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yehet-me-up · 4 years

Text

Fractions of Tomorrow

Pairing: Zitao/Reader (female)

Word Count: 10,249

Rating/Warnings: PG13

Summary: They always say opposites attract but you and Tao are putting that theory to the test. He works nights at Flanagan’s, you work the crack of dawn shift at Starbucks. He wears leather jackets, sings in a rock band, and drives a motorcycle. You prefer Keds to Chucks, study poetry at UW, and ride a pastel purple bike across town. Luckily, he’s not someone who’s afraid of a challenge.

When Baekhyun dares you and Tao to test the idea that two people can fall in love in one night you don’t expect to care so much, so fast. And when the sun rises all you can hope is that he feels the same.

Part seven of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

February 28, 1997

His head aches, body still reeling from the alcohol he drank far too much of the night before. The line at Starbucks is endlessly long and he groans. If he was responsible he’d go to the grocery across the street and get a decent breakfast. But his brain needs a substitute for the gin he was coerced into last night by his friends and it will only accept caffeine as an offering.

A saccharine song pours in from the speakers and people around him clear their throats or rustle in their pockets and the sheer noise of the morning grates against him. He’s a creature of the night; he finds other humans far more tolerable without the sun beating down on him. Only desperation pulled him from his hangover to acquire the nectar of the gods. He taps his foot and shrugs his jacket further up his body, hoping the collar will keep the bright light pouring in from the tall windows from reaching him.

A sweet voice breaks through the din and he turns to watch you, drawn by the warmth of the sound. It’s not his first time here, but it’s his first time paying attention. In the thriving ecosystem of the Exodus Mall everyone’s a friend of a friend of a cousin of someone and he distantly remembers you’re related to one of Baekhyun’s friends.

Maybe it’s the way early mornings after late nights distort the world, making everything feel hazy like a dream. Maybe it’s the fact that he went home alone last night, yet again. Maybe it’s the bright, energetic shine in your eyes, astounding for the pre-eight-am time. Or maybe it’s the dimple in your cheek when you smile at the customer, writing his name on the cup and passing it to your co-workers.

When the man moves aside and you turn your focus on Tao, for whatever reason, his intuition tells him to notice. Maybe it’s an illusion, but today feels different. You feel different.

‘Hi, welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you?’

He opens his mouth, unsure what to say. For a long beat he simply observes you. The little hearts drawn around your name on your name tag. He rolls it around in his mind, matching your face with the word, almost saying it aloud. A dangerous proposition. A door he should leave shut.

Someone coughs behind him and he shakes his head, stepping forward. ‘Just a big Americano please. As big as possible.’ His voice is thick and his throat dry. One day he’ll remember to drink a glass of water before bed after getting drunk.

You nod, reaching to the stack of cups. ‘A grande?’

He swallows to wet his throat. ‘Sure.’

‘Name?’

With a deep inhale he smells last night’s cologne still clinging to his skin. God he needs to get his shit together, he thinks with a sigh. His general state of dishevelment is even more noticeable next to you. He wonders if you ironed the collar of your shirt to be that precise or if you simply move through the world without acquiring any wrinkles.

‘Zitao,’ he says finally.

‘Cute.’ You say it under your breath but he still hears. His eyes go wide, his sluggish mind coming awake. After handing the cup to your co-worker you say the total. ‘That’ll be four oh two please.’

Automatically he reaches into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out the five dollar bill. He knows he’s staring like an idiot but he can’t help it. You hand him his change and on reflex he drops it into the tip jar. Service industry solidarity, he thinks with a half-smile.

The smile on your face blossoms; tentative at first, it grows when his eyes meet yours again. ‘Thank you!’ You pull a small coffee can out from beside the register and hold it out to him. ‘Anyone who tips gets a poem.’

He stares at the can and the slips of paper neatly folded within. Amusement fills him and he reaches for one at random, his fingers brushing yours as he pulls back. The sensation makes him want to linger. How long has it been since he touched someone, in the daylight? Since he wanted to hold and be held? Tao tells himself it doesn’t matter. It can’t. He’s got plans to leave Seattle and he doesn’t need anything tethering him here.

Before he embarasses himself he slides the paper into his pocket with a nod and moves on down the line. As he waits for his drink he keeps his focus on you. The efficiency of your motions and the genuine happiness on your face as you take order after order on the busy Friday morning. People come and go around him but he leans against the wall, waiting, thinking.

Finally his drink is done and the cup spreads heat along his chilled palms. The world is too sharp and demanding and the thought of a day full of errands on too little sleep followed by a full shift at the bar drags at him. But the smell of coffee and your smile and the mystery poem in his pocket are life preservers thrown to him today. He clings to them with both hands to keep himself afloat.

On his way out he finally reads the poem you’ve gifted to him. The writing is done with small, neat lettering and he knows it’s yours.

There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.

There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.

You feel it, don’t you?

- Rumi

With a groan he pushes out the door with his shoulder, blinking on the too-bright sidewalk. It’s too early to feel so raw and exposed, he decides.

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

Friday July 18, 1997

You trail into Flanagan’s Pub after Baekhyun and your sister, Hitchcock. It’s not her real name, but she’s had the nickname so long it might as well be. As always, they argue about movies. As always, you’re the third wheel. Not that they’re actually dating. But everyone agrees they should.

‘Come on, it was brilliant.’ Baekhyun waves his hands dramatically as you wind your way around the crowded bar after them.

‘I’m not saying it wasn’t,’ she responds. They slide into a booth opposite each other and you follow after your sister. ‘All I’m saying is it’s unrealistic, that’s all.’

Baekhyun scoffs, offended. ‘As if realism was the point here.’ You unfold the drink menu while he carries on, undeterred. ‘I know you’re not a hopeless romantic like myself, but are you honestly telling me that you don’t think it’s possible?’

Tonight’s Friday-movie-night tradition was your first viewing of The Fifth Element and Korben and Leeloo’s instant connection has revived their years-long argument about love at first sight. You roll your eyes when your sister shakes her head, leaning forward to tease him. She’s told you about her crush on Baekhyun, her best friend. For someone who’s been in love for as long as you can remember she fights awfully hard against Baekhyun’s romantic nature. Methinks the lady doth protest too much…

‘Look at Before Sunrise,’ Baekhyun says with a click of his tongue. ‘One night and they fell in love.’

She hums and scans the menu. ‘So what? It’s just one night. Show me what happens ten years later. After they see each other with messy morning hair and when he leaves dishes in the sink or, I don’t know, when she bites her nails.’ Baekhyun huffs and she smothers a laugh. ‘Let’s see how that instant love does after it’s put to the test. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, I’m just saying one night doesn’t mean it will stand the test of time, that’s all.’ She folds her menu and rests her elbows on the table, looking incredibly smug.

Baekhyun opens his mouth to argue but the server arrives and interrupts his tirade. ‘What can I get for you?’

The gravelly voice is familiar and your eyes widen in surprise when you see Tao towering over the table. Quickly you look away, back to the dark wood table.

You’ve noticed him before - at Starbucks, at parties at Baek’s from a distance, at Moe’s ages ago - but tonight he’s so cleaned up you hardly recognize him. Gone are the bags under his eyes and the nervous, jittery, curmudgeon energy that seemed to hang over him like a dark cloud. Tonight his eyes are alert and crinkle at the corner when he smiles broadly and you can’t help but notice. A very bad idea.

‘Hey man, how’s it going?’ Baekhyun reaches out and does a complex handshake with the man before you.

‘Oh, you know. Just working at the salt mines,’ Tao says with a laugh. ‘Are you coming to Chan and Soo’s party tomorrow night?’

‘You know it. I wouldn’t miss your big send off. My man here is taking off on a national tour on Sunday. Local boy making it big!’ Baekhyun gives Tao a friendly punch on the arm before drumming his fingers on the table and raising a brow. ‘Since you’re here, maybe you can settle an argument for us.’

Tao darts a look to you and clears his throat. ‘Sure thing. Lay it on me.’

‘Do you believe you can fall in love with someone in one night?’ Baekhyun waggles his brows at your sister and she groans. ‘Like, soulmates burning-down-the world you’re the person I’ve waited for always Blockbuster kind of love.’

He tilts his head to the side, considering. After a moment he shrugs. ‘I’m not sure.’ For a flash Tao’s eyes linger on you once more. ‘I think it would depend on the person.’ And then the bastard goes and winks at you.

Baekhyun snorts and lounges back in the booth, resting his arm on the back of the seat. 'Good luck, buddy. You'd have better luck charming a brick wall. She only reads about love these days, Double Shot here is a bit gun-shy at putting it into practice again.’

You glare at Baekhyun, body going rigid at being called out. For as long as he's been your sister's best friend he's acted like a surrogate older brother to you. He vacillates between telling you it’s good you’re so focused on your studies and telling you that you're too serious, too focused on school and work. Since you got broken up with Baekhyun seems focused on the latter, always needling you to go out and have fun. But, as they say, once burned twice shy.

You focus intently on your hands resting on the table and absolutely avoid looking at Tao. From the first time you rang him up at Starbucks you knew his gaze would see more than you'd like. He's the type to see through every bullshit line you give about how you’re fine being alone, fine with how things ended, fine fine fine.

If life was kind the three of you would order and Tao would leave and that would be the end of it. You could safely stay in your cocoon and hide. But of course, life doesn't play fair.

Tao sticks the pen behind his ear and folds his arms. ‘Is that a bet?’

Your cheeks warm and your heart races. Finally, you look up to him fully. 'Excuse me?'

He shrugs and gives you a lopsided smile. 'If you're game, of course. What do you say, shall we put this to the test?'

'You want to see if we'd fall in love in a night?' You're certain you look like a terrified animal. In a vain attempt to fold yourself back into someone confident you lean against the booth, pressing your feet to the ground and making your spine tall and straight. 'What makes you think you're even my type?'

‘Sweetheart, I’m everyone’s type.’

God knows he probably is. Tall, handsome bad boy who sings like an angel, drives a stupidly hot motorcycle, and looks like he knows the fastest way to make you come undone with just a look. But charming is only skin deep and in return you want to see if there’s anything underneath it that would keep your interest.

‘Fine, then.’ You hold out your hand. ‘I’ll take your bet.’ Stubborn, always so stubborn. Baekhyun giggles and claps excitedly as you grip Tao’s rough, much larger hand.

Your sister leans across you to stare Tao down. 'Hang on. I'm not about to let her go off with some random dude. How do we know you're trustworthy?' Hitchcock has turned her interrogation mode on. ‘I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know you from Bruce Willis.’

He must have other tables to attend to, other things to do, but he rests his palms on the table and leans down to meet her glare. 'I'm an open book. Ask me anything.' The move brings him inches from you. He smells like whisky, the kind that burns, and you swallow instinctively in response.

She narrows her eyes and hums. 'How old are you?'

'Twenty three.'

'Did you go to school?'

He chuckles. 'High school. No need for college.'

'Why not?' You speak up, preparing for an argument. He looks like he could actually keep up with you and a spark of excitement grows low in your body.

'Between singing and bartending I make plenty of money.’ He answers you, not your sister. ‘Don't get me wrong, I respect an education. But I get far more inspiration from living life than from just reading about it.'

You bristle. As a poetry major this feels like a personal attack. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never read anything that made you feel - I don’t know - inspired. Magical. Exposed?' You press your lips together, wishing you could gather the words back.

Tao looks at you through his lashes, bending close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips when he speaks. ‘Words are just the appetizer, darling. I prefer to have an entire feast.’

His dancing eyes dart down to your lips. But then he straightens, pulling the pen out and readying it on the pad. You grip the table to avoid swaying towards him and almost hate him for how much of a magnetic pull he seems to have over you. 'Any other questions or can I grab your orders?'

Baekhyun orders a Smirnoff Ice, delight pouring off him. Your sister narrows her eyes at Tao for a moment. Finally, she relents and orders a sex on the beach. You stare at the red plaid shirt tied around Tao’s hips and order something. An Appletini maybe? Your mind seems to have abandoned you but thankfully Tao nods and winds his way back through the crowd to the bar. In his absence you can breathe fully and look up to see Baekhyun smirking.

‘What?’ you practically groan at him.

‘Oh, nothing.’ He looks like the cat that caught the canary. ‘I just love being right.’

Hitchcock kicks him under the table and he winces, reaching for his shin. They resume their discussion, transitioning to talking about their opening shifts at the theater tomorrow and how much they can reasonably drink tonight and still be functional in the morning. You drum your nails on the lacquered wood table and wonder if your heart is racing from the heat of the packed bar or from the prospect of Tao holding you to your bargain.

The man himself comes back with drinks a moment later. When he slides the light green concoction across the table to you he tilts his head in question. ‘So, how about tonight?’

You choke on your sip and fight the burn in your throat. ‘Are you serious? So soon?’

He grins. ‘Why, did you want time to get ready? I think if we’re going to put it to the test it would have to be tonight. Also, I leave on Sunday morning, so the clock is ticking so to speak.’

‘But I work tomorrow at Starbucks. At the crack of dawn.’ You sputter, waving your hand in front of you. ‘I didn’t think you-’

‘Guess we should get started soon, then.' He winks again and you're tempted to throw your drink at him, just to get the upper hand. ‘I get off at nine.’ Without another word he puts the serving tray under his arm and leaves.

Your sister rolls her eyes. ‘You’re such a bad influence, Baek.’

He throws his arms out wide. ‘I can’t help it baby, I’m a lover. What can I say?’

She snorts and pats you on the back sympathetically. You down your drink in two swallows and absolutely refuse to look at Tao, Baekhyun, or your sister. Instead you pull some bills from your purse and push your way out of the bar before anyone can suggest anything else insane.

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

It takes you several tries to find a presentable outfit. It's been more than six months since that last fateful date and in the time between you’ve built a literal barrier around yourself, bundling up in sweaters and blankets at home, only emerging for work and class and Friday movie nights.

Baekhyun's words come back to you as you frown and throw yet another outfit on the bed. Are you really a brick wall, impenetrable and cold? You weren't always, surely. Byron's 'and thus, the heart will break, yet brokenly live on' swims in your mind, still fresh from the finals you took just a few weeks ago.

You don't feel broken, just stuck. Numb. Waiting. You hold a dress up to your body and wonder if your ex feels the same or if he, as the one who did the dumping, moved on instantly, and it's just the broken-up-with half that flails around trying to find new footing.

With an defiant press of your lips you sigh and settle on your favorite black and white checkered dress and white Keds. It’s a declaration of intent in a peter pan collar. Your ex always hated your clothes, what you chose to study, your music; everything about you screamed soft and he tried so hard to bend and form you into someone he wanted.

But you are as you are - romantic and idealistic and sweet. You roll your eyes. It’s the truth, and you remind yourself that just because you didn’t match him doesn’t mean you have to change just to make someone else happy. The outfit screams innocence it dares Tao to judge you tonight. As if you care what he thinks. Which you definitely do not.

You barely make it back in time to Flanagan’s. When you rush up Tao is pushing out of the bar onto the street. A thrill runs down your spine at his smile when he sees you. Your ex doesn't control you anymore, you remind yourself. You get to decide when you move on; when you stop mourning something that's dead and over and find something new. Even if it's not with Tao, tonight is an experiment. To see if you can handle a fresh start.

‘Hi,’ you start, breathless from your hurrying.

'Hi yourself. You still game?' he asks, mischief in his eyes and hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 'If you want an out I won't hold it against you.' He looks you up and down and smirks, but doesn’t comment on your appearance.

In return you scan him as well. His hair is mussed just-so and his earrings match too well to be an accident. He’s trying too, even if his devil-may-care attitude would make others think he’s not. Everyone has an image they present to the world, tonight you’ll find if there’s substance behind Tao’s.

You press your tongue between your teeth and tilt your head at him. 'I'm ready to be surprised.'

He barks out a laugh. ‘Fair enough. I’ll see what I can do’

Tao starts to move towards you across the sidewalk, but you hold out a hand at the level of his chest, stopping his movement. 'So, love, huh? There's not some girlfriend or boyfriend of yours waiting for you at home?'

‘I belong only to myself. For now, at least.' He smiles and holds his arms out wide. His brows tug together suddenly. For a moment he looks unsure. Vulnerable. But the look is gone so fast you wonder if you imagined it. ‘What about you?’

You want to fold in on yourself and turn away, hiding. As if the stain of failure is written across your face. The words that were thrown your way like scarlet letters on your skin for him to see. Prude. Uptight. Tease. Your stomach churns and you’re glad you only had the one drink tonight.

‘Single.’ You suck in a breath after you get the word out, like it stole all the air from your lungs in speaking it.

He nods, holding your gaze for a moment. Those eyes of his drink you in and you’re sure he can see it - the hesitation and the fear. But once more he simply stands tall and gives you space to think. ‘Shall we head towards the waterfront?’

A public place, lively and full of people on a Friday night. Safe, reassuring. He didn’t suggest a club or somewhere heavy with expectation and you like him better for it. Tao waves an arm out in front of you, inviting you to go first and you start walking, clutching your purse under your arm.

He falls into step beside you. 'So I guess if we're going big or going home, shall we start with our dating history?'

You should have expected this level of inquisition, especially from someone who is friends with Baekhyun. ‘Jesus, you don’t pull any punches.’ But against your will you let out a laugh.

There’s something refreshing about someone who seems like, for all his mystery, he doesn’t hold any secrets. Everything out in the cool night air and you wonder if it would be freeing, to let it all go. To not question the words you say. To trust that the person you’re speaking them to will hold them without judgement.

‘Never have, never will,’ he reassures you. The cat-like grin on his lips is teasing. ‘That I can guarantee you. I’m happy to go first, if you’d like?’

You nod, and he sighs, looking through the clouds to the moon that peeks through. The streets are dry for once, a brief respite after the wet Seattle spring. Everyone around you takes in the night with gleeful laughter, on the search for music and connection and entertainment. But even with the full sidewalks around you all you feel compelled to do, inexplicably, is lean in closer to hear Tao.

A group of women brush by you, giggling, forcing you into Tao to avoid them. On instinct he reaches out an arm to keep you both from being overrun. You turn into him and end up meeting his eyes. In the night they’re so dark they look almost black, with flashes of light from passing cars.

The moment stretches around you and irrationally you want to stop him before he says anything else. No stories of the people he’s been with or kissed or loved or wrote songs about. Maybe that’s the appeal of one night love stories, you think. The beginning of love is always a lightning bolt. If that’s all it ever is you never have to deal with being knocked on your ass by the resulting thunderstorm.

The women pass and Tao respectfully brings his hand back to his pocket and time carries on. But the look on his face remains as you both start walking towards the Market again.

‘I should say up front, I uhh - I guess that I’ve never been in a relationship. Actually.’ He runs a hand through his hair and winces like he’s ashamed of it. ‘I came close a few times. But it’s just never worked out.’

You open your mouth but aren’t sure what to say. Do you make fun of him for clearly being a playboy, not wanting to be tied down, fitting the stereotype of the rockstar he’s on a path to becoming? Do you play coy, asking him if you might fit the bill? Or do you reassure him?

The latter feels the most natural. ‘You’re young. It’s the nineties. I don’t think it’s unusual to be playing the field right now.’ You lift a shoulder and shrug, the edge of your black denim jacket slipping down your back a bit with the motion. It exposes the skin of your collarbone above the strap of your dress, where your neck meets your chest.

Tao licks his lips and drags his eyes away from your shoulder to meet yours with a nod. ‘That’s true. I guess most of my friends are single. Sehun is. Jongin is. Baekhyun is, for sure. Even if he is in love with your sister.’ Your jaw drops and Tao bites his lip. ‘Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t tell her I -’

He looks genuinely panicked and you laugh, waving a hand. ‘Trust me, she’s in love with him too. They’re both too stubborn to admit it though. So your secret is safe with me.’

Tao sighs, relaxing, and gives you a half smile. ‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ The neon lights from the bars and clubs along Pike street pass over his face, painting him dozens of bright colors. ‘So, that’s my story. Too busy working and writing lyrics and singing to be tied down. What’s yours?’

‘That’s hardly a story,’ you challenge, raising a brow. ‘More like the cover of a book.’

‘It’s plenty!’ he laughs. ‘I’ve exposed myself as a perpetually single man. I think that tells you tons about me.’ At your pursed lips he continues. ‘Fine. I’ve been chasing music for so long that I have avoided getting serious with anyone, lest it keep me from my dreams of stardom. I crave that intensity between me and an audience when I sing, but I’m afraid to let myself have something real. Something intimate, that expects more of me past one performance. I’m afraid that off-stage I’m more disappointing than on et cetera et cetera.’

He cuts off his rambling monologue, his eyes widening as he stops in his tracks for a moment, like he can’t believe he just said so much. But you stand next to him without judgement. Something about his disarming honesty and expressiveness makes you want to tell him the truth, ugly that it might be.

While you stand on the corner and wait for the light to change you look at the zipper of his leather jacket to avoid his eyes and spit it out. ‘I got dumped six months ago.’ You lift your hands and drop them uselessly to your side.

He tilts his head back in appraisal. Blessedly the teasing is gone from his face. He doesn’t offer sympathy, cloying and patronizing words about how you’ll find someone else. He doesn’t flirt with you, even though that seems to be his nature.

‘I don’t know the circumstances, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but all I can say is - it’s his loss.’ He gives you a slight smile, not moving even when the light changes, and you can’t help but return it.

It’s strange that it could be so simple. Perhaps if you do carry on something with Tao you’ll tell him more. But for tonight it can be that easy. The pain and doubt and shame can fade into a pinprick of light heading off into the distance and get swallowed up by the night. Like you can just wipe the slate clean and start over. You inhale a deep breath of cool, salty air and look up at Tao, your smile growing, becoming more genuine and whole.

A lightness fills you and you wind your arm through his, pulling him into the crosswalk just as the last few seconds show on the countdown. He lets you guide him easily and you come to rest on the concrete looking down at the Pike Place Market. The bright neon red sign reflects against the dark night and the inky blue waters of the Bay beyond it. In the twilight ships move back and forth through the port, full of tiny lights of their own.

He drops his hand a little, running over the clothed skin of your arm until he reaches your palm. The contact of his hand on yours makes you jolt. ‘Is this okay?’

Without thinking you nod, twining your fingers with his, savoring the heat as he presses against you. Your ex hated holding hands in public, hated any kind of PDA, calling it childish. But Tao stands by your side, hand in hand, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

People mill about you, heading to the endless restaurants and food stands that line the Market. In summer it’s in full bloom, crowded every night, and after a long winter and spring holed up in your apartment it’s disorienting to be out in the world again.

You start walking together, without a plan. It’s far more comfortable than you’d expected, the companionable silence with him. Everyone in your life talks a mile a minute - Baekhyun and your sister, your co-workers at the busy coffee shop, your classmates, hungry for discussion - but Tao seems content to just hold your hand and admire the rows of vendors you pass. The lack of pressure from him eases something that had drawn tight and anxious in your chest over the last few months.

Before you is a maze of stalls. Tables full of tulips in bright yellows and pinks, bouquets wrapped in brown paper, that you stop to smell. Screen printed tee shirts with the Sonics logo or photos of the Space Needle or trendy political puns that Tao points out with a laugh. People sell everything from watercolor paintings to homemade honey to snow globes. As a recent college grad, you’re saving all your money, but everything is still fascinating to look at.

The two of you settle on a kebab place for dinner after a long debate about the merits of the taco cart and the hole-in-the-wall seafood stop. The steam brings the rich smell of meat and vegetables to you. Against your protests to split the bill, Tao insists on buying dinner.

‘If this is an official date I have to follow the guidelines,’ he winks.

You roll your eyes and defiantly go to the next stall to order two Jones sodas from the seller. When you hold them up he laughs and inclines his head. ‘Alright, that’s fair.’

When you’re settled on the narrow rock wall beyond the far edge of the market, balancing Jones sodas on the uneven stones with a warm kebab resting on your knees, he carries on.

'So, poetry. What made you choose that?' He asks around a bite.

After a sip of soda you tilt your head at him. ‘You can't laugh, okay?'

'Why would I laugh?’ His brows furrow like it’s the furthest thing from his mind. ‘I'm a singer, sweetheart. I don't take the arts lightly and anyone who does is an asshole.' He narrows his eyes at you in mock seriousness but the way his mouth fights a smile is endearing.

You snort, liking him yet again without planning on it. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always loved it and sometimes I try to write it. I’ve had some job or another since high school, so I’m confident I can always get a job if I need it but - there’s something so - so delicious about poetry.’ You swallow another drink of your soda and Tao’s eyes flick to the motion of your throat. ‘If I was going to go to college, and our parents kind of insisted on it, I wanted to study something I loved.’

Tao lifts his own soda and clinks it to yours in solidarity. ‘I can respect that. What’s your favorite poem?’

Suddenly shy you turn to set your soda down on the stone beside you, letting your hair fall over your face while you think. It’s not that you don’t know, but that it feels too close, too personal to tell him just yet. ‘That’s very private.’

When you look back to him he holds your gaze for a moment. ‘Hmm. Okay I can respect that. Favorite songs are pretty personal too so I’ll let you hold onto it, for now.’ With a movement as casual as breathing he tucks your hair behind your ear, as though he does it twenty times day, and resumes his eating.

Poems run through your head as you chew, heart racing. You’d thought this was an experiment that would quickly go south. A quick walk to prove that you’re not compatible. A smug ‘I told you so’ to Baekhyun. And then a return to the comfort of your bed to read for the night. You didn’t expect to want him. Words, endless remembered words filter across your consciousness, ones of love and lust and death and the exhilaration of life.

