging along your sensitive insides.

You close your eyes wanting to only concentrate on the pleasure you're receiving and the build-up of an orgasm forming in you- a plethora of loud moans unawarely flooding out your mouth. Seonghwas thrusts slow and falters for a second and he shirts himself a little, but returns to the same pace in a matter of seconds, so you thought nothing of it.

“You’re doing so well baby, but I’m going to need you to breathe and relax yourself for what’s going to happen next,” he asks of you lowly in your ear, one of his hands sliding up and down your thigh to calm down your now very alert mind.

“What’s going to happen hwa?” you ask through rocky moans, tempting to open your eyes, but Seonghwa covers them quickly before you could catch a glimpse of anything.

“Ah ah keep your eyes closed, and I want to try something with you, but you need to trust me and relax, Seonghwa halts his thrusts completely, “nothing harmful will happen to you. Everything is up to you. I won’t do anything you don’t want or don’t ask for; so, do you want to do this?”

You feel a bit apprehensive at whatever seonghwa is planning to do. The fear of the unknown will always be very much present within you, but you felt safe in Seonghwa’s hands, and that’s all that was needed to clear your mind of any hesitation or doubt.

“I want to do it,” you agree firmly.

“What’s the safe word?”

“Purple.”

“Good girl, now breathe and relax for me.” Seonghwa resumes his thrusts, pulling his hips back gently and pushing in every inch of his cock all the way. You breathe in deeply through your nose and exhale steadily through your mouth, letting your body go lax and bringing that built up pleasure back.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” Seonghwa praises, a fast pace of thrusts hitting inside you suddenly. You try to keep up a steady breathing pattern, but it’s near to impossible with Seonghwa’s cock rubbing along your walls, hitting that special spot so fucking good.

with your eyes closed, every sensation becomes more present and powerful. Seonghwa only pushes impossibly further, provoking more moans to pour out of you. All your senses have been drowned so much by Seonghwa’s cock that you fail to smell the pungent odor of smoke.

More so, you fail to question what is it Seonghwa was going to do when you let out what would be classified as a hiss mixed with a strangled moan, “ah fuck!” a hot heat had hit your stomach unexpectedly causing the mixed sound to erupt from your throat and your body to twit oddly.

Your eyes fly open to investigate what the hell just splattered on you and- fuck.

It took your eyes a second to adjust, but there everything was clear as day. Seonghwas body glistened with sweat, his muscles flexing rigidly as he continues to thrust into you hard, his eyes dazed out with lust, and his hand holding a burnt-out candle a foot above your stomach.

“I knew you where a kinky fuck,” you groan out as seonghwa moves to drip the hot wax on your left thigh.

“I could say the same about you. You’re clenching down on me so tightly; you like it baby?” seonghwa chuckles breathlessly, moving the candle above your breasts and letting a stream of hot wax drip. You clamp down hard on his cock, the heat of the wax creating an unusual pleasurable pain that could only be described as intense. So intense it has you gasping and squirming uncontrollably.

Seonghwa gave one last dribble of wax on your right thigh; he knew you both wouldn’t last much longer and he didn’t want to push you farther on your first time with something new. Setting the burnt-out candle aside, Seonghwa curls his hands under your knees and guides your legs over his shoulders.

“You’re doing so good baby,” Seonghwa gushes and gives a gentle kiss to your knee. That sweet moment didn’t last even a second; Seonghwa’s grip on you tightens and he starts pounding into you at a relentless brutal pace.

The pure force of his cock thrusting into you has you delirious. All you could do was tray and grasp at any air you could. You couldn’t help yourself anymore, inaudible cries of seonghwas' name spill out of you; he was pushing and filling you in all the right ways.

Seonghwa wasn’t doing any better. His thrusts grew erratic and impatient, his breathing becoming labored, and muscles contraction. A sinfully beautiful sight he was to bask in.

You whine out, the rough pushes of his cock that wnt impossibly deeper into you finally pushing you to your orgasm. “Fuck!” you scream, tossing your head back in absolute bliss. Everything felt so light, but heavy at the same time.

The build-up, your fucked out face, and the wax that glistened so brightly with the help of the candle flames is all it took for Seonghwa to spill into you. His body convulsing with relief as he fills you up with every drop of his cum- the amount so big that some even spills out of you before he pulls out.

Seonghwa flops down next to you, completely burnt out and exhausted; the same exact feeling hitting you as you come down from euphoric bliss. “Are you okay baby?” Seonghwa asks you softly, sluggishly getting up to grab a few wet rags and oil to get the hardened wax off your skin.

Seonghwa first took one of the wet rags and wiped up all the excess cum that had gushed out of you. He then took another rag and smothered oil on it, and began dotting oil all over the wax, effectively soaking it and peeling it off your body.

He gave your body one last wipe down before throwing away the dirtied rags and wax in the trash, and flopping down next to you again- His arms immediately coming around you and pulling you flush against his chest.

“Thank you for this. For trusting me,” Seonghwa whispered, his tired eyes staring into yours with genuine love and happiness. Your heart swelled full with the same love. No words could ever express just how much you love and trust these boys, and no words could ever express how much it means to you to be trusted by them.

Trust isn’t simple in their world, trust is life or death. It’s a bond that if broken or severed could only leave with a bullet to the heart- figuratively and literally.

“I love you,” you whisper softly, snuggling into him and giving a small kiss to his chest.

“I love you to baby,” Seonghwa whispers back, tightening his arms around you in a protective hold.

With that, you drift to sleep peacefully. The last things you hear being Seonghwa’s calm breathing and the distant quiet sound of a phone going off.

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Taglist: @mirror-juliet @ambersaesthetics @multidreams-and-desires @etherealskzs @sonnensplitter @daroze22 (Sorry if I missed anyone!)

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alwaysthesideofwonder · 3 years

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A slightly different take on Shouto’s response to Fuyumi dating/getting married (though the Todoroki brothers going into over-protective mode over their sister remains one of my favorite set of fics), given that she’s been his surrogate mother for most of his life and assuming that he doesn’t have his brothers around to guide him on what the normal response would be to this (and of course his not very good frame of reference for normal and some underlying abandonment issues...)

***

It comes up during one of the visits Shouto has been able to make to his mother since all the students had been moved onto the campus. Usually they send letters back and forth but he does like to try to see her in-person after they had spent so many years apart.

The visit starts the usual way, where his mother tells him some of the activities that her doctors and therapists have her doing (this week had been painting vases, including the light yellow one that she now has brightening up her room holding the paperwhites that he brought her). Then he fills her in on how school has been going with some light (and sometimes not so light) fudging of the details. One of the downsides of being in the hero course at UA is the amount of media coverage of some of the incidents that generally do not make mothers feel better about their sons becoming heroes. On the upside, Midoriya is his classmate so when pressed he can always tell her about what happened to him and how at least her son hasn’t broken most of the bones in his arm.

Lately though, they’ve added on a new segment where his mother gets the chance to reveal the recent ongoings of his siblings’ lives. While Fuyumi usually has already shared most of the news with him by text or their weekly phone call, there’s this little spark of happiness that runs through him as his mother moves to the edge of her seat, her eyes becoming brighter and even her hands becoming expressive as she shares each story. For so long she had remained at the periphery of her children’s lives that she is understandably thrilled to finally get to be a messenger between them.

After the announcement of Natsuo possibly (which definitely is the key word there) bringing his girlfriend to meet her, she starts to wonder.

“Soon enough it will be Fuyumi bringing her husband and starting a family of her own! Oh, and grandchildren!”

He feels something starting to grow inside his throat, closing it up, quickly joined by his stomach that starts churning without explanation. His body feels untethered, as if the slightest breeze is going to knock him out of his chair, and a tingling sensation runs up his hands and feet as well. At least he has enough strength to nod in response as his mother drifts off to her own musings on the grandchildren she would have someday. Talking simply is not an option with every breath taking extra effort to take in while trying to appear normal.

It takes her a minute to come back to herself, which is thankfully enough time for his body to calm down from whatever it is that happened. She switches off instead to tell him about a new recipe Fuyumi had brought for her to try and with that the conversation is carried away as if she never brought up that particular hypothetical.

It’s only after bidding his mother goodbye that he has the time to try to figure out what had just happened.

Perhaps it had simply been surprise? It wasn’t exactly a topic that was ever broached in their household, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether that was simply neglect on Endeavor’s part regarding his weak daughter or because it was simply a topic that no one felt Shouto needed to be present during the discussion of. Given his father’s own part in a Quirk marriage though, he felt he would have heard of it by now if he had the idea to set up an arranged marriage meeting for Fuyumi. They had lived in the same house after all and most recently it had just been the 3 of them. More likely, his father had deemed his sister’s Quirk to be too weak and didn’t have the patience to wait for a grandchild who was more than likely to have an even more diluted Quirk, especially when he had a son with the ideal Quirk already, and so didn’t care what happened in that particular arena.

Still…if it was just surprise, why is the uneasiness coming back again?

***

A few minutes sitting in the hospital lobby is enough time for his body to settle again and to determine that he needs to talk to someone who can understand this better than him. And really, who better to ask than Yaoyorozu?

Unfortunately, he doesn’t bank on how popular Yaoyorozu is and thus how difficult it would be to find her alone to talk to since they were all living on campus. In the meantime, he settles on the temporary solution of not thinking about the actual reason why he needs to talk to her since that seems to make him feel ill, instead focusing on figuring out when he could talk to her without an audience of some of the nosiest classmates one could ever ask for.

After a week and multiple failed interceptions, he has the good luck to be bringing down his laundry right when she is emptying the dryer of hers.

“Yaoyorozu!”

She looks up and smiles, “Todoroki, are you doing your laundry today too?”

Of course, with all the effort he’s put into trying to find her, he hasn’t considered what exactly to say to her.

“Yes?” he answers, not sure if this is one of those times that he should elaborate further because he figures that was obvious given the basket of clothing he’s carrying.

Also, how much small talk is necessary before getting into an awkward conversation about your really dysfunctional family?

“That washer should be empty. Uraraka just started a load in the other one,” she shares, gesturing at the one at the end of the row. He walks past her towards it but comes to an abrupt stop halfway, finally coming to a decision on what to do say next.

“Could I…ask your advice about something?” He glances at her from the corner of his eye before looking back down at his laundry basket.

She pauses, putting down a neatly folded blouse, before practically bouncing over to him, stopping just inches from him with an enthusiastic “Of course!”

He turns and stares at her expression of pure focus for a moment before realizing that she’s waiting to hear what he has a question about.

Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to keep looking at her, he starts.

“I was talking with my mother…and she mentioned something about my sister getting married…” The uneasiness starts but he’s aware of it now and it’s easier to keep it tamped down.

“That’s so exciting! Have they set a date already? Have you met her fiancé yet?” He feels his eyes growing wider with every question. He really should have rehearsed this before he found her…

“Oh no, it was more hypothetical,” he clarifies, “I think, at least? She said someday.”

Yaoyorozu tilts her head to the side, pondering what he said.

“So your sister isn’t seeing someone? Or she is but they’re not at the point of marriage yet?”

An excellent question really. He doesn’t really know all that much about his sister’s social life but if there was one thing that was guaranteed in his life (other than his father being so focused on becoming number 1, he didn’t care how badly he destroyed his family on the way there), it was that come 8 pm on any night, Fuyumi would be at home, grading papers, packing up leftovers from dinner or coming to check on him, especially if he hadn’t made it out of the training rooms by then. He doesn’t think that Endeavor had been making her do this given how surprised he’d look whenever she showed up, softly calling out that dinner was starting to get cold, but for all he knows a rule was put in place when he was young that no one remembered to rescind.

That isn’t to say that she never goes out with friends. It’s just that she always schedules her outings in the morning or afternoon so she’s home by evening. And while he thinks she has both girl and guy friends, he figures a boyfriend would want to take her out to dinner or other activities that generally don’t mesh well with an 8 pm curfew (but most of what he knows about dating comes from shounen manga so he’s not sure how reliable that is).

“I don’t think she has a boyfriend?”

Although that begs the more important question that’s been mulling in the back of his mind.

“The getting married thing…is that something girls typically think about?” Is that something she would be thinking of? Has she been thinking about it this whole time?

He’s never entirely sure what exactly is normal when it comes to girls and honestly, he really hopes that Hagakure’s giggling is an anomaly rather than the norm, at least for the nice, logical girls like his sister and Yaoyorozu.

The energy in the room seems to calm down as Yaoyorozu considers him quietly (likely because this is one of those stupid questions that he should know the answer to), before she finally answers.

“Most girls do from when they’re young, you know? They start planning out what their wedding looks like, who their husband will be, kids,” she drifts off.

Husband? He’s already starting to get an idea of what the guy would look like – average in every way, not the sort to stand out at least. Definitely a civilian, with some sort of harmless Quirk if he even had one. Even-tempered. The sort of guy who puts Fuyumi’s needs first and always dotes on her.

And the children – there would be 2 (though maybe…maybe she would want 3 or even 4?), a boy and a girl. They would be a perfect mix in looks to their parents, one with each parent’s Quirks.

Dinnertime would be a cozy affair with plenty of praise for his sister’s cooking, everyone sharing how their day went, ceaseless encouragement for the children while gently scolding them for their antics at the dinner table.

No yelling, no glares, no insults, no tension so thick you could cut it with a knife mixed with an almost painful silence filled with the unique terror of even allowing the slightest break in it.

The uneasiness explodes and his stomach starts to churn bad enough that he finds himself pressing his basket against it and leaning forward. Yaoyorozu starts to reach for him, asking what’s wrong, and that triggers him to shout a quick “Thank you! I’m fine!”, racing back up to his room with his undone laundry, whatever she has to say next fading down the hallway.

Well, he finally has some answers. They just happened to make everything worse.

***

It takes another couple of weeks before he decides on the next step.

Yaoyorozu tries to check in on him after his abrupt departure, which he blames on fish going bad that he had for lunch. It only sort of works though, so he’s glad to finally tell her that he got permission to visit his sister, if only to stop the worried glances she kept sending him in class. Midoriya has definitely intercepted a few of them and it’s only a matter of time before Iida catches onto one, after which he’s pretty sure he has no hope of keeping this all quiet. Iida in class representative mode is no laughing matter.

It’s awkward enough asking his sister if he could visit. He almost types the request into the family group chat (which mostly consists of messages from Fuyumi and some funny video links from Natsuo. Shouto’s primary contribution is pictures of what he thinks is some of the nice scenery on campus mixed with a rare picture here and there of his classmates not doing hero-related activities, which he’s pretty sure makes a rather pathetic showing on his part but both of his siblings still send appreciative replies, so he hasn’t stopped sending them yet).

He briefly considers talking to Natsuo about it but he’s not sure if it’s the sort of conversation that they would have when their relationship mostly consists of erratic text messages and sighs and shared rolled eyes whenever Fuyumi drags them into some sort of family bonding activity. They’re not quite to the phone call stage and he’s pretty sure that this isn’t something to be shared by text given how the talk with Yaoyorozu went.

Thankfully Fuyumi doesn’t think too much about him wanting to visit home. She offers to come to UA so he doesn’t have to request permission to leave but ever since Bakugou had started talking up Fuyumi’s cooking in front of everyone, she’s become a little too much of a curiosity to his classmates for him to want her to actually meet all of them.

She’s perceptive enough to know that this is a visit where he doesn’t want Endeavor around and manages to time it with a weekend where he is out of town on a team up. She does try to turn it into a sibling bonding night with Natsuo, which he should have expected, and so that does take a little more work for him to talk her out of. Thankfully Natsuo’s thriving social life (love life?) would have made it complicated to find a date to meet and there is of course the fact that Natsuo generally avoids the house like the plague to help him out there.

He still ends up having to promise that they will have a sibling bonding night with food and activities of her choosing. However, he at least manages to negotiate one veto for him and Natsuo each so they can survive the night in general peace.

Fortunately (he thinks), Aizawa seemed to have also managed to pick up on Yaoyorozu’s worried looks and so getting the permission itself to visit was not as hard as he thought it would be, even without Endeavor there to supervise. Thankfully his teacher did not seem to want to delve into the question of what was bothering him any further than an oblique mention about “worried classmates” and simply set up a plan for Aizawa to wait outside while he visited with the requirement that his teacher enjoy some of his sister’s home cooking during the wait (even Aizawa was learning that there were certain battles you simply do not fight, especially with Fuyumi).

Setting foot in the entryway, Shouto can feel the warmer atmosphere that comes along with Endeavor’s absence. Funnily enough, no one manages to win against Endeavor in this house. Everyone has to leave to gain some sort of victory, to become themself – Natsuo to college, himself to UA.

Touya to death, though it’s a pyrrhic victory if anything.

Fuyumi is the only one to be able to stand her ground here and he can’t tell if that’s because her goal was completely different from theirs in her demands for a normal family or if she’s able to hit a level of stubborn that none of her brothers ever could.

He finds her in the kitchen, just finishing up the soba (and the many additional side dishes she’s prepared. No matter what he tells her every week, she remains certain that he’s trying to live off of only cold soba without someone watching to make sure he eats everything else on his plate).

He moves to the sink to start cleaning up. Fuyumi’s particular (or maybe Endeavor is) that the kitchen is cleared up before she starts to eat and he’s lost count of the number of times when she’ll come join them for dinner after he’s already halfway through because of it.

She asks him how school has been, how Midoriya, Bakugou and the rest of his friends are doing and the replies come as easily as they do every week during their phone calls. It’s nothing like those times when they first used to have these sorts of chats, back during his later years of elementary school and Endeavor was gone for the night and she would invite him to come sit with her to watch a show as she did the last of her homework and later on her marking. Back when he didn’t know what to tell her when she would ask these questions and he would have to sit there as she gave him that pitying look he hated while she scrambled to find easier questions for him to answer.

Now he has a running list of his classmates’ antics to share (and even some of his own) that always seem to please her with a smile crinkling her eyes. There are still the handful of ones that make her worried (unfortunately she does watch the news) but he’s learned how to tuck them into a series of other harmless stories to try to distract her (being a teacher also unfortunately means the fudging details plan doesn’t work as well).

She disappears briefly to move the food to the table and the conversation lapses with this. He starts working on trying to figure out how to broach the conversation he needs to have at dinner when she suddenly appears beside him, grabbing a towel and starting to dry his neatly washed dishes. He jumps a little at this and almost drops the dish he’s washing as it starts to slip from his hands but he’s quick to catch it, trying to act as if it was an issue of too much soap more than anything else.

“Is something bothering you?” This time the wooden spoon he picked up does clatter into the sink as she continues to carefully work around the edges of a glass dish with a towel, never looking up at him, barely a question in her voice.

He really shouldn’t have expected that he’d get away with it.

She lets the silence sit. They’ve grown from those early days of fumbled questions and with each second he feels everything that has been building since that day in his mother’s hospital room bubbling up to the surface.

“Mother was talking about you getting married the other day…” Suddenly the little flecks of vegetables trapped in the well-worn grooves of the spoon are the most interesting thing in the room.

He sees her turn to look at him through the corner of his eye as he continues his inspection, nodding in encouragement.

“And…and Yaoyorozu said that it’s something that all girls think about…the whole getting married and having a family thing…” he drifts off, not entirely sure how to voice what his actual question is.

He is not one for praying but he finds himself coming close, hoping that she’ll understand what he really wants to ask, the real reason for why his stomach is churning like a whirlpool is in there no matter how hard he presses it against the counter to make it stop.

Do you want to get married and have a family of your own?

And when you do…what happens to me?

Because that was the new fear he had discovered that day as his mother was becoming overjoyed at the thought of Fuyumi’s husband and children.

Mother leaves. Touya leaves. Natsuo leaves. But Fuyumi? Fuyumi is always there. Even with him now at the UA dorms, here she is, right at home, waiting for him with open arms. Yes, she wants a normal family, but it’s their family that she wants to be normal. Endeavor, Mother, Natsuo, him- there was never a moment when it occurred to him that if they failed to fix themselves that she could give up on them and make herself a new family, a better family. He hadn’t really considered that society had already had an alternative in place for her, and in fact, even expected her to go ahead with it.

And if she gave up on them…if she found herself the nice average husband and the two darling children…why would she want him around? She knows perfectly well what having a hero in the family can do to it. And they’re all dysfunctional, hell, he had to go ask a classmate to figure out if girls wanting to get married were normal. Why would she want him tainting her perfect new family?

If there is anyone who deserves happiness, it’s Fuyumi. The one who made sure that he was eating, that his homework was getting done, that his bruises were iced after their mother was taken away. The one who would record his favorite shows and sit and watch them with him even though she was too old for them the second their father was away. The one who cared if he got to experience the normal aspects of teenage life, who patiently tried again and again to understand him, to connect with him. How could he ever want to stand in the way of her dreams if in the end, they didn’t include him?

He’s not sure how much time passes as he spirals. It breaks as he hears her put down the dish, the rustle of her sweater as she turns towards him and his mind goes blank because what else was he supposed to expect it to do when one of the very few certainties of his life has been turned on its head?

“Shouto…” She tries to catch his eyes but he continues to stare at the handful of remaining dishes and utensils at the bottom of the sink. She sighs but she doesn’t stop looking at him as she continues.

“I have thought about it a bit…like your friend said, a lot of girls think about getting married, especially as they get older.”

He starts biting on the inside of his cheek. He’s certain at this point that he doesn’t want to hear what she’s going to say next and that he’s going to feel a whole lot worse.

“I was thinking…it would be nice to have a husband…a nice one I promise! He won’t be like our father, especially the way he was when we were younger!”

His stomach starts going into overdrive because, in all of his worrying, Fuyumi ending up like Mother, trapped in an abusive marriage, hadn’t really occurred to him and now he has one more thing to worry about in addition to his existential crisis.

She reaches towards him and gently holds onto his right shoulder. She seems about to start to turn him towards her but stops, letting him look away.

“Shouto, I promise, I won’t end up like our mother. The way we grew up…that’s not normal and it doesn’t mean that we’re going to go the same way. We know better.

“When I get married it will be to a good man, who will be a good husband and a good father to our children. They’ll have a better childhood than ours was, we’ll make sure of it.”

He nods along, his stomach loosening up a bit at the promise.

“They’ll get to be kids. To be friends with each other and have friends of their own.” She smiles at the thought of this and he starts to think that she is going to be lost to her own daydreams soon enough.

“And of course, they’re going to love their favorite hero uncle who comes every week for dinner. Though of course then they’re liable to also decide that soba is their favorite food and I’ll have no chance of ever winning that fight ever again!” The smile becomes a grin as she strokes her thumb over his shoulder, giving him a moment to think about this new future, this one that he had never thought of existing.

It’s a struggle. He still has trouble placing himself in that house, at that dinner table.

“Are you…are you sure…” He finds the words hard to get out still, lodging in his throat no matter how hard he tries to force them out.

She does turn him towards her at this and he goes without resistance. There’s a gentleness over her face that is pure Fuyumi and that alone starts to set him at ease as he finally meets her eyes.

“Of course. You are going to be the fun hero uncle who plays all the best games with them. Natsuo is going to the favorite doctor uncle who lets them mess with his tools and fixes up all their cuts and bruises. And T…and they are going to love you both to pieces. Just watch, I’m going to have you on speed-dial for babysitting requests!” The edges of her mouth draw higher while her eyes crinkle with a different emotion that he can’t quite place.

Still, he tries to imagine it. Imagines those two children (they’ve become almost terrifyingly life-like in his mind, dark haired with flecks of white and red, at least one with glasses and both sporting Fuyumi’s grin and a scary good impression of her puppy dog eyes) running up to him, grabbing each of his hands to drag him inside, babbling on about all the games they were waiting on his arrival to play.

And he pauses, finding himself looking at his left hand. He remembers the special exercise from his supplemental classes, using his ice quirk mostly to create the play structure. The fire had been more for special effects and he had made a point to be careful that it stayed far away from the children. But a child holding onto that left hand…

“You know, when you were born, you loved it when…when Touya held you.”

He looks back up to her, uncertain about where this is going. He’s not sure if Fuyumi and Natsuo have an agreement but he can probably count on both hands the number of times either of them have talked about Touya with him outside of mentioning his death day anniversary. They were both much closer to him than he was and he can’t imagine what losing him must have been like, especially for Fuyumi who had lost the only older sibling she had. Whatever pain she felt, she kept locked up with all of her memories of him, sharing only the crumbs when she could seem to bear it.

“Sometimes you would be crying so hard we thought the roof would come down on our heads and it seemed to be for no reason. And then Touya just had to come near and you would get quieter and then we’d get him to hold you and you were suddenly the happiest baby in the world. We figured it was because of the heat he gave off since all the rest of us run cold. You would just be so happy snuggling up against him…

“So…that fire side of you…you don’t need to be afraid of it with the kids. If anything, I’m going to be calling you even more than Natsuo to help me with them because of it!”

And then…it becomes a little easier to think of them, these two children beaming up at him, trying to swing on his arms as he heads for the dining room, Fuyumi and her husband setting the table, her husband helping to extricate the kids from him while insisting that he sit down and drink something at least before Fuyumi has both their heads, Fuyumi sighing and laughing at all their antics.

It leaves him feeling a little warm inside and he finds himself smiling at the thought of it as well.

“And Shouto,” she locks eyes with him and there is something fierce lurking in them as she says in a voice of absolute certainty, “someday, we are going to have this. But not yet. We all have things we need to take care of first. And I promise, I will let you know when that time comes.” Her voice softens, “I think you’ve enough surprises with this, don’t you agree?”

They’re not a particularly tactile family but he doesn’t know what else to do with himself than pitch forward towards his sister and let her sweep him up in a tight embrace. He feels too many emotions welling up inside of him but Fuyumi is there and somehow she figures it out the way she figured everything else out and things finally settle down as she strokes his hair, murmuring that it’s alright, that everything will be okay.

He’s still not sure what his hero name should be in the end but he know that he’s working his way towards becoming the sort of hero that would do proper justice to all that was All Might. He definitely hasn’t thought about what his life outside of hero work will look like though he’s sure that Midoriya, Iida, Uraraka, Yaoyorozu and even Bakugou will be a part of it.

And now he has a new puzzle piece to fit into the picture and he finds himself looking forward just a little more to seeing what the finished product will look like someday.

And of course, no matter what, no matter where either of them is, he knows his sister will be there and ready to help him realize it, even the parts he hasn’t figured out yet.

