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#had to fix some colors that changed between screens:((
lovelybeesthings · 4 months
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Dancer
Coriolanus Snow x fem reader
Warnings: Smut, size difference
Context: what if Lucy Grey was forced to kill another tribute as it was down to the two of them and y/n kills Lucy and Snow gets caught with his actions of cheating and sent to distract 6 and meets the winner of the 10th hunger games?
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As it was down to two tributes Lucy Grey and Y/n L/n Snow was anxious analyzing each step and preying hopefully Lucy could find a way to win as the snakes were close to Y/n she kept fighting, and her gorgeous hair looked still tactful she seemed innocent but her actions far from it using an axe and he own hands to fight back from dead tributes.
As snow thoughts raced he completely forgot to look at the screen until one sound came out a woman’s scream but..a voice he recognized, once he looked up at the screens he saw Lucy’s gray body lying with blood coming out from her body her dress and corset while the tribute who won y/n closed her eyes crying as she was almost disgusted with her actions and once she opens them she made sure to close Lucy’s a sweet act from a girl who used a salvage method to end another’s.
As he couldn’t look anymore he heard words coming out of the TV “I’m s-sorry, I’m so so-sorry” the girl cried out so innocently at the moment she caused him to snap out the moment he turned his head seeing her mentor cheer and some cheered for them while some watched the screen feeling sympathy for the winner.
As she got up wobbly her hands so slim and skinny were stained with blood from what she knew Lucy and y/n were a bit smaller poor young girls in a hunt and both had hobbies that they were talented about Y/n was credited for her dancing skills and sung a little. So only after the events, Coriolanus was punished for cheating by Highbottem and sent to be a peacekeeper in District 7 where the winner of the 10th games lived.
After settling down he heard from fellow peacekeepers that down at the hub, there was gonna be a little celebration for y/n she had been very popular in her district he'd heard that she truly their angle, and when she was reaped it made everyone devastated, and hopeful something that drew the line between the two Lucy Grey was a girl that was forgetful for distract 12 while Y/n L/n was a name everyone knew a girl who could not be forgetful.
As he went with some peacekeepers he saw her up on the stage in a lovely flower dress Brown boots with roses on them hair half up half down pigtails ribbons holding them she fixed the mic and went back to her bass roses crested on the base red and white which caught his attention soon the remainder of the members came out and the music started to play people danced smiling giggling though his eyes were drawn to Y/n and who playing the bass she had and another girl who seemed like her sister singing in the mic together as Y/n had a sweet smile this wasn't the girl who had murdered cruelly this was a girl who had to fight for her life for people she cared about in the arena.
As they soon changed songs Y/n hopped off the stage to dance with people on the floor a few young children older fellow and some peacekeepers… “would you like to dance Mister?”
He hadn't noticed her appear to him he was taller than the girl her hair was different from what he saw in arena hair (whatever your hair resembles color-wise) he was flushed with emotions but the only one he could think of was he was flustered “I uh don't know how to dance-” he said as he soon was interpreted with her sweet words that felt like honey “it's easy ill show ya” she says as she took his hands to the floor as the music played she put his hands on her hips and her hands to his shoulders and instructs his feet as he watches her boots and her dress and her hair in the wind as she dances he was amazed by her moves and her beauty at the moment.
His face was ridden with pink he was so happy at that moment and before he knew it she had slipped away dancing with the next person as he sighed the feelings she had left him were strong know something he felt with Lucy…but stronger than it as he realizes a ribbon was in his hand the ribbon she had in her hair he soon put it in his pocket and watched from the sidelines, she soon went back up to play her bass and sing.