Normally your own creative voice is quiet, too afraid to give permanence to the ideas, the words, that live inside you. But as you watch the gentle night breeze ruffle his dark hair you think you could write some tonight, if you had pen and paper. Instead you shove an enormous bite in your mouth and chew, afraid of the attraction you have to him.

When you’re both done eating he holds his hand out for your trash and you wad up the wrapper and hand it to him along with the empty bottle. He walks over to the trash and dutifully puts the bottles in the recycle, like any good Seattle boy. Dusting off his hands he turns back towards you, approaching slowly and holding out his hands.

After a moment’s hesitation you reach for him, allowing him to help you stand. Continuing the night’s adventure. When you’re on your feet he releases one of your hands, keeping the other one tucked in his as the two of you wind your way back through the crowds. Both of you stop to pat the bronze pig at the crux of the Market for good luck.

He leads the way down the narrow stairs to Post Alley and the line outside the comedy club at its base winds around in a long chain. It’s funny, normally you’d want to know The Plan. Baekhyun calls you anal retentive, but you just consider yourself organized. You like knowing what’s coming. But tonight you consent to following him without knowing the destination. You bite back a smile - it’s exciting and terrifying all at once.

A group of people tries to come up the stairs as you’re going down and you are pressed against the rail, trying not to slip. It definitely isn’t meant to be wide enough for both directions of people at the same time. As if sensing your predicament Tao presses his broad back into the rowdy man behind you, ignoring his grumbles of annoyance, making space so you can descend the last few steps onto the courtyard.

Out front of the Market Theater you thank him and wonder what exactly his plan is. Is he taking you to an improv show? A concert? Drinks? With your hand still in his he gently moves to the left, under the archway and in front of the long gum wall. You raise a brow at him but he merely smiles and shrugs.

‘I didn’t peg you for someone who likes tourist attractions.’

His eyes dance with amusement. ‘Oh yeah? What kind of person did you imagine me to be?’

You purse your lips and try to figure out how to answer him. ‘I’m not sure, actually. Normally I can read people pretty easily, but I can’t pin you down.’

‘Me?’ He presses his hand that holds yours to his chest. ‘Baby, I’m an open book.’

The gum wall around you smells sickly sweet and you can almost taste it on your tongue. Everyone around you is taking polaroids in front of the wall or chewing their own gum in preparation to add to it.

You wonder what the two of you look like from an outsider’s perspective. Tao, tall and imposing with his thick motorcycle boots. You with your white Keds and sweet, checkered dress and headband. It might seem like you’re an odd couple, but the heartbeat in his chest against your hand is strong and underneath it all perhaps you’re not so different.

With a breathy laugh and a roll of your eyes you grip his hand and pull him further along the alley beside the gum walls, towards the water. Nearby one of the many buskers permitted to perform along Pike Place starts signing a loud and heartfelt, if slightly off-key, rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline,’ drawing the cheers of the onlookers.

Away from the crowd in Post Alley you emerge onto a side street a block or so from the water. Tilting your head back you watch as everyone sings along. Tao’s free arm suddenly comes around your waist and dramatically he starts swaying you back and forth, crooning along to the Neil Diamond song far better than the busker. A few other people on the street around you smile or laugh, making their way to the pier up ahead.

Instead of asking him what on earth he’s doing or feeling embarrassed about dancing in the middle of the sidewalk you just cling to him and try to keep up. His voice is rich and soothing, his hand holding you against him is sturdy and comforting. You can’t help but giggle and roll with it, holding onto his jacket and watching his jaw move as he sings.

All too soon the performance back at the Market behind you ends and the last lyrics are drowned out by applause. Tao takes a step back and the night is cold without his warm embrace. You long to step forward and close the distance once more. Instead you brush your hair back and compose yourself.

‘What kind of music do you like to sing?’ you ask as the two of you resume your progress towards the pier.

‘All kinds.’ He shrugs. ‘But mostly love songs.’

‘Really?’ The light before you changes and ahead the aquarium looms in the night. To your left is the Kingdome waits, past the long stretch of the boardwalk. Without waiting for Tao you head that direction, the briny ocean air filling your lungs.

He easily comes to your side. ‘Of course. Everything’s about love I think, when you get down to it.’

‘You weren’t singing love songs when I saw you perform.’

You answer without thinking, remembering the concert a few months ago that you and your sister went to. Baekhyun had invited you both to see Chanyeol’s band - Yeol and the Salty Wolves - and Tao was performing with the opening group.

‘You’ve seen me on stage?’ His proud grin is teasing and playful and damned if you don’t want to kiss him.

‘Yeah. It - my sister dragged me out of the house. She thought getting outside would do me some good.’ You focus on picking off a section of your pink nail polish that’s started to chip. ‘You guys were great. But you were definitely yelling about anarchy, not love.’

The imagine of him in his tank top, wide slits cut under the arms revealing a broad swath of his tanned skin, singing passionately, makes you suddenly very aware of him. Tonight he’s composed, a rebel in street clothes. But that night his face was slicked with sweat from his intensity, red in the cheeks and headbanging along with the crowd and the rest of the band. Even that night, so close after your recent break up, you wanted him. It was a dangerous idea then and it’s a dangerous idea now.

He hums and veers to the right, heading down one of the longer piers. ‘I could argue that anarchy still is love. Love of your beliefs and love of a person or a place or a thing so much that you’re willing to fight for it, to go to war for what you care about.’

To that you don’t argue. ‘That’s true. I guess anything could be love when you get down to it. There’s so many poems about sadness - missing love or rejected love. Anger. Bitterness.’

The wooden boards of the pier below you give a gentle thunk with each heavy step of Tao’s huge boots. Below you the water sloshes against the planks. Now at the end you lean forward, resting your elbows on the railing, before turning back to Tao.

‘I guess this is a day to be debating love,’ you smirk, thinking back to the conversation that got you into this. In the wind off the Bay you shiver.

Like a reflex Tao shrugs out of his jacket and holds it out to you. But you lean over and wave your hand at him. ‘No it’s okay, I’m fine. Please, you don’t have to -’

But he drops it over you anyways, the warm weight of his jacket settling on your shoulders and insulating you from the wind. In his black, long-sleeve shirt he doesn’t even seem cold. With a sigh you pull it more fully onto you and bend upright again, inches from him.

‘Debating love indeed. See I think love and intimacy is made far too complex by a lot of people.’ He slowly rubs his hands together, forearms resting on the railing as he leans over, looking at the waves. ‘I think it comes from knowing someone. Really knowing them. Hopes and fears and memories and all of that. and choosing to be with them. Simple and complicated as that.’

‘Simple as that?’ you gape at him, holding your wind-tousled hair out of the way with one hand so you can look at him. ‘There's no way to truly know someone in one night, though. There's too much nuance for love in such a short time.’ The beating of your heart in your palms when you look at him would argue otherwise and you inhale deeply, trying to keep your center.

‘Hence why I also said complicated. But now we’re debating what love itself means.’ His gaze darts down to your lips before he meets your eyes. ‘I know plenty about you.’

You open your mouth to argue but he carries on. ‘I know you’re stubborn, given the soda earlier and the coat just now. I know you’re practical and competent - I’ve seen you at your job. I know you’re a romantic at heart, you have to be to study poetry, and even if some asshole temporarily doused that fire you look for evidence that love is real everywhere.’

Feeling raw and exposed you try to find anything to say to brush off the way his statements cut to the heart of you. ‘That doesn’t mean you - uhm - that you know me.’

The word you almost said in your haste was love and the thought makes your palms sweat. Irrational. Impossible. Everyone always says your emotions are easy to read, that they’re written all over your face, and you wonder what he sees as he watches you. The moment you said it you could see the slow smile start on his lips. At the very least he knows you’re not arguing with him as much as arguing with yourself, against what you feel.

He leans in closer so that his forehead touches yours, low voice almost a murmur. ‘But I want to know you more. I want to do a lot of things. Does that count?’

‘Count?’ If you wanted to you could press up on your toes and kiss him. The thought is intoxicating and you close your eyes, heaving a breath into your lungs.

After a long moment of thinking and waiting and wondering you finally open them again. Tao looks just as conflicted as you are - his brows tug together and the casual flirtation is gone. He holds himself still before you and something far more serious crosses his face. Though he doesn’t answer with words the look in his eyes telegraphs his feelings for you.

With a sigh he pulls back, reaching to the railing with both hands to steady himself, and you sway in his absence. He looks up at the night sky, at the moon through the clouds, and smiles. The stars peek through here and there. It’s not a cold night, just a breeze across the water to relieve the heat from the long summer day. Distantly a line of poetry comes to you, about being thirsty, parched almost, and wanting to drink him in to quench it.

Rather than indulge the dangerous impulse to touch him again you take off back down the boardwalk. Back to the city and the lights and far away from the closeness of being with him in the dark. The pressure of his thick jacket will have to be enough, for now.

‘So, where do you want to go next?’ You’re impressed you manage to sound steady.

He sticks his hands in his pockets once more and ambles after you, a small smile gracing his lips. ‘I know a place.’

As you make your way along the waterfront he turns the conversation to safer territory. You fill each other in on your jobs - how they started and what you like and don’t like. Co-workers who are dating, friends you have in common at the mall. Notorious customers. Tao has dozens of stories and his laugh is easy, his eyes bright with flirtation now that you’re both on safer ground.

Through the night you meander around the city in a vague Northward direction. Past the Science Center, it’s great white sculptures lit up. Around the Space Needle and the fountain. Another city and the streets would be deserted this late. But here there’s groups of people, laughing and splashing each other at the base of the enormous bowl that forms the center of it. You pass the occasional jogger or couple holding hands, walking home.

The two of you stop to use the restroom and get a drink of water at a 24 hour grocery store. Tao also insists on buying some snacks, chocolate and a bag of chips that you keep in the large pockets of his jacket as you progress to the edges of Lake Union.

It’s easy, being with him. His energy is calm, reassuring. He’s got a wicked and witty sense of humor you wouldn’t have expected and you easily spend half an hour looking out at the boats, making up other, naughtier names for them.

It turns out he likes X-Files just as much as you and your sister do. As you stroll along the Fremont bridge you end up taking his hand once more. The snacks are gone and you can’t resist touching him again. It must be well after midnight, but he doesn’t mention going home. Strangely, you don’t want to either. For someone who’s life has become so habitual you’re surprized you’ve not even spared a thought for your nightly routine of reading in bed with a glass of wine and a candle burning on the windowsill.

There will be other nights for that, but for tonight you let the momentum of the evening carry you along with him. You both decide to skip a visit to the Troll, not wanting to tempt any disasters. The Keds on your feet hold up well and you give a thanks to your past self for not wearing heels or sandals.

Eventually his destination becomes clear. The gates to the park are closed for the night. ‘Gas Works? This is your plan - breaking and entering?’

He nods, biting his lip. ‘Yep. I know a way in. The nighttime view is unbeatable.’

You hold out your hands, gesturing to the enormous PARK HOURS: DAWN TIL DUSK sign.

‘Afraid of being caught?’

You roll your eyes. ‘Yes, actually. I don’t think getting arrested for trespassing would be a great thing for my resume.’

Tao considers before backing towards the edge of the fence with a smirk. ‘Come on. How about a little mischief here ‘upon the honey’d middle of the night’?’

‘You know Keats?’ It leaves you breathless, rooted to the ground. It’s not from your favorite poem, but he is your favorite poet. A good guess or has he been doing his research?

‘Of course. Don’t you?’ Tao teases, folding back a corner of the fence and easing himself through.

You scoff and charge after him. The smug bastard can’t just quote Keats and then run away from you. Once again you want to kiss the proud look off his face, to rattle him the way he seems so capable of rattling you, getting underneath your surface. With a last thought to your reputation you step through after him and a thrill runs down your spine.

The rusted red containers and machines that form the center of the park are tall ghosts in the night, rising from the grass and casting long shadows around you in the distant light from the city. He holds out his hand and you easily catch it, both of you winding your way carefully around the gentle hills to make your way to the view.

You find a suitable spot and sit down on the grass. ‘You’re right,’ you tell him reluctantly.

‘About what?’ Tao sits beside you, linking his hands over his knees. He sits near enough you can feel his thigh pressing against yours. Close, always so close, but not as close as you want him.

‘About this.’ You gesture to the Seattle skyline in front of you.

Sure you’ve been in the daytime, watching the boats sail on Lake Union and the groups of yoga practitioners and families with young kids fill the grassy slopes down to the water. But by night the lights of the city look like a painting. Skyscrapers touching the clouds as the first hints of sun are lightening the horizon.

‘I thought you’d enjoy it.’ He nudges you with his shoulder and smiles at you.

The gentle sounds of the water below is relaxing. Even as you lift your hand to cover a yawn you don’t truly feel tired, like the night and closeness to him could keep you awake forever, if you let them. But even so, dawn is coming and you think back to the reason that you’re both here.

‘So. About that bet?’ Your words are a sigh and somewhere between the late hours and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles you don’t second guess the question.

He side eyes you and can’t smother the grin on his face. ‘You mean the one about if we can fall in love in one night?’

‘Yes, that.’ It must be the lack of sleep causing the giddiness you feel, you tell yourself, as you lean back against the grass and cover your face with your hands.

His own hands find yours and you turn to see him on his side next to you. Gently he pulls them down, holding them to his chest, so he can look you in the eyes. ‘Hmm, I don’t know about love, but I feel a whole hell of a lot right now. We never came up with an objective definition of it, anyways.’

You snort. ‘Did you honestly just say ‘objective definition?’’

‘Yes, I think if we’re going to agree here, we need to be on the same page.’ With his intense focus on yours he brushes a kiss against the backs of your hands. ‘If we say love is a feeling, who’s to say that we aren’t in love? If we decide it’s an action then which one is it? A kiss or a commitment or - maybe it’s nothing more complicated than putting words to the way I feel when you look at me?’

The smile blooms across your face and right then you’re tempted to say it’s all of them. How much you want his mouth on yours and his hands all over you. How you’re not quite sure you know how to have a relationship with a man anymore, after your ex, but that you want to try with him. How wild and free you feel being next to him.

‘I don’t know about -’ you whisper. You let the truth fall out, not bothering to think about what it might mean. ‘Long term or after tonight. But I’d say, much that I hate to admit Baekhyun could be right, I’d say… uhm, he could be right.’

You avoid Tao’s eyes, focusing on his jaw or the fabric of his shirt or the way his hands hold yours. But still you see how he smiles, almost glowing in the light of the moon and the barest reflection of the sun coloring the skyline to your left.

He clears his throat, pressing another kiss to your hand. ‘Well, I'd look at it this way. Let's say we do get together. Maybe we last a month or maybe we last for the rest of our lives. Another fifty or sixty years. In either of those cases tonight would be just a fraction of the relationship. A small sliver. Important when looking at the broad view of a life together, but not crucial by itself.’

With a nod you look at him and the heat in his eyes makes you gasp. He moves over you, releasing your hands to brace himself on the ground behind your head. The sturdy press of his body reminds you this isn’t a movie or a dream, it’s something real that’s happening to you. The cool grass sinks into your dress at your back and brushes against your thighs.

'Or.' His hot breath cascades across your lips. 'If all we have is tonight.' Moving himself to the side he runs his nose along your jaw, mouth teasing the skin of your neck with barely there kisses. 'One night would be everything. For all the marbles, as they say.' He pulls back and looks at you with a lopsided grin.

You huff out a breath, blowing your bangs out of your eyes, absently running your hands across his shoulders, along his chest. 'I don't know. I like knowing there's always time for more. Like - what if I was tired tonight or hungry or cranky and I messed it up? The thought of just one night still makes me nervous.’

He kisses your forehead and the words come faster, as if hurried along by the morning. ‘If we're a forever thing, then it's okay, because there will be a thousand more chances to get it right. But just once? How can it be perfect if it's so brief?'

'Well, even if we do get together we'd still only have one first kiss.' He rests on one elbow and uses his free hand to cup your jaw, clearing his throat around the roughness of his voice. 'Do you want to wait or shall we attempt perfection tonight?'

The thought of waiting any longer makes you far sadder and you nod. ‘Screw it - kiss me. Please?’

Instead of answering he simply drops his head, closing the distance and sealing his mouth over yours. He groans at the contact, the sound vibrating in his chest where it rests against yours. You grip his neck, winding your fingers through the strands of his hair and hold on, to ground yourself, between him and the grass as he slowly, hungrily, kisses you.

Your eyes flutter for a moment as he sucks on your lower lip. Behind him the sky is bright, the rays of light spilling through the clouds and rendering him art himself. The arch of his brows, full of emotion. You squeeze your eyes closed and hold him tight, grazing his neck with your nails and sighing into his open mouth. Before you can kiss him again he pulls back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes full of delight.

‘That was pretty damn good.’ He huffs out a laugh, running his tongue along his lower lip like he’s trying to keep the taste of you close. ‘Are you sure you want to risk another one? It could be -’

‘Yes,’ you answer immediately. ‘Again.’

He grins and buries his face in your neck, his hot breath falling on your sensitive skin. ‘I think we’ve found the crucial difference between us.’ At your hum he carries on. ‘I can take one moment and hold onto it forever, perpetually living off the way it felt. You want to have it over and over again. And here I thought you were the poet.’

Rolling onto his back he pulls you on top of him with a squeal as you right yourself, bracing hands on his shoulders for balance. His hand rests against your cheek. ‘But if it helps. I - feel the same way.’

‘Oh.’ To keep your surprise and delight from exploding all over your face you bite your lip. ‘Alright then.’ You trace patterns in the fabric covering his chest.

It’s as simple and as complicated as that, just like he said, hours ago.

As the day rises full and bright with the heat of the sun you do indeed kiss again. Several more times. When you’re both red lipped and thirsty and covered in wrinkled clothes you head back to your apartment by UW. He gives you a piggy back ride when your feet start to hurt and helps you make breakfast with a sleepy smile and runs his fingers over the covers of the numerous books stacked on every surface of your apartment and all the while the feeling in your chest grows, not diminishes.

You hurry through a shower and getting dressed for work while he patiently waits on the couch. His eyes are closed when you emerge, putting your hair back in a ponytail. Leaning against the door frame you watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. You stifle a yawn and think of how not twelve hours ago you didn’t know what his skin felt like beneath your palms or what he’d be like to kiss or how perfectly your bodies seem to line up.

Tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight, you’ll have to report back to Baekhyun and your sister. Though you still have no idea what you’ll say when he asks if the two of you fell in love in one night, you know that, at the very least, it was the start of something.

You leave Tao a note with instructions to sleep as long as he wants and a spare copy of your keys. He works his own shift tonight at Flanagan’s at two, his last one before he leaves on tour. Reassured that at least you’ll see him once more tonight at the party, before he’s gone for - well, you suppose you didn’t ask the specifics yet. You laugh at the thought and quietly shut the door and sprint down the steps to work.

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

It’s hardly after nine in the morning when Tao arrives. Far earlier than you were expecting, but you’ve learned that he likes to surprise you. When you see him standing in line you bite your lip, tilting your head and giving him a sleepy smile.

‘A bit early for you, isn’t it?’ You ask, friendly and professional. ‘You look like you had a long night.’

He laughs, shaking his head and resting his palms on the counter. ‘I did indeed. But it’s been over two hours since I last saw you.’

‘Oh yeah? Is that a long time, then?’ you tease him.

He whistles and leans in to whisper so only you can hear. ‘Far too long for someone in love.’

‘Love?’ The word thunders in your chest.

‘Maybe it’s too soon to know,’ he says, not backing up at all. ‘Maybe love is confirmed by time. But what I feel, whatever this is the start of, I’m greatly looking forward to.’

‘Are you sure you want to start this? You’re leaving, like, tomorrow.’ Suddenly in the light of day the reality of the situation makes your stomach flip.

He clutches his chest dramatically. ‘Don’t sound so sad, love. Please. You say that like I won’t come back.’ He reaches for your hand across the counter. ‘At least we'll have tonight. Tonight or forever, right?’

‘Exactly.’ Unable to resist you lift your hand to hold his cheek and kiss him. It was killing you not to and why not? He’s right. If it’s just one more night, you’re going to make it count.

You pull back and fill out his cup, insisting it’s your treat. Before he leaves you hold out the jar of poems. When he reads the line he laughs, holding it out to you.

“And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.”

― Pablo Neruda

#exowritersnet #tao x reader #zitao x reader #tao scenario #tao fanfic #exo x reader #exo au #exo fanfic #exo scenario #exo imagine #exodus mall

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miss-tc-nova · 3 years

Text

Five More Minutes - Eraqus x Reader

Hey, you guys remember the Five More Minutes - Brain x Reader story? Well thanks to a CERTAIN SOMEONE, the character for the prompt changed from Eraqus to Brain because Nova is a petty bitch.

And AT LEAST ONE OF YOU UNDERSTANDS THAT! THANK YOU!

However, I’ve been thinking about this WIP for a while and I put myself out there, so I’ll kinda forgive ffm-non’s heinous crime for now and post Five More Minutes with Eraqus.