Notes:

A few assumptions made: -Rei is getting to know her children again and doesn't necessarily know what all they're talking about with each other. So she wouldn't have thought that Shouto would be surprised by the idea of Fuyumi dating/getting married, especially since Natsuo dating is common news, or that he might react differently between the two -Regarding Fuyumi and the 8 pm curfew - this is more my head canon that Fuyumi self-imposes it on herself more to be there in case something goes really wrong when Endeavor is training Shouto. She's well aware there is very little she can do but at least if she's there then maybe she can come up with something and at the very least use dinner as an excuse to keep training from going long - being an elder sister can sometimes involve having very unrealistic expectations for your ability to keep your younger siblings safe. -Fuyumi also has a knack for fudging details that Shouto hasn't figured out yet - he's seen a lot of the worst of his family but she isn't going to let him discover all of it, so this could be considered canon compliant in regards to what all has come out about Touya/Dabi in the more recent chapters (or we can go with a different version of Touya not wanting to hold his super squirmy brother that he's pretty sure he's going to drop and everyone making him so they can have some peace and quiet)

#todoroki shouto #todoroki fuyumi #bnha #pre-PLF battle #shouto is a teenager and is allowed to panic like one #especially when it's more like getting a stepdad trying to take your surrogate mother away #thankfully fuyumi is understanding and well-versed in shouto-speak by now

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evqnbuckley · 3 years

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Chapter 1: Hopeless

Okay so i wrote my thoughts on what I wanted the finale to be and this got out of hand...this is like almost if not 6k and i’m not even finished. If this is popular enough I’ll continue to post on here but I’m gonna continue to update on ao3! @princesscas

Sam awakens from his nightmare, disoriented. The visions of seeing himself grow old, having a family and dying feel all too real. The beginning of his nightmare is fading and somewhat fuzzy but he remembers Dean making an appearance. He remembers seeing himself fight alongside his brother, killing some vampires, a normal hunt. Then his memory clears and the image of his brother impaled against a wooden pole catches his breath.

He wipes a hand across his face, trying to erase the images of Dean saying goodbye, of Dean's hand dropping as he took his last breath, and the image of lighting his own brother's pyre.

Sam pulls the covers off and walks toward the kitchen for a glass of water. The bunker is quiet, peaceful even. He still hasn't gotten used to calling it home, not really. The thing about a home is, four walls don't constitute it. Family is similar. It's not based on who you're related to but who loves you and has your back. Family, a home, whatever they are things you build around you. He had learned that long ago.

The wooden floors creak as he walks through the library. The silence is deafening yet comforting. It's a reminder that, for once, the world isn't ending. The linoleum sends shivers down his spine as he enters the kitchen. Sam replays the nightmare in his head while he downs a glass of water from the sink. The images slowly become distorted and misplaced in his memory. He eventually cannot picture it in his mind.

Sighing, Sam places the glass in the sink and walks back to his room. His feet make a pit-pat noise, approaching the hallway. Dean's door is cracked open slightly with faint light seeping through. Sam turns toward the door and peers in. His face softens, taking in the scene. Dean is cuddling a pillow adorned with a worn, rough, blue pillow case. The light emits from a lone lamp on his desk. Some type of paper for a mechanic position sits atop a few books from the library. Sam eyes the paperwork, puzzled. Dean never told me he got a job. Underneath, one of the books has a bookmark in three different places. There are a few crumpled up papers on and around the floor. Sam picks one up and unravels it.

Cas I know you're in the empty and you probably can't hear me….why did you do it? Why didn't you tell me about the deal before? I know I messed up and Billie was about to kill us both but….we could have died together found another way.

Why didn't you tell me?

Sam picks up another one. This time it's the one closest to the trash can. The markings are a bit sharper than the paper before. Almost more angry. It appears some words are smudged but still legible.

I try to move on and put on a brave face for Sammy. He needs to know now that Chuck is gone we can move on. We have to. I have tried to find a way to bring you back Cas. None of the books are fucking useful. I can't read Enochian. I don't even know if Enochian text is the key to saving you. I've tried contacting Rowena but i think she's busy. I'm at my wits end. I haven't gotten much sleep to be honest. As I'm writing this I have looked through 28 books all based on portals to other dimensions, hell, sacrificial rituals and reverse rituals. Even Astral projecting. I don't know what to do….

Sam swallows past the dry lump caught in his throat. He glances at Dean, making sure he's still asleep. Dean briefly shifts, pulling the pillow closer. Sam relaxes and picks up one more crumpled up paper. This one appears fresh, as if Dean wrote it tonight.

I tried praying to the angels. They didn't listen. No one is listening. Jack isn't even listening. He took himself out of the story, I know but this is you I'm talking about. How can he just sit by while you're suffering. I guess I'm on my own.

Why did you say that now?

The last sentence confuses Sam. He burrows his eyebrows as he studies the three entries. Dean is searching for a way to save Cas. To bring him back. And he didn't tell me? Sam quietly crunches the papers back up and places them back where he found them. Dean doesn't move. As Sam switches the lamp off, he feels the heaviness of the dark engulf him. I have to talk to Dean tomorrow.

Dean rolls over as the aroma of burnt bacon fills his room. He rubs the sleep from his eyes as he sits up. Realizing that Sam is about to burn the bunker down, he slips on his robe and jogs to the kitchen.

"What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Well good morning to you too," Sam replies a bit offended. He's flipping bacon as Dean yanks the tongs out of his grip. "What- I am making breakfast. Can I not make breakfast?"

"I don't know what you think you're making but it definitely, definitely ain't breakfast," Dean smarts. He trashes the burnt bacon and starts a new batch. "Sit. No, why don't you make some coffee."

"Already did. Here ya go," Sam slides Dean's mug across the island, "your highness," Sam says under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yeah, me too," Sam perks up. "I think I found something that screams our kinda thing. We should head there after we eat breakfast. It's not too long of a drive." Dean finishes as he places the cooked bacon on some paper towels and grins from ear to ear. Sam just watches as his brother starts on some scrambled eggs. This might be more challenging than I had hoped.

"So when you said our sorta thing you meant pie?"

"I meant pie," Dean confirms with a satisfied smirk. "Now, I'm gonna go eat me some of that pie."

"Didn't we-Dean we just had breakfa- nevermind," Sam gives in and follows Dean through the crowd.

Several families are participating in the pie fest. Some are gearing up to find out who can eat the most pie, who makes the best pumpkin pie, and some are just making whip cream pies and pieing each other. Sam observes those around him with a small smile. A life he desperately wants someday but knows he can't have. Or can I?

Dean approaches Sam with a big box and almost runs into some bystander. "Hey, watch it."

"What is that?" Sam raises an eyebrow.

"I couldn't pick just one! Come on, Sammy we're at a pie fest. What do you take me for?"

"An idiot."

Dean ponders his answer and let's it slide. He picks up one of the pies and offers it to his brother. Sam declines. "Dude, you gotta at least try it."

"No, really I'm good."

"Alright, what is it? What's got you so down today?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," Sam replies.

"No, see I know my baby brother. So I know that is your sad Sam face. Fess up, what's wrong?"

"I'm not-" Sam begins, but Dean gives him a look.

"I don't know. I'm just thinking about Cas, about Jack."

Dean's expression falls. He looks down and places the pie back in its spot. "Yea me too. I think about them too. Every day. But we have to move on, Sam. Live our lives. Or else that sacrifice, it will all be for nothing," Dean looks at Sam. "So help me finish this pie."

Dean reaches down for the same pie again but his face is met with a cold surface. Sam smothers the pumpkin pie in Dean's face, laughing. "You know what, I do feel better!"

Sam shakes his hand to free the whip cream, watching Dean rake the remainder of the pie off his chin with his fork. Suddenly, Sam's temples begin pulsing painfully and he has an immense sense of deja vu. His smile falters and he feels out of place. Almost, as if he's reliving this moment. It's similar to the feeling he had this morning.

"Hey, Sam. You okay?"

"Uh, yeah." He's not honestly sure if everything is okay.

Sam texts Eileen and tells her he wants to make up for the date they missed months ago. She agrees it has been too long and tonight would work for her. Sam doesn't want to make promises, as the day is still young, but they plan for their date tonight at 7. Dean teases Sam about it even though the two are already a couple. Saying things like, "don't do anything I wouldn't do" or "make sure you use protection." Sam just sighs and shakes his head.

It's 6:35 pm and nothing has come across the wire. Social media is quiet, so Sam texts Eileen that the date is a go. She replies five minutes later, ready to go and excited to see Sam. Dean offers to let Sam take the Impala out to pick Eileen up. For once in a long time, Sam is excited. When he reaches the garage door, Sam glances back at his brother and sees him nursing a brand new whiskey bottle. Sam frowns at the sight. Dean deserves to feel excited, to be happy. Sam will go on this date with Eileen, tell her about Cas, and they will come back to help Dean. Help Dean get his best friend back. Our best friend back .

Dean waves his brother off and slumps into the chair in the library. It's not very comfortable. In fact, the wooden back is digging into his thoracic spine and causing some pain. But it's better than the alternative. The alternative of thinking about what he's lost, who he's lost, and how he lost them. That pain will never go away. Right now I can focus on this acute pain and center my thoughts on it. Keep myself from sinking into the dark hole of nothing I've been trying to climb out of since I lost - since I lost

Dean finishes the whiskey bottle before Sam gets home and he's still not drunk enough. He rises from the chair and walks to the liquor cart. All the bottles are half empty or nothing but drops of whiskey, gathering at the bottom of the glass. He picks up one empty glass bottle and stares at it for several moments. His vision becomes distorted from the small glass textures, his left ear begins to ring from the silence as he falls into a trance like state. Then, a glint of sapphire reflects in the textured glass. It catches his eye; Dean swallows. Suddenly, he's thinking of Castiel. Cas. He's thinking of "I love you's" and "Goodbye, Dean" and black goo. He's thinking of how the image of his best friend disappearing into a black mass of nothing is seared in his memory forever. He's thinking of how he didn't get to say goodbye, or anything really, and now he never will.

He grimaces at the bottle, squeezes the neck so hard his knuckles blanche, and throws it across the room, into the kitchen. It lands by the island, shattering to pieces, with a deafening crash. Dean feels his eyes burning and hot tears gathering at the corners. Before he realizes, Dean is grabbing all the glass bottles and throwing them into the kitchen. In his fit of rage, Dean throws one bottle too high and it shatters against the side of the kitchen table. Glass spreads across the floor. He doesn't even register the intensity of the mess until one bottle knocks off another, shattering it at his feet. He stops throwing the bottles, breaking from his trance.

"I tried everything! I can't save you! There's nothing left! How could you do this to me, you son of a bitch," Dean cries. He places his hands on either side of his head, thinking. "Jack! How can you just leave us? We need you. Cas needs you! Fuck this all powerful, all knowing God bullshit. We're family!" Dean tosses the cart over. "Isn't that enough?" He pauses and glances around for a moment. Nothing. "Dammit, Jack. Why won't you answer my prayers? I need some help!" He cries out and slowly sits down. "I can't do this on my own," he whispers between his sniffles. He begs over and over again please please please in his head for a few moments. But he's met with silence like every other time. Dean accepts this and wipes his tears away, picks the cart up, grabs the broom and dustpan from the kitchen and picks up his mess. He can't have Sam see what a hypocrite he truly has become.

Dean cuts himself on a few lone pieces of glass, but it's nothing he can't handle. In fact, for a brief moment, the pain gives him something to focus on. He mindlessly watches the crimson slowly drain down the sink as he holds his palm under the running water. He wonders what it feels like to float down the water, through the pipes, through the darkness, into nothing. What is wrong with me? But that's where Cas is right now. A bunch of nothing. Dean grabs a hand towel and wraps it around his left hand before returning to the broom. The kitchen is just about clean. Within about 5 minutes, all the glass and spilled whiskey is gone. Almost as if it never happened. Dean places the broom and dustpan back in the corner and trudges through the hallways.

There is a secret stash of whiskey in his man cave that Dean hid for emergencies. And this constitutes an emergency. He walks to the wall, removes a Star Wars poster from the fifth movie, and pulls out a few bricks, revealing the beautiful brown bottle of Jack Daniel's. Not his favorite but Dean was in a rush when he bought it a couple of weeks ago before they defeated Chuck just in case anything went sideways. Also, in case Sam found his stash at least it wouldn't be his good whiskey. Popping the cap off, Dean takes a long swig as he stumbles toward the couch. Sam should be home soon. I'll be done with this bottle by then and be able to forget anything blue for a while. Except all he dreams of is blue.

Bright blue swirls fill his dreams as he drifts off. He feels immense warmth as the blue wraps around him like a large ribbon and he floats above the grass. The ribbon caresses Dean like a soft, silk cloud, holding him in place. A slight breeze causes the ribbon to ripple in harmony and alternate between hues of blue. The colors circulate between indigo to azure to cobalt to cerulean to teal and finally midnight blue effortlessly. Dean sees dark angels wings above and feels safe. He flies higher as the ribbon ascends toward the wings. Flashes of cerulean eyes skip by, sad and yearning, before Dean is pulled down into dark azure ocean water by the wings. The ribbon of blue dissolves into nothing. Dean feels alone. In dreams, people don't usually have their sense of smell, but Dean swears he smells hints of sandalwood, a campfire, and honey. Then, he sees Castiel materialize before him with his wings extended, long and wide. Beautiful. They're untouched with no sign of rebellion or impurities. Just as Dean had first seen them. Before he met me. Before he rebelled and lost everything for me. I cursed you, Cas. Green eyes lock with blue and Castiel smiles at Dean. Then suddenly, Castiel's wings begin to dissipate and burn away. He appears to scream in pain. Dean reaches out just as soon as the water darkens and swarms around Castiel. He thrashes against the thick water but cannot break free. Dean is frozen in the water and at once cannot breathe. He screams out to Castiel but no sound comes out. He, instead, inhales the water. Castiel disappears within the black, thick water just as soon as he appears. He's gone.

Dean's eyes slowly open. This is a recurring nightmare he's had since Castiel sacrificed himself. Since he left. Dean had hoped the alcohol would impair his subconscious enough to avoid the nightmare. Beer hasn't been strong enough, nor tequila, or vodka. Whiskey is his last resort and apparently it does jack-shit. I need something stronger, if I am to get any sleep. Although the whiskey does not keep the nightmares at bay it does keep him numb. That is enough to continue drinking. He reaches for the bottle and misses. I may be seeing double. After a few tries, Dean successfully retrieves the bottle and downs the remaining third of the whiskey. His head feels heavy and his chest feels hot. Dean can feel his fingers tingling and toes numbing against his socks. This is the sweet spot of feeling drunk, he thinks.

Sam returns from his date, unnoticed, and walks into the room, seeing Dean spread out on the couch. He eyes the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table and sighs. Sam remembers the other whiskey bottle left on the library table. The same one Dean had been nursing before Sam left. Dean is on a bender again. Eileen shuffles up next to Sam and glances at the couch. She looks at Sam with a sad look. At dinner, he filled her in with everything he knows about Castiel and his sacrifice for Dean. But Eileen didn't realize it would affect Dean this badly. She walks over to Dean and pulls the blanket from on top of the couch and covers Dean. He's passed out again and is slightly twitching. His eyes are racing back and forth.

"We will regroup tomorrow and discuss Plan SOC," Sam whispers while signing.

"I'm still not sure about the code word," Eileen signs with a grimace.

"We'll work on it," he signs with a shrug.

The next morning Dean wakes to his Jack Daniel's replaced with three ibuprofen pills and a glass of water. Grateful, he slowly takes them one at a time due to the agonizing headache. Usually he doesn't have headaches or hangovers but the nightmares don't give him much rest. He really isn't able to sleep off the alcohol. Pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes to push back the headache, Dean sighs with exhaustion. He doesn't even know what time it is. His watch reads 4:32 but Dean is unsure if it's AM or PM.

Suddenly, he feels his stomach growl and Dean realizes he hasn't eaten since about noon today. Yesterday? He sloppily rises up and makes his wake toward the kitchen. Nothing really sounds appetizing except for some string cheese. Only, they don't have string cheese. Of course. So, Dean settles for the two day old pepperoni pizza in the fridge. Not too bad, and he will never say no to pizza. Dean isn't sure how long he was passed out but the effects of the whiskey have certainly worn down a bit. He can't walk a straight line, but his vision is more clear. He clumsily carries the pizza box over to the library table next to his laptop and sits it down. Quietly, he pulls the chair out and takes a seat. The hunter in him wants to make sure everything is quiet out in the world. The clock on his laptop confirms its 4:38 AM.

A few clicks and searches show there's a local mysterious killing. Our kinda thing. Dean smiles, knowing that this case will help keep his mind busy. And he will be able to save someone. At least this way he will feel like his life was worth saving. Ironic. I feel like I've said that before. Why do people feel the need to jump at any chance to save me? I don't deserve saving. Dad sold his soul for me and now Cas. I don't deserve it. He shakes his head and munches down on cold pizza in silence.

Dean finishes the last three slices of pizza, underestimating how hungry he had been. He watches a few dumb YouTube videos for a while, to keep his mind off things, waiting for Sam to wake up. Dean is tempted to grab a beer from the fridge but decides against it. He needs to be as sober as possible for the hunt, for Sam. If Dean were to go alone, he would not care. Not at this moment anyway.

Dean has realized his mood swings are ridiculous lately. At one moment, he's super depressed and doesn't care about anything. He honestly doesn't care if he lives or dies. The next moment he can't wait to see what life has to offer. It's as if his brain doesn't know how to comprehend what Castiel's sacrifice means to him. His thoughts can become so tangled and incoherent Dean doesn't know how to act - what to say. That's why he started writing down some of his thoughts, and then thought how much of girl that made him and crumpled the papers up. Right now, he can really use a moment to write down his thoughts.

He grabs the notepad and pen on the table and scribbles away. I hate this feeling. What am I supposed to feel? Anger? Sadness? Relief? Emptiness? Frustration? All of the above? Others? You left me with so many unanswered questions and I left you with nothing in return. How am I supposed to go on knowing this? Cas, how can I go minute to minute, hour to hour, knowing what I know now? I fucked up. I had a chance to say what I've been wanting to say for a while and I couldn't. I didn't. Did you even know? I mean do I even fucking know? I can't even hate you to make myself feel better. I can't bring myself to say I hate you for doing this to me. Because I could never hate you. The paper becomes wet with a few tear drops. I will find you, Cas. Just wait for me.

Dean places the pen next to the notepad after a moment. He wipes his nose with his flannel sleeve. Not many tears fell but his nose is running pretty good. Out of all of his thought entries, this one felt the most cathartic. He sometimes pretends that Castiel can hear him read the words to himself or even hear him as Dean writes the words. Just as Castiel heard his prayer in Purgatory. But he doesn't. He won't. The empty is a dark and torturous place. My prayer and words will be the last things he'd focus on.

Dean lays his head on the table from exhaustion, but doesn't shut his eyes. He won't risk falling asleep. Instead, he focuses on counting the books on each shelf to his right. Then, once he's done with those he counts the ones on his left. Dean notices some of these books, he nor Sam even use. He doesn't know half of the content in these books. Unfortunately, Dean underestimated how counting can cause drowsiness no matter the subject at play. His eyes begin to drift when Sam walks in with loud footsteps.

Yawning, Sam says, "What are you doing in here? You should be in bed."

Dean jerks up, shaking his head from thoughts of sleep. "I found us a case," he replies.

"Mhm. Is that all you were looking for during the early morning?" Sam asks, eyeing the covered notepad. Dean notices and quickly turns it over.

"Sam," he warns. "mind your business."

"Good morning," Eileen joins the boys in the library.

Dean isn't too surprised to see her here but is happy for Sam nonetheless. "Morning, Eileen. I hope sasquatch here didn't take up the whole bed."

Eileen blushes and laughs at Dean. "I don't kiss and tell," she winks at Sam as she kisses him on the cheek. "Who wants breakfast?"

"Yes, please!" Sam signs.

Sam joins Dean at the table and a long beat passes between them. Sounds in the kitchen of water running, the clinking of plates, and banging of pans fill the silence instead. Dean repositions himself in the chair, still not making eye contact with Sam. Sam, however, is studying Dean. He appears disheveled, bags under his eyes, day old stubble and crust around his lips from dried whiskey. He's a wreck.

"So this case-" "We need to talk-" They start simultaneously.

Dean glances up for the first time. "You first."

"I know about Cas." Dean's eyes widen slightly. "At least I know there's more to the story. You didn't tell me everything and I know whatever happened is eating away at you." Dean gestures to dismiss Sam. "Dean, I know you. I can see it. I know when you get like this it's because of something close to you." Sam pauses. "I also read some of your crumpled up papers." A dark look crosses Dean's face. Almost like he wants to punch Sam.

"You did what?" Dean says.

Sam continues, ignoring Dean's comment. "I know you're trying to bring Cas back. I want to help," Sam offers.

Dean sighs, looking to the side. He knows the many dead ends and how disappointing it is trying to save Cas. He doesn't want to subject his brother to the very same thing. "It's no use, Sam. Everything is a dead end. I've tried everything I can think of. Cas is gone," Dean resigns, defeated. "All we can do now is save people, hunt things, and live our lives. It's what Cas would want. It's what everyone, who we have lost, would want."

"Dean," Sam starts. "You're giving up way too easily. There is always another way. Don't you always say that?" Dean doesn't respond. "I know how it may seem hopeless but we have options. We have the resources to continue the search to save him. You can't give up now, Dean. This is Cas."

"I've tried everything I can think of, Sam. Everything! Praying, research, calling Rowena. She doesn't answer. Jack is off grid. I've tried! There's nothing. He's gone!" Dean's voice cracks. He swallows down the pain. "We have to accept that. And however I deal with it is my business. So don't give me those judgy eyes like you are now." Dean says pointedly.

"But, Dean-"

"I said no Sam."

Dean gets up, signaling he's done with this conversation and takes the notepad with him. He doesn't even acknowledge Eileen as she brings breakfast to the library. "The case is pulled up on my laptop. I'm going to get ready." Dean turns the corner and is gone before Sam can reply.

Eileen's face falls as she holds a plate of french toast, bacon, sausage, and lots of syrup. Then one plate of regular scrambled eggs with toast for Sam. She sits the plates on the table and watches Dean leave. "Is he not hungry? I made his favorite." She says.

"It's not that, he's dealing with some, he's just-" Sam doesn't seem to know how to finish his sentence, or fully explain his brother's behavior.

"Cas?" Eileen offers. Sam nods.

Sam reads the case on Dean's laptop and begins to feel nauseated. He has a bad feeling. He, again, has a sense of deja vu. Two days in a row, it can't be a coincidence. It's like there is an itch at the back of his brain, crawling to the surface, wanting to show him something. He feels a headache come on and the pain is similar to when he used to get visions as a young adult. The pain grows stronger as the itch continues, pulling toward his frontal lobe.

Then, a flash of images of Sam and Dean dressed in their normal FBI threads quickly blink by. Another image of them at an abandoned barn fighting some strange, masked creatures. Sam recognizes the mask from Dad's journal. And then a burst of images, showing Sam and Dean fighting these creatures appear. They're vampires! The brothers are winning, slicing the vamp's heads off one after another. The last image shows Dean pushed against something sharp and… Oh no, Dean Sam thinks.

He grabs his head and shakes the images away. Groaning in pain, he sees he's on the floor. He must have fallen while the vision took over. Eileen is at his side, freaked out. She's signing, "Are you okay?" over and over again.

Slowly, Sam regains his thoughts and tells Eileen he's okay. Dean rushes by Sam's side by this point after hearing the loud thud from his fall. Dean places his hand on Sam's shoulder, in concern.

"Dude, what the hell happened? Say something. You alright?" Dean glances over Sam, and around the bunker, checking for any intruders.

"Yea, yea. I'm fine. I feel like I just got hit by a freight train. Like how my visions used to feel." He pauses. "I actually think I just had a vision." Sam looks at Dean with bewilderment and Dean returns the look.

"I'm sorry. Did you just say you had a vision?"

"Yea." Sam breathes.

"You haven't had one of those since you were like in your twenties and yellow eyes was after you. Why the fuck now?"

"I-I don't know. I thought it was a nightmare, but last night the same images played in my mind. I went all day yesterday feeling a sense of deja vu. The pie fest, reading the case, even eating breakfast."

All three are silent for quite a while. Their breakfast grows cold but no one pays it any mind. "What if it's a sign?" Eileen questions.

"Like from God, uh, Jack?" Sam offers.

Dean huffs in response. He knows damn good and well Jack is staying out of everyone's business. There isn't any possibility Jack is interfering. "I doubt it."

"It's possible," says Sam. "Maybe he has taken himself out of the narrative, but what if he's helping us still by guiding us through this vision?"

"He hasn't answered any of my damn prayers since two months ago. Why would he start now?"

"I don't know, change of heart?" Sam offers, half-heartedly.

Dean stands and laughs with a bitter shake of his head. "You honestly believe that? Come on, Sam. The kid has a new sense of almighty. We, you, me and Cas, we are now left in the dust. He said so himself. You're just having some freak migraine."

Sam stands, with Eileen in tow. She helps him up by the arm. "You're wrong. I know he's not like Chuck, and stays away, but he still cares. I know he sent me this vision to help us. All of us," Sam stares at Dean's glare of hopelessness. "I have faith, Dean."

"How can you be so sure? How can you be so positive that this is from Jack and he's trying to help us? Doesn't make a lot of sense that out of all the times I've asked for his help, to save Cas, or help me bring him back, he's now warning you of an ordinary hunt?" Dean says frustrated.

"Because in this hunt you die, Dean," Sam blurts out. Dean stays quiet. "You die and I have to go on without you. You leave me and I have to live a life without my brother."

Dean's gaze falls to the floor. He's quiet for a moment, processing this information. "You live a happy life?" He barely says.

"What?"

"After I die, do you go on having the whole white picket fence, apple pie life with the 2.5 kids?" Dean clarifies, calmly.

Sam searches Dean's face for any kind of sign of self actualization or will to live. "Why does it matter? I can still strive for that with you alive. We both can," he adds.

Dean smiles, that tired, sad smile. "No, Sammy. You and I both know as long as I'm alive you will always be in this life." He looks at Eileen. "You two will never have a chance at a happy, normal life with me around. Besides, hunting is what I do. There is nothing else for me. Not anymore.”

"That's not true," Eileen says, with tears in her eyes. She reaches out and places her hand on Dean's cheek, pleading for him to understand how wrong he is.

"It is. I'm the one that dragged you back into this life, Sam. I'm the only one keeping you here. Let me give you an out."

"Stop. Okay just stop. We are not going on this hunt. If you want to be suicidal, fine, but I'm keeping you out of danger. You are always so quick to jump in front of a gun or blade. Do you still care that little about yourself, Dean?" Sam searches his brother's eyes. "What about that job paperwork on your desk? You must have cared at some point. Wanted to live!" Dean is quiet. Sam sighs. "Cas wouldn't want you to die. He died to save you, remember? So, what I am going to do is bring Cas back. Are you going to help me?"

Dean ponders Sam's offer for a moment. "What about the people that will die, if we don't save them?"

"I'll call some hunters and give them a heads up on what to look out for when they go there. It'll be taken care of," Sam reassures.

Dean glances between Eileen and Sam. Fiddling with a loose string on the end of his flannel sleeve, he sighs. On one hand, he'd love to see Castiel again. He'd do anything- to hug him and tell him all the things he didn't get to say. But on the other hand, he's so tired. So very tired. There are no leads. And he's lost all faith in his search to save Castiel.

"Dean?" Sam starts.

"Okay. Let's bring Cas home."

#man i dont even know what to put in the tags #who do i tag #my writing #destiel #this is gonna be a journey

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caxsthetic · 4 years

Text

PHANTASM BLUES • Suna Rintarou x Reader x Kita Shinsuke

Episode 4: Memory Lane

Type: TV Series (Multiple Chapters)

Cast: Suna Rintarou, Kita Shinsuke

Storyline: There was no good ending when your heart was bound to love more than one. And up until now, you still asked the universe why you have been given such curse.