Something he was surprised about was that she started dancing on the stage with her sister smiling and giggling then after that they wrapped up their instruments and got ready to leave before Coriolanus knew it his legs moved on his own she was on the stage packing her bass kneeling struggling to close the case “gosh dang it!” he was blushing as he swallowed his nervous and spoke “Need some help?” she jumped to the words spoken to her and turned her head softening to his words “Yes, please” he got down on his knees beside her shutting the case “I'm Coriolanus Snow” She beamed even brighter “Well nice to meet you Croyo” his face felt warm to her nickname for him
As he carried out the case for Bass she had led him to her home and when he placed it down he smiled as she began to say goodbye “Thank you again for bringing all the way home for me Croyo” She then tippytoed her boots and kissed him on his cheek and smiled blushing then shutting the door.
(Time skip)
Y/n had opened up about the nightmares and panic attacks she gets about the games and the haunting faces of the people she had to murder the most regret she had for Lucy Grey making her cry into his arms in the moment he didn't even care about Lucy grey he was more into the fact he was able to hold Y/n he felt bad but felt a need to make her always run in his arms aomoem she can turn to the only person she can turn to. He felt that it wasn't needed to tell her about his past in the Capitol he knew at one point he'd tell her but not yet.
“Croyo I want to take the next step in our relationship,” she says blushing not being able to look him in the face “All alright..” he says with a smug face but soon changes once she looks up at him as he runs light kisses down my cheek and jawline, his breath heated on my skin, making me quiver with happiness he began to unzip my dress leaving me in my custom undergarments with roses plastered on them I took him back a minute and then continued to take off his clothes until he was bare naked my eyes traced every bicep very ab and my face becomes red when I get to his “my little rose petal~” he says as I look back up to his eyes as he smirks and unhooks my laced bra and panties giving myself to him.
His hands began to trace the curves of my body and then study each other's mouths, savoring the sensation of each other's warm bodies pressed tightly against one another. He was now holding my breast in his hands and then began to Lick them and bite on the nip causing me to shiver and moan out blushing then His Dick pressed against the crack of my thighs, stretching my yearning pussy open for him the comfort of his touch quickly entered throughout my body.
He slowly sank inside me, filling me, his movements slow and steady. The feeling of his dick in me made me flutter as he was able to see his member in my stomach making me even harder the thrill of each thrust drew me closer to my release, the peak growing within me with each succeeding pulse of his body against mine.
As my eyes rolled back into my skull, his big cock buried deep within me, a loud gasp from my lips as he buried himself even further inside me, his balls smacking against me “Fuck you're so tight” he moaned “So close-e!” I moan as he nods and soon releases inside of me he kisses my forehead and falls on top of me as we both fall asleep to each other naked body.
“I love you y/n,” he says to me slumbering body waiting for a response then speaks again “You're mine forever I'll never let you go I've already made that mistake once I won't let it happen again,” he says possessive holding y/n in his arms and closeting his eyes.
THE END THIS A ONE SHOT
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extremedelusions17 · 2 months
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The 4 times Jessie realized she loved you, and the 1 time she did something about it
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j.fleming x reader
w/c: 1400
a/n: really fluffy, hope you enjoy xx
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1.) Innocent touches
In the quaint town where you and Jessie Fleming  spent your formative years, movie nights were a cherished tradition. The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the living room bathed in the soft glow of lamplight. The air was filled with the familiar scent of buttered popcorn, and laughter echoed as the both of you settled onto the plush couch, your eyes fixed on the flickering screen.
As you reached over to grab the popcorn bowl, your fingers brushed in a seemingly innocent gesture. "Oops, sorry," you chuckled, not noticing the subtle change in Jessie's demeanor. For Jessie, time seemed to pause in that fleeting moment. A gentle spark ignited within her chest, a sensation she struggled to comprehend. Lost in the movie, you remained blissfully unaware of the subtle shift
Jessie stole glances at her best friend, trying to decipher the warmth lingering in her chest. It was a momentary touch, but in that instance, Jessie felt the boundaries of your friendship expanding into uncharted territory. As the characters on the screen continued their antics, Jessie's mind was elsewhere, grappling with the newfound awareness. Could a simple touch hold the potential to redefine a relationship? She pondered the question, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty and curiosity.