Music Inspiration: Hikari (Godson Remix) by Hikaru Utada

~~~~~

Rushing through the streets of Scala, I bob and weave between unsuspecting citizens on my way to the theater. Today’s the day—hopefully. I’ve spent the last week trying to get a ticket for this show but it’s been sold out every day. Both my saving grace and the bane of my existence is that they aren’t pre-selling tickets, so it’s first come first serve for who gets to see the show.

I’m heaving like I just ran halfway across the city—because I did—but I finally make it to the theater. Unlike the last few days, I find myself in luck at the sight of the relatively short line. With excitement bubbling in my chest, I race to join the queue.

Just as I reach the line, something jumps in my way. I garner the embarrassing attention of several people in the vicinity as I topple to the ground, taking the obstacle down with me.

Hastily, I pull my face from the white fabric.

“Oh gods! I’m so sorry!” I say, scrambling my feet and taking the strangers hand to pull him up. “Are you okay?! Did I hurt you?!”

Suddenly, I hear my name and finally get a look at the young man I’d practically tackled. I know him. While my family does not follow the noble keyblade warrior tradition like his, our magic has been revered so our families have been amicable for years. At least once or twice our year, our families get together for dinner and we almost always see each other at events for the more affluent people in the city.

“Eraqus?”

A beaming smile crosses his lips. “Hey! What’s up!”

Heat surges into my ears. While I’ve been forced to be within proximity of this boy for years, I’ve never been caught alone with him before. He’s certainly cute and, while our parents may not think so, I find him kind of funny. Still, while I kind of know him, because of our families’ differences we’ve never actually been friends.

“Uh, not much. I was just trying to get in line for tonight’s show. But seriously, I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

This kid’s laugh stirs something in my chest.

“Yeah, I’m good. My friends hit me harder than that in training.”

The sheer happiness rolling off him is distracting. “I…I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

“Nah, it’s alright; we make each other stronger.” His eyes glance away. “So, I guess you wanted to see this show too?” An arm gestures to the moving line that we scoot along with.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to see it the last few days, but it’s been sold out. What about you? I wouldn’t have guessed theater to be something you enjoy?”

He folds his arms. “Mmm, I like some of them, but my friends really wanted to see this one.”

I take a moment to take in our surroundings. “Um, what friends?”

His cheer is bright and captivating, but even the defeated frown it morphs into is somehow endearing.

“Nobody wanted to come early to wait in line, but we probably wouldn’t get tickets if we came on time.”

I nod, understanding the dilemma.

“So Bragi suggested rock-paper-scissor.”

Now it all makes sense. “And you lost, so now you’re here to buy tickets for everyone.”

“Yeah…” His pouting is so cute.

A small giggle escapes me. “So it’s sheer coincidence I happen to literally run into you today?”

That smile’s back. “Or! We could call it luck.”

“I would assume bad luck; you lost a game of chance and I literally ran into you.”

“Details.”

And so we keep each other company. The more I talk to the boy, the more I can confirm how fucking adorable he is. His smile is infectious and I find myself hanging on every word, no matter how wild the tale is. I can barely even drag my gaze away long enough to take a few steps before I’m staring at his beautiful face again. Before long, I can already tell I’m head over heels for him. Even after tickets are purchased, we find a bench nearby to continue our chat.

It only ends when someone calls his name. There’s a small herd of people making their way closer.

Getting to his feet, Eraqus greets his friends. “Hey guys, what’re you doin’ here early?”

“Early?” snorts the girl with silver hair. “The show starts in twenty minutes.” Her golden eyes catch sight of me. “Who’s this?”

I wave to Baldr and Hermod, both of whom I know from similar family social events. They do the honor of introducing me to the gaggle, which is both a bit lighthearted and overwhelming. They seem like a great group of friends to have, despite their differences.

“It was good to see you again,” Hermod says, leading the mass towards the entrance. “But we’d better take our seats before the show starts.”

“You got the tickets, right Eraqus?” Xehanort asks.

“Right here.” He pushes all but one into his friend’s hand before turning to me. “Which seat are you in?”

I look at my stub. “E7.” The look on his face is disappointment. “Where are you at?”

“N24,” he mutters. That’s literally on the other side of the theater from where I am and I find myself similarly disappointed with the arrangement.

“Guess I’ll have to get your opinions on the show some other time,” I say, trying to make the blow a little softer.

Our eyes meet and I feel myself being drawn in.

“Maybe we could meet up at that little café around the corner?” he asks.

“The one with the fancy s’mores?”

“Yeah! That one!”

Eraqus detours the conversation with a tale about the time he and went there with his friends and one of them ended up spilling a drink on everyone—pretty sure it was Eraqus by the way he kept switching names. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Eraqus, the show’s about to start!” I don’t even know which one it was that yelled at him.

“’Kay! Just gimme five more minutes!”

Excited chitchat continues, following tangent after tangent and never with a lull. I could continue on like this for ages, happy to spend hours in his presence, enamored by the boy I never really knew.

I drag my hands down my face. “And then, because I stupidly thought things couldn’t get any worse, I tried to use a fire spell to dry him off and set him on fire.”

Eraqus is laughing so hard he’s crying. “Wait wait wait! I remember Hermod came to school with a huge hole in his jacket! Was that you?!” I nod in sheepish shame. “Oh my gods! We thought he got mugged or something! He wouldn’t tell us what happened!”

“Every time our families get together, our parents won’t let us live it down. Mine won’t even let me join them anymore without asking me to ‘please not light their colleague’s kids on fire.’”

“And here I thought you were the smart, cool type,” he teases.

“As much as I’d love to be, I’m actually a total mess.”

“That’s okay; I am too.”

“Oh really? I always thought you were laid back and easy going. With our families’ prestige, I was always kind of jealous of how calm you are about everything.”

“Then you have clearly never seen me wake up late for class.”

The laughing between us dies down, but before I can make another comment, I realize that he’s watching me. This isn’t watching like two people waiting for cues in a conversation, but watching as if he’s looking for something very specific.

Beneath his scrutiny, my brain starts to malfunction, causing my ability to speak to take a hit. “Um, I…I’m pretty sure anyone would…would panic if they woke up late for class.”

“I guess.” The softness suddenly introduced into his voice feels like an arrow through the heart. “But it’s probably not the same when it’s a weekly occurrence.”

Is he leaning in?

“No…I guess not…”

He is—he is very much leaning in.

“Eraqus.” I can’t even speak above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

My heart is pounding in my ears, trying desperately to drown out my thoughts.

“I think our show’s started,” I breathe.

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs against my lips.

Not a single protest is heard from me. No, I’m too preoccupied with electricity coursing through my veins. For a moment, Eraqus leads the way, soft and slow, likely assessing my shock. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what my reaction should be, but my body tells me to just see where this goes. And with each passing second, I’m falling down the rabbit hole with him.

The world suddenly jars to when the source of my euphoria breaks away. His brows pinch together, concern written across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice wracked with uncertainty. “I thought—”

Without asking my head for permission, my hands snag his haori.

“Five more minutes,” I say softy.

Our lips connect again and, though I’m prepared for the jolt, I still feel the weight of the world disappear around us. This time, I lead, hoping my confidence sends the right idea to the young man. I think he gets it, happily matching my every move. His little sighs cause my stomach to squirm, making self-control difficult. But there will be plenty of time for the rest later, for now, I want to take my time and get a grasp on how his lips feel against mine.

I pull away, using a deep breath the calm my racing heart and ground me back in reality. Eraqus, too, breathes a little heavier, and yet he continues watching me as if he’s still fully enraptured. That look is hypnotizing, subtly—easily—luring me in again.

That quickly goes out the window.

“Eraqus!”

Flinching, he whirls back, where his entire group of friends is standing with mixed expression. My blood freezes.

“What?!” he shouts back.

“Are you comin’ back to the dorms with us or not?” Urd demands.

My eyes dart to the sky. It was dark when the show started, but the moon sat higher among the stars than it had moments ago—or what I thought was only moments ago.

Eraqus’s gaze flips back and forth between me and them. “Did…Did we miss the whole show?!”

“Yes, you dingus!”

Hermod gives a soft smile. “C’mon guys, give him a break.”

The red-head, Bragi, snickers. “Yeah, the kid’s only been dreaming of this moment his whole life.”

My mouth falls open but I can just see Eraqus’s face burning brightly.

“BRAGI!”

“Oops.” The offender grins unabashedly. “My bad.”

Xehanort folds his arms, smirking. “Ooooh, so this is that cute little mage he’s been crushing on.”

“You mean that one he always talks about after he visits his family?” Her tone is full of innocence, but the grin on the little blonde’s face is pure evil.

Oh my gods, I might implode.

“YOU GUYS!”

“What was it he said last time?” Urd asks, also basking in Eraqus’s flustering.

Baldr answers, “I believe it was something along the lines of ‘I would give up naps for an entire year if the gods would just let me have a single—‘”

“I’LL DO EVERYONE’S HOMEWORK FOR A MONTH IF YOU JUST GO AWAY!” Eraqus yells, waving his arms as if he might fly away from this mess.

Hermod begins ushering everyone away. “Seriously, guys, let’s go.”

“Wait! I don’t want him doing my homework!” Bragi protests. “He’s failing like half our classes!”

Glancing back with one last devious look, Xehanort responds, “Let him have his moment; we’ll just make him do something else later.” The expression softens when he gives me a genuine wink.

Finally, after instigating all the butterflies in my stomach to the point I might vomit sparkles, they leave. We sit in suffocating silence for an awkward moment. Then, one of the butterflies must’ve escaped into my brain when I suddenly crack a laugh.

“An entire year without naps, huh?”

Still cherry red, he looks at me, mortified.

His floundering gives me the bit of confidence I need to close the gap once again. “And what was it you so desperately begged the gods for?”

Eraqus’s back meets the wall, but he still puts on a smile, even if it is bashful. “Let’s just say I’ve already lost my napping privileges for the year.”

“Yeah? So if the gods were to grace you a second time, would that be two years without naps?”

His nerves seem to melt and those stunning gray eyes glitter in the moon as he watches me. “You gonna stick around and find out?”

“How long were you thinking?” I slip my arms around his neck, unable to stop myself from twirling a strand of ebony hair between my fingers.

“Oh at least five more minutes.”

“Just five?”

He feigns mulling it over in head. “And maybe five more after that.”

#Eraqus #Young Eraqus #eraqus x reader #young eraqus x reader #gender neutral reader #influence my story #fmm-non

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onetrainscifi · 3 years

Note

Whoo. That pilot was--a lot to unpack. Parts of it were definitely 😬 *cringe* but I also find myself grateful that the network recognized its potential and liked the heart of it enough to bring on a new creative team.

Like, reading all the slides with Cleo I realized what I'd been missing in Zarah-this pilot really stressed the loving relationships of the murdered man's family and actually let Cleo react to his death while our Zarah told Layton a grand total of ONCE that Sean Wise was 'someone she loved' but then never mentioned/mourned him (or her other partners who just? disappeared?? They were led away in handcuffs, were they ever released? Were they drawered? Did they blame Zarah and therefore just never return to the home they'd shared? What side did they take in the rebellion? Like, what happened to these people?!) again. And from that moment on her character seemed so untethered--so unattached to the rest of what was taking place because she had no emotional center. This great, traumatic event that should have been both her character motivation and kept her tethered to the action/investigation was just kinda--swept to the side. Like, if we had gotten a Zarah who was more like Cleo, who pestered Layton, regardless of their thorny past, for updates on the investigation and had to be the rock for her mourning family and who stood solidly with Miss Audrey in righteous anger for the blue-eyed firstie who did this horrible thing--I would've enjoyed her so much more! And Ugh! Jinju and Till being supportive and cute From The Start(!) was 😍. Just--the fact that the focus on healthy love and affection happened to be centered on a polyamorous family and a lesbian couple was great.

But there were other things in the Pilot that seemed so-tonally different and just questionable. Like maayyybe making Layton a chronole 'stoner' was an indicator that parts of his character were drawn not just from the hero Curtis in the movie but also Namgoog, the security specialist. And mayyybe they weren't trying to be completely blind to the fact that their black protagonist deserves as much heart and conviction as his white counterpart in the movie, but. Yikes. Making him addicted to chronole and so...morose/spaced out all the time robs him of that drive and conviction that would make me believe any of the Tailies would rally behind him. Our Layton is a go-getter, a man of action and this guy in the pilot was...not. So...props to Graeme for making our Layton so much better!

But also--WHY would they choose to stress to us that Osweiller is a footballer JUST to freeze his foot off? In both the show and film the limb removal scenes really hammered home how cruel the HUMANS on the train chose to be to each other. And the freezing of the cattle car itself should've been enough to remind us the world outside is treacherous and inhospitable--they didn't have to try so hard to show us that any act of kindness or altruism on the train is futile. Like after seeing THAT, what the hell could possibly help move Till in the direction of choosing compassion and justice for the Tail?!

But I digress-I think the areas I'm most grateful for change were in regards to our season 1 powerhouses, Layton and Melanie. And some of it was so subtle but made SUCH a difference, like pilot Melanie's quirk was tapping her acrylic nails against her teeth--a sign that 1) she's perfectly happy reaping the benefits of 1st class life and 2) she's always thinking/conniving/SCHEMING. But OUR Melanie has a habit of rubbing her neck when she's stressed--as if THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD/HUMANITY IS ON HER SHOULDERS. Pilot Melanie is also uppity and shows up early to catch people off-guard. Our Melanie is quiet and studious when we first meet her-gauging the situation, letting Layton and others reveal their hand first-and she shows up late/after the main players are already gathered BECAUSE SHE HAS TO BE EVERYWHERE. But honestly I think the change I am absolutely most grateful for (aside from pretty much everything, lol. Like, I canNOT IMAGINE Alison Wright as Lilah instead of Ruth. And letting Miles actively seek the engineer apprenticeship to help the rebellion instead of having Layton(?) who is neither this child's father nor his active mentor (literally all they do is wrangle rats together in the pilot) make that choice for him WITHOUT his actual mother's consent was clearly a stroke of genius. As was just...not focusing so much on cow 18. Like. We get it. They're like animals crammed together in a cattle car. There is no reason to make so many Holocaust references in the first five pages of the script. There are other, far less jarring ways to convey human suffering and misery on this fictional show about a manmade Armageddon. -_-) is the ommission of the shady magistrate as part of the leadership/inner circle/cult.

Having him and that other guy making the decisions/embodying the ACTION of those decisions moving forward if this pilot had been their opener would've really detracted from the heft of Melanie's secret--like in the finished product, we have Melanie behind the curtain, an engineer by trade who clung to this cruel/unfair system all for the sake of keeping the train, the thing she built and the hope it represents, ALIVE and moving. It was a choice that didn't feel like a choice. A necessity. And yet she was changed by it. The mask of Wilford is harsh and she has to become harsh. She wears all these hats and leans on others when she has to (like Ben, Jinju, etc) or when a situation is truly dire, but there is no room for doubt that it is HER decision at the end of the day. She's the one who saves the train over and over when mechanics fail. And she's the one who decides to commute LJ's sentence. The Wilford mask/veil has allowed her the freedom to make these absolute decisions without oversight-so SHE alone bears the brunt of the consequences. There's no one else to blame, which made for some of the most delicious drama on the show when that secret was brought to light. How Melanie related to individuals (like Ruth, Layton, etc.) and how she related to the passengers as a whole was suddenly, VIOLENTLY, upended and allowed for really tense character moments.

And we wouldn't have gotten that if they had kept the shady magistrate stepping in to try to strong arm Jinju and others into doing the cult's will.

Like, maybe it could've panned out in a satisfying way but I will never forget how excited I was when we got the "I have the train" exchange in the first episode that revealed it was a WOMAN at the helm. A smart, cunning, hard to read but delightful to watch woman who'd been hiding in plain sight, in a uniform that screams 'subservient' and 'service' but had been popping up continually in places and spaces that seemed better suited to the men running the investigation and security/murder squad-this woman is shown to be in charge of it. ALL of it. The good (the beautiful aquarium, life in perfect balance, etc.) AND the bad (the Tail and it's horrors). THAT moment was really the one where I thought "I'm hooked. I wanna see where this goes." And so I'm so glad they cut the magistrate - and cult, honestly - out.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble! Thanks for sharing that pilot stuff! It has given me much to think about! :)

Breaking this down into parts again here we go!

1. Yes!! Exactly!! Cleo was given so much depth and room to grieve and have that actually be part of her storyline unlike Zarah. So I did really like that.

2. They made Layton SO much better good god. Like. Thankfully they improved his character.

3. I don't honestly know?? Like maybe to show what it does to humans?? No idea.

4. Y e a h exactly. We all love an unhinged woman but pilot Melanie was...yikes. Like...she genuinely seemed so happy to be in 1st class and have this power to be Wilford's chosen hospitality worker and scare people. And Alison Wright as Lilah would be so cute though, I wanna see it akdjsksi

5. YEAH THE MAGISTRATE GUY IS JUST REALLY NOT IT. He is not who we want he's just?? Seemingly one of the second in commands in Melanie's cult, which is odd but oh well.

#snowpiercer #snowpiercer tnt #asks #snowpiercer pilot

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meow-bebe · 4 years

Text

stellatus

Pairing: Lee Felix x artist!reader

Genre: fluffffff

Warnings: literally nothing. this is so sweet asghk we’re channeling the cute here. like honestly not even my usual cussing

Word count: 3614 (!!!)

A/n: remember that idea I posted a while ago? well heres the fic! Im suuuper proud of this one because its the longest thing ive written for this blog (3k! more than 3k! that makes me so happy ahhhh!) and also I just really love it! usually I don't particularly like my own writing but this one I feel like is my best work. also about half way through writing this I found this amazing drawing by @panini-byanyothername which gave me the encouragement to finish this and also deserves all of the love because its an amazing piece of art! it was drawn based on another fanfic but its super pretty and is very close to what my story is about so I thought it would be appropriate to include a link

~~~

stēllātus; first/second-declension adjective starry, stellate, starred

“I have an idea,” you announced, bouncing with excitement as you ran into the room where Felix was currently sat at your desk on his computer. Latching your arms around Felix’s neck from behind, you rested your chin gently on his shoulder.

“And what would that be?”he asked, spinning the office chair he sat in and successfully rotating within your arms.

“I want to paint on you!” you said brightly as Felix’s hands came to rest on your waist as you snuggled closer, plopping down into his lap.

“What?” Felix asked, slightly startled by your bold proposition.

“I want to paint on you,” you repeated, “like, kind of use you as a human canvas?” It came out more as a question than a statement, and you grinned awkwardly, the incredulous tone of his voice making you shy.

“I’m not opposed,” Felix mused, and you immediately brightened back up again. “Why though?”

“Well,” you said, fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, “first of all you’re the only person I have on hand at the moment.” You giggled, and Felix raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. “But I’ve always loved painting on skin. There’s some strange appeal that comes with turning another human being into art. Unfortunately, I’ve only ever done it on myself before, but I had this really amazing idea a while ago and have held onto it forever and you are absolutely perfect for it.” You finished by pressing a sweet kiss to his nose. “So?” you asked eagerly, “what do you say? Let me paint on you?”

Felix chuckled lightly, and you could feel the deep vibrations where your hands were set on his chest. “Aren’t you going to tell me what your amazing idea is?”

“Nope!” you said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ as you smiled happily, “You’ll just have to say yes and see what I do. It will be beautiful, I promise.”

Felix playfully narrowed his eyes at you. “You won’t do something stupid or make me look weird?”

“I would never,” you said, sticking out your littlest finger, “pinky swear. And anyway, nothing could ever make you look weird, pretty boy.” Felix’s eyes widened at your compliment, a light shade of red creeping across his cheeks as he wrapped his pinky around yours. No matter how often you complimented him he always had the sweetest flustered reactions.

“What are we waiting for then?” you practically vaulted out of his lap, tangling your fingers together and tugging on his hand to try and get him to follow you.

“What, now?” he asked, a bewildered look on his face.

“Yes, now,” you said, pulling on his hand again, “I can’t wait any longer, I’m dying to finally do this.”

“Alright,” Felix said, laughing as he stood up from the desk, whatever he was working on earlier abandoned as you enthusiastically pulled him along to the spare bedroom turned art studio.

“Here,” you said, tossing one of the already paint-stained cushions you often put to use out of the closet, “sit down while I find what I need.”

Felix grabbed the cushion and set it on the large, clear plastic mat you always kept set out over the hardwood floors. There were several places you had set up for painting, laying on the floor and the easel by the window being two of your favorites, and you rotated between them depending on how you were feeling that day. It seemed like today was a sprawled across the floor day, although that made sense, Felix reasoned, if you were going to be painting on him. He sat down and watched as you zipped back and forth across the room, picking through your jars of brushes and bins of paints to find the supplies you would be using.

Thrusting one of the mason jar mugs you used to wash out your brushes at Felix, you asked, “Could you go fill this up with water for me?” He nodded compliantly, pulling himself up off the floor and traipsing across the hall to the bathroom to fill the glass mug with water. When he came back into the room, you had set up a jar of brushes to pick through, tossed a few tubes of paint to the floor next to the two cushions, and were currently spread across a decent portion of the floor with one of the large folders you had labeled as “inspiration and references.” These were collections of anything you could possibly want to give you ideas or utilize in your art, ranging from newspaper clippings, old photographs, passages from books and poems scrawled on torn notebook paper (or on the more rare occasion, printed out), and absolutely filled to the brim with doodles and practice drawings. You were a firm believer in the idea that anything could be reused or help inspire you in the future, which ultimately lead to your large collection. Usually you tried to date the bits of paper you tucked away, but it didn’t help with your chronic lack of organization.

“What are you searching for?” Felix questioned, assuming that you wouldn’t answer but asking anyway.

“Can’t tell,” you said, eyes twinkling with a spark of mischief, “it’s supposed to be a surprise, remember?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking. What do you want me to do then?” he asked, looking around the room and wondering what you had planned for him.

“Just sit, I’ll find it in a moment.” Felix settled himself back down on the floor as you continued to rifle through the folder barely containing the papers inside it. He watched as you carefully separated a few glossy photos that had stuck together and shuffled through a stack of what appeared to be old school work. “Aha!” you shouted victoriously, startling Felix and holding a few taped together pieces of paper in the air.

“What’s that?” he asked, his curiosity over both the project itself and the haphazardly folded but carefully assembled papers in your grasp too much to handle.

To his surprise, you gave in this time. “Star chart!” you chirped, obviously too pleased with yourself to continue hiding your intentions. “I’ve always loved space, specifically stars, and I took an astronomy class in high school but never got rid of the papers that weren’t just worksheets. I always hoped that someday I would be able to use them for painting. And here we are!” Felix smiled at the happy grin lighting up your whole face, your excitement too endearing to not acknowledge.

“Cute.” Felix grinned happily as you shuffled over to where you had set up all of your supplies. All of a sudden his smile turned bashful, stammering slightly as he asked, “Should I like, take my shirt off or something then?”

You giggled, setting down the star chart and plucking a thin marker from amongst the plethora of materials. “Not this time. I want to do your face!”

“What?” Felix gasped, eyes widened in surprise.

“I want to paint on your face!” you repeated, excitement fading as you rolled the marker between your hands, suddenly nervous. “Your freckles, specifically. Only if you’ll let me though.” You fidgeted slightly, focused on the marker before looking up at Felix who still wore a slightly startled expression.

“My - my freckles?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Finding patterns that match my constellations-” you patted the papers sitting beside you - “and then turning your face into a little galaxy.”

“Y/n,” he said softly, and you braced yourself to be turned down, “I think that’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever come up with. Why would I ever say no?”

Your eyes shot up to find Felix’s, and you could see all of the adoration that he held for you in their depths. “Really?” you asked, pulling yourself into his lap and tucking your arms around his waist.

“Really,” he confirmed, sealing a gentle kiss against your mouth. “Now, how do you want to go about this?”

You clamored off of Felix, grabbing the marker from where you had dropped it at his side and snatching the star chart into your hands before thrusting it at Felix. “Pick a few that you like, and I’ll see if what I can do to weave them out of your freckles,” you said, placing the folded chart into his hands and backing off to begin rifling through the paint tubes you had chosen. “Try not to do anything too difficult, I think the simpler ones would look better for this.”

Leaving him to pour over the constellations, you realized that you had overlooked finding a palette earlier in your scramble to find paints, so you pulled yourself up off the floor to move to the closet once again. Shoving a few bins of paints and stacks of assorted canvases to the side, you finally found the collection of palettes stored near the back of the shelf. Just barely managing to get your finger under the one on the bottom (the shelf was slightly too high, not enough to really bother you, but it could be a minor inconvenience sometimes), you dragged the precariously balanced stack towards yourself.

“What about Lyra?” Felix called from behind you.

“That would work,” you mused, shuffling through the pile in search of one not too caked in dried paint.

“Or Aquila?”

“Also fine,” you responded, selecting a mostly clean palette. “I really want to try Draco, so we’ll do that one first and then fit the others on after that. Sound good?”

"Anything you want to do is good with me," he replied, and you turned to see the pretty blush staining his cheeks.

"But you're the one making this project come to life," you said, crossing the room in a few steps and settling down in front of him. "You should have some input."

"I'm merely the final product in this situation. You, y/n, are the one bringing it to life." Now it was your turn to grow flustered by his compliments.

"Oh hush," you said, searching on the floor for the marker you had set down.

Finding your marker, you uncapped it and scooted closer to Felix. "Ready?" you asked.

He looked at the marker warily. "I thought you were painting."

"I am painting, but I have to sketch it out first," you laughed. "I always do."

"Oh," he said, looking down shyly. He always loved to watch you paint, however paying attention to the process was something else entirely. "Well go on then."

Studying his face carefully, you placed a small dot on top of a freckle close to the top of his cheek. Glancing back at the star chart, you drew another right under it, and awkwardly angled your pen to try and reach better. Pulling the papers mapping out your reference closer, you shuffled to the side and drew another dot.

"This isn't working very well," you said, taking Felix's chin in your hand and tilting his head to the side to try and reach better. "I might move you again, so try not to move and tell me if it's too uncomfortable."

Felix nodded in response just as you set the tip of the marker against his cheek, leaving a small inky streak down his face. You sighed. "Next time just say you heard me. I'm going to get the rubbing alcohol.” You stood up and headed to the bathroom, opening the cabinet and rummaging around to find the necessary bottle. Finding what you needed, you stood up and crossed the hallway once again to rejoin Felix.

"Here." Felix held out a cotton ball that he had no doubt found in the depths of one of your many bins of random art supplies.

"Thanks," you said quietly, already flipping the top of the rubbing alcohol open and soaking the cotton in liquid before scrubbing it gently across Felix's cheek. He held still for the moment, letting you remove the ink from his face and watching your movements carefully.

"Done?" he asked as you tossed the now somewhat grey cotton ball to the floor.

"Yep." you picked up your marker again. "Good to go?" He nodded again, this time making sure that the marker was nowhere near his skin.

You set back to work, switching between analyzing the star chart and making small dots where you could connect the freckles strewn across Felix's face to resemble the constellation you had picked.

After readjusting Felix's face for the nth time, you sighed. “This isn’t working,” you complained, capping your marker and letting your hand fall into your lap.

“I can tell,” Felix mused. “Any ideas?”

You tilted your head, scanning over his face, and Felix could see the imaginary lightbulb pop up above your head as a grin spread across your face. “Maybe,” you said cheekily, crawling into his lap and once again uncapping your marker. Placing the non inky end into your mouth, you cupped your hands around Felix’s cheeks, gently moving his head around until you think you’ve found the perfect angle. “Don’t move.”

Finding that your new vantage point gave you perfect access to the soft skin of your boyfriend’s cheeks, you steadily set back to work, sketching light lines between the makeshift “stars” that quickly began to fill the freckles dotted across Felix’s face.

“Alright! I’m all done.” You leaned back a bit to admire your work, already extremely happy with the way that everything was turning out. “And now -” you clambered off Felix’s lap to let him stretch while you gathered the scattered supplies necessary for the next step of your project - “we paint!”

Felix giggled at the enthusiasm spreading a happy brightness across your face, bringing you closer for a chaste kiss as soon as you had settled yourself back across him. Clasping the brush you had picked up between your teeth as you seemed prone to do, you grabbed two of the few tubes of paint selected from a small box of metallics Felix wasn’t aware you had and unscrewed the one containing silver paint. Squeezing a small amount onto the palette in your other hand, you replaced the cap and set it to the side.

You pulled the paintbrush from your mouth, and said, “This is it. No going back after I start painting,” you warned, absolutely failing to hide the playful tone in your voice.

“I have sharpie all over my face,” Felix laughed, “I’m pretty sure we reached that point a while ago.”

“Right,” you said, ducking your face a little, trying to hide your embarrassed expression. “Well then, let the painting begin!” Placing a sweet kiss to the tip of Felix’s nose, you swirled your brush through the silver paint and hesitantly hovered over the inked lines connecting his freckles.

“You’re not going to mess this up,” Felix reassured, almost as if he could immediately pick up on your thoughts, “anything you paint is always beautiful and I have complete confidence in you.”

The compliments flustered you even more, and muttering a soft, “Oh, be quiet,” you set your brush down, dragging the bristles across the lines you had laid down earlier.

Felix shuddered under the cool touch of paint stroked across his face, and you backed off for a moment, letting him adjust to the foreign feeling. “Try not to move,” you said, setting down your palette and cupping his jaw sweetly.