Genre: Slice of Life, Drama

"Rin, just cry..." You whispered in his ear oh so softly, "It's alright, Rin." He wrapped his arms around you, nails digging on your back, clinging as if he would fall into a pit of darkness if he let you go, "Here, just you and me. Go on... Cry."

He could only see the darkness, even with all the street lights that illuminated his vision. He could only hear silences, even with all the blaring honks of the cars outside. He could only feel nothing, nothing at all, even with the cold air that surrounded him inside of this little space.

From the warm afternoon after practice, he still remembered the gentle touch of your skin, the feeling of being home every time he rested his head on your shoulders. He never asked for you to greet him right at 4 pm, with his high school jacket wrapped around your figure, waiting for his car to roll on the garage.

You were there, with a gentle smile on your face that turned into a wide grin when he finally filled your vision. For years of his life he never really tasted what home felt like, but you gave it to him, even before the two of you realised the feelings that were being held for each other.

So why after he had you for possibly forever, he decided to run away?

It had been the most torturous minutes of his life, way worse than when he got the call about you having a relationship with someone else — someone that he wished was not so perfect in his eyes (and possibly yours).

There was nothing going on with you and his captain when all of you were in high school, only a few banter and usually the topic would be all about him. After all, the whole universe knew that you belonged to him. Even if there were no words being spoken.

Some people would hate your existence just because you were close with him — always said things about how you only pursued the clouds. One thing that they didn't know, was the fact he was the one who searched for your company, the one who waited in front of the classroom, every single day.

No one actually expected him to get attached to someone. Especially someone that was not his teammates. Even with the guys, he would be the one who still gave a proper distance—except maybe to his captain, the perfect man in his eyes, someone that sometimes he wished he could be.

"Seriously?" You chuckled when you heard him muttering under his breath, rambling about the twins. Again, "Let me guess, it needed the coach to break them off from the quarrel?"

"What? No," He rolled his eyes a little, fixing his position so he didn't fall off to the side, "Kita-san! It's Kita-san." The way he blurted out the name always made you feel some kind of joy. Because every time he mentioned his captain, he always had this giddy and proud look on his face, like a proud brother who wanted to get noticed.

"I know, I know~" You cooed at him and booped his nose, "Of course it would be Kita-senpai. Every single thing that you told me — once you have this little glimmer in your eyes, I know that you are going to mention him."

"My eyes didn't glimmer."

"I am the one who sees it."

"... Fair enough."

Silence once again, but not the kind that you wanted to run away from. It was a comfort silence that engulfed the atmosphere. He needed to be careful as he put his head on your lap. Since the bench was too small for his liking, long enough for his feet not to dangle, but if he moved a little, he would tumble to the ground.

"Hey, Rin?" You called out to him, and like usual, he answered it with a low hum, "Who are you going to be obsessed with once Kita-senpai graduates?"

Today was the graduation day for the third year, meaning that after this, you and him would spend the last high school year. Last. When he thought about it, he felt like he didn't want the day to end. Because not long from now, he had to be the senior, he would be the one who graduated from school.

Graduation means separation, and he was not ready to say goodbye.

"I am not obsessed with him, mind you." He flicked your forehead, gently of course, but you still winched since you didn't expect that.

"You are obsessed with him, Rin." You did the same to him, and he let out a yelp because now his sleepiness started to go away, "I count it, how many times you mentioned his name today."

"Yeah? Spill," Maybe it would be around nine or ten, he thought, since today he felt more sentimental than usual with how it was probably the last time he saw his upperclassmen.

"Thirty one," He choked on air when he heard your statement, making you chuckle with how dumbfounded he looked at the moment, "And it's not even past 1 pm, Rin." You always loved to make fun of his 'little' obsession for the stoic captain, "I am not going to be surprised if someday you wanted to propose to him."

"Ngh, no." You raised one of your eyebrows from his fast response, "I wanted him to be my best man, I think."

"You think?"

"Okay, I am sure of it."

You snickered a little and ran your fingers through his locks, eyes looking up to gaze at the quiet place where the two of you were right now. The secluded part of the school, one place that used to become a rendezvous spot for the hormonal teenagers.

But one day he dragged you here, claimed this place to be his nap territory. And you? You were his pillow, the lullaby that he needed. The mere existence that he had to bring anywhere, like a lucky charm that always made him feel so safe.

As you gazed at the scenery in front of you, you didn't realise as a pair of green orbs looked at your face with a grateful look on his facade. You were a miracle in his eyes, someone that he never thought would find this early.

"I want that," He spoke up, making you look down to face him, "I want him to be my best man." And you to be my bride.

You have this soft look right now, and he wondered what was possibly inside your mind at this point. Your gaze always filled with peace and comfort every time your vision fell to his figure, sometimes he wished he could understand the meaning of all that.

"Alright," He raised one of his eyebrows when he heard your simple answer, "I will be there to make sure the two of you stay in touch."

How tragic. He wanted to scoff when his mind brought him back to that day. The time when life was so simple, as the only thing that he needed to think of was just what he had for lunch or how much stamina he should muster for volleyball practice.

Why there is no time machine or something. He pondered as his hand gripped the steering wheel with so much force, whole body tensed as he kept replaying the scenario from minutes before. That would be so much easier.

At this time he just wanted to curl up in the bed with you, listening to your whine about work while he gave you all of his attention. With his head laying on your chest, and a chuupet clamped on his teeth — a perfect night.

He never wanted to grow up, he loved everything that happened in his high school year. To have great friends that actually care for him, some upperclassmen that he always looks up to, and to have you. More importantly, to be the only one who has your heart.

Shaking his head, he needed to do something in this one way trip or else he would go insane by the time he reached his destination. With green orbs still focused on the road, he rummaged through the compartment box, searching for one item that he never used since you told him not to.

It was right when the car stopped at the intersection that he opened up the side window. Still contemplating as he stared into the poison that you always scold him not to use anymore.

"I didn't know that you smoke." You spat the word as if he would be in jail by lighting up the cigarettes. He just shrugged as both of you hung out in a parking lot, too late for the movie that the two of you were supposed to watch around an hour ago, "Rin?"

"What?" He looked frustrated ever since he suddenly popped out in front of your house, minutes late from when he was supposed to pick you up, "You didn't like it?"

"You know well I always complain about smokers." It pained you to see him like this, eyes never leave the scenery outside as he held the fire on his right hand, "And to know my best friend did not even ask if am I okay with it—"

"For god sake, I am sorry, okay?!" He finally turned to face you, "You don't need to throw all of those sarcasm on me! I get it!" But you didn't expect to see him like this, "Shit, I thought you could be a little more understanding."

He scoffed one more time before slamming his head to the car seat, throwing the cigarette outside. Never once you saw him like this for two years knowing him, and you felt helpless as you could only gawk for the first few seconds.

There were tears at the corner of his eyes, begging for him to just let it all out. You took off your seatbelts and held out your hand carefully, gently, as if you were afraid that he would gone if you were too forceful.

Once your hand rested on his back, he relaxed in a matter of seconds. Gulping down, he faced you once again, with guilt and misery inside his usually lazy eyes.

"I am sorry,"

"It's okay, Rin..."

"Da cheat on Ma, and I just—"

You didn't need any other syllable from him to pull his trembling body into your embrace. From all the things that could happen to him, he just had to receive such hurtful reality, a week before the two of you graduate.

A week before the two of you would be apart from each other.

He bit his lips, swallowing a huge lump as he tried so hard not to break down in front of you. There was no use; crying. Even when Inarizaki lost a game in Nationals, he never shed a tear, always thinking that it was just a waste of time.

But right now, he really wanted to. The pain that he felt when he woke up and saw another woman in his parent's bedroom, it was all too much. Even him that always success to bottle everything, he couldn't even hold this one back.

The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down his face. He could feel the muscles of his chin tremble like a small child. There was a static voice inside his head, the shout and scream that belonged to his parents—a side effect that followed him even after hours went by.

But he tried to focus on your voice, reassurement and company that he always went to. Something that he never got from his house. He wouldn't even call that place a home. It was just a shelter for him, eighteen years he lived there it was just a transit for him that he had to go back to for sleep and eat.

With parents that rarely there, empty spaces filled with souvenirs from around the world, it felt like he was in some kind of museum. And their parents only went back to collect some stuff, drop money, and leave him to go on their own journey.

Treating him like he was just a mere infestation that needed to be taken care of.

"I shouldn't have been surprised." He voiced out what lingered inside his mind, "They are never there for each other. They are never there for me." A painful cry from someone who always tried to hide everything, "What did I do wrong? I never even asked to be born from the first place."

You clenched your hand into a fist, trying to calm yourself down as anger started to creep inside your heart. Now you knew the reason why he never wanted you to visit him, or why he wanted to stay longer when he was in your house.

Inside someone that looked like he never gave a shit about what happened in this world, was just one broken man that longed for tenderness.

"I want to leave."

"W-What?" You choked out a little, surprised by the sudden needs that he threw, "What do you mean leave, Rin?" No, it couldn't be that. He was a lot stronger, even stronger than you, "Rin...?"

"I want to die, (Y/n)."

No,

"I am tired, it's not like I will have a successful future ahead anyway."

You will be a successful person,

"It's not like someone will miss me. No one wanted me."

I want you.

"I want you." You whispered softly, voicing out the feelings that you have been buried since you saw him in the gymnasium that day, "I want you, Rin."

His eyes widened, didn't expect to hear such words from you. It was just a simple sentence, a sentence that he could hear from some random TV shows. But when it slipped between your lips, it filled his life with something that he had lost for a long time. Hope.

"Stay with me, okay?" It was you who asked for that, "Let see tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that." The proposition of life, "Let's race to see who would be the successful person first. You and me, how about that? "

What was it? Why the sadness that he felt before was replaced by these unknown feelings? So fast that it ignited a fire within his soul.

It burned him, but not a destructive kind of burn. It was more like the kind that made him want to see forwards, the one that created a goal, the one that made him want to see the light of another day. But this time, it was not because he felt that he was obligated to live.

Instead, it became something that he wanted to do.

"Okay."

You were like a gasoline for him, the one that made him feel alive, the one that he needed to see another light. Yet too much of you and it could turn him into ashes.

Ashes.

His orbs flickered back and forth to the cigarette in his hand, driving mindlessly with a slow speed as his mind wandered to every word that you said. Throw it away, Rintarou. He repeated it to himself, knowing that this little evil thing could bring some addiction — one that was not good for a professional volleyball player like him.

But he shrugged it off, trying to bury the remnants of you that lingered every time he inhaled the grey stench. It was as if he could see your glare, as you sat on the passenger seat with both hands folded in front of your chest.

He swallowed a huge lump, feeling the intense gaze like it was real. Then again, it was just a hallucination, you were not here. You were probably happy that he left, finally gave you the chance so you could be with his upperclassmen instead of him.

Screech!

Static noise blaring inside his ears, making him drop the cigarette into the street. He felt like someone just knocked the air out of his lungs when he remembered the state you were in when he left you like a coward.

"I don't like small spaces." You muttered one day as you put your head on his chest, absorbing the gentle affection that he radiated, "It always makes me feel anxious somehow."

He knew that. He knew too well every single thing about you. His orbs glanced towards the clock,

00:39

It had been thirty minutes since he left you, since he left the home that he was begging to have. You were his everything, the reason why he was still breathing today. So why would he let you go that easily? Why would he surrender and throw his insecurity to your face?

"Fuck," Was it too late? Would you be okay if he came back now? "God, I am sorry." His hands were trembling by now, feeling like the worst human alive. Who in the right mind left someone that he loved, trapped inside a small space?

His heart beats so much faster as he swerves the steering wheel, turning around in hope that you would still there, at least safe and sound. He could feel the sweat drenched his skin and how his eyes throbbed when his mind branched to some dark possibilities.

It was as if he was in this empty house, and your existence was there to warm all of the empty room that he thought would be impossible to be filled. You were the only person that could give him the reason to keep breathing, so if he left you, wouldn't it mean that one day he would run out of oxygen?

There was no reason for him by choosing to go away. With all of the places that he passed for the past minutes, he just realised that with you he was perfect. He didn't have to be the perfect man that he thought he needed to be.

At the end of the day, you would be the only home that he would come back to. And you would open up your arms to welcome him.

Bzzt bzzt! Bzzt bzzt!

He shook his head to focus on the road once again, hands gripping tight on the steering wheel as the only thing that he wanted to just parked the car in front of the house that he shared with you for the past year.

His orbs peek on his phone screen, wondering who would call him this late at night. Grabbing the phone that was laid on the passenger seat, his lips pursed when he saw the name that flickered on the screen.

Shouldn't he be excited? He always had these giddy feelings bubbling up every time his upperclassmen called him. But ever since the break up that you had (which until now you still avoided the topic), the excitement that he used to feel now turned into jittery.

He swallowed a huge lump, debating whether to either pick up the call or just let it be until it turned off on its own. Fear crept into the back of his head, scared that his upperclassmen that he always thought highly of would want you back.

Then again, maybe it was time for him to man up. You were his, he was yours. He wouldn't let anyone have you, not when you gave so much to him and chose him to be your lover while you could actually take another path two years ago.

Starting from now, he was ready to let everyone know that he was the only person that you would open up your arms to, and you were the only home he would go back to.

But before he could answer the call, his vision went black.

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hannatuulikkdiary · 4 years

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Tracking the steps of the Deer Dancer

Some years ago, in Southern Arizona, a friend advised me to beware of the desert's spiky plant life. Sure enough, wandering the zigzagging paths through the canyon, I found myself picking fine spines from my clothes and skin. Learning to minimise this risk, I started paying attention to the ground and noticed human trails intersecting with animal tracks – javelina, coyote, and especially deer. With no rain for weeks, hoofprints remained debossed in the dry earth, like chains of split hearts, or strings of letters. Where clusters of tracks had accumulated, it looked as if the deer had been dancing.

During that same visit, I came across a copy of the book Yaqui Deer Songs / Maso Bwikam: A Native American Poetry, edited by Larry Evers and Felipe S. Molina. Originally from the Río Yaqui, the indigenous Yaqui (or Yoeme) people now reside across the divided borderlands of Sonora, Mexico and Arizona, USA. I read that before setting out to hunt, their ancestors held a festive rite, enacting the wilderness world through a series of songs that address the deer, asking forgiveness for those animals that will die. Though hunting is rarely practised by present-day Yaqui, traces of the tradition remain extant in the Deer Dance, wherea single male dancer becomes the Maaso– the deer – and, wearing a stag headdress, he imitates the movements of a white-tailed deer.

I was struck by the ways in which the photos of the costume bore a resemblance to some images I'd seen of the antlered headdresses found at Star Carr, a Mesolithic site in Yorkshire. Archaeologists have suggested that these red deer frontletswere worn in hunting rituals, allowing the wearer to harness antler effects, gaining access to the perspective of the 'animal-in-action'. Could this also be true for the Yaqui Deer Dance?

Pondering these connections, I recalled two dances I'd heard about in the British Isles – the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance of Staffordshire, believed to be a memory of a celebration of villagers’ hunting rights, featuringsix men bearing mounted antlers said to move like deer, and the Scottish Highland Fling, thought by some to have its origins in a warrior’s dance imitative of deer, with hands held aloft for antlers.

'Mimesis' – the imitation or emulation of the more-than-human-world – in traditional music and dance is something I've explored over the years, from Scottish Gaelic vocal imitations of birds, to the practice of embodying a river in South Indian Kutiyattam movement. I was keen to find out more and studythese three'deer dances' in tandem.What kind of deer effects are harnessed in these dances? Which deer behaviours are imitated and why? What do they reveal about our relationship with deer and ecology?

Over the next couple of years, I made numerous field trips to observe dances, interview practitioners, and learn steps directly from tradition bearers. Spending time observing deer, I consideredthe ways in which their behaviour is emulated in the dances and, learning about the ecologies of their habitats, I examined their relationship to hunting, stalking at Trees for Liferewilding estate in Dundreggan, and animal tracking in the Sonoran Desert. I was particularly interested in exploring the 'tacit' knowledge embodied in the dances. What could be discovered by 'learning' and 'doing' these dances, as opposed to just 'watching' them? What could be discovered in the body, through practices of stalking and tracking, instead of simply 'reading' about them?

Needwood Forest, Staffordshire...

I first went to see the Abbots Bromley Horn Dancein September 2017, and then again in 2018. This folk dance takes place once a year in the Abbots Bromley village, near to Bagot's Wood, an area of woodland just one and a half square miles, which is all that remains of the ancientNeedwood Forest. Like most forest in Britain, historically it was property of the Crown and, in this case, was once parcel of the Duchy of Lancaster.

Today the word 'forest' refers to an area of wooded land, but the medieval sense of the word referred to land set aside for royal hunting. The 'Royal Forest' included large areas of heath, grassland and wetland, essentially anywhere that supported deer and other game.Villages and towns that lay within it were subject to forest law, protecting the 'Beasts of the Chase' from being hunted by anyone except the king, safeguarding the habitat in which they lived. These 'beasts' were primarily deer, and included native red and roe deer, as well as non-native species such as fallow deer, introduced to England for the very purpose of hunting.

Every Royal Forest in England was overseen by a keeper who was appointed by the King, and whose position was often hereditary. Forest Law meant that it was illegal to hunt deer, chop down trees or underwood, unless permission had been given by the Crown. Penalties for offenses were severe, but by 1217, the death penalty for poaching had been abolished. This didn't stop some kings; during the reign of Henry VIII, a yeoman named Richard Horne was caught poaching deer in the woods and was hung for his crimes. His ghost, known as Herne the Hunteris said to haunt Windsor Forest, with antlers growing from his head and chains rattling behind him.

Within the structures of Forest Law, payment for access to certain rights became a useful source of income and local nobles could be granted a licence to hunt an agreed amount of game, giving forest inhabitants a variety of rights. As I mentioned, theAbbots Bromley Horn Danceis believed by some to be a memory of a medieval celebration of villagers’ hunting rights, possibly recalling the act of giving thanks to the local nobility for access to the Royal Forest. Others believe it was danced to ensure a successful hunt, or a good harvest. The forest itself was largely lost in the eighteenth-century due to deforestation. With all this in mind, I couldn't help but think that the Horn Dance was taking place in an imaginary landscape, in the ghost of a place that no longer exists.

The dance itself featuresten dancers: six deer-men carrying mounted antlers, a hobby horse, bow-man with his bow and arrow, Maid Marian (or man-woman) with their stick and ladle, and the fool with his pig's bladder. The antlers are mounted onto carved wooden deer heads at the end of sticks, reminiscent of a child's hobby horse toy. Surprisingly the antlers are not native; carbon dated to 1065, they came from reindeer, long extinct in Britain.

At eight in the morning, after collecting the horns from the church, the ritual begins. Moving in procession, the horn dancers exit the church yard and, on a street corner in the village, they perform a sequence of steps, circling and winding in time with the accompanying music performed on melodeon and triangle. Though stylized, particular movements are especially mimetic. Recalling the rutting behaviour of a number of species of deer, the dancers move together in a parallel walk, and then face one another, moving towards and away, passing through, as if clashing antlers during a fight. Followed by villagers and visitors alike, the horn dancers and their musicians proceed to beat the bounds of the village, walking over ten miles throughout the day, performing at each farm and pub. Taking a drink at every stop, as you might imagine, banter follows, with jokes erupting at every turn. The music is constant and consistent and, soon enough, I found myself humming along with the tunes. The sound of the triangle was particularly affecting, cutting through the cacophony of sound.

At Blithfield Hall, the tone changes considerably. The hall, a Grade 1 listed country house owned by the Baggots, has been in the family since the 14th century. The horn dancers perform on the lawn outside and when the music stops, they stand in line and wait. The Lord and Lady of the house then proceed to shake each dancer's hand, while the audience looks on from across the boundary wall. In a legacy of class inequalities, the memory of a celebration of hunting rights becomes particularly visible. Back in the village, the dancing finishes at about eight pm, when the horns are returned to the church, to be hung on display until the following year.

During the dance, I met Jack Brown, a tradition bearer and local historian, now in his nineties, who was dressed as a fool in yellow tails. He explained that he had "played all the adult parts" in the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance – deer, hobby horse, fool, man-woman and musician – and invited me to visit him at his home, a treasure trove of photos and objects, including props from the dance – a pig's bladder, triangle, bow and arrow, and stick and ladle. Jack shared with me his memories and knowledge of the dance's history and gifted me a pamphlet on his interpretation of it.

The horn dancers themselves are also very generous, opening up the floor – or ground – to participation, and over the two years I visited, I took part in a number of dances, giving me direct insight into the movements, shapes and step formations, as well as an embodied understanding of the sheer weight of the horns. Weighing between sixteen and twenty-five pounds, it is physically difficult to dance with these objects, to carry and move with them. Reindeer antlers are larger than red deer – our biggest native species – and if, as it has been suggested, they were imported from Scandinavia, perhaps we could say that the dancers of yesteryear were attracted to their size, in order to 'harness their effects'. What are these effects, I wondered? The size and weight of the antlers certainly enhances a performance of physical strength, perhaps showcasing 'heroic' abilities of endurance. During times when hunting was commonly practiced, these were presumably important attributes.

The props are most deer-like during the 'fighting sequence' when the antlers become like weapons between three pairs of rutting deer-men, albeit in an incredibly stylized rut. Some folklorists have posited that the Horn Dance was a fertility ritual; the antlers in this case would be symbolic of the male sex organ. Was this a mimetic display of the stag's bravado? Certainly, at some point, multiple powerful effects were being harnessed.

Back in the studio, I began to make sketches, tracking the shapes made on the ground by the dancers in a series of visual scores. Returning the following year, I showed my score sketches to Jack, and to Jim, a deer dancer whose family, the Fowells, have been performing the Horn Dance since 1914 after it passed to them from the Bentleys – interestingly, the Bentley family were historically the foresters of the local woodland. Checking the shapes and patterns on the page, Jack and Jim approved my visual notations, confirming their accuracy.

My notation process was also supported by a surprisingly fortunate booking! Reserving a room in a local B&B that looked down onto the area of the final dance, I was able to film it from above and compare the footage with my scores.

Caledonian Forest, Scotland...

The Caledonian Forest, characterised by Scots Pine trees, was once a huge forest stretching across Scotland. About 6,000 years ago, as the climate became wetter, some of the forest began to disappear, but the impact of human beings was even greater; trees were felled for ships, buildings, fuel, and to make way for agriculture. By the 1700s, the Caledonian Forest remained only in the most remote places and much of the wildlife that depended on this habitat was lost through hunting, or simply because there was not enough forest left. The last wolf is said to have been shot in Scotland in 1743, which meant that by this point, all of the predators had been wiped out. In fact, all of the largeanimals had gone, leaving only the red deer. Since then, this animal has come to symbolise the Highlands.

In the 19th century, as deer stalking became fashionable, large tracts of land were dedicated to deer, allowing their numbers to increase, and ‘deer forests’, which are essentially open hills managed for deer, doubled in size. Today, many Highland estates still maintain large deer populations for stalking purposes and the current number is estimated to be 350,000 individuals. Through their excessive numbers and overgrazing, deer are often seen as the problem that prevents the regeneration of the Caledonian Pinewood, however, the ecological imbalance between native forest cover, numbers of grazing deer and lack of natural predators has been caused by humans, not deer.

Trees for Life acquired their Dundreggan estate in 2008, and since then, they have been rewilding the land, planting new trees in places, such as higher mountainous areas where it is difficult for trees to establish on their own, and reducing grazing pressure to allow the forest to recover and regenerate, which, inevitably, involves the culling of deer. In 2017, I went to stay in Dundreggan, and went out stalking with Allan Common, the lead deer stalker on the estate. It was autumn, which in the red deer calendar, meant this was the time of the rut. Meanwhile in the stalking calendar, it was the time for hunting stags. I wasn't sure whether this seasonal stalking tradition was due to the fact that a rutting stag, full of high levels of testosterone, was less alert and easier to hunt, or whether it was because this hormone surge meant that the stag was now adorned with a large mane and antlers, and so more desirable as a trophy. Doug Gilbert, the operations manager at Trees for LifeDundreggan suggested that perhaps it was a mixture of the two – a legacy from the stalking craze.

Dressed in a ritual costume of wax jacket, gaiters and tweed deerstalker hat, at 7am I was met by Allan and two of his friends. Up on the hill, he instructed us to move as one body, then, as we got closer to the deer, he showed us how to lie on our bellies and remain hidden. At the edge of a ridge, we stopped to look down into a bowl-shaped area. The distant sound of roaring stags reverberated into the cold morning and, for a brief moment, through binoculars, I watched as two mature stags walked in parallel, checking each other out, before lowering their antlers, initiating contact. Throughout the morning, Allan, or one of his friends, would position a gun, then using its view finder, take a shot. Sometimes this awkward movement alerted the deer to our presence, so to counter this, Allan skilfully mimicked the bellow of the stag with his voice, to keep the stags interested. It worked! – at one point, a mature male drew very close, standing only a metre or so away. Concealed safely behind a boulder we listened to his spine-tingling roar. My heart beat fast.

While staying with Doug and his partner Joyce, a fundraiser at Trees for Life, I learned more about their work. In order to regenerate the Forest, as well as the practical task of planting trees, they explained that there needed to be a shift in values, from "seeing the land as a place for deer, to seeing the land as a place with deer in it". On the estate, it does feel as though this is happening. When I asked Allan what the biggest changes have been in his job as a stalker, he explained that it was his shift in perception; he used to think the deer were the most important thing, but now he values the land in itself, the ecology as a whole. He told me about an earlier job, working for a sporting agency, where people pay money to go shooting, but had realised some time ago, that he didn't like this 'trophy culture'. He preferred instead to have a relationship with the place, and recounted lying on his back, watching as a golden eagle flew over him, just metres above his body. His most treasured memories were not to do with stalking itself, but a connection with the more-than-human world.

In February, when I returned to Dundreggan, there was heavy snow on the ground, and the deer tracks looked as though they had been debossed, not in earth but in thick white paper. It was the season for stalking red deer hinds, which, like the stags, were hunted in the morning. Night time was reserved for stalking the sika deer, an 'invasive' species from Japan. Being nocturnal, with a tendency to stay hidden under tree cover, they were difficult to spot. Allan used a combination of traditional tracking and an infrared thermal camera to find them. I began to reflect on the relationship of technology to the traditional costumes worn in the various dances, specifically in relation to the red deer frontlets found at Star Carr. Archaeologist Chantal Conneller has posited that these frontlets extended the body of the wearer, allowing them to "harness the animal in action", expanding their perception, essentially becoming-with-deer in order to hunt them. The user of the hunting rifle, with telescopic view finder and infrared thermal imaging also extends the body and perception, augmenting and expanding the senses, extending what is possible as a human being.

Allan may have used up to date technology, but he didn't appear to display any of the macho behaviours I had expected. His friends, however did, and on occasion, I felt uncomfortable. One ex-military friend, in particular, was keen to tell me all about his rifle throughout the stalks, even making me pose for the camera after a successful shoot. This macho sporting chat is not unusual in Scotland, in fact, it is part of mainstream stalking culture. After all, on most estates, the land is maintained as a 'wilderness' resource for deer, which supports an elite hunting economy for the privileged few – mainly rich cis white men on shooting holidays, collecting their trophies. This macho aspect of stalking is reflected in the language; the 'monarch', for example, is a term used to describe a mature stag with sixteen tine antlers, and thus the most prized trophy. Similarly, the language of animal behaviour studies is also gendered, and arguably problematic; the word 'harem', for example, is used to describe a group of female deer sharing a single mate.