The characters on the screen continued your antics, but Jessie's mind was elsewhere, grappling with the newfound awareness. Could a simple touch hold the potential to redefine a relationship? She pondered the question, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty and curiosity.
As the credits rolled, signaling the end of the movie, Jessie found herself lost in contemplation. The room, once filled with laughter and shared moments, now seemed to pulse with unspoken tension. It was a tension that Jessie wasn't sure she was ready to unravel, yet it lingered like a delicate thread, connecting her to a reality she hadn't fully explored.
2. The Shared Secret:
Under the watchful gaze of the moon, Jessie and you often found themselves immersed in late-night conversations. The symphony of crickets serenaded them as you confided a hidden passion. Jessie listened intently, not just to the secret itself but to the vulnerability in you's voice.
"That's amazing, you," Jessie responded with genuine enthusiasm. "I had no idea you felt that way."
you chuckled, a hint of self-consciousness coloring her cheeks. "Yeah, it's something I've kept to myself for a while."
As Jessie absorbed the weight of you's revelation, she realized the depth of the connection they shared. The trust and vulnerability exchanged under the moonlight created a bridge between them, revealing layers of each other's souls that went beyond the ordinary. It was in that moment that Jessie recognized her feelings for you were evolving into something deeper.
your conversation meandered into the late hours, topics shifting seamlessly between dreams, aspirations, and shared confidences. The night air held a certain magic, and Jessie couldn't help but wonder if this newfound intimacy was a prelude to a deeper connection.
As dawn approached, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, Jessie felt a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation. The shared secret had opened a door to unexplored territories, and she found herself standing at the threshold, contemplating the path that lay ahead.
3. The Comfort in Silence:
By the riverbank, where the flowing water created a gentle melody, Jessie and you found solace in each other's company. A lazy afternoon unfolded as they lay side by side, the sun casting a warm glow on your surroundings. The rhythmic sound of the river seemed to synchronize with the beating of your hearts.
"You know," you broke the silence, "these moments with you are some of my favorites."
Jessie smiled, her heart echoing the sentiment. "Mine too, you. It's like we have our own little world here."
In the tranquil intimacy of that moment, Jessie acknowledged the emotions she had been harboring. The unspoken language of your companionship revealed a longing that hinted at something more profound than mere friendship.
As you continued to bask in the serene atmosphere, Jessie couldn't help but feel a gentle tug at the strings of her heart. The shared silence spoke volumes, and she wondered if you sensed the same undercurrents that were reshaping your connection.
The rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds became the soundtrack to your contemplation. Jessie's mind, now a canvas of introspection, painted scenarios of shared futures and unexplored emotions.
4. The Unspoken Jealousy:
An unexpected wave of jealousy crashed over Jessie one day as she observed you engrossed in conversation with a new teamate. Trying to conceal her emotions, Jessie walked home with you, a subtle turmoil stirring within her. you, ever perceptive, noticed the change in her demeanor.
"Jess, is everything okay?" you asked, concern etched on her face.
Jessie hesitated before responding, "Yeah, just had a weird day."
you studied her for a moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
The unspoken words lingered in the air, and Jessie, with a heavy heart, nodded in response. It was a moment of acknowledgment, a recognition that your relationship was evolving, and Jessie was beginning to grapple with emotions she had yet to fully understand.
As days turned into weeks, Jessie found herself navigating the intricacies of her own emotions. The unfamiliar pang of jealousy had unveiled a side of her feelings she hadn't anticipated. She questioned whether this emotional turbulence was merely a passing storm or a harbinger of deeper revelations.
The town, with its familiar streets and comforting routines, seemed different to Jessie now. Every interaction with you carried an undercurrent of unspoken tension, an uncharted territory that both fascinated and frightened her.