You painted thin, careful lines over all of the drawn out constellations, painstakingly smoothing the edges and adding a second layer to those where the black ink was still visible. While you kept all of your focus on the paintbrush in your hand, Felix lost himself in the way that you concentrated on the task you had set yourself to. He loved to watch you paint, and the experience was ten times better when you were right up close. Felix watched your expressions as you immersed yourself in your work, noticing every little forehead scrunch, loving the cute way that you would chew on your lip or poke your tongue out when you got to a particularly tricky spot. There wasn’t enough focus left to be self conscious when you truly absorbed yourself in your art, and it was times like these that Felix thought you were most true to yourself, which lead to it also being when he found you most beautiful. Not that you weren’t other times, certainly, but there was something enchanting about your little expressions and the way your hair would stick up from running your fingers through it. You would always have paint all over your hands, no matter how careful you had been, and when it was still wet the pigment often transferred to your face or hair. Of course you never noticed, and so Felix would let you know you should probably look in a mirror, but only after silently appreciating the way that the smudged paint on your forehead somehow only enhanced the glow of beauty that truly being in your element brought out.

“There we go!” you suddenly exclaimed, startling Felix out of his reverie. “I’m finished with the lines,” you told him, dropping your paintbrush into the cup of water and swishing it around a little. “Now I just have to do the stars.”

You leaned to the side and reached around Felix to grab the other tube of paint you had taken out and added some of the gold to the palette before screwing the cap back on and tossing it next to you. Balancing the palette on your knee, you grabbed the cup containing your brush and dragged it toward you. Quickly and thoroughly rinsing the paint from the bristles, you wiped off the excess water and took Felix’s face into your hand once again, gently maneuvering him back into a position where you could easily paint.

Now used to the feeling, Felix didn’t startle when you began painting again, the cool touch of the paint to his cheek calming. You worked steadily, crossing tiny strokes to form the stars connecting the constellations created by his freckles. Every now and then you would shift in his lap, or make sure that the angle his head was at wasn’t making his neck ache, but for the most part you worked silent and still.

You smoothed tiny lines into shapes, keeping them tidy and occasionally layering more paint on where it had smudged or the first coat had been too thin. After finishing one of the stars higher on his cheek, you leaned back to admire your work.

“I think I’m done,” you said softly, wiping a bit of golden paint off Felix’s forehead.

“Can I see?” he asked, plucking the paint brush out of your fingers and placing it in the paint water.

You nodded, climbing out of his lap and gesturing towards the messy desk in the corner of the room. “There should be a mirror up there. I’m going to go get my Polaroid camera.” You loved that camera, it had been a gift from a friend years ago, and you only pulled it out for special occasions. Felix knew how much it meant to you, and the fact that you wanted to capture this moment with it warmed his heart.

When you returned to the room, Felix was sitting back on the cushions you had pulled out, the small hand mirror next to him on the floor. “It’s beautiful, y/n,” he said, and you smiled at the compliment, whispering a quiet “Thanks.”

“Where do you want me?” Felix asked, nodding towards the camera in your hands.

“By the window, probably,” you said, “I think backlighting would look good for this.” It was reaching late afternoon now, and the sun was beginning to sink to the horizon quickly. The golden light would shine through his hair beautifully, and Felix always glowed in the sunlight.

The two of you moved to the other side of the room, and Felix quickly set himself up in front of the window.

“Should I pose or something?” Felix asked, and you shook your head in response.

“Just do what feels natural,” you said, squinting at him through the viewfinder on your Polaroid before lowering it to watch him adjust for the photo. He seemed to relax under your gaze, and turned his head to the side so he was looking straight into the lens as the light washed over the paint trailed across his face, illuminating the shine of the metallics you used. He stilled after a moment, and after you were sure he wasn’t going to move, you pressed the shutter. The camera began printing your photo, and after a moment you plucked it from the slot, pressing it between your lips and bringing the camera back up to your eye.

“I want to take one more,” you mumbled around the developing photo in your mouth, “close your eyes for me?” Felix complied, letting his lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks as a small smile settled across his face. You snapped your second photo, bringing the camera down and tucking the earlier in between your fingers as you waited for the second to print. Felix came to stand next to you, taking the second photo and looking over your shoulder to see how the first one turned out.

As you watched the color seep onto the glossy paper you knew that the stars across his cheeks, no matter how pretty they were, could never compare to the stars that shone in his eyes. He was truly beautiful, and standing there with your camera in hand, his hair brushing against your cheek, you were never more aware.

#lee felix #felix #felix stray kids #stray kids #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #stray kids x reader #felix fluff #lee felix fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #felix imagines #stray kids fanfiction #felix fanfiction #maybe ill have to start a masterlist soon this is exciting

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tuff-and-fluff-archives · 4 years

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Okay I am hyperfixating HARD on Tom and Jerry and all my emotions from childhood have FLOODED forth, so now that I’ve finished watching (almost) all 161 original theatrical Tom and Jerry shorts from 1940 to 1967, I would like to force you all to endure my insane ramblings about this franchise. Although before I begin, I’d like to share where I’ve been watching all these! Here’s a Dailymotion playlist of all 161 shorts, put into the correct order by yours truly :3 OKAY NOW THE INSANITY BEGINS 💖💖💖

1) The Messy Formative Years: Shorts 001-017 (1940-1944)

So obviously, when a series is first created, especially an animated series, the first few episodes will always be a bit odd as the directors and writers find their footing and establish the rules of their own universe, and Tom and Jerry is no exception! In fact, these episodes can be a bit weird and even jarring to watch because the designs of the titular characters are so drastically different from how they look even ten years afterwards. In fact, in the very first episode, they don’t even have their official names yet and are instead named “Jasper and Jinx.” Also, there’s a LOT of talking in these beginning shorts before they decided to make Tom and Jerry almost entirely mute. Shorts 010 and 013 stand out the most, as they feature characters regularly speaking full sentences and it’s just... ohhh it’s SO weird to watch and it feels almost wrong 😅 Of course that’s not to say these shorts are bad, far from it actually! They’re still super fun and fascinating to watch and I think it’s quite interesting to see how such an iconic franchise got its start!

2) The Golden Years: Shorts 018-097 (1945-1955)

Oh. My. GOD. THESE ARE THE ABSOLUTE BEST. I guarantee that when you just think about Tom and Jerry, THESE are the shorts that come to mind. By now William Hanna & Joseph Barbara fully had their formula down and were just pumping out hit after hit afTER HIT HHHHH I LOVE THESE SO MUCH. I’m not kidding when I say that these shorts still make me laugh really hard and I absolutely adore nearly every aspect of them: the fluid and extremely expressive animation, the excellently timed music paired with each short, and the humor that’s constant and lands almost every time. My absolute favorite ones are around 040-080 but really all of these are just sooooo good. I know that this is stating the obvious but one thing that I especially love is just how VIOLENT these cartoons are, even more than the Looney Tunes shorts that were coming out at the same time. Characters are constantly picking up knives or axes or straight up GUNS and ngl I feel like half of the humor comes from that shock factor of the insane absurdity of that violence. Okay I’m starting to sound rly dumb, I know explaining the joke is never fun, but the directing and animation just NAILS every joke; I think the secret behind it is that there’s always a buildup and anticipation before the impact, and that buildup just makes the impact all the more intense! I was going to list my top 5 favorites but it’s impossible to choose so lemme just recommend a random five out of all of them: 026 - Solid Serenade, 048 - Saturday Evening Puss, 067 - Triplet Trouble, 069 - Fit to Be Tied, and 076 - That’s My Pup!

Also, I don’t know where else to mention this so I’ll just say it here: there’s a gradual change that Tom’s design goes through where he’s slowly drawn to be less and less fuzzy. At first his outline was drawn with a lot of points to emphasize his fur, but over time they abandoned doing that, my guess is because it was harder to animate. I’d say that they fully transitioned to Smooth Tom around short 030. That’s just a little detail I noticed and wanted to share! ^-^

3) The Slow Decay: Shorts 098-114 (1956-1958)

*heavy sigh* Well... a good thing can’t last forever. What’s kinda strange is that I can’t really nail down a specific reason caused a decline in quality after 1955; short 096 was the last to be produced by Fred Quimby, with Hanna & Barbara being given the producer credit as well as director credit for the remaining 18 shorts, and MGM animation studios had major budget cuts in the late 50′s and was shut down in 1957, and perhaps the studio shutting down had also taken the joy out of the crew, which would certainly have an effect on the cartoons. Now that doesn’t mean that these last 16 shorts are bad- they’re still quite entertaining, but they just don’t have the same energy as the shorts made in the Golden Years. They’re also nowhere near as cartoonishly violent as the past shorts had been; weapons are almost never used anymore and there are barely any efforts from Tom and Jerry to straight up kill each other, and more often than not they’re working together and even acting like close friends. I think that’s pretty fair evidence that even if these later shorts were much tamer and friendlier, that meant that they were lacking the same chaotic energy that made the other shorts so hilarious.

Also I just need to vent this here cuz this era also contains the two most absolutely infuriating shorts in the Hanna-Barbera era, that being 100 - Busy Buddies and 114 - Tot Watchers. These two shorts consist of Tom and Jerry attempting to stop a baby from accidentally dying cuz it’s just a dumb baby that doesn’t know anything, while the babysitter is just totally ignorant to everything happening. Now I can’t quite explain why and I’m probably just making myself look like an asshole but these shorts are just... so frustrating to me??? Like its bad enough that this stupid baby whose face NEVER changes from that stupid little smile just keeps wandering into dangerous situations (in Tot Watchers it straight up crawls into a CONSTRUCTION ZONE) but every time Tom rescues the little bastard and puts it back in its crib, the babysitter thinks he’s “bothering” the baby (probably because of that one myth about cats laying on babies and stealing their breath) and so poor Tom is just punished for doing literally nothing wrong!! It’s just... very frustrating to me for some reason I’m sorry... (Although I have to admit that it is interesting and kinda cute that Tom knows how to change a diaper, like wif the safety pins and everything. Why does he know that...?)

4) The Gene Deitch Shit Shorts: 115-127 (1961-1962)

OOOH BOY. I don’t think... that I can really describe how purely and utterly I dislike the Deitch shorts. Okay so, to explain, in 1961 MGM decided they wanted to revive the Tom and Jerry franchise, so they contracted an animation studio based in Czechoslovakia to create 13 new original shorts. All of these shorts were directed by Gene Deitch, who before being commissioned for these cartoons, was open about his disdain for the original Hanna-Barbera shorts that he described as “needlessly violent.” After he was assigned to the series, he did come around to somewhat realize that the violence was intended to be overly cartoonish and humorous, but his initial opinion still had an influence on his directing decisions. In addition to these facts, the foreign team behind this series had only collectively seen a handful of the original cartoons, and each short was given a budget of only $10,000, compared to the $50,000 that the Hanna-Barbera shorts had all been given.

SO. To recap, these 13 new shorts were being made by a foreign team who had barely seen any of the source material, directed by a man who had disliked the original cartoons, and being made on 1/5 of the budget that the Hanna-Barbera shorts were given. Needless to say, the end results were a DISASTER. I’m not kidding when I say that watching these shorts feels almost like a fever dream with how completely baffling and surreal they are. I honestly don’t think they could be any more different from the original series; the music and sound effects are extremely minimalist and usually completely absent, the animation is so jerky and totally lacking the fluidity of the originals, and the character design is also drastically different and, in my opinion, kinda ugly too. These are universally considered to be the worst of the theatrical shorts, and Deitch himself has even stated that he and his team “hardly had a chance to succeed” and he fully understands the negativity directed towards the shorts he directed. I have to confess that when I rewatched all the theatrical shorts, I only got through two of these before outright skipping the rest of them. These 13 shorts are a complete disgrace to the majesty of the Hanna-Barbera series, and while I don’t hold anything against the people behind them, I can’t lie when I say that I hate these shorts.

5) The Chuck Jones Era: 128-161 (1963-1967)

I have an odd love-hate relationship with these shorts. I don’t think I need to explain to you the legacy of the great Chuck Jones, the creator of Marvin the Martian, Pepe Le Pew, and the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote whose name is nearly synonymous with the Looney Tunes cartoons of the 30′s, 40′s, and 50′s. He’s an absolute legend in the animation industry, and yet... the Tom and Jerry shorts that he directed are still significantly weaker than the original series. Let me start with the things I like though! The slight changes in the character design to match Chuck Jones’ signature style are super appealing (I especially like how at times, Tom will almost resemble Jones’ design for the Grinch) and the animation is of course very well done and a joy to watch, but despite these positives, the humor is sadly lacking. There are still quite a few jokes that land, but they’re more restrained and just don’t have the same high-energy oomph! of the impactful gunshot sound effects and violent screams of the original cartoon. I’ll always have an appreciation for this era of shorts and the man behind them, but they sadly didn’t even come halfway close to the Hanna-Barbera series.

WELL. ANYWAY, THAT’S MY RANT!!! Thanks for reading this far, all two people that did. It just felt good to get this outta my system! 💖💖

#long post #💜: you're the cat's meow!#ruby rambles #i implore you i am begging you PLEASE interact wif this post #legit it will make me SO happy if someone leaves a little comment or ask for me and a reblog would actually kill me 💘💘#JUST PLEASE TALK TO ME ABOUT THE CARTOON I LOVE IT SM #maybe if people wanna talk about their favorite episodes and stuff!!! im more than willing to respond!!!#i just have so much to say im sorry jhfsjhd 🥺🥺🥺

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delldarling · 4 years

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charting dreams | spiros

a commission for an absolutely wonderful anon!

male deity x female reader 5k words lemon | dream sex, creampie, hints of future angst additional note: ‘night flying’ ointment is a real thing, BUT please consult healthcare professionals or experts and do copious amounts of research before seeking it out and dear god, don’t ever ingest it, please & thank you

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There are… Way more books on the subject than you thought there would be. Which is good! Being able to compare information will help you find one that works well for you, but honestly? It’s kind of depressing that none of them have that old-world magic-looking binding. Just once you were kind of hoping that you might stumble onto something tangible and magical outside your dreams. If you can, you’re going to complain about the lack of embossed covers and fancy sounding titles when you see him again.

If you see him again.

Thus, the books. Lucid dreaming has been on your mind for quite a while now. It’s an interesting turn of phrase, and the thought of it, what all the books describe it as: Being able to bend your dreams to your will? That sounds pretty damn awesome. It’s not like this all came out of nowhere though. You’re not looking into it because of nightmares, which is apparently fairly common, or because you have some kind of serious yen for knowledge about brains and dreams. You’ve been… Dreaming of someone.

It would probably sound like some kind of fairy tale to anyone that hadn’t experienced it, and most people would just write it off as some kind of intensely vivid, though random, series of dreams. You’d been half tempted to do that at first too, of course.

It had all started out as crystal clear flashes in your dreams, like a perfect memory of a favorite movie scene. Simple conversations about your day held on a fancy looking carousel, glittering golden lights drawing your eyes away from your companion. Some days you traded amusing anecdotes under towering arches, draped over the top with what you first thought was blue gauzy material and fairy lights. Instead, you found out that they were actual fairy lights, little winged beings flitting about in a storm, eating holes in the sky.

“Stars,” he’d explained, pulling you to a stop as one of the little pixies pulled a dark blue swirl from the sky, like midnight-colored cotton candy, and ate it, leaving a gleaming star-like hole behind. You’d felt such an intense sense of wonder, heart loud in your chest, that you’d woken yourself up, hand actually outstretched as if you could touch-

They were wonderful and strange, and you remembered them with a clarity that you’ve never associated with dreams before. You could smell things - sweetness in the air, salt water on the breeze, and you could feel the heat and cold when you walked by his side. Still, it hadn’t been hard to write it all off as nothing more than an overactive, tired mind. Maybe you’d binged too many fantasy stories in media lately and your brain was just mushing everything together? Never mind that you can’t recall anything recent about pixies eating holes in the sky.

They’ve continued though, the dreams, the meetings you have with him. Far off places on maps are spread out before you like a feast, his arm warm under your hand as he escorts you or does his best to leave you breathless with laughter. You’ve always woken from those dreams invigorated, but with the strange sense that you were missing something, until- his face. On a shore with cresting orange waves, you turn away from the blinding glare of reflective sunshine, and then you see him, draped in a dark chiton, just before you wake.

Even having seen it just the once, you can’t erase it from your thoughts. The color of his eyes, shades shifting when you unfocus, like photographs of far flung nebulae. The impression of feathers twined with his hair and yet arching away from his temple like actual wings. The way his lips look when they shape your name, his hand taking yours so he can twine your fingers together-

He’s too beautiful to be true.

You’re both convinced you’ve made him up, and absolutely convinced you couldn’t have. Aren’t people supposedly only able to see those they’ve seen before in their dreams? And you know, without a doubt, that you’ve never seen anyone that looks like him in your day to day life. Unless he’s just a piece-meal of people or ideas you’ve found attractive. Even then, you’re not sure you could have put him together so smoothly.

It’s hard to believe that you’ve made him up though, when he declares that he is real. That, at least, has never happened before. Though you’re not sure you’ve ever taken the time to ask someone if they were a product of your imagination when you’ve been dreaming, having been too caught up in your imagined adventures yourself.

One night he’s stroking his thumb over your cheekbone, claiming that you should chart your dreams-

“Prove it,” you blurt, and you can feel your pulse speed. His image wavers, there and gone, and his eyes widen. “Prove that you’re real,” you clarify and your pulse ratchets up another notch.

“How?” He asks with a laugh and then takes your hand in his, clinging almost, like he can’t quite believe he’s touching you - never mind that he’s touched you before. His laugh sounds strained though, and the smile on his face is… Thin. “And you must calm your heart, dear one. You’ll wake, and how will I prove myself then?”

“I don’t-” know, you’re about to say, but he presses a finger to your mouth, worrying at his lower lip as he glances over your shoulder.

“Perhaps… Perhaps, I can tell you the dreams of those near you,” he says softly. “Yes, wait here for just a moment.” He does vanish then, and the dream loses a bit of clarity. You have a vague memory of being unable to read one of your favorite books, and then he’s back, whispering random sounding things into your ear, arms curled around your middle. “A family dog, a work dispute interrupted by a cart of apples, and a great webs, knitted by a grandmother. Ask your neighbors,” he pleads, mouth deliciously warm where it’s brushing your ear. “I am real, and I know their dreams - ask them,” he urges, and then you wake.

He’s so strangely eager for you to believe him, and after that list... You give in to the mild embarrassment and make awkward small talk with two of your neighbors. Bringing up recent dreams in front of the mailboxes is a little difficult, but you manage, if not exactly smoothly. You half hope it comes to nothing, that they brush off your questions and move on with their day - what are you even doing, trying to prove that a dream man is more than a figment? But one of them mentions an old dog they used to have, and then the other claims they dreamed or arguing with their boss.

“-we were at the bottom of a hill though, and one of those old apple carts came tearing down, nearly mowing us both to the ground. It was a bit more.. Vivid than usual, I suppose.”

“‘S nothing,” your other neighbor interrupts with a laugh. “My kid thinks great grandma must be a spider and has nightmares about her knitting webs as gifts.”

With a peculiar fluttering feeling in your chest, you march right back into your place. He’d been telling the truth.

Or you’d become prescient. You’re not sure which is the more likely, but…

Lucid dreaming.

You crack into the stack of books you’d taken home from the library with eagerness. You want to try and take control in your dreams not only because manipulating them would be interesting, but because you’re desperate to prove that he’s more than a figment on your end. You try not to get caught up in thoughts of prescience - even if he is real in some way, it’s still a bit hard to believe you’re suddenly able to tell the future, even through dreams. You’re tempted to bring that up though, just like the very non-magical looking books, when next you see him.

There are a copious amount of notes and preludes in nearly all of the books, as well as the articles you’ve looked up online, that say to not get your hopes up. Lucid dreaming apparently doesn’t work the same way for everyone, and the results are rarely immediate.

Succeeding on the first try isn’t unheard of, one person writes, but it is exceedingly rare. True success will come in stages, starting with Awareness. Are you aware that you’re dreaming? Are you aware of where exactly you are in your mindscape? And that brings us to another important vocabulary word: Mindscape.

“Mindscape,’ you mutter, flicking idly through the pages. Some of the books are very cut and dry, but on the other hand, the articles and first hand accounts on the internet are… Kind of out there. You feel less like you’re researching and more like you’re getting drawn in by click bait or conspiracy theories when you read about personal mindscapes and see the hand drawn maps. Some of them are detailed enough - in both drawing and description - that you wonder why they aren’t trying to market them.

Still. You try and gather up information without getting your hopes up about it all, but honestly that’s the most difficult part. Having already experienced something.. Other while you were dreaming, you can’t help but think maybe you’ll have the upper hand. He’d told you, more than once, that your dreams had felt different to him, so you can’t get it out of your head, and... your hopes are most definitely up.

You clear your schedule, and even buy some special kind of ointment meant to help aid in lucid dreaming, heavy with mugwort and pennyroyal. The fancy art on the jar reads Night Flying in filigree letters, but on the back, in very large red print is: DO NOT INGEST. Half of you wants to set it aside, but you have done the research. On your forehead and temples only, or sometimes- you check your notes, wrinkling your nose when you see the written neck, and feet included. You open the jar, still unconvinced, but it only smells faintly of mint.

You’re unashamed to admit that you use less than the recommended smear, just to be safe. You settle down in bed, going through the breathing exercises that supposedly help aid sleep, and cross your fingers.

Not much happens. You wake in the morning, feeling well rested and too lethargic to get out of bed, but- No dreams. Not that you recall, anyway. Your hopes crash hard for a few hours and you clean your face and neck of the flying ointment a little more viciously than you need to. It seems so silly in the light of day, but you can’t shake the feeling of those dreams. Not the memories of them, crystal clear, not the weight of his hands in yours. But he hasn’t always shown up every single night.

You try again. And again, and it isn’t until the third night, when your pillow now seems to be steeped in the scent of minty pennyroyal from the ointment, that you finally achieve a vaguely lucid dream.

You’re walking down the street when you realize that you can’t hear the sounds of traffic, and then- Then you realize you’re dreaming. Your heart rate picks up, and you spin in place, exuberant, wondering why you’re turn seems to take twice as long as normal - and then there’s a plain looking door standing in the middle of the sidewalk. You walk towards it, after all, where else is there to go? But as soon as you place your hand on the plain brass handle, you frown. Between the books and the disappointment of not being able to tell the future, of not getting to see him, you.. You want magic in your life. You’d rather walk through a door that reminds you of Narnia, with gilded edges and some kind of fancy door knocker, than walk through one that looks like you can push it over with a strong breeze.

Concentrating on actually changing a dream takes way more effort than you would have thought though. If you close your eyes, it seems to give your subconscious enough tether to try and take back control. You close your eyes, and instead of seeing the fancy door you would have wanted, you’re distracted by thoughts of fluttering pages- no. You open your eyes, forcing yourself back on track, and laugh, finding your hand not on a plain brass handle, but on an ornate knocker. You smooth your fingertips along the swirling lines of it, pleased with yourself. Maybe it’s not quite what you’d hoped, but you’ll happily take it. You knock and then step back, assuming with every fiber of your being that he’s going to be on the other side, that he’s going to swing it open and pull you into his arms, but- The door creaks open, revealing a plain looking room with purple windows. It’s disappointingly empty, and he isn’t anywhere to be found.

You take a step into the room, letting the door close quietly behind you and then glance down at your hands. Lucid dreaming is all about being able to change things, isn’t it? You think of him, breathe deeply, and snap your fingers, willing him to appear with everything that you have within you.

Nothing happens. You’re still alone, with only the slightly hazy room for company. You can’t help but feel like you’re missing an intrinsic piece to the puzzle of his presence. Maybe you need to call his name, but…

You frown at the ornate rugs beneath your feet, eyes getting distracted by the whirling patterns. You’re not entirely sure you can remember his name. You have vague memories of him telling it to you, but all of those seem to be the ones in which you hadn’t yet been able to see his face. For a half second, the weight of disappointment bows your showers. Maybe you have made him up. You blink, and the dream seems to lose focus, your lucidity ebbing like a tide. You’re on the verge of waking, you realize, and then his voice is heavy in your ear, his lips warm as they brush against the shell of it, saying quickly, and fondly: “My name is Spiros. Don’t forget it so easily next time, hm?”

You wake with his name on your lips, half expecting him to manifest inside your bedroom. After a few heart stopping seconds though, you have to sigh. It stays tragically empty, and yet the heat of him, the texture of his lips- you can still feel it. You’re not going to give up.

After a while though, you feel like all your free time is spent sleeping. You experiment with the flying ointment, but after the last two or three times, decide that you no longer need help. The awareness of lucid dreaming happens more than half the time now, and you can change some things, but otherwise… You’ve been spending each night combing through strange places, catching the barest glimpses of him over the horizon, hearing his voice, faint on the breeze. Maybe, you tell yourself one evening, you need to stop chasing him. It’s like trying is only tiring you out, making you wander through long roads, only to find he was right where you left him. He doesn’t feel like a figment any longer, but the fact that he doesn’t is beginning to scare you, just a little. You can’t spend all your time searching for him, can’t spend all your time sleeping. You decide to stop chasing, even if you still practice actual lucid dreaming. But then, the next time you achieve more than awareness, more than that sense of reality, Spiros is waiting for you.

“Been searching, have you?” He teases, reaching out for your hand and- you can feel him. The faint whorls of his fingertips, the drag of his nails over the palm of your hand. It’s more than just the strange clarity from before, or the sense of being aware, Spiros’ feels real, and if you couldn’t see the shifting nebulae of his eyes, you might think you were actually awake. He tugs you a step forward and then turns you about in quick whirl, leaving the room with the faint sense of spinning, like you’ve actually been turning too many fast circles on your feet.

“Who are you?” You can’t help asking, letting him take another few dancing steps before you put your feet down, refusing to be moved. “I’ve been chasing you, trying-”

“Spiros,” he says, coyly, like he thinks you might be teasing him back. “Haven’t we talked about this before?”