Deer stalking itself is steeped in myth and folklore. Geographer Hayden Lorimer writes: "The pursuit of deer, both as a pastime and as a livelihood, has a long history in the Scottish Highlands. Celebrations of these activities, preserved through several centuries in native Gaelic folklore, oral ballads and apocryphal yarns, were seized upon by the authors of stalking guidebooks, histories and personal reminiscences." Scottish 'deer' folklore was mined and appropriated by the cultural elite, giving deer stalking culture seeming authenticity.

The Highland Fling seems to be part of this process of appropriation. The story goes: Legend tells of a boy who encountered a stag; his father asked him to describe what he saw and, lacking adequate words, he danced the animal instead, his movements imitating capering, his hands held aloft for antlers. Becoming popular as an authentic dance of the highlands, it seems that deer mimesis gave the Fling credibility, but after some digging, I discovered that the story is more than likely a bit of 'fakelore' and probably invented by an eighteenth-century, Lowland dance teacher as a caricature of a 'wild' highland warrior who imitates deer. I couldn't help but think that this 'fakelore' shares striking parallels with the romanticisation of deerstalking, itself a mimetic performance of hunting traditions, reinterpreted and distorted into a form of macho display by landowning classes.

In Spring 2018, I began my studies in Highland Fling, taking lessons with dancer and teacher Sandra Robertson in Kinguisse. Sandra gave me a pair of leather ghillies – soft shoes traditionally worn in Highland Dance. Strangely, the word 'gillie' also means 'hunting guide' or 'male servant to a Highland chieftain'. The shoe's name is thought to be a type originally worn by Scottish hunting guides, who were servants to the lairds – there it was again: the working-class highlander at service to the landowning class and to the elite hunting economy.

I put the shoes on over my thick red socks and Sandra showed me some basic steps. Having done ballet up until the age of 19, I was accustomed to jumping, but the first thing to get used to was landing on the balls of my feet. This took some practice and on the evening after my first session, my shins were agony. Slowly, with time, I got used to it, and before long, I had learned six steps: shedding, rocking, toe and heel, backstep, crossoverand last shedding. It took me months of practice to get through the whole dance without stopping – it was exhausting! Anyone doing this dance regularly, had to be extremely fit.

To help with my learning, I made visual scores of the dance, replacing arm positions with red deer antlers, and human foot fall with red deer tracks in a notation of the steps. I also began to experiment with blind debossing, inspired by seeing the tracks in the snow.

Romanticisation aside, learning the Highland Fling, I could understand why the story of deer imitation stuck. While dancing with deer in mind, the arms, when held high, felt like antlers. The steps, such as toe and heel, backstep and rocking were delicate and deer like, yet powerful and athletic. Two of the steps sheddingand last shedding seemed even to reference the stag's antler shedding, which happens once a year. I could imagine that if a dancer of the Fling performed well, it might make them feel powerful and elegant. I wondered how it might feel to perform this dance if I were a man?

Sonora Desert, Arizona and Mexico...

The indigenous Yaqui, or Yoeme tribe are originally from Sonora in northern Mexico. Seeking refuge from persecution by the Mexican Government in the 19th and early 20th centuries, some of this community were forced north of the border. Their descendants in the USA call themselves the Pascua Yaqui, and in 1978 they were finally recognised as an official tribe. Today, the Pascua Yaqui have eight communities in Southern Arizona.

The Yaqui Deer Dance is a small but important element in the modern Yaqui ceremonial cycle, a ritual involving dance, music, pantomime, and poetry, in a complex blend of catholic and indigenous beliefs. Yaqui traditions speak of the Deer Danceonce being part of a rite performed before the hunting of the deer, but today that connection is only a memory.

Supported in part by the University of Arizona Poetry Centre, in March 2018, I went back to Arizona to begin to make connections with the Pascua Yaqui community. I met with Larry Evers, who co-authored the book on Yaqui Deer Songs mentioned earlier. He was about to retire from his role as a professor between the English and American Indian Studies departments at the University in Tucson, and when I visited, he was clearing out his office. Generously, he gifted me a pile of books and papers on Yaqui culture, as well as a set of DVDs with hours of footage of a Deer Dance ritual performed in Mexico in 1976. Of particular relevance to my research was an old type-writer written thesis, in which the writer Susan Burton explores the relationship of the Yaqui Deer Dancesteps to the movements of real deer and, using the 1976 film footage, notates the dance's vocabulary with labanotation.

Larry was excited by my research, though warned me that I would have many boundaries to cross. Firstly, my gender – the Yaqui Deer Danceis strictly a male domain – and secondly, my ethnicity as a white European. As with many First Nations people, the Yaqui tribe have been consistently ill-treated by various outsiders throughout history, from the invasion of the Spanish Jesuit missionaries and the Mexican Government's persecution of indigenous tribes, to the early American anthropologists misquoting traditions, and the US authorities' mistreatment of anyone who is not white. Understandably, the Deer Dance, and Yaqui culture more broadly, is rarely discussed outside the community.

I was readying Donna Haraway's book 'Staying with the Trouble' and the following passage resonated:

"Indigenous peoples around the earth have a particular angle on the discourses of coming extinctions and exterminations of the Anthropocene and Capitalocene. The idea that disaster will come is not new; disaster, indeed genocide and devastated home places, has already come, decades and centuries ago, and it has not stopped. The resurgence of peoples and of places is nurtured with ragged vitality in the teeth of such loss, mourning, memory, resilience, reinvention of what it means to be native, refusal to deny irreversible destruction, and refusal to disengage from living and dying well in presents and futures."

I wondered if it was possible to foster a meaningful dialogue and cultural exchange? To open up possibilities, Larry put me in touch with his long-term collaborator Felipe Molina, a Yaqui tradition bearer, teacher and translator, from Marana, Arizona. We exchanged emails and, though Felipe was interested in my research, he was too busy with his Easter commitments as a Deer Singer. We agreed to be in touch again later in the year.

During the Easter ceremonies, the Yaqui Deer Danceis held on two occasions, at the Pahko– an all-night Fiesta – and then again on Easter Saturday. Seeking permission to attend these, I contacted Daniel Vega from the Language and Culture Departmentof the Tribal Council at the Pascua Yaqui Reservation. At our meeting, I explained how I was exploring the imitation of deer across cultures in order to better understand their relationship to ecology and, sharing a little about my research so far, I was delighted when he showed a particular interest in hearing about the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance. He explained that the Yaqui tribe perform their various ceremonies as healing rituals, not just for the Yaqui, but for everyone around the world, so, if I went with respect, I was welcome to attend the Easter ceremonies at Old Pascua– the old village in South Tucson. He warned me not to take photos, make sketches or any recordings – this was strictly forbidden – and that I had to keep my cell phone out of sight.

Not quite knowing what to expect, on Friday evenings I began to attend the Lenten ceremonies, participating in the processions of the fourteen Stations of the Cross, following the various church groups who sang and prayed at each of the crosses positioned around the Old Pascua village. Also partaking in the processions was a ceremonial group called the Fariseos, who are said to represent those who persecuted Jesus. Within this group were the Chapayekas– masked figures who symbolise evil. One of the Chapayekas'ritual functions is to deride the procession and distract the church groups by silently mocking them, beating time with swords and daggers, and shaking the deer hoof rattles around their waists and moth cocoon rattles on their ankles. My initial reaction was to laugh at their pantomime-esque performance, but as the sun went down and the procession continued in darkness, they really felt quite sinister. I soon discovered that it is taboo to stare too closely at a Chapayeka.

On Palm Saturday, I attended the Yaqui Pahko. Though I'd read so much about it, nothing could quite prepare me for the experience of this multifaceted, powerful night-time ritual. Approximately two hundred performer-participants, divided into about twelve groups, each with a distinct role and music, carried out ritual processes and costumed dances representing the various overlapping forces of good and evil. There was only one Deer Dancer though; at the Ramada, a structure symbolising Huya Ania (the wilderness world), the Maaso(the deer dancer) emerged as a timid fawn and, dancing alongside the Pahkola(a group of clown-like animal-esque figures), he slowly grew into a virile adult male through the night, before predicting his own death and concluding his dance as an animal spirit.

During a break in the ceremonies, I chatted with someone I'd met in the 'audience' who made a striking observation about how the Maasoalways has his torso tilted forwards, like the enigmatic Palaeolithic ‘sorcerer’ cave painting of the Trois-Frères caves in Southwestern France. I hadn’t made the connection before, though I had stuck an image of the ‘sorcerer’ in my sketchbook. The visual similarity is uncanny – was this how humans become-with-deer?

A similar sequence of Deer Dances took place on Easter Saturday, another complex, multi-layered ceremony, where, in a battle against evil, the powers of the more-than-human world were harnessed. Dancing Matachiniswore flower streamers in their hats, processing Angels waved branch-switches in the air, trickster Pahkolas wore animalesque masks, and, the Maaso (Deer Dancer), in his final dance, charged at the Fariseos, threatening with his antlers. Finally, when evil was defeated, the Fariseoswere ritually ‘killed’ by 'flowers', symbolised by paper confettithrown at them, and a straw ‘Judas’ was burned in a fire, along with all the Chapayekamasks and swords. Bells rang out from the church and celebratory music was played. With so much colour and joy, I felt like I never wanted to brush the confetti out of my hair!

In a closer examination of the Deer Dance itself, the combination of the dancer's movements and costume seems to span a spectrum of mimesis, from iconic deer imitation to something more stylised. The deer's headdress enhanced the sudden sharp-to-still deer-like movements of the head; soon enough, I found myself watching not the dancer's eyes, but the deer's eyes, partially hidden beneath the cloth. The long line and tension of the tilted torso suggested a deer's back, and the white cloth joining the dancer's head and deer head gave the impression of a deer's neck and shoulders. The flexed feet were reminiscent of the animal's hind legs, while the gourd rattles suggested the front legs, the movements of which gave the impression of a deer's speed and agility. The footwork itself – the choreographed steps – seemed less iconic and more stylized. I wondered if I would be able to meet and learn from a dancer some time...

The dance is traditionally accompanied by three musicians who sing and play instruments: the hirukiam,notched rasping sticks resting on half-gourd resonators said to represent the deer’s breath or the scraping of the antlers against the brush, and the ba’ abweha’i, a water drum made from a half gourd floating in a bowl of water, representing the heart-beat of the deer. Sitting on the floor during the dance,I could feel the vibrations of the water drum in my chest, and I imagined that the dancer might be tuning his heart into a deer's heart beating.

The songs accompanying the dance, are sung in Yoem noki(the Yaqui language) and describe the Maaso(the deer) and his encounters with other animals, birds, insects and plants, especially flowers, which hold a spiritual significance. The Yaqui believe that there is a close communication between all the inhabitants of the Sonoran Desert, which they call Huya Ania. This could be translated as 'wilderness world', but it is worth pointing out that the word 'wilderness' here, does not mean a "neglected, uninhabited, or inhospitable region" like it does in the Oxford Dictionary, but a living, connected community. This ecology of the Sonoran Desert appears in the traditional songs, which become like scores, or a script to the dancer who, as the deer, also becomes, for a moment, the badger that is being described, or the hummingbird, or the mountain lion.

Later that Summer, I returned to meet with Felipe and, over a number of meetings, learned more about the dance. We shared our perspectives and he generously answered my sprawling questions, teaching me about aspects of Yaqui culture, including some Yoem nokiwords. Felipe explained how the Deer Dance was a way for people living in the city to connect with Huya Ania (the wilderness world) and Sea Ania (the flower world), and as he described how the songs are lessons for listeners to learn about ecology and Yoeme ancestors, I began to think of the Yaqui Deer Dance as a form of activism.

I was honoured when Felipe invited me to give a talk to his students, a class of young Yoeme adults, who were learning about their culture at the Yaqui tribal chambers on the reservation. I shared a little about my work with vernacular traditions, specifically Scottish Highland culture and language, and about the history of the repression of Scottish Gaelic and the current resurgence of the language. It was good to hear Yoeme perspectives. Though the Yoem Noki language is under threat of dying out, people like Felipe are out there doing the work of preserving and passing on knowledge.

Felipe and I began to make plans to visit a Deer Dancer in Mexico later in the year and, in November, over a number of days, we went back and forth by foot across the Mexico-USA border, to work with Indalecio ‘Carlos’ Moreno Matuz, a young Yaqui Deer Dancerfrom Vicam, Sonora, in the Yoeme homeland. We worked in Carlos’ hotel room, where I interviewed him and learned about the physical and symbolic aspects of the dance through demonstrations and diagrammatic drawings, while Felipe translated from English to Yoem Noki and back again.

Felipe and Carlos explained that the dance had only ever been performed by men because they were the ones who traditionally went hunting. Interestingly,the deer behaviours imitated were less about the bravado and display associated with the rut, and more about alertness and agility as a form of defence. This corresponds with the fact that in Yoem Noki, there is no word for 'buck' or 'stag'; Maasosimply means 'adult male deer', though his other song names are displayed here. The only time the Maasodisplays aggressive behaviours, such as charging or threatening with lowered antlers, is when he is being attacked or provoked by other figures in the ceremonies.

The white-tailed deer – and coues-white-tailed deer – live in areas of the Sonoran Desert – a land that rambles over 320,000 km, across two countries. It is home to about 130 species of mammals, more than 500 kinds of birds, 20 amphibians, 100 or so reptiles, 30 native freshwater fish. There are perhaps as many as 2500 native species of plants and 4000 in total. It is also home to at least 17 Indigenous cultures as well as many others who have adopted it.

The tribal lands of the Yaqui have been irreversibly damaged, initially due to the European invasion and colonisation, and latterly by the rapid growth of capitalism and climate change degrading the ecology. Along the Yaqui River in Mexico, eight tribal villages have no water due to drought and the actions of agricultural corporations and, every year, people battle with wild fires caused by rising heat levels and invasive grasses spread by cattle. Although the culture of the Yaqui Deer Danceis being preserved, the ecology of the wilderness world is seriously under threat.

Wild-deer-ness

Throughout the process of exploring these dances, I considered how a body of work might emerge from my research. By conjuring the antlered male deer, the dances evoke images of wild nature, but I realised there is a disconnect between what is encoded in their movements and the reality of local ecology. I was also acutely aware of the striking relationship between our cultural perceptions of 'wilderness' and ideas of 'masculinity'.

How could I honour these folk traditions and histories, yet simultaneously critique and de-stabilise constructed problematic narratives? How could I address contemporary intersections of ecology, gender and class? How could I touch on the complex relationship between indigenous cultural knowledge and the appropriation of vernacular culture? What did I want to explore and communicate?

I spent time writing, thinking, dreaming and in my note books began to distil my research into words:

From Palaeolithic cave paintings, to Landseer’s Monarch of the Glen, throughout time, artists have made representations of deer. Whether as staples to hunter-gatherers, icons of power and empire, or the focus of sport, deer have long been central to human cultures.

In popular imagination, deer remain etched into people’s consciousness as emblems of the 'wild' – the word wildernessitself, derives from the Old English wilde, wild, and doer, deer – and our relationship to the idea of wild-deer-nesshas shaped the landscape. Transported across continents, some species, such as fallow and sika deer, transformed ecologies with the establishment of royal deer forests and parks – hunting grounds belonging to the Crown. Other species, such as the reindeer of the arctic tundra and white-tailed deerof the Sonora desert, face threats of habitat loss caused by climate breakdown. In Scotland, the overpopulation of red deer due to human made environmental change impacted greatly on the degradation of Caledonian pinewood ecology.

And so, it follows, although they are perceived as powerful, deer also embody vulnerability. Constantly alert to the threat of a hunter or predator – or the ‘ghost’ of an extinct predator – they inhabit vulnerable places. It could be said that deer do not live in wilderness, but in ghosts of places that no longer exist.

Across timescales and cultures, our relationship with deer as a totemic and ideologically powerfulanimal has contributed to a construction of wilderness as an imaginary landscape, setting 'nature' apart from 'culture'. Is it possible to shift our relationship to the world and renegotiate these dichotomies?

The dancers at Star Carr, the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance, the Yaqui Deer Dance and the Highland Fling are separated by geography and time, yet there is a commonality in these seemingly disparate cultures, which find echoes throughout history, fromthe ritualised carrying of stag heads condemned by medieval European church leaders, and Herne the Hunter, the antlered ghost of a royal gamekeeper in English folklore, to the Tibetan stag-headed Chamdance and Shishi-Odorideer dance of Northeast Japan.

Evolving over generations, each dance is mimetic in some way, with movements that imitate male deer behaviour and gesture, from the frolicking of the fawn and the alertness of the adult male, to the bravado, display and aggression of the rutting stag.Costumes also play a significant role, and often, but not always, feature elements of attire made from animal parts. Another common feature is that they are (or were) traditionally performed by men and, with their displays of muscular strength and athletic endurance, they are all thought to have their origins in (or associations with) hunting ritual practices.

As traces of hunting rites, how are these dances to be understood within a contemporarycontext?

How does the mimesis of male deer behaviours inform a 'performance' of masculinity by male dancers? What are the implications of these gendered performances in society today?

Returningto the animal tracks that obsessed me, back in the studio, I finished scoring the three deer dances I had studied, tracking the steps of the dancers, replacing human foot-prints with deer hoof-prints: red deer for the Highland Fling steps, white-tailed deer for the Yaqui Deer Dance steps, and reindeer for the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance steps. Working with Edinburgh Printmakers, I developed these into a series of blind debossed prints.

Becoming-with-deer

Considering different approaches to choreograph from the scores, I decided to draw upon the most mimetic aspects of what I had learnt and adopt fragments of steps to make something entirely new. But who would perform this? Drawing on multiple layers of my research, I began to conceive of a series of characters, each one a constructed assemblage of aspects drawn from a male-deer/male-human spectrum, playfully dissolving human:animal binaries. Making sketches of these figures, I gave each of them names borrowed from archetypal male characters found within traditional theatre, as well as deer and deer stalking terminology: monarch, warrior, young buck, fool and old sage.

To get to know them with my body, I decided to attempt to become each deer-man myself. By queering these figures, I hoped to challenge our constructed ideals of masculinity and question the mythologies that give authenticity to gendered behaviour. Having experienced some of the more negative and toxic behaviours of the heroic-hetero-male in my day to day life – let's call this thecrisis of masculinity– I also wondered if, by becoming these characters, I could release myself from their impact on me as a queer woman, and simultaneously bring to the foreground the impact of these behaviours – the crisis of ecology– on vulnerable and damaged habitats.

My plan became to create a moving image and sound work, performing each character in a choreography-to-camera. I began to collaborate with two performance artists: Peter McMaster and Will Dickie, who both practice at the intersection of live art and dance, and whose past work had, in various ways, explored tropes of masculinity, ritual and ecology. Peter collaborated with me on the film's dramturgy and Will became the movement director, helping to devise the choreography. Together, we discovered and developed the characters.

To begin our process, in October 2018, we spent a few days at Trees for Life, workshopping ideas and watching deer. We also went out deer stalking with Allan. This time I was very sensitive to his movements, almost reading him as a dancer, and was struck by the ways in whichhe took on qualities of the animal of the hunt, harnessing deer-perspective.Like the deer, he was quick to register distant movements and sounds and, on getting close to the animal, to remain hidden, he tilted his torso with bended knees, a pose strikingly similar to the Yaqui Deer Dancer's basic posture and cave painting of Trois-Frères.Will made an interesting observation about how the deer stalk appeared to be carried out in clearly defined ritualised stages. Beginning casually, walking upright and chatting, we slowly grew tighter as a pack, becoming quieter and more focused, tuning in to our surroundings and, as we drew near to the deer, we got close to the ground, not moving or making a sound, our bellies up against the heather. Before taking a shot, Allan spoke about a moment of stillness – a stillness of breath and of thought.

In a similar way, each dance that I had been studying, sat at a different stage in the ritualised drama of the hunt: the Yaqui Deer Dancetraditionally took place before hunting, allowing the hunter to access the perspective of the deer; the Highland Flingwas a dance of triumph, a dance to feel powerful and in control; and the Abbots Bromley Horn Dancewas a celebration after the hunt, to give thanks. With gestures that ranged from iconic imitation to stylized metaphor, these rituals of the hunt were clearly mimetic of the rituals of the deer rut. But how could the dramaturgy of my film address what felt urgent to me: the interconnections between the crisis of masculinity and the crisis of ecology? We slowly began to realise that if Deer Dancer was to function as a ritual space, perhaps the characters would have to stalk each other to the death...

Early the following year, Will, Pete and I worked together to discover the five characters from the inside, developing their movement vocabulary and training exercises and, as we explored the relationship between them, a story emerged. I began to conceive of a two-channel film and sound work that would play with, and attempt to destabilise narratives found both the within anthropology documentary and wildlife/nature documentary. To prepare for the filming process, I created a story board for the two screens, and composed and recorded a multi-layered vocal composition to perform to.

Utilised technology to 'extend my body' and expand my vocal range into 'male' and 'stag' pitches, I worked with my voice to imitate drum sounds. Recalling my experience of the Yaqui water drum, and the Abbots Bromley Horn Dancetriangle, my intention for the sound was to affect the viewer-listener on a body level, sometimes in a way that is unsettling, at other times like a heart-beat of low vibrations in the chest or belly. Alongside the process of developing the characters physicality, and the vocal score, I began to design and make the costumes and props, with invaluable assistance from my partner Lydia Honeybone, using an assemblage of materials, from ribbons and sequins, to bullets and hunting horn. I also worked with naturally cured deer hide, hooves, antler and skull, specifically for the cod pieces, and the weapons, hinting at the relationship between the posturing of male sexual bravado and violence.

We filmed over three days in Glasgow University's theatre against a black curtain. My director of photography Andrew Begg lit the space, and followed the story board shot by shot, filming each character one by one, then, in post-production, with editor Laura Carreira, I then pieced together the jigsaw puzzle.

Introducing the characters...

The Monarch is a mature, dominant male, who holds his head high, displaying his sixteen-tine crown and enlarged neck. Over his hide, he wears gold. His stance is wide and a bulbous codpiece with tassels enhances his majesty. Belling loudly, he asserts his authority, warning off rivals to his harem of hinds. But he's growing old and his limbs are becoming stiff. Soon he'll be past his prime.

The Warrior is highly alert, his senses tuned into his surroundings. He tracks and hunts, defending himself on attack with antlered spears that extend from his shoulders. He's in his physical prime; his chest is hard and strong and over his tartan loins, he wears a sporran and bullet belt. When he hears his rival, he sounds his horn, displaying his power.

Though the Young Buck has reached sexual maturity, he's still a spiker, yet to win his own harem. But he's looking. Dressed in tweed trews and protruding codpiece, he taps the ground, addressing potential rivals. He is lustful, cocksure and trigger-happy, challenging anyone in his close proximity. Breathing heavily, he's on the hunt for a hind, on the hunt for a fight.

The Fool, small in stature, avoids the dominant males as they proclaim their authority during the rut, bawling and displaying his white behind in fear. Wearing ribbons, bells and a modest codpiece, he carries a broom with antlers, a hobby stag that appears to push and pull him into combat. Haunted by ghosts, this skittish staggard is bewildered by his own inner conflict.

The Old Sage is a spirit of the wild hart and ghost of a man. Haunting the wilderness with skull and ragged horns, he relives his life tending the land with hooves and hands. He also relives his death. Only perceived by a few, he sees all.

Deer Dancer

In the resulting work, the costumes, movements and music work together to tell a story, with the visual scores acting as hidden keys to the work. In the 'pop up theatre space' of the gallery, we meet the five characters in an imaginary wilderness world. This wilderness world is not rooted in a particular ecology, but is place-less, black and empty, allowing the viewer-listener to construct and project their own wilderness into the space.

A dynamic emerges between these deer men, and slowly they begin to stalk one another.Then, in a face-off, they lock eyes, take a bow and the deer dancecommences. With movements that signify both the deer rut and a pre-hunt ritual, the characters face one another, performing their ritual dance, with fragments of steps from the three dances. In the visual scores, these steps are delinieated in gold foil on the debossed tracks – interestingly, the word 'foil' also means 'animal track'.

Then, coming to a stop, one by one, the deer-men draw their weapons, and we see each one lying in their death pose, with blood flowing from their body, signified by slow moving red ribbons. As bodies disappear (or decompose), the costumes remain as relics of culture to be performed again. Bit by bit, they too disappear, until then reappear on my body, piece by piece, reconstructing each character in a queer assemblage. And then it begins again...

Stuck in a perpetual loop of learned behaviour and appropriation, these stag-men are ultimately condemned to self-destruct. Humankind has left a footprint so deep that we are only now beginning to grasp the immensity of the calamity. In a small way, I've come to think of Deer Dancer as a contemporary life-crisis ritual for a damaged planet. But when the balance has been set right in ritual, the question becomes how do we really address the damage?

This text was originally written and presented as a talk at Edinburgh Printmakers in September 2019, to accompany Tuulikki’s Deer Dancer exhibition.

Deer Dancer credits: Performed & directed by Hanna Tuulikki; Character development and choreography by Will Dickie, Peter McMaster and Hanna Tuulikki; Dramaturgy by Peter McMaster; Movement direction by Will Dickie; Sound composed and recorded by Hanna Tuulikki; Sound mixed with Pete Smith; Director of photography by Andrew Begg; Edited by Laura Carreira; Costume fabrication assistance and wardrobe management by Lydia Honeybone; Production management by Amy Porteous; Costumes and print works by Hanna Tuulikki

Developed through conversations and interviews with tradition bearers and academics, Felipe Molina (Yaqui tradition bearer/ translator), Larry Evers (American Indian Studies, The University of Arizona), Jack Brown (Abbots Bromley Horn Dance tradition bearer/ historian), Doug and Joyce Gilbert (Trees for Life); by observing a number of dances and participating in rituals, including the Yaqui Deer Dance (Pascua Yaqui Easter ceremonies, Old Pascua, Tucson, Arizona, March 2018), Abbots Bromley Horn Dance (Abbots Bromley, September 2017/2018); and direct learning with Sandra Robertson (Highland Fling), Indalecio 'Carlos' Moreno Matuz (Yaqui Deer Dance), Gary Faulkenberry (animal tracking, March, July 2018), Allan Common (deer stalking at Trees for Life, Dundreggan, autumn 2017/2018).

Commissioned by Edinburgh Printmakers, funded by Creative Scotland. Research and development supported by Magnetic North's Artist Attachment, funded by Jerwood Foundation and Creative Scotland. Additional support from Hope Scott Trust, The Work Room, University of Arizona Poetry Center, Trees for Life, University of Glasgow, Glasgow School of Art, and CCA: Centre for Contemporary Arts, Glasgow.

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needtherapy · 4 years

Text

to be human is a haunting, Part 3

A love story for Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen

In a modern world, in a modern city that still has need for cultivators, Song Lan

(war hero, rogue cultivator, orphan)

goes for a run in the park, kills a dankang, makes a friend, and meets a beautiful man with a dog, all before he has to go to therapy. It's the best day he's had in ten years.

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Read over on AO3 instead

Rated E for Explicit sexy times, mild demon killing, and swearing.