5. The Subtle Glances:
Subtle glances had woven an intricate language between Jessie and you. Across the bustling school courtyard or during family gatherings, your eyes would meet, linger, and then avert. Each stolen glance became a silent confession that spoke volumes.
One afternoon, as you sat on the porch, Jessie couldn't help but catch your eye. "What?" you teased, a playful grin on your face.
"Nothing," Jessie replied, her cheeks flushing. "Just... I don't know. Us, I guess."
you raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing on her lips. "What about us?"
Jessie hesitated before admitting, "There's something about the way we look at each other. It's different, i just don't know why."
Your expression softened, and for a moment, your eyes locked in a silent understanding. It was a realization that they were navigating uncharted waters, and the unspoken language of stolen glances was steering them toward something profound.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the porch, Jessie and you remained in your silent reverie. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air, an invisible bridge that connected your hearts in ways words couldn't express. 
You leaned in closer and kissed Jessie's lips, embracing the feeling of her body pressed against you as the tension between you both heightened. Her breath came in quick and shallow breaths as you held her close, your hands caressing her skin and your fingers digging into her arms as your lips embraced. You felt her heart race against yours as the heat of your passion overtook you both. With the sun setting below the horizon, you remained in a silent reverie together as the unspoken words hung heavy in the air, connecting your hearts.
With the unspoken words finally broken and the tension finally let loose, you found yourself carried away in a flood of feeling. Jessie's body pressed up against you as your lips embraced in a heated kiss. Her breath came in quick and shallow breaths, her fingers digging into your arms as she embraced you. You could feel her heart racing against yours, the heat of your passion overtaking you both.
As your lips parted and your bodies separated, you both breathed a shaky breath, trying to catch your breath as you processed the wild moments that had just passed. and as you locked eyes, a shared smile broke across both your faces. It was a moment of realization, a turning point in the silent dance that had been unfolding for so long. With the weight of unspoken feelings finally acknowledged, you both leaned into each other, foreheads touching in a silent promise of more moments yet to be shared.
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kaciidubs · 6 months
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Solely for You | Spooktober 2023
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❣ Summary: It’s always the ones with the pretty faces who have the filthiest kinks, and Hyunjin was not an exception. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 2.4k ❣ Warnings: Kink discovery, feet kink, light mommy/miss kink, Sub! Hyunjin, Dom! Reader, smut, fluff, slight humor, slight cock stepping, clothed footjob, degradation, praise, begging, kinda forced orgasm, Hyunjin's embarrassed and Reader loves it ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Hyunjin is referred to as Hyune, my love, and pretty boy, Reader is referred to as my muse, baby, and miss. The pictures are solely for fishnet aesthetic only, there is no description of the reader visually or physically. ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ Spooktober 2023
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If there was one thing Hyunjin would say about himself, it would be the fact that he was helplessly in love with you in every sense of the word, for every sense of your existence - he loved you from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet.
Especially your feet.
Now, he wasn’t a man who advertised himself as having a feet kink - honestly, he didn’t even think he’d care what his potential partner’s feet would look like, but the more time he spent with you, the more intimacy that grew between the two of you, the more he realized his admiration for you stretched farther than he could’ve imagined.
It was fall, the season of coziness and embracing change, evidenced by the yellows, oranges, and reds of leaves decorating trees and spreading across the streets like pencil shavings - and with this change of scenery came the change of wardrobes.
Specifically, your wardrobe.
So many clothes came back into your rotation; hoodies, sweaters, sweatpants, skirts, leggings, and most importantly fishnet tights.
Oh, how he loved the fishnets.
The way you paired them underneath ripped jeans had his mind exploding, the variation of a slight grunge aesthetic or soft autumn vibe inspiring him in more ways than one - or the way you kept it simple by wearing them underneath a skirt of your choosing, he could never keep his eyes off of your legs.