“Not your name,” you say, glancing past his shoulder. Maybe you shouldn’t be staring quite so intensely at his eyes. The dizziness hasn’t yet faded. “Who are you, that you can jump into another person's dreams? I’ve been researching, you know, and- I still can’t figure it out. How you knew about my neighbors. I thought for sure that I was fooling myself. Or maybe that I was prescient,” you confess, embarrassment wrapping around you like a cloak. “But if you’re real-”

“My apologies,” he says, and even more strange than knowing that this is all a dream is that you can feel it. His sincerity, heavy in the air, and it sounds like… It sounds like cricket song. “For leading you on a chase. I cannot come often, there are too many dreams to spin, but-” He rests his forehead against yours, eyes falling closed. “I cannot seem to stay away.”

“Why?” You ask, just as confused, if not more so.

Spiros pulls away, eyebrows raised and for a moment his jaw works, like he’s searching for the words to say.

“You,” he says insistently. “Something about your dreams kept me coming back, but it was you that made me stay. Don’t you remember our talks?” Spiros asks, hair brushing against your cheek as he leans in again, and- feathers, there are wings, tangled in hair somewhere above his ears.

“I do,” you reassure him, hesitantly lifting a hand to stroke a single fingertip along his jaw. Faint stubble pricks at your finger, though not enough to make it uncomfortable. “That isn’t the point of this, though. You’re attracted to me,” you say, hardly believing it, and yet feeling the truth of it all the way down to your bones. “You’re attracted to me, and- to spin,” you say suddenly, thinking of the way your neighbors had claimed the dreams were extra vivid. “You spin dreams? I thought-” But you’re not entirely sure what you thought. Maybe he was simply a person with a talent for something beyond lucid dreaming? Creating them though..

Spiros sighs, taking a step back, letting your hand fall away from his face.

“I had hoped to save this particular conversation for another time, but you are much more observant than you used to be,” he says, shrugging a single shoulder, mouth slightly mournful.

“I don’t know whether I should be charmed or irritated by the way that sounds,” you say quietly, crossing your arms over your chest, just to give yourself a sense of normalcy.

“I’m one of the oneiroi,” he says, like that should mean something to you. “One of many. I.. Once there were many who called us gods.” His eyes flash back to you and then down, the afternoon breeze whipping his hair away from his face. “And perhaps we were, but now?” He turns in a circle, as if he can see far beyond the confines of the park you’re standing in. He probably can, you realize, if what he says is true. “There are medicines to combat us, or people who have severed themselves from this realm so severely that we can’t even catch sight of their dreams. And our newest siblings-” Spiros’ mouth twists. “They are so fast, swooping in on daydreams for their sustenance. Few of you take the time to notice us these days. If we’re noticed, perhaps we’re called nothing more than spirits.”

You wake with more questions than answers, but you feel satisfied with one thing: Spiros exists. Maybe not exactly how you’d pictured, but he wasn’t a figment. And he- Cares. About you. It’s still mind boggling though, trying to process the information, trying to sort out what you should do about it. You enjoy time with him, you’re very attracted to him, but you can’t help but worry about whether disbelief will always be lingering in the back of your head if you pursue things.

If only to cement his interest, Spiros seems to return twice as often after that, taking you on such vibrant, whirlwind adventures that sometimes they short out, speeding up your sleeping heart until you nearly wake. After one of these strange glitch-like interruptions, Spiros takes you to a warm night garden so the two of you can catch your breath, and it barely takes a blink before you’re suddenly lying in dark grass, softer than down against your back.

“Comfortable?” He asks, sitting to the right of you, his eyes tracing your body like a caress.

“I want you,” you find yourself saying, almost before you can even finish the thought inside your head. Spiros blinks, and the whole area seems to pause, as if it’s holding its breath along with him. After a moment, his eyes seem to change, the cool toned stars in their depths turning to molten gold, to heat and wanting, and the air becomes heavy with it.

“Truly?” Spiros asks, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. He reaches out to touch you, fingers hovering over your shoulder and then stops, waiting for your response.

Yes, you think to yourself, thinking of every small touch, of his breath against your skin, of the way he says your name to capture your attention. His fingers tremble until you take his hand and press it to your chest, wondering if he can feel the unsteady rhythm of your heart. “Yes,” you finally say aloud, pushing away all your doubts. “Isn’t it obvious?” You ask, only half teasing, still wrought with nerves, even as he leans down to kiss you.

“As obvious as I feel?” Spiros asks and you can almost taste him, he’s so close. He cups your breast and then strokes his thumb over your nipple, breathing out slowly as he does.

A small laugh escapes you, more of a rough, low gasp than anything else. “‘S why I’m asking,” you say, closing your eyes before you can get lost in his own. His mouth meets yours, soft and warm, stubble barely noticeable against your chin or cheeks when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It’s almost a shame, you think, hesitantly sliding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, that I won’t come away from this with evidence. His kiss turns almost desperate, needy, after that, teeth tugging at your lower lip as he straddles one of your thighs, hand smoothing down your body and taking your clothes as he goes. He tastes like evening, and it’s beyond frustrating, not knowing what else to compare it to.

Despite knowing that you won’t bare the marks of this when you wake, Spiros seems desperate to leave you with the sensation of them. Your lips feel swollen, buzzing with his attention by the time he pulls away so you can breathe, and his hands are heavy on you, half massage, half the slow drag of his nails, just enough to leave your skin pebbling even though you’re not cold in the slightest. He seems content to just touch, to watch you writhe underneath him, your hips arching as you try and get closer. He’s still dressed, still covered by that dark chiton, hands steady- but his face. The look in his eyes is greedy and pained. You wrap your fingers in the front of his chiton and yank, pulling him back down to kiss, to taste the pulse in his throat. The angle has him pressed to you, hard and hot and bare underneath his clothes and you moan against his mouth at the sensation. You don’t want him to look so sad, you want him to stop thinking, to feel you- Your hand slips between you, moving aside material until you can take him in hand.

Spiros tenses, pulling his mouth away from yours so he can groan quietly, immediately rolling his hips down into the grip you have on him. “Are you impatient?” He asks, voice gone rough and rasping. “I would think- by the dark,” he gasps, hand wrapping around your thigh when you squeeze him. He seems lost for words, lips pressed so tightly together that they’re trembling. After a moment he shifts, spreading your legs so he can kneel between them. The sight of it, the way his hands slide up your thighs, makes your heart beat even faster. A buzz, a zip, seems to shudder through the very foundations of the earth, and for a split second you could have sworn you saw your own ceiling and bedroom instead of stars and nebulae wheeling through the sky above you.

“Concentrate,” Spiros insists, breathing the word out against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickles and you shiver, blinking a- he bites you. Not hard enough even to bruise, but the sharp edge of it has your back bowing, attention fully settled on Spiros’ hand dipping between your thighs. They’re the perfect texture, and he uses just the right amount of pressure to slick them through your wetness, to stroke slowly over your clit. Between the bite and his fingers, you’d forgotten to move, but you squeeze him again, wanting to reciprocate, wanting to share the pleasure.

It feels like forever and no time at all before you’re aching so badly that you’re about to beg. Every brush of his thumb, every time he curls his fingers inside you has you rocking up into the motion, but you want him, want him to speed this maddening rhythm. “Enough,” you gasp, choking on a laugh when he ceases all movement, a slight frown curling his lips. “Not- enough of you,” you say, and then you’re whimpering as he pulls his hand away, his clothes vanishing before you can blink.

“Enough foreplay?” He asks, licking at his fingers before both of his hands are curling around your hips, dragging you towards him until his cock is teasing your clit with slow strokes.

“Yes,” you say, a bit sharply, unable to do more than grasp at the soft grass underneath you. The angle is perfect for watching, for seeing him drag the head of his cock over you until it’s gleaming with your wetness, but it’s too gentle and you can’t find purchase with your feet to help press you harder against him. “I want you to fuck me,” you demand, breath coming fast as he takes a moment to glance at the far side of the garden.

“I suppose I should,” he teases, smirking before his eyes drop back down to you. “Morning is approaching too fast for my liking.” You don’t know how he knows, you have little idea of the time you’ve spent here now, but you’re not complaining when he lets go of your hip to take himself in hand and press himself into you. You tighten, eager for him, for the feel of him filling you and his eyes flutter closed, lips parting like he’s forgotten to breathe. “You- you feel-” His jaw snaps shut, and he takes a deep breath before his hand curls back around your hip again, and he sets an unforgiving pace.

“Oh,” you get out, clutching tighter to the grass. You no longer care that you can’t move your hips, that you’re having to tense your thighs so your legs aren’t dangling uselessly- watching is wonderful. Anywhere or with anyone else, you would have worried about him getting tired, but Spiros looks like he has endless stamina, thrusting into you this way. His knees finally shift though so he can bring you closer, so his skin can brush against your clit with the angle change and then you’re shaking apart, head thrown back. You’re dizzy with the force of it, breathless and then Spiros is gasping your name and heat fills you until you’re overflowing, his thrusts slow and he loosens the tight grip he has on your hips. “Spiros,” you breathe, trying not to focus on the way the stars and trees overhead are shifting in the breeze. You blink, and you think you see your ceiling again, morning light casting pale patterns over the walls- and then Spiros is lifting you, a hand against the middle of your back as he pulls you into his lap, uncaring of the mess, to place an eager kiss against your lips.

“I don’t know that I’ll ever get enough of you,” he confesses against your mouth, hand gentle as he cradles your jaw. “But you must wake soon, and I cannot keep you here.”

“You sure?” You tease, grinding yourself down and then whimpering because- He’s still hard.

Spiros looks drunk, cheeks ruddy, eyes heavy lidded, but he grins. “If only I could,” he murmurs, and his next kiss is sweet, and lingers long after you’ve woken.

You’re alone in your room, and even though it’s cold out, the blankets feel stifling. You shift your legs, still blinking sleepily and freeze when you feel how slick you are. You wonder if you’re not going to hurt yourself with this in the future, with longing for more time with him. It’s only then that you notice a single, gleaming feather on your pillow. The sight lays your fears to rest.

If only for the moment.

————-　✵　————-

...turn the page?

#exophilia #deity x female reader #male deity x female reader #monster lover #monster boyfriend #monster boyfriend x reader #spiros #d.darling writes

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ode-to-the-bugs · 4 years

Text

Intrulogical ~ Human AU

"Don't get eyeshadow on my bed." Roman told, as Remus planted himself, face first, into the white sheets.

A drawn out groan - bordering on a growl - elicited from his obstructed mouth before he turned his head towards his brother and half-heartedly hid a dark smear beneath his palm.

Roman sighed, capping his mascara and checking his face in the mirror, before turning on his stool to the mess that insisted on invading his space.

They locked eyes; an uncharacteristic distress displayed within Remus'. The lack of a crude nickname or greeting was just another cause for concern.

An eyebrow raise and another pitiful groan from Remus later made certain that he wasn't going to leave soon.

"Okay, what's the deal? Why are you in here?" He relented.

Remus huffed before speaking,"I'm having emotions."

"And..?"

"And, I wanted to ask you a question."

Roman grimaced internally, fearing the direction of the conversation.

"Go ahead?"

"So..you know how you stole my bestfriend and domesticated him with your gross affection and whatever?"

"How did I steal- domesticated?!"

"Yeah, alright, whatever, I'm not done. So, what I mean is, you love him, right?"

Having said this, Remus sat up and crossed his legs, awaiting a response. In his brother's confused/shocked/thoughtful silence, he abducted a small, plushed lion from beside him and sat it on his knee, staring into its soulless glittery pink eyes. Feel lucky that you don't have these problems.

His eyes snapped up when Roman finally gave an answer, albeit a useless one, "I mean, yeah, I love him. I adore Janus more than anything."

"Gross. But, how did you know? Like, how does that feel?" He asked, carding his fingers through short, synthetic fur.

Something clicked in Roman's head and he couldn't resist a small smile.

"Why? Is Remus perhaps harbouring feelings or… dare I say, a crush?"

Another groan, as his head fell back into the wall, "can you just answer the question? What's it like? And spare me the 'stomach butterflies' and longing."

"I mean, alright, but you know how ~awful~ I am with words-"

Remus scoffed.

"-so, yeah, there is the butterflies, they are a thing. But, I don't know, there's this security and trust you find in this person and being with them; sometimes you don't even realise because you're just so comfortable with them. And, just this overwhelming happiness and warmth that makes you want to cry because you feel so special. And sometimes, you just- Are you okay?"

Remus seemed to be curling back into the wall more and more, his expression was downcast while his eyebrows furrowed in thought. Looking up at Roman's concern, he nodded and moved to leave.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He mumbled, getting up and wiping the corner of his eye.

As he came close to passing, Roman reached out to him.

"Hey, you can talk to me you know. I think I can handle your weird emotions well enough: you don't have to leave" Roman explained, letting laughter potentially lighten the mood as it fell into his words.

"Ew-"

"No, I'm allowed to care about you. I made the righteous decision not to absorb you in the womb and you’ve been my problem ever since; we're brothers."

He shuffled awkwardly.

"..ew-"

"Sit back down."

With reluctance, he did as he was told, settling back down and finding a grip on the small lion once again.

"Now, I'm no Patton, but I know something's wrong," he started, "I assume you won’t tell me who it-"

"No. I’m trying to keep some things to myself.”

"Okay then. But, you like them?"

"I think so. It isn't anything like you said, though."

"Yeah?" Roman pushed him to continue while standing from his seat and stretching his back before moving to sit on the opposite side of the bed. He nestled into the pillows at his headboard and looked over to Remus at the opposite end, who was avoiding eye contact and watching his own bare toes curl and uncurl on top of the white fabric.

"It's not all happy and warm, it's confusing. He's confusing. Always using these big words and talking rings around me, letting me know that he's so much smarter than me-"

Remus paused, smiling his usual crooked smile as his hands circled in contemplation, trying to put his strange infatuation into words. Meanwhile, realisation was knocking at a door in Roman's mind, so obvious yet not quite loud enough.

“-but then sometimes, it’s like he’s the only person that’s genuinely interested in my mad ramblings. He’s no longer this valedictorian with his head above everyone else - just a dork: a friend.”

“Aw-“

“And I hate it. It makes my stomach hurt and my head warm. And I just want him to feel that hurt. I want to scrape my teeth down his neck and pull his hair: see if he feels like this too, see if he even feels anything..”

Remus looked confused again: confused and conflicted between ideas. Pale shades of flesh spread under the tanned skin of his knuckles as he gripped his sleeves tighter and tighter.

Soon, a small smile crept back to his face as he continued, “..and he’s got these eyes. He needs to hide them behind these stupid glasses but..they sparkle when he’s happy. Talking about space- he loves astronomy-

o- Pluto’s his favourite planet-

or when I ask about a book he’s reading- he’s a nerd..” he laughed to himself quietly, “they sparkle, Ro. I like it, I like it so much. I want to keep it myself, my sparkles. Like, I could gouge them out so only I could see them, but then he’d be sad.”

He fell into his own small fits of laughter, completely in his own head, under the eyes of his brother. Speaking of Roman, he sat, unmoving, watching in casual fear and astonishment. Sure, he’d grown used to Remus years ago, but, then again, Remus wasn’t someone that anybody could truly ‘get used to’,even in a lifetime. So, before he could try to wrap his mind around the words, he was speaking again.

“...and, I don’t scare him Ro. He doesn’t find me gross or..scary,” he trailed off, picking absentmindedly at the covers with band-aid littered fingers, ”he says I’m interesting. Oh! And he likes my bugs-“

He paused to hold up the resin-cast beetle he wore around his neck in a tiny jar; one of dozens.

“-he keeps some himself, he showed me pictures. He’s got this big tank of moths and he takes them out and just lets them crawl all over him. And they don’t even fly away...not that I blame them.”

Yeah, Roman had opened that door quite a while back now. Now, it hung open, absorbing new information and planning the perfect game of matchmaker for his brother.

“-he said that when any of them die, I can have them and make one of these-“ he lifted the necklace again, “and I-“

“Rem, can I stop you there?”

“What?”

“If this is so painful, why don’t you just tell him?”

He bit his lip and looked away, “I don’t know. It’s hard.”

He snickered quickly before falling quiet again.

“You can’t seriously be shy. You? Come on.” Roman joked, straightening the cuff of his jeans.

“I know. He just..gets to me.”

“Look, take it from me. Things are easier when you get it out in the open. Just tell Logan, I’m sure he can’t have much more experience in this than you.”

Remus' eyes widened and it didn’t take Roman very long to follow.

“I promise- ‘Twin Swear’- that I won’t tell him.”

Remus looked at him for a small moment before jumping up and rushing towards the door, discarding the plush more violently than he would have liked.

“Remus, come on. You’ve flirted with him so much, I’m honestly surprised I haven’t realised already.”

“But you didn’t know it might have been real then.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because you’ve broken promises before. I don’t want to lose him, Roman. I can put up with hurting.”

Stressed, he fled to his own room, and pushed aside the curtain, curling up on the windowsill.

#intrulogical #remus sanders #roman sanders #lomus #tiny mention of #roceit #human au #i guess #logan sanders #is a part of this too #sanders sides #my writing

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shekissesturians · 4 years

Text

Animes Watched Since Quarentine Started ~

So I just sat down and realized... I have developed a problem X’D BUT it could be worse! So I figured I would share for those looking for something new to watch! Also, what have y’all been watching!?

Full list below the line + reviews! * No spoilers, I promise! I wouldn’t do you dirty like that! * ;-*

1. Kakegurui

This show took me by surprise, I had no idea gambling could be so thrilling! Plus let us take a moment to appreciate the facial expressions animated in this show! Beautiful, just beautiful. Beware though, this anime gets dark, and sick, and you will definitely forget to breath at times. It is a thorough joy.

2. Steins;Gate

3. Steins;Gate 0

Honestly, Steins;Gate + Stains; Gate 0 is one of the best animes I have EVER seen. Legit. Also, It is one of the best stories of time travel I have ever encountered. The way it is explained in the anime is brilliant! Compelling, thrilling, emotional, so much amazingness. I watched in chronological order instead of season order which I really enjoyed. Also one of the most moving anime endings I have seen. All the characters you will fall in love with, and their character development is one heck of a ride. A must watch, 100%.

4. Fullmetal Alchemist

This was a nostalgia back flash for me! It was been years and I felt like reliving it all over again. Which I am glad I did, cus boy was there a lot of heavy themes and topics I did not pick up on when I was younger! One of the biggest themes was this existential undertone throughout the whole show that explored the ideas of humanity, authority, morality and race.

5. Fullmetal Alchemist Conqueror of Shamballa

A must follow up to the original FMA series. It just ties the whole story up in a pretty bow. I remember when I first saw this movie, it was my first encounter this the idea of multiple dimensions and it just blew my mind. The whole this felt so exciting and surreal, and I loved the addition of our timeline playing a part. Watching FMA + Movie over again leaves me a bit torn on which is better, Brotherhood or first adaptation. I think both should be watched for a full understanding of the lore. The first anime series definitely has some holes and details missing, but it’s also so nostalgic and they really give you a better development of characters and feels than Brotherhood does, as they rush through that to get back to the main plot.... so grab some popcorn and watch both and just enjoy the ride :)

6. Angels of Death

This anime has such a unique premise!! And morally it is just all sorts of twisted, which I love! The music is fantastic in it and all the characters you encounter are very unique and fun... it’s dark though, don’t get me wrong.. and twisted. BUT a fun ride if you are down for that kind of adventure!

7. Another

WHOOOO BUDDY! If you want to go on a journey THIS IS ONE! It’s a mind bending premise and each episode ends in so much suspense. I literally could’ve watched the whole thing in one day. This anime is like a jar of Pringles, once you start you just can’t stop!

8. Death Parade

This anime gets the prize for the most misleading opening ever! X’D But it is such a BOP Please watch if you can. The anime overall is a joy, its very thought provoking and touches on the darker topics of death and mortality. Who is really good? Who is evil? Where do they seamlessly blend into each other? Besides the premise being so unique and tantalizing, the artwork is breathtaking! The background and environments the characters exist in are gorgeous. As an artist and a writer, I appreciate this anime on so many levels.

9. Sekkou Boys

Oh god, this anime is a joy. Just pure, clean joy T.T The episode are VERY short so you could finish the whole thing in an evening. But if you are an artist, a Renaissance history lover, or a J-pop fan, you will especially appreciate this joy of a creation. Watch it for your soul, you will feel better afterwards.

10. Kokoro Connect

This is a very intriguing coming of age story to say the least. There is an element of fantasy/science fiction that comes into the picture that stirs all sorts of trouble for our dear group of friends. It makes you really reflect your own intra- and interpersonal relationships and how we perceive and interact with one another. Overall a fun trip to go on.

11. Occultic; Nine

HOLD ONTO YOUR HORSES CUS THIS ANIME IS FAST! Omgsh, if you watch in Japanese like I did, get ready to have tired eyes cus the pace and speech of this anime is like nothing I have encountered before, but it is soooo much fun! It is mystery combined with the supernatural. It’s one of those animes where there is a lot of characters involved and some how everyone is connected in some way, like Baccano! if you have seen it. I would say to watch this AFTER you watch Steins;Gate if you have any interests because it is written by the same writers and there is little things that reference back to Steins;Gate which are really fun to pick up on.

12. School-Live!

I didn’t know what to expect when I started this series. It is not the kind of art style I am normally drawn towards but I am soo glad I watched. The characters are all really fun and cute! Especially the puppy!! <3 You deal with psychological stress as well as a nice mix of slice of life all in the midst of a zombie apocalypse! It’s a combination I never knew I wanted in my life, but now I am glad I have it. Don’t let the cute animation style fool you... it gets DARK. I was full out trying not to sob at one point, but I think that just shows how many levels are involved in this story. Have fun with this ride my friends <3

13. My Hero Academia

GUYS ARE YOU FREAKING READY!? This was the story I never knew I needed in my life, but now I don’t know how I lived without it. Dear god, I binged this one so hard I think I forgot to breath for a week. All of the characters are so dynamic and the overall tone of the series is so uplifting and positive. If you are in a depressive slump just turn this one on. I promise you, you will be smiling and feeling better in no time! It is so motivational as well. Humor, action, suspense, thrilling, emotional- I don’t think there is anything they don’t touch on. Uhg gosh, I could prob write a dissertation on all the themes and undertones expressed in this work. I promise you, this is a journey you will not regret taking <3

14. My Hero Academia: Two Heroes

I’ll be honest, I think sometimes series’ movies miss the mark, or just feel lackluster, like a power hour of filler. This one my friends.... DID NOT. I was really glad I watched it too, because I felt as though it added so much to the main story line. Plus you get to see college years All Might... so bonus! X3 But seriously, it is a very fun movie and it gives you more background to the world you wouldn’t otherwise get.

15. Shiki

First off... THE ART. This anime’s art is so unique and fits so well into the overall narrative. But honestly, I feel like this anime is a work of art, it feels like an old folk tale/dark fairy tale you would elders talking about in a pub late at night. The narrative never went where I expected it to, and by the end I was so morally conflicted I didn’t know what to do with myself. It’s a dark fantasy that really explores all the little nitty gritty grey areas that are often passed over in stories. There were definitely a few scenes that made me so uncomfortable I was squirming. Human nature is truly a sight to behold, and this anime shows it to you.

16. Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress

The Feudal Japan- Post apocalyptic- Steam punk journey you never knew existed! Gosh this anime is amazing. First off the art is breathtaking and many scenes reminded me of Miyazaki. Second, the music is SO GOOD. It’s a concept on the undead that I find to be very unique and truly thrilling. Most of the anime takes place on a train which is such an intriguing element. You also go into human fear of the unknown and how our nature can truly be our biggest hindrance. The characters are great and you get to the point of really rooting for them. Get ready for this feast for your senses!

17. Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress Movie: Battle of Unato

After watching the series I felt like my heart was still missing something. Honestly the whole thing felt like it went by too fast. I still wanted more! This movie helped fill the void in my heart. You get to see relationship begin to form between characters as well as more insight into kabane and all their abilities. Standing alone, this movie is a really fun adventure and gives more insight into the state Japan is in overall.

So THERE YOU HAVE IT! I hope you might have found some new things to watch. I would love to see others lists of things they have watched, feel free to leave in the comments! Or if you have watched any of these, I would love to hear your thoughts! Let’s chat <3

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girls-scenarios · 4 years

Text

A Light in the Dark

Idol: Lee Sem (9Muses)

Prompt: can i please request a scenario with lee sem from 9muses and fem reader where they are in a bird box type au where they can’t see each other but end up falling for each other ? u can make the end angsty if u want 🥺 thank u in advance !

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I always love when I get to write for groups I don’t usually get to write for, and this is a super interesting prompt on top of that! I doubt it’ll get many notes because people tend to skip idols they don’t know, but I worked really hard on it and I hope those of you who read enjoy!😊 P.S I’m using her real name Hyunjoo for this!

Warnings: This is a Bird Box au, so obviously there’s going to be mentions of death and suicide. I tried not to write anything too graphic, but it’s an integral part of the story so it’s there.

♡ Tip Jar♡

Time passed differently when the whole world was dark and dead. Hyunjoo wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been since she put that black blindfold on, locking herself into a endless sea of darkness, but it had been long enough that she’d all but forgotten how light or the blue sky looked. All she knew was black cotton. But maybe that was a good thing. Nothing in the world was worth looking at anymore. She didn’t have to see the corpses littering the streets or the bloody scabs on her throbbing feet from miles upon miles of endless walking. It was hard enough to feel those things: not seeing saved her from the pain of reality, just a little bit. It kept her safe in more ways than one.