— ⚔ — — ⚔ — — ⚔ —

Part 3

“How are you doing today?” Dr. Wen asks.

Such a simple question, one people answer every day, but Song Lan is stumped. He’s distracted and flustered, and he can’t stop thinking about the man in the park. He should just say he’s fine. That’s what people say.

“Fine.”

Dr. Wen nods thoughtfully. “It took a long time to answer. What were you thinking about?”

Fairy tales, Song Lan thinks. How people in fairy tales fall in love at first sight, and how utterly unrealistic that is. How can you know you’ll want to spend your life with someone just by the color of their hair or the suggestion of a wide, graceful smile, or the shape of their body in the distance? That can’t be all love is.

“Nothing,” he says.

— ⚔ —

They make it to the bed eventually, after Song Lan has the absolute pleasure of peeling off Xingchen’s bespoke jacket and vest, unbuttoning the white shirt that is made of the softest cotton he’s ever felt, unbuckling his belt, removing his pants and being rewarded with the sight of his gorgeous, glorious body.

“Is it what you hoped?” Xingchen asks when Song Lan is quiet and motionless for a little too long, and he sounds almost nervous.

Song Lan touches the array of tiny freckles on Xingchen’s chest

eight

a constellation of stars

and smiles at him, an easy smile, a smile that feels natural and joyful and right.

“It is. You are,” he says honestly.

Even the things that shouldn’t be sexy—Xingchen nudging him to roll, the question “is this okay,” the condom, the sound of lube—are torment, and by the time Xingchen’s fingers are inside him, moving, dragging harsh, guttural moans from him, Song Lan is hard again, so aroused he’s fairly sure he’s going to finish before Xingchen.

He lifts his hips up more to make it easier, to get Xingchen in faster, and Xingchen laughs at how desperately eager he is.

“So greedy, Zichen. I should make you wait a little longer. I’m sure I can hold out,” Xingchen says, but his hands on Song Lan’s back are trembling, and Song Lan laughs at the absolute lie.

He laughs.

He’s never laughed during sex, never imagined a reason his heart could be filled so fully that laughter would overflow.

“Don’t you dare,” he says.

Xingchen pretends to consider it, so Song Lan catches Xingchen with his legs, pinning him in place even as he feels Xingchen pushing inside him.

And it’s perfect. Xingchen’s hands on his thighs and waist and ass feels perfect. Xingchen inside him feels perfect. The way they move together is perfect. Xingchen saying his name is perfect.

“Zichen, where have you been?” Xingchen groans, kissing the space between his shoulder blades. “Why didn’t I find you before?”

Song Lan doesn’t have an answer for that, but for the first time, he doesn’t care to look in the past with regret. Now is enough. Now is a place to start.

Xingchen is rougher than Song Lan would have guessed, although Song Lan senses it’s only the edge of what he’s capable of, and every time he thrusts against Song Lan, it’s hard enough that he feels it in his chest, hard enough that lightning strikes him over and over. Everything Xingchen is—everything he could be—Song Lan wants.

Xingchen comes with one hand clenched tightly in Song Lan’s hair, the other curled around his hip bone, fingernails digging into Song Lan’s skin, tiny half moons he expects to see later. Song Lan only has time to stroke himself twice; the involuntary tightening of Xingchen’s hands, the sound of him moaning Song Lan’s name, is enough for his second orgasm to rocket through him, sharp as a blade.

Song Lan tilts awkwardly, falling away from Xingchen to land on his side, and Xingchen chuckles before he lays down in front of Song Lan, face to face. His mouth seems to be permanently locked in a smile, and Song Lan can’t do anything but gaze at him.

“Where’s your dog?” he finally asks, when he can think and breathe and think and breathe.

“I told her to wait in the living room as soon as I saw it was you on my doorstep,” Xingchen tells him, and Song Lan gapes.

“That was…”

He stops.

He has no idea how long ago it was. Has he been here for hours? Minutes? Days?

“I don’t know how long it’s been,” he says, and Xingchen raises his eyebrows.

Song Lan tries to explain. “I always know. I know how long things take and how far things are. Your door is 3.24 miles from mine. There are sixteen stairs to the second floor and fifteen to the third floor, which is odd. But I don’t know how long I’ve been here.”

Xingchen ponders this for a moment and draws a line down Song Lan’s nose. “Does it matter?”

Song Lan ponders this for a moment and kisses the tip of Xingchen’s nose. “No. I guess it doesn’t.”

— ⚔ —

“Have you ever considered getting a pet?” Dr. Wen asks.

“No,” Song Lan lies. He used to have a cat that curled up on his head at night. He’d chosen an apartment that didn’t allow pets so he wouldn’t be tempted to get another big orange cat with green eyes.

“Why haven’t you? A cat, maybe?” Dr. Wen asks, as though Song Lan had said yes.

He hates it when Dr. Wen sees him.

— ⚔ —

They bathe in the most luxurious shower Song Lan has ever seen, in a bathroom the size of his first apartment, with the dog laying on the bathmat. She licks Song Lan’s foot when he gets out of the shower and looks up at him with a silly smile. He grins back at her, and then feels foolish.

“Dinner in? Or dinner out?” Xingchen asks, handing him a huge, plush towel.

A-Qing barks once and Xingchen says, answering as if she had spoken, “I was going to let Zichen choose, but dinner in sounds good to me too.”

Song Lan smiles. “Is she even a dog?” he jokes, but Xingchen tips his head thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I suspect she’s a demon.” He laughs suddenly. “But if she is, she’s the best demon dog in the world, aren’t you, my little bamboo shoot?” He bends over to scratch her ears, and she flops on the floor, rolling for belly rubs.

While they wait for dinner to arrive—Xingchen says delivery is better for the environment than his cooking—he shows Song Lan the house, which has a name: Jiufang. Xingchen says it was built after The Fire, but it has always been named Jiufang. It is every bit as intimidating as Song Lan thought it would be from his research and cursory glance

but still a home

filled with Xingchen

casually magnificent in a way only achieved through significant amounts of money. There’s a dumbwaiter. A copy of The Poppy War sitting open on a hidden bay window seat overlooking the back garden. And, Xingchen insists, a ghost named Hubert, who haunts a fat leather chair in the attic.

“It’s my mother’s house,” Xingchen explains. “She bought a mountain and moved out west, so I’m barnacling here now.”

Bought a mountain.

That has to be a metaphor.

“No, she actually bought a mountain. It used to be a ski resort, but she doesn’t ski. She just thought the view was nice.” Xingchen shrugs. “That’s how she is. You’ll like her.”

An involuntary smile slips onto Song Lan’s face at the idea that he’ll meet Xingchen’s mother someday, even if she sounds absolutely terrifying.

Xingchen has an old Polaroid camera and makes Song Lan take pictures with him and a-Qing. A-Qing manages to lick Song Lan’s face twice as the shutter snaps, and he growls at her, tugging on her ears and scratching her chin in feigned exasperation. Her long nose and laughing smile find a place to roost inside his heart too.

The doorbell rings with dinner, and Xingchen tells Song Lan to answer it while he sets the mood, which apparently means classical music.

Sitting at a table in the pristine black and white kitchen and listening to what Xingchen says is Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony, they eat food from a restaurant Song Lan has heard of but didn’t realize would do takeout, much less delivery at 10 pm. The only thing he’s sure he recognizes is the steak, which is phenomenal, as is everything else he tries. It has been three years since he ate a meal with anyone else. Three years, two months, and six days since his last meal as a soldier, to be precise, which he always is. Since the day he walked away.

Xingchen reaches out his hand and Song Lan takes it. It feels like a clock somewhere inside him has stopped.

— ⚔ —

“Song Lan, I’m going to give you some homework. We’re going to start a scrapbook. So take the weekend, and next week, bring me one thing that represents something you did.”

It’s not a question, so Song Lan asks one. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” Dr. Wen asks.

Song Lan curses himself for answering even once. Answering is endless, like zucchinis you can never get rid of.

He shrugs, and Dr. Wen clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I think you do know why. Take the weekend to think about that, too,” Dr. Wen says, a little tightly.

— ⚔ —

They curl up on the couch together as the music shifts to a dark and yearning cello solo, the backing orchestra swelling in power like white-capped winter waves on the lake. Xingchen leans back against his chest, a-Qing lays across both of their legs. Song Lan wraps one arm around Xingchen and rests the other on a-Qing’s head. He counts his heartbeats, matching them Xingchen’s, matching them to fit this place and this man and this life he wants nothing more than to be a part of.

“Zichen, I have a confession.”

Xingchen is so quiet, so tremulous, Song Lan’s breathing stutters. There’s always a catch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was expecting a catch.

“I’ve known about you...who you are...for a while,” Xingchen says, laying his hand over Song Lan’s as though he thinks Song Lan might rabbit away.

He’s not wrong. Song Lan feels his muscles tense, and he coaxes them to relax. It’s not uncommon, he reminds himself. Sometimes people have heard of Song Lan, rogue cultivator. Sometimes they’ve heard of Song Lan, decorated war hero. Less often here and now, but still too frequent for Song Lan’s preference, they’ve heard of Song Lan, last member of the Baixue Farms family that was wiped out by a lone shooter

a tragedy, the papers said

no way to prevent random violence, the news said

intent on vengeance, seeking recompense for the lives the war had taken from the one soldier he knew

orphaned, the sad woman on the television said

not saying we condone his actions, the lawyer said

he wasn’t in his right mind, the jury said

as though it hadn’t taken enough from Song Lan before his family was killed, hours before he got there, clutching his discharge papers in his hand like a first-prize blue ribbon.

“Okay,” he says, expecting more. “How long?”

Xingchen doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, he avoids the question.

“I heard the major factions were recruiting you and you’d refused, but they wouldn’t relent. They were paying your cleaning fees, and I think sometimes putting...putting danger in your path so you would need them,” Xingchen says in a rush, ignoring a-Qing’s grumble of protest when he adjusts to look at Song Lan.

“So...so I took over the payments. That way, they couldn’t leverage you at least. I can afford it,” he adds, waving a hand at the house when Song Lan frowns. “I intended to introduce myself first but…”

He falls back, dropping his hand in his lap and looking contrite. “I saw you in the park one morning, backlit against the sunrise, and I lost my nerve. You were...I don’t know, so beautiful and cold and quiet. I couldn’t just traipse up to you and announce, ‘Hi, I’m Xingchen, and I’m taking over your life.’”

Song Lan’s mouth twitches and he resists the bubbling laughter. He reaches out and pulls Xingchen back to him, and Xingchen squeaks in surprise. Song Lan tucks Xingchen under his chin and breathes in his scent, clean lemon soap and honey. Whatever part of him is offended by the presumption, by the meddling, melts away. Why should he bother with anger? Why should he destroy the first thing he’s wanted in ten years? For pride?

Song Lan kisses the top of his head. He is allowed to lay here and kiss the top of Xingchen’s head. “You’re right, I don’t want my life run by anyone else,” he finally says. “No one else but you.”

“Two and a half years, “Xingchen whispers, stubbornly determined to confess everything. “To answer your question. I’m not usually such a coward.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Song Lan says.

I love you either way, he thinks.

— ⚔ —

Song Lan hands Dr. Wen an envelope and watches him take things out of it.

A menu.

A CD of cello music.

A business card.

An ebony hair stick.

A Polaroid picture of two smiling men and a silly dog.

A key.

He is ready to stop living in the past. It is always going to be there, but so is the present. So is the future.

“I moved,” he says, and it is entirely worth the words to see the look on Dr. Wen’s face.

— ⚔ —

Song Lan moves into the mansion.

He doesn’t really want to live in opulence with Hubert, but Xingchen gently points out that it is easier for him to navigate a familiar space and neighborhood. Song Lan feels like shit for not thinking of it, but Xingchen says getting used to someone else takes time. He has time. They have time.

Xingchen agrees to get a cat.

They pick a sleek grey cat with scars on his face and a bite out of his ear, because he walks up to a-Qing, flicks his tail under her nose, and butts her chin. A-Qing sniffs the ruff of his neck suspiciously but eventually licks his head. They name him Chengmei. He’s already achieved beauty.

Maybe he’d thought that this newfound tide of love would wash away the nightmares, but after three days of bliss, Song Lan wakes up screaming, hand out, reaching for something. Fuxue? His mother? He doesn’t remember, but what he finds is Xingchen, grasping his hand, and a-Qing, leaning against his back, head on his shoulder. Chengmei, that traitor, doesn’t even flinch from his spot on Song Lan’s feet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pants, unable to ground himself in this unfamiliar place.

Xingchen touches his cheek lightly, and it’s at least two points of comfort.

“Don’t be. It’s okay.”

He sounds like he means it, but Song Lan still climbs out of the bed and backs toward the door.

“I should go,” he says. He doesn’t know where. Just...away.

Xingchen exhales. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

Song Lan stops, nonplussed. “What? No, I’m...I can’t be around...no, you don’t have to.”

Xingchen is already pulling on clothes. All black. Hunting clothes, Song Lan thinks. “I know. But I want to.” He grins up at Song Lan. “You said I could run your life. Let’s go hunt.”

Xingchen’s vision is worse at night, but he’s no less sure-footed, the tapping of the cane eventually disappearing from Song Lan’s conscious thought. Every once in a while, a-Qing bumps into Xingchen to redirect him, but otherwise, a casual observer would barely realize that the handsome man with the feather-light steps is being guided by sound and dog.

Song Lan hasn’t hunted with a partner since he was a teenager, and never with anyone as good as Xingchen. Even here they fit together, Song Lan’s power and agility blending with Xingchen’s grace and intuition.

Luo Qingyang is delighted when they call her to clean up a nest of jueyang at an abandoned warehouse on the other side of the Loop. She seems entirely unsurprised to find the dawn rogue and the silent rogue together.

“Eight!” she exclaims, surveying the bodies and rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain. “Boys, if I beat Zonghui this quarter, I am taking you out to dinner.”

“And then you’ll invite us to your D&D game?” Xingchen teases.

Qingyang laughs. “Have either of you even played?”

“That is beside the point,” Xingchen says archly. “We agreed to be friends, and friends play D&D together.”

She throws up her hands in mock surrender. “You win! We play at HQ on Wednesdays. Come at 7 pm.”

“I’m good at this already,” Xingchen whispers loudly to Song Lan. “I like winning.”

Song Lan wants to kiss him. It must show on his face because Qingyang laughs, doubling over and slapping her leg.

“Oh, I knew it. I knew it! Nie Daddy is going to die when I claim the pool,” she crows, still chuckling as she climbs back in the van and leaves them.

Xingchen pushes Song Lan against the brick wall and kisses him, biting his earlobe and sliding a hand under his shirt, a conflagration of hunger that turns Song Lan to floating, falling ash.

“Let’s go home,” he says, lips against Song Lan’s throat.

Home.

He didn’t think he wanted a home, but he has one now.

He didn’t think he wanted friends, but apparently he has them now.

He didn’t think he wanted to fall in love, but he is so far in it, he already can’t remember the shape of his loneliness before.

Home.

Us.

Let’s go home.

Notes:

旧房 jiù fáng : old house

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #songxiao #song lan #xiao xingchen #kristina writes tiny stories #luo qingyang #wen ning #a-qing #dog #therapy dog #moral of the story: therapy works

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

I'VE BEEN PONDERING CHANGES

I have to say, but it seems like a decent hypothesis. It's just as well to let a big company, then you may need to be written as thin enough skins that users can see the two side by side that you notice how little overlap there is. Everyone is focused on this type of wealth through economic policy, it's hard to do it? You do tend to get a check within a week based on a half-page agreement. No philosopher ever refuted another, for example, would arguably be gross even if they had to make concessions. We did, and it was through personal contacts that we got most of the extra computer power we're given will go to waste. I look at the responses, the common theme is that starting a startup.

I don't know if it will work, but it won't hurt as much. The big bang guys. They know their audience. Not only does a society get the best man for the job, but parents' ambitions are diverted from direct methods to indirect ones—to actually trying to raise their kids well. People who want to get it from the rich. For better or worse, the just-do-it model and the careful model, I'd probably choose just-do-it model is fast, whether you're Dan Bricklin writing the prototype of VisiCalc in a weekend, or a carefully cropped image of a seacoast town in Maine. One thing hackers like is brevity. School. Even Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Larry Ellison, Michael Dell, Jeff Bezos, Gordon Moore. By all means be optimistic about things you can't control. That would have led to disaster, because our software was so complex. Kill-or-cure strategies are optimal for VCs because they're protected by the portfolio effect.

Nothing is hidden from you that doesn't absolutely have to be willing to change your product. If you're writing for other people, you may be the sort of wealth that becomes self-perpetuating through an alliance with power. It might also be inevitable, if you roll a zero for luck, the outcome is zero. But this approach is hard to implement. Whereas when you're big you can maltreat them at will, and you rule the world. Everything that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere. At the moment, even the government. There was then a fashionable type of program called an expert system, at the time, and both got their degrees. In some fields, like software or movies, this is the best nonfiction writer I know of, on any subject.

The more people who have incomplete information about prices. That's kind of hard to imagine. Today it may well be zero. Startups are certainly a large part of it. I were going to start a company now, you may never quite be able to be included in it. Wealth is what people want, and to allow programmers to use inline byte code if you need to know the type of every argument in every call in the program. You're just asking to be made a fool of, because these are such powerful forces. A restaurant with great food seem to prosper no matter what. Look at restaurants. And the Internet makes copies easy to distribute.

That's why things get so much better. A friend of mine who knows a lot about VCs during the 3 years we've been doing Y Combinator, I remembered. It's there to some degree; you'll find it awkward to be the scripting languages of web browsers. The course of people's lives in the US were designed by architects who expected to live in Silicon Valley, where you have to declare the types of arguments in the bottlenecks. For most of history a well-understood way into underlying s-expressions. My only leisure activities were running, which I needed to do, and even make major changes, as you might expect, is not very good. But just imagine calling Picasso the mercurial Spaniard when talking to a friend? What do they all have in common is that they're overconfident.

Even if your colleagues were impressed by your credentials, they'd soon be parted from you if your performance didn't match, because the schools adjust to suit whatever the tests measure. Like all illicit connections, the connection between wealth and power. For a lot of time imitating bad writers. Since the hundred-year language will work to varying degrees depending on how close you are to your current one. It seems safe to predict they will be 74 quintillion 73,786,976,294,838,206,464 times faster. So I think people who are mature and experienced, with a feeling of dread in the back to win. It must once have been inhabited by someone fairly eccentric, because a lot of restaurants around, not some dreary office park that's a wasteland after 6:00 PM. Others see what they've done and are full of wonder, but the pain of having this stupid controversy constantly reintroduced as the top idea in their mind at any given time. At the moment I'd almost say that a language has to be under the control of a single person to be any good. What you notice in the Forbes 400 are a lot of things.

Com, you should get all the users, and the bad gets ignored. The way people act is just as lumpy and idiosyncratic as the human body. So if you want to make a winning product. Believe it or not, programming languages are also for people, and I expect this to be as big a problem, you may find you no longer have such a target and to keep it. I thought it would be to start or join a startup. Letting focus groups design your cars for you only wins in the short term.1 Don't worry about people stealing your ideas. These are not early numbers. It would crush its competitors. They'll make sure that suing them is expensive and slows you down, why do nearly all companies do it?

I've found that it matters a lot how code lines up on the bottom. It's not unusual to get a job, your parents probably did, along with practically every other adult you've met. The reason Florence is famous is that in 1450, it was New York. More people are the right sort of person who could get away with using fancy language in prose.2 So I sent all the founders an email asking what surprised them most was the idea of having a lot of changes that have been forced on VCs, this change won't turn out to be as big a problem, you may never quite be able to make arbitrary transformations on the source code.3 They seem to have become professional fundraisers who do a little research on the side of a car are to speed. We used to call these guys newscasters, because they don't give customers what they want, which happens to be written in the language fits together like the parts in a fine camera. Sun did this to mainframes, and Intel is doing it to Sun. I would not feel confident saying that about investors twenty years ago. It seems like we ought to value the company at several million dollars.

Notes

We didn't know ourselves which VC firms expect to do something we didn't, they very often come back with my co-founders Mark Nitzberg and Olin Shivers at the command of the most part and you need to warn readers about, just as on Reddit, for an investor pushes you hard to ignore what your project does.

You can get for free. If the response doesn't come back; Apple can change them instantly if they want to start using whatever you make something hackers use. Most were wrong, but nothing else: no friends, TV, go running.

Cit. In some cases the process of applying is inevitably so arduous, and it would be to become more stratified. You end up reproducing some of those you can eliminate, do it. In principle companies aren't limited by the time 1992 the entire cross-country Internet bandwidth wasn't enough for one user.

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emma-nation · 5 years

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Bloodline - KamilahxMC Fanfiction (Chapter 3)

Summary: A Feral attack, a mysterious serum and a big mistake… what consequences will it bring to Kamilah’s life and her relationship with Amy?

Rating: T

KamilahxMC Tag List: @iam-the-fuckin-queen, @annabellewerecorgi, @voltos9, @scorpistraub, @leavemeandmyshipsalone, @jen825, @andreear17, @spacecarrousel, @justejuste727, @aureliaxj, @graceschoices, @sleeping-with-her06, @supersphynxsworld, @gavryllo, @galaxyside-0, @msuhailey, @zoe6111, @ptxgirwaffles, @tigerbryn11, @shanuuh, @ilovetaylor13m, @honorablebicycle, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @fal-carrington, @begging-for-kamilah, @kennaxval

Notes:

- Thank you so much for the positive feedback on my post-finale fic, Till Death Do Us Part. I never imagined getting over 100 notes lol. Your likes/reblogs/reviews are deeply appreciated.

- When I wrote this chapter I had no idea of Chapter 16 yet, so I beg your apologies for putting Kamilah through more angst.

The Changes - 1 month later, 9:30 AM

Kamilah woke up in the morning with strange activity coming from her kitchen. At distance, she also heard music. A modern song she wasn't very familiar with. At first it appeared strange, but it didn't take long for her to remember she no longer lived by herself. She smiled fondly.

After finding out about her pregnancy, Amy didn't want to spend a minute away from her. Kamilah invited her to move in to her penthouse. It was the first step into this crazy family journey ahead of them. The female vampire thought she'd have a hard time getting used to the idea, but she was enjoying it more than she could ever imagine. Amy was working hard into giving her a lot of extra attention and care, and Kamilah loved rewarding her for that.

Actually she felt like doing that right now, the smell coming from the kitchen suggested Amy was preparing them an delicious breakfast.

"Oh no," looking at the digital watch on her bedside table, she realized how late she was for work.

"Amy, I missed the alarm," she complained, by the kitchen table.

"It happens, Kamilah. To all of us."

"It had never happened to me before."

"I've read many women will experience excessive sleepiness during pregnancy."

Kamilah rolled her eyes. That was a brand new symptom, aside from the intense hunger and mood swings.

"You're too obsessed with these books," she mocked Amy. The girl would invest long hours into reading pregnancy books and websites.

"I know," Amy winked and smiled.

Kamilah embraced her from behind, placing a trail of kisses all over her neck.

"What are you doing?"

"Thanking you for cooking such a delicious breakfast?"

Amy turned around to face her and the female vampire kissed her long and passionately, while pressing their bodies together against the kitchen counter. Increased sex drive was another thing Kamilah was experiencing with her pregnancy, and apparently Amy did too.

"Aren't we... late?" Amy asked, between moans.

"We can make ourselves a little bit later," Kamilah told, nibbling on her lower lip. "Perks of being the CEO."

They left together to Ahmanet Financial. Amy never returned to her job at Raines Corporation after the argument with Adrian. She was doing a good job at Kamilah's company as Junior Executive. She didn't know yet, but part of Kamilah's shares were now hers. Since they were going to become a family, Kamilah wanted her future wife to have part of her assets.

She and Amy agreed to wait until the baby was born to decide if they were ready for marriage. Kamilah didn't want her to feel any pressure.

From the bigger fridge she installed inside her office, Kamilah took a blood bag. She had improvements with sickness, but her hunger had never been so intense.

"Kamilah," Amy entered the office, carrying some papers. "They loved the idea of building a space for children before school age inside the company. We've got... 100% of the votes."

"Great job, Amy," Kamilah responded with a smile. "Not only your idea encourage women to keep pursuing a carreer after giving birth, but the space is very educational too, preparing children for the school years. Congratulations."

"Thank you so much for giving me a chance. I mean, I didn't want to be an assistant forever, but I wasn't sure I was capable of something so big yet."

"Amy, you're capable of so much more. I trust you, this is why I've given you this job."

Kamilah placed a kiss on her lips. Amy placed her hands on her waist, then caressed her stomach.

"How long until it starts to show?" She asked, with some frustration. "I just can't wait."

"Not too long, I assume."

When her belly started to show, Kamilah would publicly announce to the media she was going to be a mother. Before, Amy would tell her family and introduce Kamilah to them.

Kamilah still wasn't fond of the idea of being pregnant. But Amy did everything to make her feel better about it. In the previous night, they went out together and the girl suggested they should buy an item for the baby. Kamilah thought it was too early, but she eventually agreed. She bought a beautiful navy-blue bodysuit with a little crown embroidered on it. Amy bought a pair of Converse shoes for infants.

"How are you feeling today?" Amy asked, noticing the empty blood bag on her desk.

"The same," Kamilah told. "No sickness, but the hunger is still extreme. Nobody can say this boy isn't your son, after all."

"Hey!"

----------

The Invitation - 1 month later, 12 PM

Kamilah was surprised when Lily Spencer wanted to see her in the middle of the day. Being such a young vampire, it should be more difficult for her to be out in the sunlight, even only for a few minutes.

"She said it's important," Erin told.

"Let her in."

Minutes later, Lily entered Kamilah's office in a hurry, joining her and Amy.

"Lil, what brings you here so early?" Amy asked, noticing she looked a little affected by the sun.

"I... I received this last night," Lily told between pants. "As well as... everyone else in the Shadow Den. I needed to ask Kamilah what it's about... people are panicking."

Kamilah took the envelope Lily handed her. It was a formal invitation for a Vampire Assembly, to discuss matters that could compromise the safety of the entire community, as well as the human race. Hosted by Adrian Raines.

"What?!" Kamilah shouted when she finished reading.

Amy grabbed the invitaton and read it too.

"Do you think..."

"I'm very sure of it. After all, I'm the only Vampire in New York who hasn't been invited."

Kamilah confirmed with Erin. She hadn't received any mail from Adrian in the last couple of days.

"Guys," Lily looked at them confused. "What's going on? What are you talking about?"

Kamilah let out a long sigh.

"Tell her," she told Amy.

"Just like that?" Amy asked. "Lil, Kamilah is pregnant. With my baby."

Lily laughed for five minutes straight, before realizing they were serious. It was only when Amy explained in details, that she was finally convinced.

"Wait, so you're telling me this crazy experiment Adrian made, impregnated Kamilah with your child. Who could be not only the heir of Ahmanet Financial, but the most powerful living vampire?"

Amy nodded in response. Lily immediately broke down in tears and hugged her best friend as tight as her mortal body could handle.

"I'm going to be his aunt, right?"

"Of course, Lil," Amy started crying too. "In my mind you've been his aunt since the moment I found out."

"That's it," Lily sniffed and wiped off her tears, "we need to celebrate. Kamilah, where's the booze?"