However, the best of you wearing that stretchy netting would have to be the same way you were wearing them now; lounged comfortably on the couch after a small lunch date together, your outside outfit swapped for a large t-shirt that stopped just at the mid of your thigh while the coveted fishnets stretched down your thighs and around those pretty feet of yours.
The burnt red color of your nail polish was a nice choice - you always seemed to choose the perfect colors once the seasons changed.
Your legs were tucked slightly as you leaned against the arm of the couch, eyes glued to the tv as you watched the recap of some competitive show he had no energy to try to recall - nothing on that screen could’ve compared to the view of you right now, effortlessly beautiful without a care in the world.
“My love?”
Hyunjin blinked himself out of the stupor you fixed him in, humming, “Yeah?”
“I can feel you staring at me,” your lips pulled into a smirk as you fully met his gaze, “and I don’t know if you’re trying to make me catch a hint, or if you’re just really zoned out because you’re full.”
Gasping dramatically, his lips pulled into a pout, “I can’t just look at you because you’re pretty? Is this some new couple law? Do you have some handbook I don’t know about?”
“Oh my god,” a humored scoff floated past your lips, your right leg stretching out so you could nudge his thigh with your foot, “no, you drama queen! I just wanted to know if you wanted to say something, or if you’re waiting for my reaction because you watched this episode without me.”
His hand slid to lay over your ankle, a small smile gracing his lips when you settled into his touch, “You know I’d never do that-”
“Remember when you had that late practice and stayed at the dorms for the night?”
“I- You said it was okay!”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me!”
“I can’t read your mind!”
“I had to deal with Changbin sending me ‘spoilers without context’ pictures until I was able to watch it by myself!”
The silly argument dissolved into lighthearted giggles, your position now shifting so that your back was against the arm of the couch, legs splayed out and feet pleasantly resting against his sweatpant-clad thigh.
Your attention fell back toward the tv, and his would’ve followed suit if it weren’t for the subtle warmth radiating onto his thigh, his gaze dropping to your fishnet covered feet; the tiny pattern starting at your toes before branching up the tops of your feet and up your shins.
His left hand slid from your ankle to your foot, fingers tracing the nylon as his thumb grazed along the inside.
“Hyune, if you’re gonna do that, would you mind giving me a foot massage then? I promise I’ll give you one later, unless you want a back massage instead?”
Oh, fuck.
“Y-Yeah, I can do that, angel.”
Shifting so that he was mirroring the way you were sitting, he stretched his left leg alongside your right, corralling your feet near his crotch before scooting forward to give himself a comfortable position for the ensuing massage.
It started out perfectly fine, your right foot propped up on his thigh as his thumbs gently worked the pressure points he could recall from Felix’s many, many massage attempts on his own body - he could even feel you relaxing further, his heart swelling at the sight.
Though, his peace wouldn’t last for long; when the intro theme of the next episode floated through the speakers, you subtly danced to the catchy tune, humming along without a care in the world - and, as a further result, you began rocking your feet in time with the music.
Rocking your feet which were currently in his hold and personal space; wiggling your right foot as much as his slightly loose grip would allow, while rocking your left foot against his crotch.
Hyunjin’s breath hitched at the sudden pressure, glaringly aware of the chub he was sporting now victim to the light grazing of the bottom of your foot.
This could not be happening right now.
Just as fast as it started, it stopped - the sound of a commercial now floating through the air as your happy humming died down, though your left foot remained propped against the crotch of his sweatpants, the gentle pressure of the balls of your foot against his dick making his brain go haywire.
Could you feel him getting hard? Did you think it was weird? Why weren’t you saying anything- fuck, did you have to flex your foot down like that? 
He didn’t have a foot kink, he didn’t have a foot kink - or a stocking kink for that measure, he just thought you were gorgeous, you were always gorgeous no matter what you were doing or what you wore.
But-
But.