Plus, she had her own light.

It wasn’t long after she joined up with a group of survivors that they found you. Had it not been for Sehun’s dog Vivi, they might have missed you completely. You were cowering in the corner of a local grocery store in a recently-afflicted town, shaking with your hands pressed tightly over your eyes, not making a sound until Vivi ran to your side and began to bark.

At the loud sound, you’d started to cry, body weakly slumping against one of the shelves. Sera, the leader of the group, slowly made her way over as Sehun picked Vivi up, listening closely. Your sobs were much louder than the crunch of glass under their feet.

“Is that... a person?” Sera asked softly, her hand brushing against the shelves. “If you’re there.... You can talk to us. I know it’s been scary. But we can help.”

You cried a moment longer, and the sound broke Hyunjoo’s heart as she crept up behind Sera. She’d gotten used to being blind by now, and could tell about how far away you were from the sound of your cries, although she could not see you. “What’s your name?” She asked gently, not wanting to startle you any more.

“I-I’m (Y/N),” you said finally, your voice hoarse. Hyunjoo guessed that you’d probably been hiding in the store for days without food or water, too afraid to move your hands away from your eyes. “How did you all get away? F-from that thing?”

“Luck,” Sera said bluntly. “We managed to cover our eyes in time and find each other. Are you covering your eyes?”

“Yes. But I can’t do anything or I’ll have to bring my hands away from my eyes.”

“I have an extra blindfold,” offered Seolhyun, another member of the group, shuffling through her bag. “Just give me a second to get over there and find you.” She was new to not seeing the world, and immediately tripped as she got close to the corner, barely catching herself on another shelf.

“I’ll take it,” Hyunjoo offered, finding her easy enough with her stick. Seolhyun quickly handed it over. The trick to seeing with your senses, Hyunjoo had learned, was concentration. She moved forward slowly, her hand running along the shelf she knew you were sitting by until your breathing became loud. Then she crouched down and moved her hand in front of her until it hit your shoulder, causing you to jump. “It’s just me,” she said, palming the blindfold and running her hand up your neck to your face. “Bring your hands down but keep your eyes closed, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, and obeyed. After finding your eyes, she quickly tied the blindfold tight around your head.

“Does that feel right?” She asked, moving back. She could hear fabric moving in front of her, and figured that it must be you fixing the cloth.

“Yeah. Now it does. Can I open my eyes?”

“Yeah.”

You inhaled a deep breath as Hyunjoo stood up, listening closely. Then you let out a sigh, broken by a half-sob. “It’s just darkness. It’s awful.”

“You’ll get used to it,” she said, and reached down to grab your hand. “I’ll help you up. How long is it since you had water or food?”

Your grasp was weak, and it worried her as she helped you to your unsteady feet. “I-I don’t know. I had a soda that I was drinking with my eyes closed, but it ran out and I was too scared too move. I had a granola bar, too, after it first happened.”

“How long ago did it happen?” Sera asked. Hyunjoo knew why she was asking: they were trying to outrace the monsters to figure out a pattern. There never seemed to be any pattern or any sliver of hope, but they tried.

“I think three or four days ago? I’m not sure.... I think I passed out at some point, honestly.” You shuddered in Hyunjoo’s arms and she bit her lip, worried. You were cold and weak. You wouldn’t survive long like this.

“We’ll get some food and water in you. That’s why we’re here anyway. Once we have all the supplies we can find, we’ll move on.” She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of you walking such long distances in the state you were in, but they had no choice but to move on. Staying in one space for too long was dangerous. Especially a place already attacked. “Do you know if anyone else is alive?”

Immediately, you began to cry again, leaning into Hyunjoo’s shoulder. She held you a bit tighter as the sobs wrecked your body, her heart hurting. The room stayed silent as you cried: they all knew the pain you were feeling. “J-just me,” you finally managed to get out, hiccuping and sucking in breath. “M-my family, they all....”

Hyunjoo was so glad that you couldn’t see. Just from moving through the store, she knew the damage. Her stomach twisted as she rubbed your back, trying to comfort you even though she knew nothing she could do would really help. “You don’t have to say it,” she assured you. “Come on, let’s get something for you to eat.” She helped you out of your hiding spot, guiding you the best she could while being blind herself. No matter how many times your legs gave out or you tripped, she held you up, and made a promise to herself.

She was going to take care of you, no matter what. She wanted you to live.

It was a while before you learned how to walk blind. For the first few weeks, Hyunjoo helped you walk, supporting most of your weight with your arm around her shoulders. You stumbled often, both from weakness and from not being able to see. Hyunjoo tried her best to warn you of anything in front of you, swinging her stick an extra length in your path, but you usually ended up tripping anyway. When the group was resting, you got around by crawling on your hands and knees. But you didn’t leave her side very often.

She shared everything with you: her food, her water, her blanket, and even her jacket, wrapping her arms around you as the temperatures dropped until they were able to salvage more coats. She often slept by your side, waiting until you drifted off despite the threat to her life. She’d given you her earplugs, leaving herself open to hear the voices that often came with nightfall. The voices were nothing new to her, though, and she’d learned to block them out. You had needed them more.

One night, she awoke to your voice. At first, she thought it was the creature, and stayed silent, not moving. But then you softly called her name again, and tugged at her sleeve. “Hyunjoo?”

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“I’m cold. And scared.” The group had camped up against the mouth of a cave for the night. It was shelter from the nightly rains, but the ground was still cold, and your clothes were still wet from the previous day. It was a miserable night. Shivering, Hyunjoo rolled over and wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight.

“I know,” she said, whispering so that she wouldn’t wake the others or attract attention. “I’m right here.”

You snuggled into her, burying your face into her shoulder. It had become almost a habit for you, ever since you’d left the store in her arms. “Do you think it’ll warm up soon?”

“I hope so. But I don’t know. We’re heading south so we should be hitting a warmer climate soon.”

“I hope so.” You paused for a moment and your breathing evened. For a moment, she thought you might have fallen asleep. Then you shifted in her arms. “Why are you so nice to me?”

The question struck her in the heart. Your voice was broken, raspy from your new cold, and she held you closer, willing the chill to go away. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You don’t know me. Not really. We’ve never even seen each other.”

“You don’t have to see someone to know them, (Y/N).” She ran her fingers through your hair slowly. “But I guess to answer your question, I’m nice to you because I care about you. I’ve been drawn to you ever since I met you in that store.”

“Is it because you pity me?”

“Maybe back then. But it’s also because I see myself in you.”

You paused. “You do?”

“Yep. I also lost everything and everyone I loved. I sat in my house for days on end with my eyes covered, shaking and lost, until I had to leave for my own survival. I had to learn how to survive even though it was hard. When I saw you there, I understood what you were going through. I wanted to help you, because I wanted to make things a litter easier for you. The more I get to know you, though, the more I like you. You’re a good person, (Y/N). I think you’re the first person to make me smile in a long time.”

“Oh.” You were silent for another long moment. “I like you too, Hyunjoo. Thank you. For everything.” You snuggled in closer, getting comfortable, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

You helped her a lot more than you knew. You gave her a purpose again.

Eventually, you got used to living on the run. You still cried often, curling into Hyunjoo’s side, but you tripped less and learned how to navigate this new world. Still, the moment they found a safe house, Hyunjoo was relieved.

Abandoned houses were nothing new. Almost every house was now abandoned or boarded up with no hope of anyone allowing anyone else inside. She didn’t blame those people: she’d heard about the followers of the creature too. This house, though.... It was different. It had been abandoned long before the creature, but most importantly, Vivi liked it.

Typically, the growing would start as soon as a door was opened, signalling that the place was unsafe. But with this house, Vivi did not growl. She didn’t even bark. Instead, as the group slowly explored with their hands, she wagged her tail, hitting Sehun’s leg.

“There’s no creatures here,” he said, confident, sitting down against one of the walls and petting Vivi’s head. “Just us.”

“How can we be so sure?” Sera’s voice rang through the large empty space.

“Because Vivi is never wrong. She knows what she sees. And she doesn’t see anything but the people she trusts here.”

The group shuffled towards Sehun, gathering together. With a sigh, Sera ran her thin fingers through her hair. “We do need somewhere to stay. But I’m not very keen on the idea of taking our blindfolds off.”

“Why?” You asked, and Hyunjoo flinched. She knew what was coming.

“Because you never know when that thing will get in.” Sera’s tone of voice changed, bitterness seeping through with every word. “Or who might get in with that thing behind them. I trusted a place enough to take off my blindfold once, only to watch my entire group be murdered by a maniac who had pretended to be one of us. He forced their eyes open and laughed at our panic. Some of us escaped, but we were forced to leave our blindfolds behind.” Her voice lowered. “I was the only one who made it. I got to cradle the dead body of my girlfriend in my arms after she accidentally opened her eyes, then used her own weapon to kill herself. That’s why I don’t like the idea of taking our blindfolds off.”

The room was silent, and Hyunjoo put her arm around you for support. She could feel you shaking.

“S-sorry,” you said, your head hanging. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.” Sera placed her bag on the ground with a loud “thud” and sighed once more. “I will say that I trust Vivi, though. I think we can stay here for a while. At least until the cold front ends. But no taking your blindfolds off. Is that clear?”

A chorus of yes’s answered her question. Minho, a large military man who had been the one to find Sera, cleared his throat. “We should find something to board the windows up with. The back windows are already boarded but it looks like the boards from the front windows fell away. I think I found some wood over in the corner where the kitchen is. The water still works, surprisingly, so we have a source of water now.”

“And there’s a fireplace,” Seolhyun added. “I tripped over it.”

“Great. Let’s get to work making this place warm and livable. Don’t get too comfortable, though. We could have to move at any moment.”

Hyunjoo had forgotten how nice it felt to be warm. Her new cough rattled her body, but sitting by the fire helped ward off the feeling of death in her lugs, so she stayed as close as she could without getting set on fire. You often joined her there, even as your own cold got better with the heat and drinking water, cuddling with her and helping her keep dry and hydrated. After all the time she spent looking after you, you were now looking after her.

“I wish we had medicine,” you said once, shaking your head as you leaned against her. “But we can’t read the labels, so we don’t know what they are.”

“You’re right. This has really made me realize how little the world cares about blindness. Almost everything requires sight.”

It was rare that the two of you were left alone. But one day, She awoke in front of the fire to you combing her hair, her head on your lap, and no other sounds in the house.

“Where did everyone go,” she asked with a rasp, listening closely for any sign of life. There was no one, other than you.

“They said not to wake you, but a lot of them went out to try and find supplies. They took Vivi with them. I think Seolhyun is still sleeping in the kitchen.”

“Oh. So it’s pretty much just us?”

“Yep.”

She laid there for a while, half asleep, letting you comb through her hair, before turning over to wrap her arm around your torso, nuzzling her nose into your stomach. You were warm now, cold gone, and she appreciated the quiet intimacy, happy to lay there forever and fight with the occasional cough as you took care of her.

“Hyunjoo?” Your voice was soft and affectionate, and she loved the sound of it.

“Hm?”

“I like you.”

She smiled a bit. “I would hope so.”

“No, not like that. Well, like that too, but also... I think I’m in love with you.”

Back in her normal life, a confession like that would have rocked her. But now, it just seemed right. As soon as you said it, she knew it was true, and she knew that the feelings she’d had for you had been love for a while now. Smiling widely, she reached up to touch your cheek, proud when you leaned into her touch instead of flinching away.

“I love you too, (Y/N).”

“Really?” She felt your cheek move under her hand, signalling that you were smiling. It made her heart swell with affection in her chest.

“Really.” She sat up slowly, ignoring the pain in her lungs, and positioned herself in front of you. Her other hand now came up to roam your face, taking in your features with her sensitive fingers. She ran them over your nose, over your cheekbones and your jaw, over your ears and your forehead, and pressed them against your blindfold, running her thumbs along the outline of your eyes. ��I think your incredible,” she said, making you laugh.

“Was that your way of seeing me?” You sounded a little breathless, your face now much closer to hers.

“Yes. Why don’t you try?”

At her suggestion, you brought your hands up, tentatively touching her face and exploring her features. You moved slow, taking every part of her in and stopping over the scar on her cheek, touch even more gentle as you ran your finger over it. “What’s this from?”

“I fell,” she said, smiling at the memory. It hadn’t been funny then, but it was amusing looking back. She’d come so far since she first started out. “I was just as clumsy as you when I first escaped too.”

“Somehow I can’t imagine that.” You pressed your forehead against hers. “You’re just so perfect.”

“I’m not, but thank you.” She could feel your breath on her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

You let out a giggle, your hands landing on her shoulders as you pulled her in. “Please do.”

It felt good to kiss someone. To feel intimate with someone again. Her body had so craved that human interaction, and your lips brought light back into her life. More even than you had on your own. She kissed you until her lungs burned and her lips tingled and she had to pull away to cough, making you laugh.

“Lay down,” you said, lowering her back down into your lap. “You need to sleep.”

When she woke up again, it was to the sound of the group coming back into the house, and to the warmth of you laid down beside her, your head in her crook of her shoulder.

In the dead of the night months later, Hyunjoo awoke with a jolt. She lay still, controlling her breathing as she listened. What had woken her up? Everyone in the group was there. She could hear them breathing, some snoring, and you were by her side as you always were. Nothing had changed since she went to sleep. So what was it? Had it been some sound? An animal, maybe?

Somewhere near the door, Vivi shifted. She heard her nails scraping on the wood floor as something woke the dog. So she wasn’t alone. Something was happening.

Vivi had hardly gotten in a bark when something slammed into the door hard enough to splinter the hinges. Hyunjoo sat up, bringing you up with her as everyone else came awake as well, shuffling in their blankets and grabbing for their weapons. Vivi barked and growled and the door shuddered under some weight one again. Sera let out a gasp as Hyunjoo got to her feet, helping you up as well.

“That’s a human, we have to get out of here, we can’t-.”

The door splintered and broke open with a sickening crack, making you scream as both of you stumbled backwards. Laughter came from outside the door and Hyunjoo’s heart sank. That wasn’t the sound of one person. That was a group.

“We found you!” Said a man’s booming voice, and a woman laughed behind him.

“Don’t be scared! We’re only here to help you see!”

“Run!” At Sera’s words, the group scattered. Hyunjoo couldn’t see, but she knew where she’d been sleeping, and she knew how to get to the back door. With her own knife in hand, she grabbed you and pulled you away, running towards the door. Behind her, Seolhyun screamed and then the man screamed. Vivi let out a wail as she was kicked into the wall, and Sehun cursed. Hyunjoo didn’t look back.

She found the door just as it was flung open by someone outside.

“Hello. We have another door!” A woman, a different woman, said in a sing-song voice. Hyunjoo stepped back, moving you behind her as she tried to listen. The screams and chaos behind her make her stomach sick, but she had to listen in order to escape. Three people she did not know where now in the house, leaving one in front of her. With the door open, she could hear the sounds from outside, and yet she heard to footsteps. There was only one woman at this door.

“Hyunjoo,” you said, voice shaking, but Hyunjoo stood firm. The woman’s hands grabbed her shoulders and she pulled out the knife, stabbing forward with all her strength.

Her blade made impact and the woman gurgled, stumbling back. With a jerk, Hyunjoo withdrew her blade and shoved the woman to the side, pulling you out the door with her. The two of you ran a couple paced before she stopped and turned around, listening. The struggle inside had gotten worse, and she couldn’t hear anyone else outside. Usually she trusted her friends to fend for themselves, but panic boiled up in her throat and she gripped her knife.

“I need to go back in there and help.” Her heart was pounding, her entire body racing with adrenaline as she stepped forward, but you grabbed her arm, holding her back.

“You can’t go back in there, you might die!”

“But everyone else, I don’t think they’ll-!”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. A blast of unbearable hot air shoved the two of you forward, sending you tumbling into the dead grass and dirt. The boom came seconds later, rocking the earth underneath your hands and feet. Then it was silent.

For a moment, she lay still in shock, trying to process what had happened. Nothing moved. Nothing made noise. The only sound was your hitched breathing, the crackle of a fire, and the pounding of her heart in her ears. Tears pricked at her eyes as she slowly pushed herself up from the ground, reality crashing down around her.

“T-they-.” She cut herself off, turning over so that she was facing the house. She still couldn’t see, but she could feel the heat of a huge fire dancing across her skin. “They’re all dead.” The tears began to stream down her face now as she sat in the dirt, the back of her neck burned and blood on her hands. The only family that she’d known for so long... gone. Everything was over in the matter of minutes. A sob wrecked her sore lungs and shook her entire body. Her friends. The people who had fought for so long to survive. It had all been for nothing.

“Oh, Hyunjoo.” You wrapped your arms around her as she sobbed, leaning her body forward into yours. The fire was so warm, yet she felt so cold. The world felt empty. You were crying too, your body shivering against hers and your tears dripping down onto her shoulders. As much as she wanted to hold you, she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t move as she sobbed more than she had in what felt like an eternity, letting out everything that she’d bottled up for so long.

“I-I could have saved them,” she sobbed, still clutching at the knife that now seemed useless. “I could have woken them up sooner, I could have fought back, I could-.”

“Hyunjoo!” You interrupted her, clearing your throat and holding back your tears for the moment. “It’s not your fault.”

“But I woke up before everyone else, I should have warned them then. Or I should have stayed behind to help them fight.”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeated. “You couldn’t have known. And had you stayed behind, we both would be dead right now. You saved our lives.”

“But I couldn’t save them.”

“You can’t save everyone, Hyunjoo.... Not in this world.”

She shuddered, leaning her entire weight into you and letting you support her. “I hate this world,” she whispered, heartbroken. For a moment, you were silent, but then you brought your hand up to run in through her hair, soothing the pain with your gentle hand.

“So do I,” you admitted, whispering in return. “But I don’t hate that I’m here with you.” You took a deep breath. “We need to start walking. This place isn’t safe anymore.”

“But what’s the point?” For the first time in her life, she didn’t have the energy. She wanted to lay down and give up. To succumb to the heat of the fire that had taken away those so precious to her. Her life was over. But you shook her by the shoulders, pulling away ever so slightly and jolting her back to reality. Shocked, she tilted her head up as you spoke.

“No, don’t say that! There’s a point to living! There’s always a point! Hyunjoo, I love you. I want to live on with you. When I wanted to give up, you came in and gave me a reason to live. You supported me through my worst times. You helped me become strong. You gave me a will to keep fighting even though I had lost everything.” Your voice wavered and you stopped to contain yourself before continuing. “You helped me, so now I’ll help you. I’ll support you. I’ll help you move forward when you’re too tired or hurt to continue. I’ll carry you if I have to. But please. My love. Keep living.”

Another tear ran down her face as she sat up. For a moment, she imagined that she could see your face. That she could see her light, with your smile she loved to run her fingers over. What did you look like now? Was there determination shining in your eyes? She took a deep breath and it rattled her lungs. She was sick, her gear had just been destroyed, and almost everyone she cared about was gone. You were still there, holding her up in her weakest moment, but she was scared.

“What if we just die, and it’s all for nothing?”

You paused for a long moment, just holding her, before standing to your feet and helping her up as well. When she was standing, you took her arm and cupped her cheek with your hand. Somehow, the fire had started to die down, and somewhere, the sun was rising.

“Well, if we die, then we die. I guess that’s fate and we can’t run from it forever. But if there is a way to live in this world, it’ll be worth living. I want to grow old with you, and I’m willing to fight for the chance to do that.”

#femifics #9muses #lee sem #leesem #9muses scenarios #lee sem scenarios #leesem scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario

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devilrising · 5 years

Text

Fallen Draco, Pt. 5

This story follows a prompt by @mymindsmadness

Summary: AU where Draco is a fallen angel, and the way he gets his wings back is by guiding Harry in defeating Voldemort, but it all goes wrong when Draco starts falling in love with Harry.

Word Count (Part 5): 2,817

Word Count (Total): 14,995

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of abuse/torture (non-graphic).

***

4th April, 1998

A day later and the bone-wings still weigh me down. The hideous jut of bone extending from my shoulder blades casts a grey tone to the rest of me. At least most of the blood and synovial fluid has washed off. None of my clothes sit on my back properly, and Potter has had to cut holes into them. He can seal them up again with a couple of charms, but it’s still an annoying and complicated process. And I’m becoming rather bored. Sitting at Grimmauld Place—as I’ve heard Potter call it—with nothing to do but stare at my family-tree tapestry and reread all of the books for the hundredth time.

I sigh. Wishing I had something else to do, I pack up the drawing room and traverse the stairs. I pace across the landing and into my room, where I allow myself to flop unceremoniously onto my bed. The tension between Potter and I has decreased a little bit, but it is still a raging torrent that could be cut by an axe. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m still on my various medications, drinking eight Potions each morning. At least I can’t actually feel the bone extending from my skin. The jarred skeleton of wings catches on almost everything I pass. I frequently hit them against walls and doors, my skin snagging whenever I reach behind myself for something.

“You ready to go?” A voice calls out from the corridor. My door is pushed open and I stare as Potter’s head of black hair comes into view. “I’ll take that as a no,” he snarls, annoyed.

“I didn’t know we were going anywhere?!” I leap to my feet and cross the room to stand in front of my mirror. I took Potter’s advice, grudgingly, and ordered some more furniture. Most of it has arrived by now—muggle postage is a drag, but I couldn’t buy from magical shops as I’m supposed to be back in the Manor and couldn’t risk being seen—for which I am incredibly grateful for. I catch his eye in the reflection, vivid green staring back at me. He nods, and I start to cast a network Glamours. Soon, my face is twisted beyond recognition. I’ve decided to replicate the work that he did the night I escaped from St Mungo’s. My skin is once again cool tone and covered in freckles and random red splotches. I watch in amazement as my wings melt away too, hidden by a cloud of air that isn’t there.

Turning away from the mirror, Potter nods an approving head and waves his wand over himself. The signature lightning bolt scar removes itself, as well as the black hair, which fades to sandy brown once again. The eyes stay though.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

“Thank you greatly, kind sir.”

That draws a startled laugh from him, which he quickly covers with a cough. I smile to myself though, glad that I can still extract a reaction from him. Even if it isn’t a snarl or a punch.

***

I should’ve stayed at his house. I am not used to being out in public, people swarming everywhere. If it was muggle London again it probably would’ve been fine, but no. We are in Diagon fucking Alley. I curse under my breath as soon as I recognise the cobbled streets and exotic displays in the windows.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Dragging my here!”

“Calm down, Malfoy. No one knows it’s you, you’re Glamoured.”

“They will if you keep saying my name…” I murmur under my breath. He is correct, again. He’s doing that a lot lately. Mind you, that still doesn’t mean that I want to be here. I would much rather jump off a cliff than be spotted in public.

“What are we doing here anyway?” I ask, hands curling into fists on my waist.

“Shopping.” He pauses thoughtfully. “And I’d stop doing that if I were you.”

My mouth drops open. “Doing what?”

“That,” he says, pointing to me like it’s obvious. It isn’t. “Your mannerisms will give you away,” he sighs.

“My manne- Oh.” My hands instantly drop to my sides, facing morphing into an odd expression. Potter fixes me a weird look before letting a grin spread across his face.

“Much better, Draidan.”

“Draidan?” Oh. “It is rather, Peter.” I can see a glint in his emerald eyes at the name I chose for him.

“I see how it is, Draidan. I use your first name, yet you’re insistent on my last.”

I blush furiously for absolutely no reason at all. “It’s you that’s weird. We don’t use first names.”

“True. Very true, Draidan,” Potter says pensively. I can’t help but notice that my name is being repeated a lot. He is clearly testing it out, seeing how his mouth forms around it, how it feels in his mouth. ‘Peter’ feels very similar to ‘Potter’, so I refrain from saying it.

“Follow me,” he commands. His hand finds my elbow and he drags me away from the public Apparition point and down the cobbled street. I yank my arm back, but he clutched onto it again, his fingers wrapped around my wrist.

“Keep it there. Public façades, remember?” Right. We are boyfriends in public again, just like when I escaped St Mungo’s.

“Fine,” I huff. “If you tell me where we are going.”

Potter sighs. “Even though I got you new clothes yesterday, your situation requires a bit more help.”

“Explain.”

“You need to see Professor Parsons.

***

Professor Parsons, as it turns out, is an elderly wizard who specialises in Magical Creatures and Their Transformations. He is essentially a replacement for the shit job the Ministry does and the rude people who serve said creatures. And now I’m one, standing in front of his beechwood, meticulous desk.

“Good afternoon, young sirs. How may I help you?”

“Hello, Professor Parsons, this is Draidan.” Potter gestures to me. “He is the one in question today.” In question? Honestly, he really needs to learn how to phrase things more respectfully.

“What are we doing for him today?”

“He’s a fallen angel, and his wings have just reappeared,” Potter explains. Parsons face drains of colour, his eyebrows tight and drawn.

He reaches for my wrist and tugs me forward. His long, grey beard tickles at the back of my head and neck as he spins me around. Potter watches on, hand in his right pocket. The elderly man starts to feel up my back, searching for something. I’m sure he’s found it when he digs hard into the skin and finds bone beneath his fingers. He slips them up further, reaching where I know the wings should stick out of my back. Parsons sighs behind me.

“You’re under some altering charm, aren’t you?”

“Glamour,” I confess.

“Do you mind removing it?”

“Uh- Yeah, sorry.”

“Just around your back then?”