Kamilah wasn't paying any attention. Her eyes were red in pure anger again. Adrian was hosting an assembly to convince the Vampire community of New York that her son was a hazard, and ask them to sign a petition in favor of interrupting Kamilah's pregnancy. That shoudn’t be allowed to happen.

"Kamilah," Amy placed a hand on her shoulder. "We should go to this assembly. We have the right to expose our version of the facts too."

"After what Gaius has done, Amy? They'll hunt us alive to preserve their safety."

"We can't just stay here with our arms crossed while they make this decision for us! It's our son."

"The best we can do is to leave New York," Kamilah lamented. "One of my major offices is in Los Angeles. We'll be safer in West Coast."

----------

The Assembly - 1 month later, 10 PM

After much pondering, Kamilah decided Amy was right. They couldn't simply run away from their own home. The life of their child was their decision to make. No petition would make her change her mind about keeping her son.

When they arrived, the largest conference room in Raines Corporation was crowded. Every vampire in New York was watching as he presented a slide show, explaining his experiment and the mistake he had done.

"This baby was generated from blood of the Tree Of Eternal Life, as did Gaius, Xenocrates and Rheya, the First Vampire. He will be carrying the very same power in his veins. A power that will control him and transform him into a ruthless monster."

Kamilah crossed her arms, wondering when would be the most appropriate moment to interrupt. By her side, Amy couldn't hold herself anymore.

"Kamilah is not only being irresponsible," Adrian continued, "but extremely selfish. After everything this city went through with Gaius, are we ready for another bloodshed, another war?"

When Kamilah noticed, Amy was already standing by his side in front of the room. The Vampires started to yell all kinds of insults and offenses.

"Good, Adrian told his version of the facts," she started. "As you know, every story has two sides and now I'm here to tell you mine."

They weren't willing to listen, but Amy proceeded with her speech. Kamilah was admired by her bravery and determination to fight for their starting family.

"You couldn't have picked a better mom," she thought, placing a hand on her belly. It was the first time she actually did that. Amy spoke to their baby all the time, telling stories and assuring him of how much he was loved.

"The blood from the tree was only part of this child's conception. He's the result of Kamilah's DNA mixed with mine and most of all, he's resulted from our love."

Amy glanced in Kamilah's direction and the female vampire responded with an approving nod.

"I understand you are all scared, after everything we went through with Gaius. But I promise you, that if we have one chance to raise our son, we'll make him a good man."

"I'm not risking my existance again," a vampire yelled from the middle of the crowd.

"Neither will I!" Another one added. "Death to the Third Son!"

The rest of the crowd joined him. All repeating the same words.

"Death to the Third Son!"

Upset, Amy returned to Kamilah's side. Kamilah wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"You tried," she attempted to comfort her. "But there's no problem, okay? We're going to Los Angeles, where nobody will ever touch our boy."

"Okay," Amy muttered, "it's still unfair. He's being judged and sentenced even before he's born. New York should be his home too."

As they left the room, Kamilah exchanged one last look with Adrian, who passed his petition to the crowd. There was something different about his face, instead of darkness, Kamilah detected a hint of sorrow and sadness.

----------

The Promise - 1 month later, 1 AM

Despite the exhaustive day she had, Kamilah couldn't force herself to get any sleep. Amy was sleeping by her side, like a rock. She wished she had this same ability of resting her mind so easily and get a deep night of sleep.

She closed her eyes, trying to relax, when she heard the bell ringing. Who could it be, so late at night? Before opening the door, she looked at the video security system.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she sighed, opening the door. "What do you want, Adrian?"

"I wanna talk to you," he answered.

"We have nothing to talk about. I've made my decision."

"Please."

Kamilah guided Adrian to the living room. She acommodated herself on the couch, next to him.

"Only Lily refused to sign the petition. Jax isn't willing to risk the safety of his clan again," Adrian told.

"Who cares about their opinion?" Kamilah scowled. "It's my son and I'll kill whoever tries to hurt him."

There was a moment of silence between them, until Adrian crumpled the petition and threw it in the fireplace.

"I know. And I completely understand you."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry, Kamilah," he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "There were a lot of things going through my mind. I failed my company when I made such a big mistake. I failed you too. You've told me you never desired to have children, not even as mortal."

"I'm still not very fond of the idea, but..." Kamilah's lips curled up in a smile. "Amy makes it look so easy and amazing. I want to try. I want to start a family with her, the woman I love."

"I've been there. I still remember when Eleanor told me I was going to be a dad. I was happy, but at the same time I was scared, insecure. In the end, I failed them both too."

"Adrian..."

"But I won't fail again," Adrian fought a smile. "Kamilah, do you forgive me for all I've done? I was so consumed by my own feelings that I never considered yours. Deep down, I think I was jealous of what you and Amy have, and of your child. I'd do anything to..."

"You stil can," Kamilah placed her hand on top of his. "You can have a family again."

"Would you give me the honor of being this kid's uncle? I promise to protect him with my life, if I have to."

"Of course. After all, if it wasn't for you he'd never exist."

Adrian wiped off a few tears from his face before hugging Kamilah and stroking her stomach.

"Thank you, Kamilah. So, have you picked a name for this little guy yet?"

"I may have something in mind."

----------

The Betrayal - 1 month later, 6 PM

After some effort, Kamilah and Adrian managed to convince the vampire community to trust they'd keep them safe, and raise that child with caution, watching for any possible signs of danger.

With that, she was free to live in New York with Amy by her side. There was still one thing she'd like to do though, make their commitment official. Inside her secret drawer, she grabbed a small box containing a ring and smiled. That night, after taking Amy for a special dinner, was the perfect opportunity to propose her.

"Ms. Sayeed," Erin knocked on the door. "The blood bags you ordered have arrived."

"It was about time. I'm starving."

Kamilah took a blood bag and stocked the rest in her fridge. Erin watched her in silence.

"Anything wrong, Erin?" She raised an eyebrow, while she drank.

"Nothing, Ms. Sayeed. I'd like to know if you'll need anything else before my shift ends."

"Actually," Kamilah grinned. "You can go home earlier. I have a special dinner tonight."

"Really? What's the occasion?"

"I'm officially asking Amy to marry me."

"Such good news, Ms. Sayeed," her assistant prepared to leave her office. "I wish you all the luck in the world."

"Wait," Kamilah told her, "could you do me one last favor? Would you hire a..."

A sharp pain in her lower abdomen made her wince. The pain started to grow stronger, becoming more and more unbearable. Something Kamilah had never experienced before.

"Erin..." she groaned. "Call Adrian... I think I'm... I'm losing my baby."

Erin stared at her with a cold gaze. It was obvious she had put something in Kamilah's blood bag. Some abortive substance.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sayeed. I've heard the news. I'm not willing to risk the future of my kind to preserve your child. Have a good night."

She closed the door and locked it from outside. Leaving Kamilah and her baby at their own fate.

#bloodbound #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play #bloodbound fanfiction

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philalethistry · 4 years

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WELP my birthday month was a bit of a rollercoaster ride. I thought about the cons of posting this but I’d like to record it, so that future me can look back and, depending on how the future goes, either feel validated or be glad that this is over. Warning: discussion of crappy mental health.

TL;DR Breakdown results in will to live and fuck current events I have a recliner

I’m going to start with today, Sept. 1, and work back, for reasons.

Today I drove to a furniture thrift store. This doesn’t sound like much, but I A. hate driving, especially to new places, B. am already in a pretty anxious state, and C. I got lost because the road I wanted to turn on wasn’t marked, nor looked like a road rather than an alley, and so I somehow spent two hours trying to find one store. (At one point I had to stop and get something to eat because I had started shaking. The cashier watched me struggle to free two bills from my wallet and then declined the change I owed her to avoid making me retrieve that too. I wonder if she thought I was high...)

The important thing about what I did today, is I went out to find the store, and even when I did not find the store and ended up circling back to my street, instead of going home and having a sandwich and watching Youtube, I turned around again. I know it’s partially because of this video’s explanation of why one gets more nervous trying to do something a second time after procrastinating or running away from it, as I’d always pin the anxiety on my guilt, instead of a fear instinct which is more managable. But I’m going to give dopamine where dopamine is due and also say that my eventual victory was partially because of the newfound strength I have in the aftermath of the freak mental storm that enveloped the start of August.

I know that no one is doing “””okay””” right now, because of Everything, and that is nicely validating, because I am not okay either. But it’s dissonant, because I’d often follow the lead of neurotypicals and high-functioning depressives and anxious people when I’m in a bad way. If THEY say things aren’t as hopeless as I think they are, they probably aren’t! While that helped, it also downplayed my brain issues, and now that everyone has the same opinions on the State of Things, I realized I didn’t have any idea of how to confront the bad shit on my own, and neither does anyone else.

I’m technically still quarantining by refraining from making a lot of trips out and from getting a job, and so the murky pea-soup fogs of the future unsettle me. I was pretty chipper for the larger part of quarantine, as an introvert. Then one day, the thought suddenly occurred to me of the sheer amount of time I’ve spent in quarantine, how COVID isn’t receding from Arizona, how I had to quit the first job I’d gotten in the face of anxiety and depression, of how much of my future rests on the coming election, and most of all of how I have no idea what my future holds, of where I’ll be five or ten years down the line. “In the same place” and “Somewhere else” seem equally intimidating.

And then hormones struck.

I’ve had bad depressive episodes; I’ve had bad days of anxiety; I’ve had bad PMS; and then I’ve simply indulged unhealthy negativity. All of these, combined, made for a surreal and frightening experience. Emphasis on surreal. Also, contextually, emphasis on frightening, obviously. There were many feelings. Emphasis on everything.

My mental space may be a mess but I’ve never been too concerned with dwelling on life and death, even when faced with the latter. It’s never been a point of any interest to me; in the face of mortality I’m pretty good at giving importance to the present moment and to my internal values, like “science cool,” “mocha good” and “drawing fun.” In fact since childhood (third grade. Is this a normal third grader thing??) I’ve been a fan of cheerful nihilism, IE “There isn’t a secret meaning to the universe therefore I can give it any meaning I can make! Anything is possible, things are great!” I didn’t really grasp the concept behind existential dread, it sounded like something that happened to movie characters when the writers didn’t know how else to portray angst. Oh boy, do I have a new emotion I won’t be able to forget. My natural disaster of a brain supplied me, among everything I was already experiencing, three (3!!!) different categories of existential crisis. I had to look it up. And the weird thing about this Satan’s asscrack of an episode, is that while I’m prone to spiraling rumination, normally I can distract myself, because it’s still just me, thinking unhelpful thoughts. This time, these thoughts, the shittiest thoughts I’ve ever had the displeasure of producing, were automatic. I was not getting stuck pondering one bad topic; everything I saw became, in real time, entangled in the web of thought pattern in the most natural way. And it was LOUD.

Have you ever thought, “I’ll sit on the couch, the couch is comfy. The couch did not exist until a few years ago, its lack of existence had no impact on anything in any meaningful way, and when it turns to dust it will be forgotten.” Because I myself had a teensy bit of an inkling that maybe that ain’t normal. The thing is, I knew I was only feeling this way because, well, I Was Feeling That Way, it’s just the mood; but being stuck in isolation, and with everyone else also troubled by issues of the past, the present and the future, knowing that didn’t help.

I can remain in a depressive / anxious state for a little while, but the actual peaks only last at most a couple of hours. This was Mt. Everrest AND it lasted a week and a half. I was at the end of my rope a day in and had no idea what to do about it, so I tried to do everything. The physical present felt empty, so I tried to fill it with media, literature, art, walks, family time. Problem is, “anhedonia” - a symptom of depression where you don’t get dopamine boosts from activities - cuts pleasure out of these things, so nothing held my interest, let alone made me feel motivated or remotely better. Another symptom of depression, weirdly enough, is the feeling of disgust - I wasn’t conscious of this symptom until it was magnified. I felt completely and utterly repulsed by everything around me. I first thought it was the clutter, then the way the furniture was arranged, then I thought I’d been inside too long so I took walks in the neighborhood when nobody was out. The confusion came when I disliked the trees, grass, and fresh air too - I had to Google my feelings to find out what the heck was going on.

Which brings me to my bedroom. My room is littered with memorabalia, I’m sentimental so I have little shrines of items from the past and of things I value. Some childhood toys and a handful of old trinkets, shelves dedicated to Pokemon and Neil Gaiman’s work, some references to Chicago and Polish heritage. My unhappiness with the situations of the present, while strengthened to an totally unnecessary degree, weren’t all inaccurate - and in combination with anhedonia and disgust, and the way I’d integrated this memorabalia into my sense of self even though they aren’t really relevant to me anymore, I found that I really really didn’t like my past or reminders of it. In a shocking unpredicted turn of tables, I no longer wanted to uphold who I once was, because it isn’t who I am now, and it’s not who I want to be.

And the revulsion of the past and the uncertain emptiness of the present culminates in a future that I feared, another emotion booted up to eleven. There was a big need to make my future and remake myself. The only places left comfort could be found were ones I hadn’t yet looked. At the same time I became sad in a powerful but vague way and desperately lonely - this part was definitely all the feral hormones - and I became obsessed, for a little while, with making sure that, when quarantine ends, I would get my social life in order. I preemptively joined groups and clubs in my local area online, which I’m still going to make good on later but maybe not to the all-encompassing extent I had in my mind at the time. Also, career hunting. (Also also, to combat a lack of control, I wanted to get my own place - but with the economy like That, and my ass like This, big alone time while also being very poor and probably overworked is not the best of ideas.)

So. The freak episode ended. And I knew. Both during. And afterwards. That I Do Not Want That to Happen Again. To put it lightly. So now I’m trying to find an antidepressant that works for me. I’ve been medicated for three weeks now. Lower anxiety, not many mood swings, but still anhedonia, and the aftertaste of existential dread which will forever haunt me. I’m completely overhauling my bedroom, because it was messy anyway and has basically looked the same since forever which can’t be good for my mental health. So there’s going to be new bedsheets (chocolate), new curtains to kill sunlight because while I enjoy it outdoors it makes the room feel exposed since the window is groundlevel and faces the street, a whole ass recliner thrifted for only 20 bucks(!) to go in a brand new study corner along with a nice aggressively patterned brown rug, and finally the grody offwhite walls will be repainted a warm inviting brown that was named “spiced cinnamon.” No matter what happens, I look forward to spending the winter in the study, invoking a cozy comfort the Danes call “hygge,” and hopefully building my gallery or participating in my interests, including fandom, in another way. And, once my budget allows it, getting some fucking therapy, what the fuck.

#long post #weezy lost their mind for a little while #so that's where I been #but at least I have motivation now #funny how fear can lead to positive changes like that

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quarantingz · 4 years

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finding my place and searching for security

but really just a murky pool of thoughts. a puddle of pondering if you will. idek.

6 April 2020 at 1:02 pm

I thought I’d start this entry by highlighting this excerpt I wrote yesterday after watching the 11 am Life service:

“Being exposed to different people and beliefs at a young age (I still consider myself very young at 20) where everything is changing and moving fast can be overwhelming and throw you off balance. There are so many ideas, doctrines, opinions and stuff that you can let into your own life, I suppose. But at some point you have to choose, to decide which one of them is going to be predominant. The one you’re going to live by, I think. For the past two months I’ve been reflecting on my childhood self. I then realised how it was during those early, naive days of mine where my faith was strongest. I want to go back and meet that kid again.”

Soon after I wrote this and while I was watching a deep analysis video of the latest episode of Westworld, my sister Cathy said out of the blue, “Sometimes we have to go back to being a child.” And in my head I replied, “True.”

To be a child is to be innocent. Expectant. Eager to learn and ask questions. Why this, why that? A child doesn’t shy from asking ‘stupid’ questions, although I stand by the saying that there’s no such thing as a stupid question. It all depends on the perspective of the person being asked.

A child is simply curious about anything and everything. Now I worry that this is about to get super tangential which isn’t surprising at this point, as I’m transferring (and deciphering) words I wrote illegibly in my journal this morning while drinking coffee onto this blog. Bear with me as I try and put my muddled musings into something more coherent and cohesive…

My morning started a little bit different today. I’ve added something new to my daily list of things to do, that is to read a chapter a day from this book called I Will Be Found by You by Francis Frangipane. The central theme of it was seeking God. And to seek God is to be curious about Him. In the book, Francis used the story of how disciples John and Andrew came to follow Jesus. It was when they literally followed Him on His walk, upon which Jesus asked them, “What seek ye?” and the two replied, “Rabbi (meaning Master), where dwellest Thou?” I find this verse even more interesting now after reading Alyssa’s newest entry about His thoughts becoming our own. The question that John and Andrew asked Jesus was so poignant and intimate. They were keen to know where He lived. And in these days we live in, to know where someone lives is to know something very personal about them. We don’t willingly give this piece of information to everyone. If anything, we’re protective of it. We have to really trust the person if we’re going to tell them our address, let alone invite them inside. In Jesus’ case, He said, “Come and see.” Hmm.

To link this back to my crazy quarantine thoughts as of late, I noticed myself thinking more about relationships. Platonic, romantic and familial relationships. Then I thought about crumbs! With an exclamation point like Alyssa originally wrote and exclaimed in her own head when it first occurred to her. After our second date, she messaged me saying “Don’t settle for crumbs!” which I surprisingly got right away actually. Maybe it’s because I knew in that moment that I have been settling for crumbs in an important aspect of my life - my pursuit of relationships. With men specifically.

I don’t know if I’ve just been left alone with my thoughts for too long but the thought of having a family of my own has been on my mind lately too. Since iso, I’ve been making more things from scratch which is what our ancestors did in the olden days because they had the time to do so. We do now as well. This also means that we have more time for our families. Sometimes, when my cynicism gets the better of me, I wonder if I’d even be alive long enough to have kids. And I do want them. A random thought (I know what you’re thinking, another one) popped into my head while taking Archie on our daily morning walks. That my relationship with this dog and how I react to everything he does is symbolic of my personal growth. This time last year, his incessant scratching on my door as a plea for me to get up despite only getting 6 hours of sleep to take him for a walk would’ve fired up my amygdala and made me scream in annoyance. Now if Archie couldn’t hold his number 2 for some reason and performed an accident on the carpet today, I’d simply accept the fact, clean it up and move on. Not to pat myself on the back but sometimes my proactivity in the house makes me think that I could be ready to have a family in 5 years’ time. Bold of me to even think that, I know.

Anyway, to link it back to the idea of crumbs, I’d like to think that my next and final relationship with someone is going to be the whole cake. They always say that the first stages of any relationship aka the honeymoon phase is where the couple tends to be sweetest to each other. Consciously spending as much time together to get to know them. This is when you’re most curious about each other. The hopeful (and hopeless romantic) part of me likes to think that this period of curiosity between me and my eventual partner will last as long as our relationship does. That we will continuously make efforts to know even the deepest parts of each other, peeling back each layer. To me this is the real form of intimacy. Or at least I feel like God is telling me this is the kind of intimacy He has destined for me and ‘the next guy.’ To me this is the whole cake and I want it all.

Sidenote: I realised that just as Alyssa talked about self-love in her previous post I managed to subconsciously go into the topic of love as well… interesting.

- p

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bloodstained-porcelain-doll · 5 years

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Give Yourself To Me (Unholy Bible Camp pt 2) (Lucifer x Reader, reupload)

A/N: Reuploading this since it contained a porn gif that Tumblr banned. Warnings: Rough sex I believe. Read part 1

You had left the bunker after that night, the night you heard what your actions had made Lucifer do. You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you had indirectly killed eighteen people. You were supposed to save people, not kill them! Your fist came down hard on the motel wall, one, two, three times. You hissed in pain and rubbed your knuckles. “(Y/N),” you heard your name before you heard the flutter of wings. “Cas, jeez, what are you doing here?” You were used to him popping up whenever it pleased, but you hadn’t expected him to come for you in this motel room. “I know you feel bad for what-” “Save it, Cas. I know exactly what I did and what I’m responsible for,” you muttered and poured yourself a glass of whisky, downing it as fast as Dean usually did. “That’s why I’m here. You are not responsible for those murders.”

It took Cas about an hour and half a bottle of whisky to convince you that it wasn’t your fault, but you finally sighed and accepted it. It made sense. Whether you’d fucked Lucifer or not, he was still an evil maniac. “Thanks, Cassie,” you slurred before passing out on the bed. Your phone rang in the morning, or you thought it was morning, but really it was somewhere around 12 pm. You rolled over and picked up the phone lazily, forgetting to check caller ID. “Yeah?” you said groggily. “Hey, it’s me.” You sat up at once, rubbing your eyes. “Dean?” “Yeah, hi. I wanted to say sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I’ve realised that now.” “Cas talk you into this?” you ask suspiciously. “No, but he did talk to me about it. You didn’t know, and you like sex, so you slept with him, I get it.” “Yeah… reckon you should know, eh?” you smiled a little and heard Dean chuckle. “Anyway, where are you? You should come home, Sammy and I miss you.” “I’m working a case,” before Dean could interrupt you to ramble off about you not being safe on your own, you continued, “I’ll call you tonight, okay? I’m not gonna hunt anything today, just play fed.” “Yeah, okay. Stay safe, (Y/N).” “Uh-huh, you too, big boy,” you said and hung up.

A few hours later you had cured your hangover, taken a shower and changed into your federal agent suit. Unlike Sam and Dean, you took care and spent money on the outfits, made them look more professional. You wore a knee length pencil skirt with stockings underneath, a black blouse and a fancy jacket to match, along with a pair of office shoes.

“Agent Michaelson, FBI,” you introduced yourself to the crime inspectors. “Come on in, have a look. There’s major physical damage, and the heart has been cut out.”

You pinned the attacker down to a werewolf pretty quickly, then went back to the motel to do some research, not bothering to change out of your suit, you quite enjoyed the feel of the skirt ending just above your knees, and the silky blouse caressing your skin, but the jacket you shrugged off along with the shoes.

A flutter of wings disturbed you in your map checking.

“Cas, can you for once just call before you pop up? I could’ve been masturbating for all you know,” you muttered, and heard a chuckle from behind you that certainly did not belong to Castiel. You stood up and whirled around instantly and reached for your knife, despite knowing you had no way of hurting him, especially not with a simple knife.

“You, you-” you struggled for words. “How did you find me!?” you yelled. “You left me,” Lucifer said sadly. “Of course I bloody left you! What did you think I was gonna do, stick around and be your plaything?” You played off your fear with sarcasm and anger. “Something like that, yes. Oh, and I wouldn’t have minded walking in on you masturbating.” “Screw you, Satan,” you spat at him, “what are you doing here?” The fallen angel approached you slowly, never taking his eyes off you.

“You were a bad girl for running, (Y/N),” he mused while tapping his chin with his index finger. “W-w… what?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You backed away from him when he came to close for your liking, but he didn’t seem to care, he only stalked after you until you backed yourself into a wall with a thud. Lucifer chuckled darkly.

“I believe I got you now, sweetheart,” he said with a predatory grin on his face. Without thinking you plunged the knife into his stomach and ran. Your hand just reached the door handle when an invisible force grabbed you and flung you right into Lucifer’s arms, your back to him. He was holding the knife to you now, right under your chin.

“Like I was saying… you’ve been a bad girl.” He tossed the knife on the table. “You know what happens to bad girls, (Y/N)? They get punished,” he whispered into your ear, sending shivers up your spine, and heat through your loins. You tried denying it to yourself, how much you wanted him. He’s the freaking Devil! You shouted to yourself mentally.

“Your word, not mine…” Lucifer smiled and your eyes widened. “You get out of my head right now, Satan!” “My name is Lucifer.” “Screw you, Satan,” you said again through gritted teeth, and the next second you found yourself bent over your motel bed, ass facing him. He pressed himself against you and grabbed your ass before hiking your skirt up to reveal your bare skin.

The shit-eating grin that appeared on his face made you want to stab him all over again.

“I see you still don’t wear panties, little girl. Now, how should I punish you? I’d spank you, but I seem to recall you liked that, wouldn’t be much of a punishment, would it?” You felt yourself grow wetter by the second and you knew he saw it, but you couldn’t allow yourself to enjoy his touch, and you tried not to but damn, when his hand came crashing down on your ass all your dignity and morals flew out the window and you cried out, grabbing the sheets.

“I expect you to answer when I talk to you,” Lucifer said in a silky, but rough voice. “Fine, my answer is get the fuck away from me, Beelzebub,” you snarled, earning another set of sharp smacks on both your ass cheeks. “My name is Lucifer and that’s what you’ll call me, do you understand?” He grabbed your hair and you gasped.

“I understand, Luci!” you cried out and now you were the one with the big grin on your face. Lucifer yanked you into an upright position and grabbed your face with his cold hand, squeezing it hard. In a swift motion he tore your blouse off, ripping it in the process, and treating your bra the same way. Now you stood before him in only your messed up skirt and your stockings.

“See something you like, Luci?” you teased, testing his patience. It was non-existent. He grabbed your wrists and twisted your arms until he could force them behind your back, where he locked them together with one hand. It was not comfortable. He shoved your face down into the mattress and kicked your legs open with his knee.

“What’s my name?” he demanded. “Satan.” He didn’t move, but a sharp pain spread through your entire body, almost like a taser.

“What the fuck was that?” you asked in a panicked voice. “My Grace, you little slut. You’re going to say my name properly or I’ll keep going, and crank up the volume.” “I’m not a slut,” you opposed.

“Ooh but you are, how else do you explain this seeping wetness dripping out of you?” You saw out of the corner of your eye how Lucifer grinned, but there was something else in his eyes too, something that your own eyes mirrored. Hatred. “Now let’s try this again, shall we? My name!” Lucifer shouted. “The Devil is what you are,” you growled through gritted teeth and your body shook violently as he shot another jolt of electricity through you, making you scream in pain, and bite back tears.

“My name, whore!” “Beelzebub!” You braced yourself for another wave, but instead you found yourself on your back with your head hanging down off the edge of the bed, and Lucifer above you, grinding his hard cock against the wet mess that was your skirt. His hands palmed your tits roughly before one of them went to your throat, squeezing hard. “I will make you say my name, if I so have to fuck you for hours until it’s the only word you can remember, I will make you say it,” Lucifer growled in your ear before he bit down hard on your earlobe, most certainly breaking the skin. You gave a strangled moan at his words, and another when he ground his jean-clad cock against you. You moved your hands to his wrist, trying to shove him off your throat, but he wasn’t having any of it. “All you have to do is say my name and I’ll let go…” he whispered. Being the proud woman you were, you pursed your lips and refused. To your surprise, Lucifer let go of your throat anyway. “You going soft on me, Luci?”

“Oh you have no idea what I’m going to do to you. Centuries alone has made me... creative,” Lucifer purred and stood up. He began to walk around you, and you were about to move when-

“What the fuck?” you burst out, leather handcuffs were on your wrists and ankles, holding you in place firmly. You weren’t even sure what they were attached to, but you didn’t have much time to ponder as Lucifer’s tongue was on your clit, making you squeal in surprise, but when you opened your eyes, Lucifer was still standing in front of you with an amused expression on his face. Your eyes rolled back in your head when what you assumed was his Grace licked and sucked on your folds and clit at the same time, and something entered you, but just a few seconds later, everything was gone.