He stole a glance to his crotch, the sight of your toes - prettily painted in the polish you asked him for his opinion on - decorated in the criss-cross webbing of your tights earning a soft whimper from the back of his throat.
“Hyune?”
The man shivered, his hips gaining a mind of their own as they tilted further into the sole of your foot - the slight increase of pressure sending goosebumps spreading along his pale skin.
Then, the unthinkable happened; you fully pressed your foot against his clothed dick, your toes wiggling lightly against where the tip laid.
Hyunjin moaned, eyelids fluttering when you rolled your ankle ever-so-slowly, massage completely forgotten as he simply held onto your right foot for support.
“Oh, my pretty boy-”
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, pretty pink lips set into a pout, “I- t-this is new, I swear, I haven’t- I never-”
“Easy, baby, relax - you know I’d never kink shame you, we’re each other’s safe spaces, remember?” You watched as he visibly relaxed, well, as much as he could with your foot still pressed against the erection straining his sweatpants. “If I’m honest, I kind of had a suspicion - nothing bad, but I’d always catch the way you’d stare, like you weren’t even aware you were doing it; or the times you’d go completely into ‘focus mode’ during foot massages, or when I’d ask you to help me with the buckle on my heels.”
A hot blush flushed his face in red, “Baby, my muse-”
“Your muse,” you hummed back, a soft smirk on your lips, “you always say how I inspire you, how I push you to do better, how you love everything about me - this is just you showing that you do, and this is me showing you that I accept it. Will you let me do that, Hyune? Can I show you how much I love your love?”
The sultry stare you were giving him made him feel like he was two seconds away from dying and going to heaven, the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth being the points of contact he had on you.
With a shallow breath, and a thick swallow, he found himself nodding his head.
“Please.”
“Alright, pants off for me, pretty boy - leave your boxers on.”
He fought the cry of disdain when you pulled your legs toward your body, taking away the sweet pressure he was quickly getting used to, and hastily made work of tugging his gray sweatpants down his slender legs and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor.
You eagerly took in the lengthy print of his dick through his red briefs, the matching elastic band adoringly labeled ‘loverboy’ disappearing underneath the hem of his t-shirt.
“Look at you, this hard for me already?”
An embarrassed whine of your name fell from his lips, the blush traveling down his neck nearly rivaling the color of his underwear, “It didn’t help when you kept grinding on it!”
Raising an eyebrow, you sat up straight, “It didn’t help, hm?” Stretching your legs back out, you pressed the sole of your right foot against his cock instead, applying more pressure than you did before, “So you need more than that, is that what you’re telling me, Hyune? Need to feel me harder?”
Hyunjin nearly fell back, managing to catch himself on a throw pillow as a desperate moan shot from his mouth, “A-Ah- oh fuck!”
“Answer me, my love,” you dug your foot harder, practically stepping against the throbbing shaft, “it’s not enough to see my feet all dolled up for you, no, you need to have them on you - worship them like you do the rest of my body.”
“Y-Yes! Yes - wanna worship them, m-my muse, wanna worship you!”
A sinister laugh bubbled from your chest, the sight of him falling apart without you having to touch him with your hands sparking a fire in your stomach as you ground your foot in slow, circular motions.
You couldn’t help but notice the darkened red fabric around his tip, the cotton soaking up the precum he was undoubtedly leaking underneath his briefs.
“It’s always the ones with the pretty faces who have the filthiest kinks, isn’t that right, baby?” Your lips curled into a smirk when he keened, hips bucking up against your foot at an uneven pace, “What else do you want me to find out, hm? Anything you’re waiting for me to discover? Hell, you already let me use you like a pussy drunk toy sometimes - you always come the hardest when I’m in charge, taking care of you like a mommy would.”