“Uh.” I turn to Potter, silently asking if that’s a good idea. I personally don’t see much problem—except for the family crest burned into my lower back, the one he freaked out about yesterday—but he might. He seems to think on it for a moment before nodding.

“I’ll remove it,” he states, coming up in front of me with his wand drawn. I spin around so my backs to him as Parsons moves away. Potter’s magic washes over my back, warm and tingly, making the skeletal wings reappear. But my skin doesn’t change colour. I must admit, begrudgingly, that that’s a rather clever and complicated bit of magic.

“Ah,” Parsons mumbles as he sees the jarred and garish bones. “I see.”

Biting back a retort of ‘of course you see now, he just made them visible!’ I turn back around to face Potter.

“I can immediately see a problem, gents.”

“Which is?” I ask as I clench my hands.

“How did you fall?”

“Oh um. It’s a rather- dark reason.”

“That’s what I feared,” he says pensively. “There’s nothing I can do for you lad.”

“How come?!”

“If you lost them because of an evil presence, you can only regain them—and survive—if you remove that evil and replace it with good. It seems you’ve already started, by the state of the wings.”

“By the state? They could be worse than this?” Potter asks. I glare at him.

“Of course. I’ve seen ones falling apart and chipped everywhere.”

“Wow,” I whisper.

“Anyway boys, I can’t do anything to help except give you some pain potions.”

“We’ll take them,” Potter instantly says. I turn to him, a horrified look on my face.

I cross the small gap between us and murmur to him quietly, “I have no gold. Father has it all locked away.” My face blushes furiously. Money is not something I talk about.

“I will.”

“But-”

“Nope. Not a word of protest.” He walks over to the counter at the back of the room where Parsons is collecting an array of different coloured bottles. “How much?” He gestures to all of them.

“120 galleons,” Parsons replies, a smug look on his face.

“For four bottles?” Potter inquires, hand reaching into his left pocket.

“That’s correct.”

“What about 100?”

“Hmm.” The greedy bastard thinks about it, calculating in his head. “That’ll do nicely.” He nods, sliding the bottles across the counter and towards Potter. “Here you go, lad.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Potter scoops the four bottles up as he passes the coins over. Parsons carefully counts them all out, smiling when he’s done. “Have a nice day,” he calls out as I’m being dragged out of the little shop. The day has quickly come to a close, the sun setting and streaking the sky with reds and pinks.

“Merlin that was expensive!” I exclaim.

“Well, if it helps the pain at all, it's worth it.”

“I’m glad you think so…” I mumble.

***

5th April, 1998

Potter comes running up the stairs, barging into the drawing room.

“Okay there?” I inquire, only semi-mocking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you know some of their plans?!”

“Wha-?” Oh. “Uh- Yeah. I might’ve heard some of them. My father didn’t really like me knowing much though.”

“Anything is better than nothing!”

“Okay then,” I exhale. “Better get some parchment.”

“Fuck parchment!” Potter curses. Instead, he pulls out a small muggle notebook and what I think is a pen. “Muggles have it so much easier.”

“What do you know?” He starts asking questions.

I take a moment to breathe. “They have plans for an attack in May.”

“May? Where?”

“You won’t like it…”

“Tell me anyway.”

“The Unspeakable’s department.”

“The what?! They’re mad.”

“Absolutely,” I nod in agreement.

“Do you know an exact date?”

“I think I was told, but I don’t quite remember. All I know, is that it’s early May.”

“Early May, Unspeakable Department. Got it.” He checks over everything, making sure it’s correct. “Do you know anything else?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” I concede. “I know how they think though, if you’d like to hear that?”

“If it’ll help me figure out their strategies, that would be great.”

“Okay.” I pause. “Hold on. Who are you giving this information to?”

“Don’t know yet,” he confesses. “Probably Hermione.”

“Granger?! You still talk to her?”

“Of course I do!”

“Isn’t she at school? Actually, why aren’t you at Hogwarts?”

“No. Ron, Hermione, and I are all out.” He pauses, and a devilish grin covers his face. “And to save the world, of course.”

“I actually can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.” I mock, laughing despite myself.

“Ha-ha Malfoy,” He taunts, thumping me on the shoulder. I splutter, caught by surprise at the contact. I think this is the first time we’ve ever touched. I don’t think we’ve even knocked into each other. I don’t know how that makes me feel.

“In all seriousness though, I dropped out to find horcruxes,” Potter confesses.

I gasp. “He was right!”

“What do you mean ‘he was right’?”

“The Dark Lord mentioned something about you hunting horcruxes. Said they were hidden in such dangerous locations, and hidden by ridiculously fierce guardians, that you’d never succeed.”

“Wow.” Potter looks stunned. “Do you know anything else?”

“I tried to figure out some of the locations, but I couldn’t think of anything. I’m sorry, but I have no idea where they could be.”

“That’s okay, you’ve helped enough,” he says. “I’d best be going, give this info to someone who can do something about it.”

I nod absently, suddenly plunged deep into thought. As he stands up and paces across the room, footsteps loud and dominating in the silence, I’m drawn out of my mind.

“Oh, and Potter?”

“Yeah, Malfoy?”

“Actually- don’t worry about it.”

***

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. It’s been just over a month since I learned of father’s and the Dark Lord’s plans. Nightmares keep me up at night still, and I’m growing sick of waking up in a cold sweat. The potions Potter bought from Professor Parsons remove all sense of pain, but they were incredibly expensive, and I only have a limited amount. I don’t know how I’ll cope when they run out. After all, there is no book or guide on how to become a ‘risen angel’ as Potter has dubbed it. I think it has a nice ring to it, although I’ll never tell him that.

That’s another odd thing. I no longer feel like I want to shove his head in twenty-four/seven, but only eighteen/four. It’s a strange sensation, but at least I can now get up for food without worrying about him killing me. I spent countless hours going over the various scenarios in my mind. Would he use the Killing Curse? A more creative spell? A weapon? There’s no point pondering over this anymore though, as I no longer fear my death is coming from him. Instead, the constant pressure of the possibility of my father or an angry Dark Lord haunts me.

“Malfoy?”

“Yeah?” I call out from my bedroom, where I’m trying to paint the walls.

“Could you help with dinner?”

Oh. He’s never asked for my help before. But he’s helped me a lot… “I guess so. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay, thanks!”

Sighing, I finish the line of navy blue paint and place the roller down cautiously. The last thing I want is paint all over the floors—even though I have them covered in plastic, I can still see a disaster waiting to happen.

I race down the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaking steps, and reach the ground floor. The house elf heads still make me nauseous, but I’ve gotten better at ignoring them entirely. Footsteps echoing as I walk through the stone door and into the kitchen, I can smell what must be dinner. I think it’s chicken, but my sense of smell has been really messed up recently. It must have something to do with the pain potions, but I’m not entirely sure.

“Oh great, you’re here,” Potter says, passing the spoon to me so I can stir the gravy as soon as I’m in sight. He grins as I take it up, starting to stir it around the pot as if it were a cauldron.

“This is fairly easy,” I state, catching a whiff of the rich gravy—although slightly off.

“Yeah, I figured you’d like it. It’s a lot like Potions.” Potter opens a weird cupboard, pulling the lid so that it’s parallel to the ground. It makes an odd whoosh as it’s opened, and heat swarms out of it. I watch intrigued as he pulls out a tray of chicken. I was right about that at least.

“What is that?” I ask, curious about the muggle contraption. Because it has to be muggle. Wizards would never create something so strange.

“It’s an oven,” he explains. “It cooks food using a fan and a heat source.”

“Oh,” I say. “That kind of makes sense.”

We keep cooking in silence, and soon we have the dining table set and wine ready to be poured—technically I am under the muggle drinking age, but everyone in the Wizarding community starts drinking around fifteen. I take my usual seat at the left of the head, and Potter takes the seat opposite me. Neither of us want to fill the most important seat at the table, although I imagine our reasons are different. I don’t want to sit there because that was always my father’s seat. I assume that Potter sits opposite me to show that he isn’t above me—that we are equals. He does a lot of things with that in mind, I think. Even though we are both in rather shit situations right now, we have somehow come up with a method to the madness. One that allows us to be ourselves, and to live another day.

***

A/N: Thank you for being patient with the uploading of this part. I am sorry it’s a little late! Please let me know if you want to be tagged. Xx

Masterlist — Previous Part — Next Part

@draconianhorntail @megggg12 @edgy-things @queeneyart @ohheavenlylord @h0pehauntedmyw0rld @unsolicted-chick-picks @itsclayclay @harrybpoetry @slash-slut @jianing2603 @magical-fairy-princess-stuff @give-me-the-queer @youmakeprettybeautiful @hello-i-am-moi @slytherclaw134689 @sinnysin-sin @tony-stark-prorection-squad @rebelwolf91017 @irrelevantdrarry @glo-up-goddess @birdy1032 @d-addict @pizzasandwich72 @madison-is-a-small-baby @joshoriande @sugarhoneyice-t @imaginemymemories @shipperofalltheships @uniiicornen @thewanderingnomadsworld @randominternetloser @levi7755 @localxmermaid @biyaaaaaaaaaa @just-some-bibliophile

#devilrising #fallen draco #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #fanfiction #drarry smut #h/d #harry x draco #draco x harry

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thisizaraisu · 4 years

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So I just watched Miyakawa-Ke No Kuufuku

If you’ve never heard of this particular series, I don’t blame you. Miyakawa-Ke No Kuufuku, or “The Miyakawa Family’s Hunger,” is a spin-off of one of my absolute favorite series, Lucky Star.

Right off the bat, I wanna say this is probably the strangest way that a Lucky Star spin-off could have been taken. Lucky Star had plenty more characters and source material to draw from because of the manga, and I would have loved to see a spin-off regarding some of these background characters or maybe even something where we follow the main four’s adventures in college. What we ended up with was a mini-series of ten 2-minute episodes following the Miyakawas as they struggle through poverty.

I say this is the strangest way that a Lucky Star spin-off could have been gone because for all of the characters in Lucky Star, the ones who got a series were only seen in short moments of two episodes out of the 24 total. But while I think this series is definitely strange, the operative question here is “Does strange mean bad?”

Short answer, no.

For such a short series, I surprisingly have a lot to talk about with this one, and I think it’s best to start with the opening. Going in I knew this series wouldn’t be centered around the main Lucky Star cast so the transition from the opening to the actual show wasn’t overly jarring or disappointing. With that being said, however, it was a shame to see so much new animation of the Lucky Star girls not put to better use. It’s an opening that’s very quick to draw you in with its catchiness, and honestly I would say it’s better than Motteke Sailor Fuku. The main drawback is seeing what could have been, especially the moment where Nanako and Yui (my OTP, don’t judge me) are out drinking together.

That’s really where the disappointment ends, however. As much as I would have loved to see more of the main cast, I have to take this series for what it gives us, and what it gives us is pretty damn good. Before I decided to watch this series, I found myself wondering how they could stretch the concept of living in poverty into ten 22-minute comedic episodes. Imagine my surprise when I realized that each of these episodes were 20 minutes less than I previously imagined. As a result, everything is paced perfectly. No jokes feel drawn-out or awkward, and for a comedy show this is critical.

On the other hand, it’s funny in ways that it really shouldn’t be. It’s a bit depressing to think “Hey, I’m sitting here in my college dorm laughing at people struggling with poverty,” especially given the main characters’ pessimistic outlook on life. The idea of poverty being played for laughs is something that doesn’t particularly sit well with me, but I think this show does it about as well as one possibly could. I think a big part of this is the way that the characters’ thoughts shift from pessimism to optimism. You come away from each episode knowing that while they live in unfortunate circumstances, they aren’t desperate or unhappy.

A misconception I’ve seen several times with this show is that it paints the Lucky Star girls as spoiled rich kids, but if you look back at the original show I feel that it’s pretty obvious this isn’t the case. Not everyone lives in a mansion like Miyuki or Minami, they just live comfortably. One example I can point to is Konata. When she becomes excited over CompFest and hopes to buy a series of quo cards, what does she do? She goes out and gets a part-time job to raise the extra money. If everyone in the series lived the way the Takuras and Iwasakis did, there would have been no need for that. Also bear in mind that Konata seems to hold this job for quite some time, as it is referenced consistently throughout the series. Heck, even the rich girls run into their share of misfortune throughout Lucky Star. Now in comparison to the Miyakawas they’re a lot more well-off, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say spoiled.

Speaking of spoiled, there was one aspect of this series that I found slightly disillusioning. Thinking back to the moments where Hinata and Hikage appeared in the original series, it appeared that Hinata was the responsible sister while Hikage was the needy and spoiled one. It was strange to see that the spin-off wound up flipping the script, painting Hikage as the level-headed sibling while Hinata was the irresponsible otaku. It’s a minor complaint but I find that to be a strange decision.

Tangents aside, I did find this series to be enjoyable. The callbacks to Lucky Star were perfect, the humor is in the same vein as the original series (although not quite as effective) and the characters are charming in spite of their many faults. And I think that’s one great thing about the series. It’s incredibly human. I think Hinata and Hikage are quite relatable, even if they’re impoverished to a greater extent than most of us. They’re protagonists that we can resonate with, that we can point out our own flaws with, and aspire to be better with. Much like the Lucky Star girls, we can’t all live like Miyuki and Minami. So, as odd as I found this series to be, I would recommend it, especially if you enjoyed Lucky Star. It’s on Youtube.

I’m not gonna put this one on the tier list because it’s so damn short, but I’ll throw on a 7/10.

#lucky star #anime #anime review #the miyakawa family's hunger #miyakawa-ke no kuufuku

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katoninefandoms · 4 years

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Out of Time, Out of Place

I haven’t written Lord of the Rings fanfiction in a long time, and I finally had a great excuse to write some and write Marvel fanfiction at the same time. If you follow me, this is the fic I had an ask about (thank you @theswerviest) and am considering eventually continuing. You can also find it on Wattpad here, and I will most likely post the continuation on AO3 here once I get to it.

If Steve weren’t used to having his life suddenly upended, he supposed this situation would be a lot worse. He hadn’t done this consciously, like getting into Erskine’s machine or diving a plane into the Arctic ocean, but at least it was not an immediately jarring change. Aliens had decided to attack New York again, and Steve and Natasha found themselves pushed back into the more forested part of Central Park, dodging through trees to try and get the upper hand on the opposition while the rest of the team handled the mothership in the atmosphere and the damage in the city. In the midst of the fighting, Steve hadn’t gotten a chance to get a good look at the aliens, and as he tried to keep pace with Natasha, so that he didn’t leave her behind, he tripped over a large root.

Small things like that didn’t phase Steve anymore, but it was just enough time for the swarm of aliens to catch up. They didn’t attack him right away, like they had been before. Huge, hulking creatures stood over him, frowning and grunting like they weren’t sure he should be there at all. Their weapons seemed primitive, but maybe he just hadn’t gotten a good look before. Steve jumped up and attacked, trying to fight his way out of the group of creatures.

It wasn’t easy as it had been just a few minutes ago. His punches were less effective, and the hits that the aliens got in were harder, more painful and he could feel bruises blooming where they managed to land solid blows.

“Natasha!” he shouted, hoping she was still close enough to hear. “I need backup!”

Steve broke free and sprinted further into the forest, hauling himself up into a tree as quickly as he could. He touched the communicator in his ear, to make sure it was still working, and noticed that all he could hear from it was static. He pressed the manual button, and tried to contact her, or any of their other teammates. But no one answered. He dodged a crudely-made arrow and frowned, looking around himself. Suddenly, he realized he couldn’t hear the buzz of the city, or their air support, or Hulk’s roaring, or Thor’s thunder. Steve swallowed hard and looked around, keeping the trunk of the tree between himself and the aliens -- if that was what they were. He scanned the forest, realizing that it was definitely not Central Park. The trees were different, almost more ethereal. He couldn’t see the tips of skyscrapers above the treeline.

But, for some reason, he felt comfortable in this place, like he’d been here before.

An arrow whizzed by and nearly clipped Steve’s ear. He swore and noticed the creatures at the base of the tree, preparing to send more arrows up. He curled up as small as he could and put up his shield, mind racing. Where the hell was he? What were these creatures? Why did he know this place? How did he get here?

There was a commotion below him, and he waited until it died down to peek over the top of his shield. Three figures stood below the tree, two of them taller and one very short. They were looking at him strangely, as if he were totally out of place. Although, the more he looked at them, he could tell that they were completely justified. They were wearing tunics, breeches, and cloaks. They had on armor, the kind he’d only ever read about in fantasy novels. Steve’s uniform seemed to continuously baffle and amuse everyone around him anyways, even though he’d been wearing something similar since the 40s. But there was a very obvious difference here.

Steve slipped out of the tree, landing carefully on the forest floor. One of the men had a sword drawn that he held in a defensive position, the tallest one readied his bow in a flash, and the third man, a short, short man with a large beard, brandished his axe. Again, Steve realized that he couldn’t help but somehow recognize these men. He should have known who they were, but his mind was coming up blank. Instead of focusing on that thought, he slowly lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender, and then slipped the shield into its harness on his back. The men did not let their guard down. The tallest one looked at him disdainfully.

The man with the sword stepped forward, lowering his sword a little, “State your name and your business.” He was commanding, but he also seemed to sense that Steve was just as confused as they were.

“My name is Steve Rogers,” Steve answered, honestly. “I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know where I am.”

The short man growled and stepped forward, “Aragorn, I don’t believe ‘im. Let me take care of this… this spy and let’s be on our way.”

Steve blanched, suddenly going cold. Aragorn. “The Fellowship,” he breathed, before Aragorn could reply to the short man, whom Steve could only surmise was Gimli.

All of their gazes snapped to him, and the third man -- Legolas, surely -- loosed his arrow, barely grazing Steve’s ear in warning, and replaced it just as swiftly. Aragorn’s sword raised, though he gripped Gimli’s arm to keep him from charging. Steve noticed the leaf clasps that held their cloaks together.

Aragorn’s gaze locked with Steve’s wide eyes, boring into him. “How have you learned of our Fellowship?”

Steve weighed his options carefully. Telling the truth would sound fantastical to them, even in a world of magic, and might get him killed. However, if he lied, they would definitely be able to tell, and they would attack him anyways. He wished he had Thor with him, or Natasha. They would know better what to do with this. Of course, Natasha would smack him upside the head and tell him to use his brain. From what Steve knew of the story, he should be able to tell these men the truth. They would be able to tell, and even if it seemed impossible, surely they’d try to reason with him, first.

“I’m… I’m in Middle Earth, yes?” Steve asked, needing to clarify before he made a total fool of himself. He had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Are ye daft?” Gimli roared, fighting Aragorn’s grip. “Of course you’re in Middle Earth! Where else would ye be?”

Steve took a step back, putting his hands back up in placation. “I came here from New York City. My… my friends and I were in the middle of a battle, and I was somehow transported here.” He looked around, taking in the bodies of what he now knew to be Orcs and Uruk-hai around them. “These… aren’t the aliens we were fighting.” He looked back up at the three men, who simply blinked at him as they processed what he said. “Your Fellowship is part of a popular series of… stories, where I come from.”

Thinking about it, with just the three of them here, and the stillness of the forest, and the amount of dead Orcs, Steve thought he knew where in the narrative this was. If he strained his hearing, he could hear the river nearby. There was no other movement in the forest, the creatures still afraid to come out of hiding, and no Hobbits left to run through the underbrush. They were close to Amon Hen, near the River Anduin.

Legolas was the first to speak. His grip on his bow tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of black magic?”

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, honestly, keeping his eye on the Elf’s other hand, ready to dodge if he loosed the arrow.

Silence stretched between them all as each of the three seemed to try and decide what to do with him. Steve could only pray his team noticed he had been zapped into another universe and that Tony was going to find some way to bring him back. Even if he survived this conversation, there was no way he would be able to get back to New York on his own. He supposed he might be able to find his way through Lórien and ask the wise Elves for help, but that was a long shot. They likely wouldn’t welcome a lone human anyways, nevermind so close to the Fellowship’s visit.

Aragorn sheathed his sword, letting go of Gimli to wave at Legolas. The Elf lowered his bow, still glowering at Steve.

“You’re not lying to us,” Aragorn said, reaching a hand out for Steve to clasp, which he did, gladly. It almost felt like meeting a celebrity. “Steve Rogers, I have never heard of New York City, I do not think we are able to help you.”

Steve smiled, ruefully, “I didn’t expect you to. I don’t know how to help myself.” He glanced around, as if his team might appear. “My friends will have to find me to get me home. Is there a place nearby that is safe for me to wait for them?”

The three men looked at each other, and Gimli grumbled while Aragorn and Legolas spoke softly in Elvish to each other. Hearing the language in person made Steve feel like he might faint. Gimli didn’t seem very bothered by Steve anymore, but Legolas kept throwing him dirty looks, and Steve wondered if he shouldn’t just try to make it on his own. But before he could beg off, telling them he could manage on his own, Aragorn turned back to him.

“If you know our story already, from your… world, then you know we are leaving to chase down two of our companions who were taken by the Uruk-hai.”

Steve nodded, “Yes, I do. Merry and Pippin.” He could feel the Elf’s glare, but kept eye-contact with Aragorn.

“Come with us,” Aragorn offered. “There are not many safe places now. If you are with us, and your friends know the story as well, they will be able to find you with us.” He smirked, “And you are obviously a man of skill. Perhaps you can be useful to us, even a little.”

In his chest, Steve’s heart was pounding a mile a minute. He had to fight down a grin, knowing that it would be inappropriate. Instead, he nodded, “Thank you. I would be… honored to join you. You’re not wrong about my friends, either.”

Just like that, it was decided. Aragorn nodded once and clapped Steve on the shoulder before turning to his other companions. “We must make haste, we cannot spare another minute. Come, friends,” he smiled, as if to give them all hope, “let us run.”

Aragorn took off into the forest, Legolas hot on his heels. Gimli took off faster than Steve expected, though he did proclaim himself a “natural sprinter” in the movies that Tony forced him to watch. Steve took a moment to breathe, praying that this wouldn’t end in total catastrophe. He let himself smile, just a little, and took off into the woods.

#steverogers #aragorn #legolas #gimli #captainamerica #marvel #lord of the rings #my first crossover #baby's first crossover #also on Wattpad and AO3

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lailaliquorice · 5 years

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I still hide you in my poetry

since parrlyn hurt/comfort seems to have become my brand, I bring you more parr-based parrlyn angst at nearly 3am! I didn’t feel like sleeping so ended up writing instead. and it’ll probably be back to boleyn angst next time but this is honestly so soft and these two are so cluelessly in love it’s adorable. this makes a few references to ‘one more chance’ but you don’t have to read that to read this

also cathy still writes like she’s a tudor lady lol

When Cathy was struck by writing inspiration, it was common that she wouldn’t set her pen down until her idea was fully formed in her notebook regardless of when or where it was. More than once she’d been struggling to scribble the last few words down when the 15-minute call for the show came and she was still in her own clothes, deaf to Jane’s complaints that Cathy was giving her grey hairs due to stress. Time became irrelevant when there were words in her head and a pen in her hand, often working until 3 or 4 in the morning just in case she forgot a crucial detail overnight if she decided to finish it in the morning.

Their Sundays off were Cathy’s dedicated research days, where she would open all the bookmarked articles and wikipedia pages she’d accumulated over the week and spend the entire day working through them for as long as she liked. Normally she wouldn’t leave her bedroom-turned-study until Jane sent someone to drag her down for dinner, too intent on taking advantage of her day off to spend it any other way.

But today the writing was slow. Painfully slow.

‘Writing has been my life’s work. My lives’ work in fact – the lack of grammatically correct ways of saying that is probably related to how rarely a person has two lives to dedicate to something. It’s what I’m good at, what I do. I don’t know why I’ve been so distracted this week, since that bad night I’ve found myself wanting to be alone less and less even during the day. It’s inconvenient at the least and I don’t understand myself at all.’

Cathy let out a groan as she rested her head on the page; there had been a headache pulsing behind her eyes for the last hour or so, and as much as she’d been trying to ignore it and keep working it had only been getting progressively worse. She’d given up on writing anything academic and was instead working on her journaling; in her old life she’d kept a diary, but this time around her journal was more of a place where she could write down what was on her mind and elaborate on deep thoughts that occurred to her. But even though she wasn’t trying to write anything worthy of publishing, she could still pinpoint where she’d started talking in circles rather than making any sort of sense.

Wondering if a change of scenery could help, after picking up her journal and pen she found herself walking up the staircase towards Anne’s bedroom. It was always cooler up there thanks to the skylights which made it nice to work in, or that was the excuse she told herself. The question of whether Anne was in or not when the door opened before she’d even knocked, revealing a hopeful looking Anne in her comfy clothes. “Thought it might be you heading up here again,” she said, her smile brightening as soon as she saw Cathy.

“Yep, me again,” Cathy replied with a half-hearted laugh, too out of sorts to respond with any more enthusiasm though Anne’s cheery face did brighten her up a little. “Would I be bothering you if I worked in here for a little while? I think I need a change of scenery?”

Anne nodded, holding the door open and beckoning for Cathy to come in. “Course not, make yourself at home. You ok though?

She was surprised yet touched that Anne could read her well enough to ask that. “I’ve got a bit of a headache but I’m fine, promise,” Cathy said, meeting Anne’s concerned eyes with a reassuring smile.

“If you say so,” Anne teased, shutting the door before sitting back down at her desk. From the papers strewn everywhere it looked as though she’d been writing too, and clearly having more luck than Cathy had been.