“Don’t…” you mumbled, “don’t do that.” You wanted to beg him to let you feel that again.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, that you’re not going to win this little game? I’ve already won.” “You haven’t won until I say your name, Satan,” you laughed and felt all the blood begin going to your head in this position. Lucifer knew you might pass out if you stayed with your head upside down too long, so he unbuckled his belt and let his jeans drop to the floor.

“Devil goes commando, huh?” you hummed and grinned until he shoved his cock into your mouth. You stifled a moan and he began fucking your throat at a rough pace, groaning and grunting as he did. You couldn’t deny the hotness of this situation, you were completely at his mercy, and oh did you love it. You made a slight gagging noise when he hit you deep, egging him on. Your moans sent the most delicious vibrations through his cock and he thrusted into your mouth a few more times before he pulled out, released you from your handcuffs and dragged you off the bed. You landed on the carpet with an indignant grunt.

“Get up, you little whore,” he ordered and you decided to obey. You licked your lips hungrily and watched him.

“I’ll give you one last try, what. is. my. name.” he growled.

“Kitty-cat?” you asked innocently. Lucifer began walking towards the door.

“Where are you going?” you asked, a little too desperately. He wasn’t about to leave, was he? He turned around and wiggled his finger at you, throwing you hard into the wall, turning you to face it. You put both your palms on the concrete before you felt him right behind you again, and you couldn’t help sighing in relief. There was a strange magic about him. He cast a spell on you and your body. The way he now pinned you up against the wall and teased your body with his Grace was insane. “Give yourself to me,” he commanded and took hold of both your wrists, grinding himself against you harshly, burying his face in your neck. You melted like butter in his hands and finally managed to speak.

“Yes,” you moaned out and threw your head back.

“Good girl,” he whispered. You moved into position in front of him and stuck your pussy out for him. He pushed himself inside you in an instant and he grabbed you by the arms and pulled you back, restraining you with his own arms. “You like to be fucked hard don’t you? Like a fucking slut.” “Yes,” you whimpered. “Good, stick that cunt out for me. Show me what a little slut you can be. Give yourself to me!” You did as he told you, giving your body and your pussy to him. He pulled your arms back, gripping you tightly. He fucked into your cunt, using his large cock to pound your insides. He watched you writhe in pain as he hit deep inside of you, in places most normal guys couldn’t reach. You yelped in pain and he liked your reaction, so he hit you in that place of pain again and again until you were screaming. He grabbed you by the neck and choked you until you made a nice gagging sound, which was a real turn on. He would never get tired of doing that to you. “What’s my name?” He fucked you at a punishing pace while slapping your face lightly. “Sa- sat…” you couldn’t form words, you were too lost in pleasure, you were going to explode around him in the most intense orgasm you’d ever had, you knew it and so did he, so he pulled out, leaving you empty. Your dignity and pride were far gone by now, you just needed him to keep fucking you, you were craving him so bad. “Please… come back, please don’t stop,” you begged. You knew he was going to break you now, and you were fine with it if it meant getting his big cock back inside you. “Say my name,” he whispered while teasing your entrance. “Lucifer! Lucifer, please fuck me! I need to feel your cock inside me, Lucifer please… OH FUCK,” you yelled out when he filled you up again, fucking you into the wall with your back arched and pussy sticking out for him. The sounds of skin slapping skin were getting louder and you couldn’t stop yourself from screaming. You came hard with the loudest, most obnoxious scream ever. He was still fucking you and your crying out his name came out shakily. You would have fallen to the floor, had he not held you there by you arms and kept pounding your pussy. You shook violently as you came down from your orgasm, and he kept going, kept pounding into you, but he moved you to the bed, pinning you down on it again and taking you from behind. Growing sick of your whining he slapped your ass hard. “Settle down and take it like the whore we both know you are. If I keep hearing noise out of you, I’m going to make you gag on your own fingers. And then I’m going to punish you with my cock even harder. Understand?” His eyes shone with lust as he fisted his hands in your hair and pulled it. “Yes, Lucifer,” you whispered and screwed your eyes shut, taking his cock in your over sensitive cunt. “Good girl,” he praised, giving your hair some soft strokes before yanking you back towards him. His other hand moved to your throat again, loving to choke you, loving to hear the way your breathing strained. “You gonna cum for me again, slut?” Lucifer asked when your walls contracted and clamped around him. “Yes, yes, Lucifer, please make me cum,” you begged before remembering that he wanted you to be quiet. You felt him twitch inside you and knew that he was close as well. “You’re allowed to scream when you cum, sweetheart, but only then,” he whispered and bit your ear, driving you wild. Then you screamed, cumming like crazy around his big cock. He pulled your hair and looked into your eyes and growled, right before he unleashed his load of cum deep inside of your pussy. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered. “That’s a good, good girl.” He let me go and you dropped your hands to the bed, finally calming down. Until you realised the motel door was open and the two brothers stood in the door frame. “Oh. My. God!” Dean growled when he saw you. “No, not quite…” was all you managed to say and you felt Lucifer grin in your hair. “You are un-be-fucking-lievable, (Y/N),” Dean said while Sam just stared. Lucifer was still hovering on top of you, licking sweat drops off your neck with his forked tongue. You buried your face in the sheets and screamed.

Lucifer had left pretty quickly, not bothering to clean you up or anything, which you found rude. You’d told the boys to wait outside while you fixed yourself up. When you were presentable again, you put on a robe and called the boys back inside.

“So, explain,” Dean demanded with his arms crossed. Sam still hadn’t spoken, which freaked you out a little.

“I… I have no explanation, okay?” you sighed frustratedly and ran your hands through your still sweaty hair, taking a few hairs with you, which you assumed Lucifer must have ripped out.

“Start with why you lied to me.” “What? I didn’t lie,” you said, now confused.

“You said you were on a case, instead we come to see you slutting around with the Devil.” “I was on a case! I am on a case, it’s a werewolf… Anyway, I came back after looking at the vic, then he appeared. He was angry that I left him, just like Cas said he would be.” “So what, you offer him a fuck and make up?” “You know what, screw you, Dean! Don’t ask questions if you’re not gonna let me answer them!” You weren’t going to take shit from the older Winchester, not ever.

“Fine. Keep going.” “He wanted to punish me for it… I did stab him in the stomach, for all the good it did me.”

Finally, Sam spoke.

“Wait, you stabbed him?” “I panicked, okay? I didn’t ask him to come, I don’t know how he even found me!” “You stabbed him, and that somehow led to… to…” Sam’s voice trailed off. “Loud, intense, peace-disturbing hate-fucking? Yes.” “Wow,” both brothers said at the same time.

“I’m not proud of it, okay? It was gross, I feel terrible, but you know what? I’m not apologising, ‘cause those were the two best orgasms I’ve had in my entire life,” you said and slumped back against the chair.

“(Y/N), you’ve slept with both me and Sam,” Dean said, and you had to suppress a giggle at the way his ego just seemed to burst. “I know, honey, I know.” You smirked, Sam scoffed, and Dean muttered “son of a bitch”.

#Lucifer #Smut #Lucifer smut #Lucife spn #Lucifer x you #Lucifer x reader

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pentakillmaven · 6 years

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The Nose Knows, Chapter 4 (NaNoWriMo 2018)

Short chapter this time, but I really had fun writing this one! It’s a group text chat chapter!

Chapter Rating: T

Chapter Warnings: Unresolved mutual pining

Chapter 4

Ladybug and Chat Noir met up a little after sunset at the top of the Arc de Triomphe. They didn't like to use the same meeting spot every time they patrolled, just in case a villain was tracking them, but the structure was a common starting point for their circuitous routes around the city. Ladybug bit her lip nervously as she thrust a wrapped box into Chat Noir's hand. "This is for you, Chaton."

"My Lady?" Chat cocked his head to the side as he furrowed his brow a little, but he accepted the box easily enough. "What's all this about?"

"Just open it!"

Nodding rather reluctantly, Chat tugged on the ribbon wrapped around the box, setting it aside for the moment while he tore through the paper. Lifting the lid, his eyes widened in surprise as he saw what was inside. "What in the…" He reached into the box, pulling out a black beanie hat with green paw prints stitched around the brim and faux leather cat ears poking out of the top. Alongside the hat was a fleece scarf with more of the paw print accents and a pair of faux-fur-edged gloves. "Bugaboo, these are amazing! Thank you!"

"Actually, Marinette asked me to bring this present to you. She said it was a thank you gift for saving her. Since it's nearly winter, she thought you might be able to use them if you get cold during patrol."

"Marinette made these? I knew she was a talented designer, but, wow. These are incredible."

Ladybug grinned. "I know, right? I'll tell her you like them!"

Chat shook his head quickly. "No, no, something like this, I need to tell her myself. Do you mind if I skip patrol tonight?" Chat wrapped the scarf around his neck and tugged the hat on over his head before he quickly started to pick up the wrapping paper, stuffing it inside the box alongside the gloves.

Ladybug's eyes widened in minor panic, though Chat was too busy to notice. "She's really busy right now! She's got some big tests coming up; it's probably better not to disturb her while she's studying. You can tell her another night."

Chat looked a bit disappointed, but nodded. "That makes sense. Tell you what--I'll put together something really nice to thank her for the gift, and give it to her when I get back."

"Get back from where?" It was Ladybug’s turn to look confused by Chat's sudden change of topic.

Chat winced a bit, scratching at the back of his head. "Y-yeah… My civilian identity has something going on that I have to leave town for a few days. I should be back by the beginning of next week, though. Do you think you can get Réna Rouge or Carapace to cover for me while I'm gone?"

"Wait, you're leaving town? As in leaving Paris?" At Chat's nod, Ladybug’s face tightened in concern. "Do you think it's smart to leave right after Hawk Moth just sent out the first Akuma we've seen in nearly a month? What if he's about to start on a rash of attacks? Réna and Carapace are great, but I need my partner."

"I'm sorry, Bugaboo, but I don't have any control over the situation. Like I said, it's a thing for my civilian identity."

Ladybug sighed in resignation, nodding slightly. "I know how that feels. All right. Just keep your Miraculous safe while you're gone, okay?"

"Of course. I won't let it out of my sight."

"Good. Now, shall we begin?"

"Of course, My Lady. Lead the way!"

Marinette dropped into her bedroom through the skylight, having already released her superhero transformation from Ladybug. She shivered, quickly pulling the skylight window shut to block the late autumn chill. Paris hadn't seen its first snow of the season just yet, but it definitely felt cold enough to do so, especially this late at night.

Marinette pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, noticing multiple notifications that she'd missed during her time as Ladybug. Some of them were the usual late-evening push notifications from her various games and apps; she also had a few new emails, mostly junk or advertising. The one notification that did catch her eye was from the group chat that she, Alya, Nino, and Adrien all had going on. It was mostly used for school-related discussions, but occasionally someone sent a funny meme or a video link to share to the rest of the group. Opening the messaging app, she scrolled back up to where the new messages began so she wouldn't miss anything.

[8:57 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Hey guys! Today was a lot of fun! Thanks for having us over, Marinette.

[8:58 PM] DJLahiffe: yeah same

[8:58 PM] AdrienAgreatest: I wanted to let you guys know that I won't be at school tomorrow. Actually, I won't be here the rest of the week. Father has some business to attend to in Milan, and he's taking me with him.

[8:59 PM] TheLadyblogger: what the hell Adrien??? doesnt your dad know that the bac practice tests are, like, next week??? how can he pull you out of school right now???

[9:02 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Trust me, Alya, I'm not happy about it either. I just found out earlier tonight, when I got home from Marinette's house. We aren't even leaving until tomorrow, but he made me come home early so that I could "get some good rest, because we have a busy schedule the next several days." Nathalie isn't saying much about it, but she did mention something about a potential merger with some Italian leather working company. I guess they make things like wallets, shoes, and belts? So the company would be able to offer more in the way of accessories that we don't really have right now.

[9:06 PM] DJLahiffe: wow. that sounds p cool but ur dad is still rude af tho

[9:08 PM] TheLadyblogger: i'm with nino on this one. @MariDC what do you think about this? are you as outraged as we are?

Glancing at the time, Marinette breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was only 9:15. She quickly typed out a response.

[9:15 PM] MariDC: Sorry, just got back up to my room. Was helping Maman with dishes. I'm sorry to hear you're going to be missing class, Adrien! But if this is something your father wants you to do, I think it's important that you take it in stride. Look on the bright side! At least you don't have to sit through stuffy classes the rest of the week. Your teachers are always willing to work with you when you have to miss class. As long as you're back in time for the Bac practice tests next week, everything should be fine. You will be back by then, right?

[9:18 PM] AdrienAgreatest: According to Father, we will be flying back Sunday, so unless something unexpected happens, I should be back in time for the practice tests. Maybe we can do a video call study group one night, depending on how busy I am.

[9:19 PM] MariDC: That sounds great! Just let us know when you're free in the evenings.

[9:19 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Definitely. I'll keep you guys posted on what's going on. If previous experience is anything to go by, the next few days are going to pretty much be Father talking with a bunch of old people while I sit and do nothing. Either that or I'm going to be doing non-stop photo shoots while Father talks with the board of directors at the other company. This is the first time that I'm going to be out of the country, though, so that's exciting at least. I've never been to Italy before.

[9:22 PM] DJLahiffe: dude let me dm you some new remixes ive been working on, u can listen to them on the plane

[9:23 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Yes please! Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know so you weren't worried about me tomorrow. Have a good night everyone!

[9:25 PM] TheLadyblogger: night adrien!

[9:25 PM] DJLahiffe: nite bro

[9:25 PM] MariDC: Good night, Adrien! Sleep well and safe travels!

[9:26 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Thanks :)

Setting her phone aside, Marinette sighed, the sound rather forlorn. She crawled out of bed to get into her pajamas, grabbing her History textbook for some more reading before she fell asleep.

However, despite her best efforts, her mind was buzzing with activity; she couldn't get settled enough to read the textbook and she wasn't tired enough to sleep yet. Her mind kept replaying the look on Chat Noir's face as he opened the gift she'd given him. It seemed so familiar, but she couldn't think of why. Not to mention the strange coincidence that both Chat and Adrien were going to be out of town at the same time. "Tikki?"

The Kwami poked her head out of her little dollhouse on the shelf beside Marinette's bed, where she'd settled once they'd gotten inside. "What is it, Marinette?"

"Chat Noir is going to be out of town for a few days starting tomorrow. And Adrien just messaged Alya and Nino and me saying he was going to Milan for the rest of the week."

"Oh… that's an interesting coincidence." Tikki looked up at Marinette intently, as if reading the girl's expression.

"Is it though? I know it sounds crazy, but… what if…" Marinette trailed off. No, that was too crazy for her to even imagine.

"What are you thinking, Marinette?"

"What if… Chat Noir's civilian identity… what if he works for Gabriel Agreste? What if he's going with Adrien and his dad to Milan, and that's why he's going to be out of town?"

Tikki's eyes widened at Marinette's suggestion. "That's… certainly a possibility, I suppose."

"I know we aren't supposed to reveal ourselves to each other without the masks, but if I was on the right track to figuring out his identity, you'd tell me, right Tikki?"

"Of course I would, Marinette. But I'm not sure if you're on the right track or not."

"Oh. Okay." Sighing, Marinette leaned back in bed, staring up at the ceiling as she continued to ponder the curious coincidence. This was getting her nowhere--she needed to get back to studying! With a huff, she picked up her textbook again, gluing her eyes to the page.

However, after trying and failing to read the same paragraph four times, Marinette set the textbook aside and picked her phone back up. Her fingers shook as she typed a private message to Adrien, and she had to reread the message twice to make sure she didn't have any typos before she sent it.

[9:45 PM] MariDC: Adrien? I have a question.

[9:46 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Hey again Marinette! What's up?

[9:47 PM] MariDC: Do you know Chat Noir?

Marinette held her breath as a message appeared in the corner of her screen: AdrienAgreatest is typing…

Ten seconds turned into thirty seconds, turned into a minute, and Marinette had to gasp for air before she passed out. Finally, after the longest two minutes of her entire life, Adrien's reply popped up on her phone.

[9:49 PM] AdrienAgreatest: I'm not sure why you're asking, but yes, I've at least met Chat Noir before. I don't know who he is behind the mask, though. Or, at least, I don't know if I know him. Does that make sense?

[9:50 PM] MariDC: Yes! That makes perfect sense. I have a confession to make: When I said I was at home the whole time the villain was attacking the school on Monday, I was lying. I actually got hurt in the bathroom when the villain first appeared, and Chat Noir saved me. I only lied to keep Alya and Nino from freaking out and worrying about me. Are you mad?

[9:53 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Why would I be mad at you? It's not like you intentionally put yourself in harm's way, right? I'm just glad you're alright. You're one of my closest friends and I would be devastated if something happened to you. I care about you a lot, Marinette.

Marinette's eyes widened almost comically as she read and reread Adrien's messages. She vaguely heard a loud, high-pitched squeal coming from somewhere in the room. It took her a minute to realize it was coming from herself.

[9:56 PM] MariDC: I care about you a lot too Adrien! I mean, you're one of my closest friends too! I love

Shaking her head wildly, Marinette deleted the text and started again.

[9:57 PM] MariDC: You're really important to me and I hope I didn't disappoint you or make you mad.

[9:58 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Don't worry about it, Marinette. You didn't do anything of the sort. Anyway, I should be getting to bed. It's late and I have to be up at 5 for us to make our plane.

[10:00 PM] MariDC: Oh lord! Yes, you do need to be getting to sleep! Can't have Mr. Model with saggy under eye bags, now can we? ;) Sleep well, Adrien. Let us know when your plane lands, all right?

[10:03 PM] AdrienAgreatest: Will do. Good night, Marinette. Sweet dreams :) (edited)

Marinette blinked, peering down at her phone in confusion. She'd glanced away for a moment, but she could have sworn that instead of her name, Adrien had initially written "Princess."

Did Adrien think of Marinette using pet names? Did he consider her his princess?

"Oh my god!" Marinette rolled over and stuffed her face into her pillow to muffle her squeal.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #alya cesaire #ladybug #chat noir #marichat #adrinette #ladrien #ladynoir #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2018

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musicalmukebox · 6 years

Text

Let’s Get (Back) Together | l.h. (3)

Ctto of the gif!

AU: Parent Trap Dad!Luke

Summary: A strong love which led to a strong marriage and twin daughters. Yet in the end, it didn’t turn out so well. You strongly refuse to encounter him ever again. But what happens when both of you coincidentally send your twin daughters to the same summer camp in Florida after 10 years?

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: SLIGHT sexual content and swearing

A/N: This is where the real story takes off. Also here and onwards, the italicized story in the beginning is a flashback. Enjoy, my loves!

- Brielle

I don’t own Parent Trap and its ideas. It’s only used as inspiration.

1 / 2A / 2B / 2C / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15

Feedback/Questions/Others? Here.

2019, Los Angeles

“Shut the fuck up, Luke!” You exclaimed, throwing your pillows at the annoying, child-like manchild that is Luke, who kept distracting you from reviewing for your French final exam by singing a mix of his and All Time Low songs really badly.

Ever since the Valentine music video shooting more than a year ago, you two kept in touch. You both would find your middle ground time (since he’s always abroad) so you can message or call to talk, and hanging out when he’s in L.A., which is pretty common now. In fact recently, you joined him on the North American part of the band’s tour last summer when you were on break. That really bonded you both, which made the other 3 guys suspicious.

“Aren’t you guys cute?”

“Stop making me single when you guys are around.”

“Jesus, someone get me a girlfriend.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t fucked yet.”

“Hey cupid, you forgot me!”

“Something tells me that this friendship isn’t just a friendship.”

Those were some of the things they would say. Yeah, you’ve both been annoying to each other out of stupidity, open when you rant to each other about any bad things that occurred, and touchy too yet nothing like that makeout scene in Valentine. Well, yet.

“Oh, come one, (Y/N)! You still have tomorrow. I mean your exam is at 3 pm!” He defends himself.

“I know, but I have to really need to memorize these words and their conjugations if there’s an essay portion, you know?!”

“But I’m here!”

“You could’ve been with the boys drinking!”

“But I’ll be seeing them for a good 6 months on tour!” He argued back.

“You know very well that I was going to be studying tonight!”

“At least I get to spend time with you though.” He gave a wink, which isn’t surprising because he knew that it annoyed you, sometimes.

“I figured though that you would be gone after we ate Panda Express a while ago.” You assumed, only to be wrong.

“Nah, I need some chill time right now, and you are the chilliest person ever.” He shares his opinion, resting his body on your couch and shifting a bit to be more comfortable. Sometimes, you could be dense, wondering whether if he was flirting with you or just giving you friendly comments. For Luke though, his feelings for you remained platonic, but recently, he’s been feeling something more with you, especially during tour. He couldn’t be too sure just yet whether it’s just a phase or it’s really legit.

“Sadly, you’ll be getting some quiet time too.” You bluntly say, looking back at your notes.

“I’m not leaving until you’re done so get used to me.”

“Luke, I’ve already accidentally saw you butt naked on tour. I think I’ll be fine.” You finished the conversation, resuming to scan through your notes. You also put on your reading glasses to further comprehend the words that you have written on those index cards.

“Devenir, Revenir, Monter, Rester ..” You read in your mind.

Luke stood by his statement, bound to bring out his phone to seek immediate gratification. However, he didn’t feel it in his back pocket and to make things worse, he didn’t bring any bag that would hold it. Standing up, he looked around frantically in the room, which was quite distracting as you were memorizing. You thought that this was a trick, but you weren’t going to give in. “Okay, where the fuck is my phone?”

“I don’t know, in your pocket?” You bantered, sticking your tongue out.

“Ha, very funny (Y/N), but really now.” He walks over to your deskside area, making you scoot over.

“Luke, what are you doing now?” You asked the nervous boy, pacing back and front in your dorm. “Did you hide my fucking phone?”

“No, I’ve been talking to you the whole time without moving my butt on this chair!” You pushed him out of your minimum space.

“Fuck, I can’t find my phone!” He yells, looking through your couch and bed.

“It’s just in my room for sure, unless you placed it somewhere else right?” You tried to calm his nerves, putting your hand on his shoulder.

“Wait, we did just come from the garbage bins outside right to throw away the pizza box right?” He remembered as he scratched the back of his head out of stress.

“You didn’t.” You narrowed your eyes, realizing what he’s up to. Without a second more, he took hold of your doorknob, twisting it to the right to open and making a run for it before things get worse.

“Goddamnit, Luke.” You say, smacking your palm to your face in stress, before running after the lanky boy. Your mind was already drained, and your legs were sore from your workout session hours ago. Breathless, you made it outside your dormitory building. Walking in the dark with very dim lighting emitting from the post lights, you caught sight of a tall guy rummaging through one garbage bin at a time in search of his phone. As you got to his side, offering him help to find, he beat you to it.

“I found it!” Luke yanks out his phone from the garbage bin, grinning from ear to ear like a child. He looked cute triumphant.

“You’re stupid, you know that?” You teased, punching him in the arm and heart rate still racing. Well, for two reasons.

“Yeah, it is a fact. Tell me something I don’t know.” He challenges, his gaze on you intensifies as he puts his phone securely on one of his front pockets of his black jeans.

“Do you really want me to answer that, Hemmings?” You straightened your back, giving him a strong, badass vibe as you also crossed your arms.

“I dare you.” He insisted, taking one step further towards you. As you were to open your mouth again, his phone rung abruptly, the song “Bail Me Out” by All Time Low ft. Joel Madden playing. Bringing out his phone swiftly, he checked to see that it was from Ashton. Upon answering it, his competitive mood switched to a more stressed mood.

“Hey Ash, what’s up? … No, why? …. Fuck why, you’re so stupid. … I’m with (Y/N), hanging out in her dorm. … Is it urgent? … Fine, I’m on my way…. No, nothing happened, bye see you in 10.” He hung up.

“What happened over there?” You asked nicely, trying not to tick him off like he already is.

“Ash lost his key to the house, and needs to get in now, but I’m still with you.” He pouts like a child.

“Dude, go back there and help him! I bet he hasn’t packed yet.” You hypothesized, getting a strong laugh from him.

“True. But when I leave, I’m seeing you in like half a year.”

“There’s always Facetime and iMessage, Luke. It’s not like we’re not seeing each other ever again.” You emphasized, playing his fingers so his nerves won’t get the best of him. He is a reserved guy after all, wherein he keeps so much to himself yet you see through his eyes and actions that he just needs to calm down.

“I don’t know, love. I just got used to you so much.”

“I’ll still be here when you’re done, and when you are, we’re going out to drink and get high like always except today. Besides, I’ll drop by some tour destinations when I got the time, just as long it’s in the U.S.” You reassured, patting his shoulder for his comfort.

“Now, that’s something to look forward.” He pondered, his arms reaching out for you for a hug. Returning such, you felt him lift you a bit and when he brought you down, he kissed your forehead.

“You’re honestly a best friend to me just like the boys, (Y/N).”

“Your best friend? I’ve only known you for more than year, Luke. You’ve known the boys since you were 15-16.”

“In our case, sometimes time doesn’t matter if you really vibe well with someone’s character, (Y/N).”

---

2034, Los Angeles

Waking up with a hangover is the worst thing for you as a working actress and mom. But in your defense, you haven’t had alcohol in a while. Rubbing your eyes to make yourself more awake, proceeded in standing up and walking to the stairs. First thing you already see as you got to the ground floor is Mark toasting some bread.

“Morning, Mark.” You greeted, stretching your tense arms. Mark didn’t bother to ask what happened because by the pitch of your morning voice, it could be two things: over fatigue or hungover. Could be both. “It’s more like good afternoon, Miss (Y/N).” He corrects, making you look the clock.

12:37.

“Looks like I really slept in last night. But hey, at least I only have one interview, which is at 4 pm!”

“Let me guess, wine was the culprit?” Mark wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Whatever, Mark. Anyways, I know it’s late but can I have some pancakes and bacon? Maybe some coffee too.”

“Of course, miss.” He follows, grabbing the ingredients of flour, milk and others from the refrigerator and other cabinets. As you expressed your thanks, you take a seat and brought out your phone to check on any texts from Gina.

Gina: Hello, Miss (Y/N)! Today, aside from your interview with Vogue, you’ll be having dinner with your other co-stars in Take Me or Leave Me, like Timmy Chalamet, Miles Teller and Cami Mendes at 7 at the Maximillia. See you later!

You: Alright, got it. Thanks, love!

Putting your phone down, Mark serves your desired food to your table mat. You view of the pleasing meal and inhale at the sweet and salty aroma, excited to dive in. Taking that first bite of the pancake side by side with the bacon is alleviating your hangover so quickly, really treasuring every bite.

“Thank you God for this meal.” You praised, not realizing that *Stella* just breezed through the dining room, sitting right in front of you. Mark served her spaghetti and meatballs, with orange juice on the side. Unlike you, she looked fresh and awake, dressed in better clothing while you still wore your outfit from last night since you passed out on your bed as soon as Timmy left.

“Hi, mom. I see you’re finally awake.” She commends, sipping on orange juice while looking at her phone, in which you spanked her hand away. “Hey, what gives?” She hissed in pain, putting it down.

“No phones while at the table.” You reminded, getting an exasperated sigh from her. Why would she not follow that rule? It’s been established ever since she got the phone last year. “But you used it before I came in here!”