They fell into a comfortable quiet as Cathy sat on Anne’s bed with her back leaned against the headboard, leaning her journal on her knees as she kept on writing. But she was still frustratingly distracted, finishing a lengthy sentence with ‘and my head hurts’ before her pen stilled.

That was when she noticed the flash of colour in the corner of her vision, on her right hand side where the pain was currently sitting. Very slowly, very carefully, she crossed her legs and sat up properly as if she was moving a bomb which could explode at any moment.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Cathy almost flinched at how loud Anne’s voice sounded. She didn’t turn her head to look over at her but the worry in her tone was obvious, and even if it had been worth Cathy pretending nothing was wrong she wouldn’t have considered lying to her. “I think I have a migraine coming,” she said quietly, trying not to acknowledge the growing feeling of dread in her chest.

The mattress dipped beside her just before she felt Anne’s hand on her knee. “Can I do anything?” she asked softly, clearly having noticed Cathy’s sensitivity to sound.

“I don’t know,” Cathy murmured honestly. “It doesn’t happen often but I just have to ride it out when it does. I can go back to my room if you want me to.”

“What? No!” Anne said, grabbing Cathy’s hand from where she’d already been about to shuffle off the bed. “Please stay, you shouldn’t be on your own while you’re in pain. Nothing I’m doing is that important.”

Cathy smiled faintly. “Thanks,” she said, sitting back down. Even though there was nothing she could do to prevent the oncoming storm, it was a comfort to know that she wouldn’t have to endure it alone. Taking stock of how she was feeling, she paused a moment before adding “I’m ok at the moment. It’ll probably be about half an hour before it starts to get really bad.”

“Gotcha,” Anne nodded, a look of intense concentration on her face. “What will you need? I can go get everything now before you need it. D’you want me to get Jane or anyone else?”

Anne’s endless slew of questions was endearing, showing that she really did care and want to help in whatever way she could. The last few weeks since Cathy had first spoken to her about her trauma and particularly the aftermath of Cathy’s own night terror had unveiled a softer side to Anne which Cathy hadn’t quite expected but was honoured to know. “Some ibuprofen would really help, thanks. And something cold for my head if you can find anything,” she said, but shook her head at the last question as she added “and no, it’s ok. I trust you to look after me.” She smiled wryly at that, leaning over to nudge Anne’s knee with her elbow and ordering herself not to blush.

The wink and finger guns that Anne sent her way did little to stop Cathy’s heart from fluttering, and if it wasn’t for her headache and the persistent flashing in her vision she would probably have matched Anne’s smile with a giddy grin. “Gotcha,” she repeated, sliding off the bed and heading for the door.

Cathy watched her go, then her gaze turned to the journal that had fallen off her lap. Feeling safe enough to write one more sentence, she hesitated for a moment while twiddling her pen between her fingers before she scribbled a few words down on the final line of the page.

‘I think the cause of it all might be that I’m a little bit in love with Anne Boleyn.’

The sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs made Cathy jump like a child caught with their hand in the sweet jar, accidentally dropping her journal before she fumbled quickly to close it before Anne arrived.

“Jane sends her love,” Anne said as she walked through the doorway, carrying Cathy’s water bottle in one hand and a glass bottle of coke in the other with a box of pills tucked under her arm. “Got you a stash of painkillers, and figured this might be nice and cool for you. Aragon wouldn’t let me take the frozen peas because she’s cooking and Kat’s using the ice pack because she took a frisbee to the head about five minutes ago. Apparently it was Anna’s fault. I dunno, it was all going on down there.”

Cathy laughed softly, easily imagining the chaos that was going on in the kitchen as they spoke. After downing a dose of pills with a quick sip of water she pressed the coke bottle to her forehead, closing her eyes and humming quietly at the soothing relief it provided. “This is perfect. Thank you so much,” she said, opening one eye to look up at Anne.

Anne shrugged modestly, sitting back down and knocking her shoulder lightly into Cathy’s. “S’alright,” she said, looking slightly embarrassed by the praise. “Just doing my bit to help. Got to live up to you trusting me and all that.”

Despite her worsening headache, Cathy still found it in herself to smile.

She wasn’t able to for much longer though. An hour later found her lying down with one arm covering her eyes and the other hand resting on her stomach, attempting without much luck to breathe through the nausea that had worsened along with her now agonising headache. It was one of the worst migraines she’d ever had, proven by the tears that flowed silently down her cheeks. Her head felt like someone was trying to crack open her skull with a blunt chisel.

The light dimming behind her closed eyelids made her crack open one eye and lift her arm a little to see that Anne had drawn the curtains to leave the room in darkness. “Hey you,” she whispered as she noticed Cathy watching her, kneeling down beside the bed so they were at the same height and placing a hand atop the one on Cathy’s stomach. “Stupid question I know but how’re you doing?”

Lacking the energy to answer her probably, Cathy just gave a lifeless hum.

Anne nodded, seeming to understand. “You feeling sick?”

Another affirmative hum.

“Want me to grab a bucket or something?”

“Mhm.” The noise was intended as a ‘yes please’, as Cathy couldn’t see herself making it down the stairs from the attic to the bathroom if she did end up needing to throw up.

Anne’s departure left silence in her wake, until there were quiet footsteps on the staircase and the sound of something being placed on the floor next to her. “Waste paper bin,” Anne explained without Cathy needing to ask, the mattress shifting as Anne carefully crawled over to sit next to her. A cool flannel on her forehead replaced the coke bottle that Cathy had long since given up on, a soothing distraction from the throbbing pain on the right side of her skull.

Movement from Anne prompted Cathy to reach out blindly with her closest hand, desperately not wanting to be left alone. She relaxed with a sigh when Anne caught it in hers, squeezing gently as she readjusted her position then making no effort to take her hand back when she settled down again.

They stayed like that for a while, Anne dampening Cathy’s forehead with the flannel while holding onto her hand as a constant reassurance she wasn’t going anywhere. Anne could admit it was more than a little unsettling to see her friend laid out so helpless and vulnerable, possibly more so than when she’d been so shaken after her night terror. At least Anne had known what to do then because she knew what Cathy would do for her; she didn’t have quite the same maternal streak as Jane, Aragon, and Cathy herself did, meaning all she could do was make a few guesses and try her best.

When Cathy lurched forwards Anne wondered at first if she’d fallen asleep and had another nightmare, but caught onto what was really happening in time for her to hold Cathy steady as she threw up into the bin. “It’s ok, I’ve got you,” she said softly once Cathy had finished and she fell limply into Anne’s arms, wiping her mouth with the flannel before dropping it next to the bin.

“Sorry,” Cathy croaked in a fragile voice, but made no attempt to move from where she’d collapsed with her head in Anne’s lap.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Anne said, threading her fingers through Cathy’s curls and noting how she relaxed under the touch. If Cathy was feeling her usual self she probably would have stopped there, but Cathy’s disoriented state meant that Anne could get away with saying things that she didn’t want her friend to remember. “You’ve helped me enough these last few weeks. It’s the least I can do to show you I’m more than grateful.”

Cathy gave no indication that she’d heard anything, just curling her legs up towards her chest as Anne continued to play with her hair. Anne’s mind was racing with thoughts questioning what she’d got herself into and how small the woman in her lap looked when all her walls were beaten down, but there was one that spoke louder than all the others:

‘Boleyn, you have fallen so hard it’s fucking unreal.’

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #parrlyn #anne boleyn #catherine parr #laila's writing

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ficklefics · 4 years

Text

Friends Like These: Chapter Eighteen - Less Than Stable

Everything starts to come apart and back together.

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chapter Warnings: Fighting

The chauffeur – Archie – drops me and Puddin’ off outside of the front doors of Wayne Manor. Bruce is waiting for me, and I hug him before I follow him in. It seems being kidnapped has made me very physically affectionate. I guess I need to know I’m not alone, or maybe I’m trying to erase the feeling of Jerome from my body. I’m failing either way.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t see you sooner. My mom’s got me on lockdown.” We walk side by side through the hallways, following the smell of cooking. Alfred’s making us lunch. “I had to fight her to let me come visit. Doesn’t help that you’re not coming to school.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye, smirking. He looks slightly guilty, and I bump my shoulder into his gently, showing that I’m just joking. “I get it.” “Yeah. School never seems to go well for me, and after what happened to you… Just makes more sense not to go.” “I’m surprised my parents haven’t taken me out of school.” I laugh. “You know, my mom wanted to get me a bodyguard.” “I mean, that’s understandable. I’ve got Alfred-” “Alfred’s your bodyguard?” I snort, thinking of the well-mannered butler in his tailored suits. “He was an SAS agent,” Bruce tells me bluntly, and my mouth drops open slightly, eyes widening. “Oh. Okay. Sure.” Honestly, it doesn’t surprise me. The training that he and Bruce do, the quiet authority, the protectiveness. “Makes sense.”

We arrive in the kitchen to find Alfred - trained SAS agent, a killer - wearing an apron and dancing to the radio as he seasons a pot of soup. I giggle slightly, immediately covering my mouth, and making eye contact with Bruce, who’s grinning at me. Alfred turns around, startled for a second before he sees that it’s us. “Bruce, Miss Quinzel-” “Harleen, Alfred.” I roll my eyes, leaning my elbows on the counter in the middle of the room. “Harleen.” He nods. “How are you getting on?” The question everyone’s been asking me. I still haven’t figured out the answer. I’m alive. I’m safe. I’m home. But I don’t feel better. I don’t dream anymore, not that I can remember; but I haven’t had more than a few hours sleep since I got home. I wake up in the middle of the night, in the early hours of the morning, with my heart racing and a thin layer of sweat coating my body. There’s an inconceivable feeling of being watched, of someone in the room, but I know that’s impossible. My door is locked, the window shut tight, curtains closed, Puddin’ fast asleep at my feet. Jerome doesn’t know where I live. If he did, there’s no way he could get near without the guards catching him. But still, everywhere I go, I see him. Red hair makes me flinch. Laughter makes me turn my head. But even before I look I know it’s not him. There’s no one like Jerome. But no one wants to know about my lack of readjustment. “All thing considered? Good.” I don’t want to put all my problems on them. All the confusion in my mind. “Life’s getting back to normal.” But what’s normal has changed. “That’s good to hear.” Alfred turns back to the stove, seemingly oblivious to my lie. “And your injuries?” “Healing. I’m gonna have some badass scars,” I chuckle, my hand automatically reaching up to rub the skin around the wound on my forehead. “I’m getting these stitches out in a few days, a couple of weeks for the other ones.” The bruises have faded, leaving only the cuts and bullet wound as evidence of what I went through. The only physical evidence, at least.

The bell rings for lunch, jarring me out of the haze in my brain. Math before lunch is never good. I pack up slowly, not worried about getting a seat. I can’t go into the cafeteria. I tried to on my first day back, but as I approached the doors bile rose in my throat. My heart racing, my mind spinning at what happened the last time I was there. I eat outside now. The corridors are mostly empty by the time I leave, the rush over. I head to my usual seat, a bench outside the front of the school. No one else comes out here at lunch. I dump my bag next to me, pulling out a book and a sandwich. The words envelop me, drowning out the rest of the world – that is until I hear voices and laughter coming from behind me. I resist the urge to look around, keeping my head down and my focus on my book. As they get closer I can make out what they’re saying. It’s not good. “Yeah, she always sits out here.” Me? Why do they care where I sit? “I can’t believe they let her back into school.” “Wait! There she is!” At that I lift my head, turning to look at the group of boys approaching me, laughing, pushing each other, and some of them pointing at me. I begin to put my things back in my bag, ready to hurry away from them. It’s true that I’ve gained… some negative attention since I got back, but these guys feel different. More sinister, threatening. I recognise some of them; they’re my age. As I stand up, bag in one hand, they call my name. “Hey! Quinzel!” I square my shoulders, turning around unamused. “What do you want?” I snap. Puddin’ growls at my feet. They just laugh. “Chill, we just want to talk.” The blond one in front, I’m guessing the unofficial leader, raises his hands in mock surrender. “That’s nice.” I go to walk past them, but he grabs my arm and pulls me to face him. “Let me go.” “That’s adorable.” He sneers, and his friends laugh. I rip my arm from his grip. “Look, we just want to know how you actually escaped.” “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s all in the news.” I take a step back, but I bump into another one of them. They’ve surrounded me. “Sure. The official story at least. But we both know that’s not true.” I shake my head, trying to push my way out, but they won’t let me past. “I mean, it’s impossible that you just escaped.” “Well, I did. That’s what happened.” I shift on my feet, my fight or flight instinct beginning to kick in. After everything, fight is beginning to feel like a far more attractive option. “Come on. Valeska let you go. You wanna tell us why?” I lift my head at Jerome’s name, at the idea that he wanted me to get away. “What? You think Jerome tortured me, shot me, because he wanted me to get away?” I scoff, but he narrows his eyes. ““Jerome” is it? Sounds very personal.” He steps closer, invading my personal space. My hand starts to twitch. “You know what I think? I think you did something for him. Maybe you’re a double agent. Maybe you gave him money. But I’m pretty sure I know what you did.” I can feel his breath on my face. “You fucked him.” My mouth falls open at the accusation, unable to form a response. I wish I could laugh at the idea that I would have sex with Jerome, but it hits far too close to the memory of Jerome kissing me, of my dream about him. The guy laughs, clearly proud of himself. “I’m right, aren’t I?! You forked him. You’re probably still fucking him. Tell me, do you sneak him into your house at night? Or do you sneak out to meet him? I bet you suck his dick, don’t you?”

I see red.

My bag falls to the floor. A fist flies into his face, catching him by surprise. He can barely yell before I’m grabbing his blazer and throwing him to the ground. I follow, punching him again and again, numb to the pain. His friends grab at me, trying to pull me off of him, so I pause for a brief second to hit against them. There’s blood under my nails. I can hear shouting. More people gathering, some yelling “fight”, other’s shouting for a teacher. He tries to protect his face, but the adrenaline and anger fuelling me break past. Blood spilling from his nose and lips, blood on my knuckles, both of our shirts. I can hear someone laughing as he cries. It takes a moment before I realise that it’s me. I’m laughing. Strong hands grab at me, pulling me to my feet and away from him. I struggle against them. My cheeks are wet. People surround him, a teacher helping him sit up, and he and his friends glare as I am pulled away.

Ice packs on my knuckles. I sit in the principal’s office, my face drawn. I can’t believe what I did. I’m not a violent person. I’m not aggressive. I don’t attack people. But I don’t regret it. He deserved it. Saying what he did. I was defending myself, the only way I could think how. “This can’t be let go, Harleen.” I look up at Ms White, sitting across from me with her fingers interlocked and jaw clenched. “You attacked someone.” “He was saying things. Lies.” She won’t understand. She can’t. “I didn’t know how to make him stop.” “So you decided to beat his face in?” She leans back, arms crossed. She’s disappointed in me. It’s obvious. “This is unacceptable behaviour.” “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll apologise to him, too. It won’t happen again.” “That’s not enough, Harleen. Kenneth’s parents are asking for severe discipline. We have two courses of action we can take: we get the police involved, which is what his parents want, or we expel you.” She’s not happy about this. But she has no choice. Choice is a luxury in Gotham. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Being treated like I’m dangerous, like a criminal, when he was the one that started it. I get punished, and he gets away with a few bruises to brag about. I don’t see the point in fighting them. There’s part of me that doesn’t even care at this point. “I’ll save you the trouble. I’ll leave.” I stand up, hoisting my bag over my shoulder. She copies me, but before she can say anything I’m walking out of the door, slamming it behind me. I stride out of the building, past the gates, and into the city for the first time since I was taken home. Free.

“Hey, Quinn!”

I raise my head to look up the fire escape that I’m sitting on to find Selina climbing down towards me. I came up here after I dropped Puddin’ at home. I got some strange looks from the officers stationed outside, but they didn’t try to stop me. “You know that isn’t either of my names?” I call up, smiling at the sight of her. She drops down next to me, effortlessly elegant, and sits down, leaning back on her elbows. “Yeah, but it’s the least stupid thing I can call you.” She says it deadpan, but I know she’s joking with me. “You insulting my names?” I chuckle, leaning back to join her. “You know it.” I grin, happy to be with someone who isn’t looking at me with pity, isn’t asking me how I am. Or at least… “So, how-” “Don’t you dare ask me how I’m doing, or I’ll push you off this fire escape,” I tell her matter of factly, and she laughs. “Okay, okay. I was going to ask how you got out of your house. Bruce told me you weren’t allowed anywhere except school.” “Yeah. That.” I clench my jaw, recent events that I’d been trying to repress pushing forward. “Kind of got expelled.” “What?” She sits up, shocked. “Got in a fight.” Don’t think it can be considered a fight if only one person got injured. And only one person was attacking. “It was either police or expulsion. So I left.” It’s easier to tell it like that. As though I don’t care. And in a way, I’m happy that I’m out. Maybe now I’ll be able to do more. For once I’m optimistic. It’s unearned. “Wow.” She sits for a second, then a giggle escapes her. “I hate to say it, but I think Bruce might be a bad influence on you.” “What do you mean?” “Well, first the getting kidnapped – very Bruce.” I give her a look, and she raises her eyebrows at me. “Am I wrong? And beating someone up at school.” “Bruce got into fights?” “Just one. Right after his parents died. Alfred approved.” She laughs, and I join in. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” We sit in silence for a while, watching people below us on the street go past. Sirens in the air. It’s all white noise. The silence gives me space to think, and I realise something. “You know, if it wasn’t for Penguin, I wouldn’t have escaped.” “How’s that?” “The only reason Jerome brought me to the city was because Penguin challenged him. I would never have been able to escape from Jerome’s base. It had to be in the city.” The more I think about it, the more true it becomes. “Kinda feels like I should thank him. Even if it was purely for his own gain.” “You serious about that?” Selina stands up and stretches, looking down at me. “What?” “You wanna thank Penguin?” I nod, and she reaches a hand out, helping me up. “Then let’s go.”

We stand outside the entrance to the Iceberg Lounge. By now the sun is starting to set, orange light cast over the blue sign. I follow Selina past the bouncer, who seems to recognise her. I keep my eyes down but face no challenge. We take an elevator, empty for now but soon to be filled with party-goers, to the main floor of the club. We enter, walking past the bar where a man cleans glasses. He nods to Selina, who nods back, and looks me up and down. I smile awkwardly, sticking close to the girl in front of me. Down a corridor we stop outside of a dark wooden door, guarded by a tall man. “What do you want, Cat?” I raise my eyes at the nickname, the corner of my mouth turning up at the accuracy. “Chill, Steve.” She nods her head towards me, drawing his attention. “She wants to speak to Penguin.” “Right. Jerome’s girl.” I cringe at the title, glaring at him, but he simply glares right back. “Go on in.” Selina pushes open the door, going in ahead of me. “Hey, Penguin.” She calls, and I look over her shoulder to see the bird-like man standing next to a window, seemingly deep in thought. Upon hearing his name he turns, irritated. “If you don’t have a good reason for disturbing me, Miss Kyle, I suggest you leave before I-” His speech stops as he catches sight of me. He straightens up, adjusting the cane in his hand. “Miss Quinzel.” He sounds surprised “Pen- Mr Cobblepot.” I step forward, a hand running through my hair anxiously. I speak before I lose my bravery. “I wanted to thank you, for… Your part in my escape.” It sounds stupid now, but I carry on. “If you hadn’t tried to collect the reward, I wouldn’t have gotten away.” “Well, Miss Quinzel, you’re very welcome. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to get you to the GCPD myself.” He gives me a tense smile, his grip on his cane shifting constantly. “So you would have gotten the money?” I grin, and his mouth falls open, struggling for speech. “I’ll make sure my parents follow through on their promise. You deserve it.” “That- That’s very generous of you, Miss Quinzel. But it’s not necessary. Your safety is reward enough.” Bullshit. “Well, that’s a very kind lie Mr Cobblepot-” “Quinn!” Selina hisses, but I keep speaking, stepping closer. “But we both know you wouldn’t have rescued me if it wasn’t going to benefit you. Which means that you wouldn’t refuse an offer of compensation unless you had already received it.” I take a step closer, scrutinising him. He raises his chin haughtily. He thinks I won’t call his bluff. He’s wrong. “My parents paid you to get Jerome to bring me out, didn’t they?” Honesty flashes across his face, and I know I’ve got it. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with that, I’d just like to know the truth.” “Yes, you’re right.” He admits, exasperated. I smile, smug. “Does that change anything, or do you just like being right?” “I just like to be right. Thanks again, Mr Cobblepot.” I turn, biting my lip to restrict the grin trying to push onto my face. “Oh, one more thing.” I look over my shoulder at now agitated man. “Do the police know?” “Of course they don’t.” Perfect. I leave, hearing him huff behind me and mutter a comment to Selina, who laughs before following me. I wait until we’re in the elevator to ask what he said. “He said “She’s certainly something-”” “That’s one word for it.” “I’m not finished. He said “She’s certainly something. I can see why Jerome likes her so much.” “Ugh. Isn’t that great.” I roll my eyes, and Selina puts a hand on my shoulder. “Take it as a compliment. There are worse things to be.” “Worse things than being the type of person an insane criminal would like?” As the doors open, I turn to her. “Like what?” “Being the type of person who likes the insane criminal back.” She walks past me, and my stomach drops.

Fuck.

“How dare you do this, Harleen!”

The moment I get home my mother is screaming at me. My father and Wren quickly abandoned the first floor, leaving her to yell her head off. I sit on the sofa across from where she stands. The last of the daylight filters through the curtains, almost distracting me. Almost. “How could you do this to us?!” “Can I just check what I’m getting in trouble for?” At this point, I don’t even care. I just want her to stop talking so I can go to bed. Today has not been a good day. “Everything! First, I can’t believe you would attack someone.” “I don’t know if I’d say attack-” “Don’t interrupt me. You will not be able to talk your way out of this.” She’s deadly serious. I drop my head and chew at the inside of my lip. “It was in the evening paper. Now, people are questioning your mental stability. How do you think that looks for the family, for the business?” “I didn’t-” “What did I say about interrupting me?” You asked me a question, you bitch. A bit harsh. But true. I nod, looking back down. “And expelled from school – and such a prestigious one. It’s a good thing you’d be graduating in a few months anyway.” She turns away from me, seemingly infuriated by the mere sight of me. “But we’ll need to figure something else out. And then disappearing into the city? Without even taking Pudding?” “Look, mom-“ She goes to interrupt me, but I keep talking. “We need to talk about this. You can’t keep me locked up, restricted to here and school. That won’t help me get back to normal. You were right. I’m not fine. So, let’s make a deal?” She turns back, intrigued. A business deal is something she understands, something she’s familiar with, something she can deal with; and telling her she’s right is undoubtedly helpful. “And what do you propose for this deal?” “I am able to go wherever I want in the city – within reason – as long as I inform you and keep you updated.” “And you will use Archie. No wandering off.” “Fine. And I’ll get counselling. You said you found someone excellent.” “We did. I’ll contact him immediately.” She begins to smile, but as her mind whirs her eyes narrow with suspicion. “What else is in it for you?” “Two things. When I turn 18, I want to move out. An apartment. Somewhere in the city that’s relatively safe with security.” “I suppose we can do that. Now-” “I said two, mom.” A scowl at that. “Last thing. I want to start volunteering at Arkham.” “Absolutely not.” The moment the words are out of my mouth she’s shaking her head. “I have that nursing qualification from New York. And I need something to do until college. I want to work somewhere like Arkham eventually; this will be good experience.” “I won’t let you. This is not a discussion.” It’s a good thing I have my trump card. “Then I guess I’ll have to go and tell Jim Gordon about how you paid Penguin to rescue me.” Her mouth drops open in shock and in anger, her eyes wide. She becomes very quiet, hissing at me under her breath. “How do you know about that?” “Doesn’t matter. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want and I won't go talk to Gordon.” She grinds her teeth together, glaring at me. I am not the naïve, vulnerable girl she thought I was, that she wishes I would be. She doesn’t know what to do. How to work against me.

“Fine.”

Finally, I’m allowed to go upstairs. Appointments made with the counsellor, with an estate agent, with the director of Arkham. All indicators of my victory over my mother. So why don’t I feel victorious? I look in the mirror. A blonde girl stares back at me, a thin scar above her eyebrow. I don’t feel like her anymore. The girl I was before, the girl they all see me as; she’s gone. Jerome killed her, and I took her place. Blood-soaked. Afraid. Angry. No one can know. They won’t want to know; they’ll refuse to see it. Even if I told them the truth, showed them what I’ve become. Today proved that. The only person who sees me for who I really am is Jerome. He understood the darkness in me before I understood it myself. The longing to break free from societies rules, to live on instinct, on chaos. To live like him.

But I can’t give in. I can’t let him win. Can’t let him know that every single time I talk to him, see him, think about him, it becomes more difficult to resist the urge to just let go. To join him. Whatever that would mean. But I can’t think about that. I hesitate for a moment before I take off my shirt, the dressing quickly following. Jerome’s mark glares at me, red and angry. Ironically like Jerome. No matter what, I can never stop thinking about him. He’s made sure of that. Every time I get dressed, every time I think about going swimming, or wearing a crop top, I’ll be reminded of him. Of what he did to me. And of everything that I should feel about him. And everything that I shouldn’t.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

Tags: @psychobitchtess

#flt #friends like these #jerome valeska fanfic #jerome valeska fanfiction #jerome valeska #jerome valeska/harleen quinzel #jerome valeska x harleen quinzel #Harley Quinn #Harleen Quinzel #Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #Oswald Cobblepot #penguin

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