“But it was only me in the table. Unless someone is with you in table, no phones.” You reinstated, hoping she doesn’t argue any further. “Using your phone is still using your phone, mom!” She budged, ticking you off more. This and dealing with a hangover? It won’t end well.

“Don’t raise your voice on me, or I’m confiscating it, Stella.” You argued back, your fatigue getting the best of you. But come on, she wouldn’t stop. Her temper was so identical, almost like his.

“Whatever, mom. Phone is out of my grasp.” She placed her phone on the other side of the table, continuing her consumption of her meal. As you took a sip of your coffee, feeling less and less hungover by the second, you noticed something different with Rebecca as you observed her facial features. “Are you wearing eyeshadow, bub?”

“Why? You’ll ask me to remove that too?” She rudely responded, rolling her eyes in annoyance. You weren’t having this disrespect from her, not today or ever. So you stood up and walked to her side, grabbing her phone away from her vicinity.

“Mom, what the heck?!” She grumbled, dropping her utensils loudly on the table before she also stood up trying to reclaim her phone. Her blue eyes darkened with anger and annoyance. But you raised your hand higher so she wouldn’t bother to try getting it. You pointed right at her, your eyes narrowed.

“You don’t disrespect me like that, okay? Because of that, I’m confiscating your phone for the day.” You concluded the argument, heading back to your chair on the other side and putting her phone on your pocket. “Ugh, you are evil!” She raged, stomping her feet on the way to her room, banging the door too.

“What is up with her lately?” You pondered, loudly. Were you being too strict? Did you let your stress out on her? “Miss (Y/N), all she did was forgetting a rule and you handled it too seriously, but she grew too aggressive as well. Don’t wanna intervene here, but she feels bad I know it.” He is right though, wherein your take was harsh but to recall, she retaliated fire with fire.

“Ugh, I just want to go back to sleep.” You sighed, going back to your room to get ready for the day and placing Rebecca's phone under your bed so she would never find it. Scrolling through your closet, your back slouching because of the fatigue, you settled on a black romper with black open sandals. Not even bothering to put on makeup since there are makeup artists at the interview anyways, Timmy texted you that he was at the venue already, anticipating your arrival to give you some “stress relief” since these interviews and everything else are getting too overwhelming.

“Your car again?” You replied, giddy at the frisky opportunity. It flatters you highly at how by the thought of you, he is so aroused.

“Yes. Now hurry, I can’t hide this boner any longer.” Laughing, you raced downstairs to your car, putting on the first pair of shows at your sight, which were ballet flats. Getting to your car, you quickly revved on the engine and drove off so you wouldn’t be late. What a way to wake up.

“Ugh.” Rebecca groaned as she banged her door, locking it as well. She mindlessly jumped on her bed, lying down and pressing her face to a pillow to soften her shouting. As much as you pissed her off just minutes ago, this was something she has never felt with Luke. Yeah, they had their fallouts but to have it with you, her mother, felt different. Luke has never reached that level of arguing with her because it wouldn’t end well, so they would equally wait until they were calm to solve the problem. But with you, it was fire vs. fire. And discreetly, she felt glad that she had this kind of dilemma for the first time. It was like a weird way to bond with you.

“Stella.” Rebecca’s daze was interrupted at the voice of Mark, knocking at her door. Still filled with annoyance, she reluctantly got up from her cozy position and turned the knob on her door, revealing Mark holding some clothes.

“Hey Mark, what’s up?” She casually says, crossing her arms in front of her butler as she wasn’t finished releasing all that stress in her.

“Firstly, young lady, doe these jeans belong to you?” He unfolded one of the jeans, the black one which is ripped on one side by the knee. “And this shirt as well?” “He unfolded the black shirt to reveal the words “5 Seconds of Summer” with a picture of lips above it. Shit, she could get caught by now.

“Actually, yes. I traded some clothes of mine with the same girl from New York in camp. Thank you for giving them to me.” She got hold of the clothes, turning her back on him as she walked towards her bed to refold them again. Assuming Mark was going to leave her as is, he didn’t. He leaned by the door frame, one brow raised. “That New Yorker friend of yours, she’s into music of old bands?” He asks with a hint of interest.

“Yeah, she got that interest for 5 Seconds of Summer from her mom she said. That shirt is practically vintage, but I traded my denim skirt for it because it looked cool.”

“That’s pretty cool, huh? I mean wow, being familiar with 5 Seconds of Summer to kids like you decades later? They really did it.” Mark commends them. This made Rebecca’s heart flutter to hear positive words about Luke because she knows that he wholeheartedly deserves it, especially after everything he has been though.

“Also speaking of that New Yorker friend of yours, how long were you guys talking last night?” He continued on, growing suspicious. Does he know something you don’t?

“I don’t know, around an hour?” Rebecca said on the spot, praying to the heavens he would stop. She already had you to deal with drama that day, not Mark too. “Hmm, so at 10 pm here, why would she be awake at 1 am?” He pestered.

“Well, she texted me first that she couldn’t sleep so we just talked. Nothing wrong with that, right?” She came up, feeling a drip of sweat from her forehead out of nerves.

“Hmm, the talking to friends isn’t, but going at it that late? You’re only 11! Take care of yourself now, okay?” Mark prompted, releasing some fatherly vibes at Rebecca out of concern. Although Luke will never replace him, it felt refreshing to have a piece of home at the moment.

“Okay, Mark. Sorry about that.” She apologizes, putting down her pride and turns around to face him so he could see how sorry she really was.

“Nah, it’s okay. But you should be saying sorry to someone else though.” He straightened his posture after leaning too long. “Mom? Ha! She overacted over a simple rule I forgot. I am human, I forget things!” She reckoned, her pride slowing growing on to her again. It’s without a doubt bad trait she inherited from Luke.

“I know, but cut her some slack at least? She’s tired from doing interviews and press stuff, not to mention having an Australian premiere next week? Just spare her.” He rationalizes again. Rebecca was reluctant, but he did have a point. A strong one.

“W-wait, an Australian premiere?” She stammers at the new information, hoping it doesn’t ruin the plan. “Yeah, next week? You’re going with her, and you have a dress that’s being delivered?” He answered, giving you a questionable look, exemplifying “Did you forget?”

“Oh yeah that! I forgot for a moment, but now if you don’t mind, I will be fixing this and my room, might take a nap too.”

“Alright, Stella. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” He stated, slowly walking away only for his name to be called out again to stop him. “Thanks, Mark. For everything.” Rebecca sends him a hopeful smile, feeling calmer than earlier.

“No problem, bub. Always here to help you out.”

---

2034, Sydney

The heat down under was unreal, and the best way to unwind was swimming. Stella couldn’t wait to jump in and feel refreshed. Well, again if lunch 2 hours ago wasn’t enough. As much as she loved swimming back home, Sydney would feel a lot better because there were times the cold breeze there would leave her in shivers that would make her sniff a whole lot.

Meanwhile, there was a nervous couple waiting for the 11 year old’s arrival in order to lay down the news once and for all.

“Luke, babe, are we really telling Rebecca about us today?” Sierra dreaded, lying down on poolside bed and drinking a beer Luke gave her earlier. She knew Rebecca since she was born, yet she had problems that reached to the media, which made her nervous as to what Rebecca thinks about her. Especially since she will be her new mother. Likewise to Luke, he wanted his little girl about the news as soon as possible so it is over and done with.

“Today, Sierra. She’s just dressing up into her swimsuit before meeting up here.” Luke reassured Sierra as he was sat on the edge of the bed. Well tried. “Shit, I want her to like me. Well, she does as an aunt but still.” She worries, drinking more of the beer than usual because she always drinks it slowly. Her fingers tremble while at it, spilling some of them on her blue dress.

“Yikes, Sierra. Let me take that.” Luke grabs the beer from her, putting on the table beside her. He put one hand on her thigh and the other on her cheek, brushing away some of Sierra’s hair behind her ear to see her face clearly, filling him up with so much admiration.

“Even when you’re nervous, you still look gorgeous.” He complimented, making Sierra blush and bite her bottom lip. “God, you’re distracting me from my thoughts.”

“You like it, though.” His hand was still at by her cheek, bringing her closer to his lips. “More like I need it.” She chuckled, being the one to go closer this time, eventually closing the gap between them. Their lips crashed, moving in sync to the album of Daniel Caesar playing through the speakers of the pool area. Luke’s hands lowered down to her waist, while Sierra’s arms tangled to his neck and legs remain at his lap. This was nothing compared to the heat they were facing. Sierra shifted her legs to his waist, hands rubbing under his red floral shirt, feeling his fit abdomen. Luke bit her lower lip as they kissed, knowing damn well how much she liked it.

“Fuck.” She moaned, feeling Luke’s pointer finger dangerously near her core as he trailed it along her inner thigh. She wanted it badly, but to her dismay, he let go first.

“You tease!” She protested, pouting at the chuckling man in front of her.

“You know I wouldn’t hesitate to fuck right here, right now, but my daughter could be here at any second and I don’t want her to be scarred at this.” He directly says, urging Sierra to unlock herself from him. “You owe me, big time.”

“We have the whole afternoon, when Felicia goes to the grocery and Rebecca swims.” He kissed her temple, then at his peripheral view, he sees a blonde girl wearing a blue one-piece and black round sunglasses, running to the stairs. “Finally, here’s the little poppet!”

Undoubtedly, Stella was excited to swim but she grew confused to see another person at the area. She wasn’t there a while ago. “Rebecca, you remember aunt Sierra, right?” Luke reintroduces, Sierra looking up from her black hat to face the little girl.

“Rebecca! You grew a few inches taller after camp, huh?” She began, shifting from lying down to setting on the edge of the bed. “Uh, yeah. Doing a lot of sports does stretch limbs, I believe.” She adlibbed, internally cringing at that random fact she gave.

“Ooh I see! That’s really interesting.” Sierra comments, turning to Luke and giving him a “you should tell her” look, just like Rebecca with Timmy and you previously. Luke got the hint, kneeling to Stella’s level.

“What’s up, dad? What’s with looks you’ve given each other?” Stella asks curiously, her interest skyrocketing. “Well, poppet. We have something to tell you, which is very important.”

“What is it then, dad? You’re scaring me.” Am I caught already she thought. Luke looks at Sierra again, with a smile of reassurance with some nerves.

“Rebecca, your aunt Sierra and I are getting married.”

Stella was dumbfounded. Uncle Timmy and you dating was news that she still couldn’t comprehend, but now dad and Aunt Sierra getting married? Like in a church, saying “I do” and all was much more challenging to handle. It’s an actual commitment that can’t be messed with. Well, you and uncle Timmy is a commitment too, but who knows things may change? Yet, she put a fake smile for her dad and sucked it up.

“Wow, that’s amazing! I love you both, you guys have made each other happy all these years.” She lied, knowing well that only you can make him very happy. Luke and Sierra were astonished as they received a better response than what they expected. Out of that emotion, Luke gave Stella a warm hug.

“Thank you, poppet! We should celebrate this with some drinks.” He rejoiced.

“Uhm dad remember, I’m only eleven.” Stella realistically confronted. “Hmm, I’ll just get you a soda perhaps.” As he runs back to the house to get drinks, Stella is left with Sierra, feeling forced to talk to her. Her blue eyes eyeing on her short blue dress, exposing her legs. She went here for another reason maybe. Nonetheless, she kept her cool luckily.

“So Aunt Sierra,” She instigated, removing her shades and putting them on the table. “My dad, huh?” “Yeah, he’s a great guy. I mean, I’ve known him for like 20 years?”

“Oh wow, that’s long. Anyways, how old are you if you don’t mind me asking?” Stella fired another question, wanting to know more of this woman who may be her future step-mother.

Switch that “may be” to a “would never be” if she and Rebecca change that.

Stella took a few steps to the edge of the pool, sitting there momentarily as she awaits Sierra’s response. She laughs at first at the question, but not hesitant to hold back. “I’m 42, love. And let me say this, you are just as great as him. He talks highly about you a lot.” She compliments, making Stella’s heart flutter despite the compliment being meant for Rebecca.

“Oh he does? Well, we only have each other in this life.” Stella stood up then jumped right in, splashing some water on Sierra. She flinched and shrieked in disgust, trying to wipe off any excess droplets.

“Oh shiz, did I get any water on you, Aunt Sierra?” Stella put her hand on her mouth, half genuinely apologetic and half impressed at her intended act of mischievousness. Let’s see what how she’ll react, will she be fake or real?

“Well, just a little bit, love. But that’s alright.” Sierra gave her a fake smile as she grabbed a tissue to wipe a second time. Stella had a gut feeling she was right about her intended action; she was being fake about it.

“So, aunt Sierra, what did my dad have to say about me?” She wondered, grabbing a donut floatie and lifted her body to lie down there. Sierra settled once again on the poolside bed, avoiding the wet spots to touch her dress.

“He said that you’re just as into rock as him, playing the guitar and piano, and also football.” She says slickly, hoping to win her favor. So far, Stella was still questioning such. “Aww, thanks you’re such a great girl, but,”

“But?” Sierra widened her eyes, eager to know what the eleven year old is prompting. Was she still lacking something?

“Do you really wanna know what’s up?” Stella playfully trails, liking how one word can really make someone interested. She was ready to fill her with lies. Naughty.

“Tell me what’s up then, Becks.” Stella cringes at her calling Becks at first, but continued on.

“Well, you’re not the first girl he’s liked in this way in a long time and not the first time a girl of his talks to me like this.” She affirms, floating along with the water.

“Oh r-really?” Sierra stammered, astonished again. As much as she and Luke have been friends been for so long, has he missed any details about him or this girl is just trying to get rid of her?

“Truly. He’s done this before; he invites the girl on a few dates, then to his house, and in a few months, breaks up because he’s never happy. That’s one flaw about him sadly. But you should’ve known that since you’ve been friends for long. Hey though, you made it this far, to the level of marriage, which is impressive! Maybe another glass of wine or beer and consider yourself really lucky.” Stella shrugged, noticing how convinced Sierra was at her white lies. To top off the cherry on the sundae, Luke returned to the scene, holding a few bottles on both his hands.

“Here babe, another bottle of beer, and Rebecca, I got a bottle of rootbeer for you. So that we’d be the same, having the word beer in it.” He bantered, handing it to her whilst still in the donut floatie.

“Oh my god, dad.” Stella cringed at the dad joke. After all, he is one and takes any opportunity to annoy her with that kind of jokes. She then looked at Sierra, raising her bottle to her.

“Cheers, aunt Sierra, or may I say, step-mom. Welcome to the family.” She smirked at her, receiving another fake smile from her. “See, I told her she’ll like you.” Luke beamed at the bonding, clinking her beer at her.

“Yeah, I’m sure she is.” Sierra kept in that smile, annoyed at the little girl who will be her step-daughter.

“I need to get rid of this brat.”

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commander-yinello · 6 years

Text

Trying to be better, part 2

If you haven’t read part 1, this story won’t make any sense! Below and under the cut, part of me sailing the crackship Echosung into slightly more serious waters. I hope you enjoy! <3

4:45 PM. She sighed as she held her phone in the air, time telling her how little she had done today. A soft whine and the scratching of nails came from beside her bed, Lady insisting that she needed to go out for a walk.

“Yes, yes. Gimme a minute to get ready,” she responded, pushing herself off her bed, blowing wavy hair out of her face. Lady didn’t seem to care for her owner’s prep time, running in circles in the hope time would go faster. Long used to her poodle’s antics, Kyungju dropped her phone on the desk next to her wardrobe.

It was right then a new notice popped up on her screen. She expected another meme from the chatroom with her overseas friends, but it was an e-mail. An e-mail with a particularly unexpected sender that made her swipe it away.

“Mom!” she yelled towards her open door while she attempted to brush out the creases in her dress so it didn’t look like she used them as pajamas. “Did you give the agent from Heart & Seoul Models my private email address?”

The gentle tapping of heels on marble followed, her mother’s shadow cast on the cream-colored wall. “Of course, I did dear! Why wouldn’t I?”

She groaned. “What the fuck, mom?!”

“Kyungju Choi, I told you to stop swearing!”

“And I told you, I don’t want these agents to be able to contact me!” Irritated, she brushed her hair down with her hands. Lady followed her every move, doing her best for constant attention.

“I don’t know why you’re so against becoming an idol again. You were so successful last time.”

She nearly lost balance, putting on her blazer and trying to win the argument. “I don’t want that anymore! It ended in a bunch of really bad bullshit, or did you somehow forget that we moved to Europe?”

“You made a mistake that you’re not going to make again. Your father and I agree that you need to be doing something other than loafing about and taking the odd modelling job. Or did you plan on finding a rich man and marrying him?”

“No!” Kyungju yelled. “God mom, I can’t believe you’re still suggesting that!”

Now properly dressed, she slipped her phone in her pants pocket and eyed the unpacked moving boxes in the corner as she left her room, making her way to the stairs in the hallway. Her mother stood on the ground floor, wearing a frilly apron, the only sign she was a housewife - unlike her hair in a tight bun and a face full of bold make-up. Kyungju glared as she ran down, but her mother had always been better in the glaring game. Lady hopped down the stairs, tail wagging from the noise they produced, noise she saw as fun and exciting like all noise really.

“God blessed you with a beautiful body and you’re wasting it,” her mom continued to nag as Kyungju tugged on her boots and jacket. “You may not have been able to charm that albino boy, but he’s young and poor - there’s plenty of older, richer, more interested men you should be aiming for.”

She couldn’t stand hearing more. “I can make it on my own, just give me time to figure out how. Come Lady,” she beckoned, and her poodle obeyed, trotting along while Kyungju grabbed the leash off the coat hook. “I’ll see you tonight mom,” she said, leaving her home for the city streets.

Her mother was merciful and closed the door behind her without another word. Kyungju sighed while Lady sniffed every possible corner and tree she could find, running back when she was called, allowing herself to be leashed. The fluffy ball of energy proceeded to pull Kyungju along the pavement while she pondered.

Her mother was making too big a deal out of this. They just moved here, surely she was going to find something, a job she could be proud of and that had nothing to do with Echo Girl. She nodded while pouting, ignoring the confused face the woman passing her made.

Rush hour had ended, and the once crowded streets slowly found silence as employees and students ran into their homes for dinner and relaxation. Kyungju turned the corner and ended up in a small shopping centre where everyone was closing up. At the end of the plaza Kyungju spotted the small building with illustrated cats and dogs on the windows, a sight that brightened her mood instantly.

Yoosung’s clinic. It wasn’t actually Yoosung’s clinic, he was just one of the vets working there, but in her mind it was. Conveniently close to her house, she had rushed Lady there - best idea she ever had. For once she was glad Lady was such a glutton.

Through the glass, she saw the blond behind the counter, busy with a customer, his red glasses nearly on the top of his nose while looking down. He’s cute, she thought. Against all of her expectations, Yoosung was understanding and warm. She smiled and began to walk over eagerly, feeling like Lady about to get a treat.

Guilt struck her, making her halt. Lady tried to run ahead and strained against the leash a few times before giving up and sitting down, scratching herself.

Kyungju bit her lip, continuing to stare at Yoosung who had no idea she was out here. Tempted as she was to enter the clinic and come up with some excuse to ask Yoosung out for an official coffee date, she couldn’t justify it. Yoosung was around her age and had his shit together better than her. No doubt her mom would be very pleased to know her daughter planned to hit it off with a doctor. An animal doctor, not that that would stop mother from counting in paychecks.

What was she even thinking? With a history like hers, it wasn’t right for her to ask him out. His friends, her parents, possibly even him, they’d all get the wrong idea. She had gotten a crush on another RFA member. What if she was responsible for causing a rift between Yoosung and the RFA?

And surely a guy like Yoosung must have a girlfriend as sweet as him already.

She spun around, fully intent on marching back to her house, only to be met with a man who obstructed her entire view. Startled, she took a few steps back. The man wore a typical gray office suit and his balding head was shiny from all the gel. His eyes widened as his amazement grew upon staring at her, dropping his suitcase next to his feet.

“Erm… Can I help you?” Kyungju asked.

“Echo Girl!” the man exclaimed in joy, clapping his hands together. “I can’t believe it’s really you! It’s me, Ben! I was- no, am!- your biggest fan, I used to send you a letter every month. Do you remember?”

Shit. “Ah… Not really. My agent let interns open the fanmail, I... didn’t.” Unpaid interns, she remembered. She didn’t want to bother with anything that wasn’t Zen back then.

Ben blinked at her. “What do you mean, you sent me replies back! They even had cute signatures! I really felt like we connected!”

“Automated reply letters,” Kyungju answered sheepishly.

“And the personalized autographed photo?”

“A copy. And the signature was never mine.”

Kyungju felt Lady paw at her ankles. Ben seemed lost, brows furrowing as he processed this new information. “I don’t… I don’t understand! We didn’t have something special back then? Why?”

“Because I didn’t care about anyone except me back then. Surely you must have read the scandal about me.”

The middle-aged man shook his head. “The magazines reported something, but it seemed more like a typical idol scandal. But then you disappeared. The fan club assumed you abandoned us.”

“It’s true, I did.” Better he knew now she was garbage. “It’s okay if you’re mad.”

His face completely fell. “I can’t believe this. I thought you had maybe some kind of family crisis and would come back in the future. I was hoping for your come-back! And then I could genuinely claim I am the number one fan!”

Lady reacted to his anger, growling as loud as a tiny poodle could. “God, I shouldn’t have wasted so much time on someone like you! Do you know how many you fooled with the fake crap you sold them? Was your singing even genuine or autotuned?”

“It was real,” she said, cruel words crash making her heart hurt. Lady was barking now, causing other shopkeepers to peer through their windows. Damn it, she swore quietly.

He jabbed a finger, nearly poking her chest. “Real my ass! You are supposed be pure, kind-”

“Hey!” came a sudden new voice, and they both turned towards the man with glaring purple eyes standing next to her. When had Yoosung snuck up on them?

Turned out Yoosung can be very intimidating, Kyungju discovered. His hands were clenched and his posture, wider from the white coat he wore, made him look ready to attack. The sweet, soft boy image of him she harbored since last time was nowhere to be found and she didn’t know whether to be fascinated or terrified. “What are you doing?!”

Ben bristled. “What am I doing? I’m giving this fake piece of shit what she deserves, that’s what!”

“How dare you talk to her like that - she’s still a human being!” Yoosung yelled back at him.

“It’s alright,” Kyungju said to Yoosung, who had moved in front of her, partially blocking her view of the angry fan. “I don’t mind, he has the right to.”

“Don’t say that!” Yoosung whirled around, expression equal parts anger and shock. “Kyungju, you can’t let him treat you like this!”

“Why not?” She bit back. “It’s true what he’s saying, isn’t it?”

“Why does that matter?!” He said, before pinching the bridge of his nose, calming down considerably. “I mean, yes, you did some bad things in the past. I don’t think anyone would dispute that.” He sighed, shoulders drooping. “But it’s obvious you’re genuinely sorry for what you’ve done. Letting yourself get verbally abused like this isn’t helping anyone. Why didn’t you tell him what you told me?” He gestured towards Ben, who stared at them considerably confused.

“This is different. He doesn’t know me.”

Yoosung gently took hold of her shoulders, and she recognized the same comforting gesture she gave him in the café. “Neither did I really, before we met. And even then, I was impressed by you. Everyone else would be too, if they knew. I’m sure of it.”

The dam she didn’t know she had inside her burst. Her eyes started to well up. Embarrassed, she rubbed them vigorously with the palm of her hand, feeling the heat of her cheeks. “Why are you so sweet?” she asked with a small pout. “I don’t deserve that kindness.”

“Of course you do. One day I’ll make you believe it.” Suddenly shy, he let go and blushed a little, aware of what he had said. Kyungju couldn’t help but giggle.

The sound of shoes scuffing the pavement brought about the startling reminder that they were never alone. Ben was still next to them, lost and hands raised awkwardly.

“Err…” he started.

“Look,” Kyungju intercepted, turning to him and clapping her hands together. “I can’t change the past and give you back your lost time. But I am genuinely sorry, and I have changed. I won’t be performing anymore.”

Ben returned to rage mode. “What does sorry do for me?! Do you think just cuz you’ve got a cute face that I’m going to forgive you?”

Kyungju grimaced. How long was this guy going to go on before she would have to threaten him? “I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”

“You should, because I’m done with you! It’s over!!” he yelled, grabbing his suitcase, walking off with his nose in the air. “Goodbye forever!”

Ben marched off, leaving the two blinking at the sudden turn. He had left the street before Kyungju and Yoosung grasped what had just happened, picking up the jaws that had dropped off. Then, she heard Yoosung attempt to muffle his snickers and before she knew it, they both laughed in unison.

“Wow, did you have to deal with his type all the time? I would go crazy,” Yoosung replied after he calmed down.

“Not all the time, thankfully.” Kyungju let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks Yoosung, I appreciate it.”

“No worries, when I saw you and that asshole outside, I couldn’t hold myself back.” Bashful, Yoosung scratched the back of his head.

How does he switch from scary to adorable so fast? Kyungju wondered. “I’m sorry for distracting you from your work.”

“We were closing up, so it’s fine. But what brings you back here again?”

“I live close by. And I, eh, I decided to pass by while walking Lady,” Kyungju admitted, blushing more.

“It’s good to see you still healthy! Haven’t been eating anything weird, have you?” Yoosung said as he bent down to pat Lady, who jumped to try to put her paws up as high as she could on Yoosung’s clean pants.

With things having calmed down, Kyungju followed Yoosung to his clinic, waiting inside while he locked up, his co-workers waving at them just like last time. She waved back as Lady chewed on her leash in boredom.

“Oh, Jaehee asked me to tell you that her café has new latté flavors. Maybe you’d like to try them?” Yoosung asked while he changed from his doctor’s coat to his leather jacket.

“Jaehee?”

“Ah, she’s my friend and the café owner. The café we went to last time.”

Is he asking me out? Kyungju thought, feeling the temperature rise. “Ah, sure, I’d love to try them. But won’t your girlfriend get annoyed with you hanging out with me?” she asked, instantly regretting how obvious she was.

Yoosung grabbed his keys on top of the front desk. “Girlfriend? I don’t think so, seeing as I don’t have one.” He shrugged, leading Kyungju to the front door.

It was hard for Kyungju not to let out any of the high-pitched squealing in her head. “Then, of course!”

“Great! I’m sure Jaehee would love your opinion on them,” Yoosung said enthusiastically, locking up the clinic behind them.

Kyungju wondered on whether this was a date or not. “Okay, but only if you choose a latte for me.”

“But… What if I choose something you don’t like?”

“I’m sure I will like anything you pick.” Kyungju smiled, Lady trotting by her side as they began to walk.

“You have varied taste, that’s good! I can be a bit picky sometimes,” Yoosung replied, placing his hands in his jacket pockets, practically beaming happiness.

Kyungju had a feeling Yoosung wasn’t getting it. But, either way, she was content being with him, at his side, feeling more comfortable than ever.

#echosung #fanfiction #mystic messenger #kyungju choi #yoosung kim #yoosung x kyungju #mysme #confession: I regret using the weird fan as a plot point #because I had no idea what to do with him after a while #but I had used him too much to remove him #sometimes fics have their own will haha #next one is gonna be much fluffier though #also probably the last one #I want this to be a short series #<3

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