The minute that word left your lips, a shivering gasp left your black-haired boyfriend, lust fogged eyes gazing at you in equal parts embarrassment and pure need, “P-Please, I-”
“Mommy, hm? Is that what does it? Or, maybe something formal like mistress, miss-”
“M-Miss,” Hyunjin whimpered, hips jerking through the uncoordinated footjob he was trying to initiate, “mommy i-is… okay, but Miss-” a shiver ran down his spine, eyes rolling when your dragged your foot up, your toes grazing against the flare of his cockhead, “-fuck, Miss is b-better.”
The airy, lilted tone in his voice made your head spin, the title stroking your ego in ways you hadn’t expected - there would definitely be more chances to explore that.
“My love,” you cooed, a sickeningly sweet smile curling your lips, “My sweet, dirty love, Miss promises to take good care of you, okay?”
His head lolled back, eyes fluttering shut and pink lips parted in an unabashed moan, “I-I’m gonna come - oh my god, ‘m gonna come.”
“Really? We haven’t even kissed - I haven’t even seen that gorgeous dick of yours, and you’re already about to come? All because of my feet?”
He whined, a pitiful sound emanating from the back of his throat, hands gripping the cushions underneath him, “I-It’s not like that- shit, y-you’re so beautiful a-and - ah- the fishnets, they- oh, fuck, please let me come, Miss!”
“Look at me, my love.”
He brought his head back down, black strands tickling his sweat-slickened forehead as rounded, desperate eyes gazed into your focused stare.
“Come.”
His dick throbbed under the sole of your foot, urging you to press against him just a bit more, the frantic thrusts of his hips shaking your leg as he fucked himself against your foot; mouth falling open in a loud moan of your name.
Hot ropes of cum spread along his hip, the cotton of his briefs immediately soaking up his release with a dark red stain left behind, putting the previous stain of precum to shame and making him feel utterly filthy.
Eventually the twitching of his dick slowed, and the jerking of his hips stopped as he settled back onto the couch - a small flinch shooting through his body when you gently prodded at his softening length with your toe.
Bringing your legs back to your end of the couch, you maneuvered yourself onto your knees and crawled between his still open legs, “Hyune?”
He blinked dazedly, breathing heavily as he attempted to recover from one of the many mind blowing orgasms of his life. “Y-Yeah?”
Hands finding their way to his cheeks, you gently held his face as you placed an even gentler kiss to his lips - laughing softly when he tried following you as you pulled away. “You did so good for me, you know that? And I meant everything I said before; I love how much you love me - personally I think I love you more than you love me - and I’m glad that includes every part of me, too.”
The look in his eyes could have only been best described as adoration and pure, unadulterated love, his larger hands coming up to cover your own with ease.
“You could never know how much I love you - I don’t think they’ve discovered the words for me to even try to describe it.” Dipping his head forward, plush lips brushed against your own, “But I can show you, if you’ll let me.”
A short laugh escaped you, eyes shining in mischief as you nodded, “You know… I really, really love your hands, it might even be a kink of mine.”
Hyunjin smirked, eyes narrowing at your attempt of a tease, “Then let me show you how much I love your love - have you worship them like the rest of me.”
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✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes
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littleroaes · 3 months
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oh darling, take my heart! ( heart attack ), k.sw & jc.b
a retelling of yves & chuu, heart attack, loona ( chuu )
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“ 𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐝 “
‘ To save Sunwoo from his own self destruction by his undying love for Y/n as he admires her but cannot get her attention. His guardian angel comes to his side in human form to prevent the inevitable fall from Eden. Though the desperation for his preservation might just come from the egoistic wounds of his heart and the awareness of the ugliest fall of them all, it being his own. ’
PAIRING ⏵ kim sunwoo x fem!reader, guardian angel!jacob not a love triangle
GENRE ⏵ fluff, slight angst, one sided pining, unrequited love ( not all the way through ), comedy/ crack ( hopefully ), sunwoo is down so bad, and he’s stubborn as heck, not a love triangle, slight fantasy, jacob is stressed bc of sunwoo, sweetheart!Jacob, winter!au, college!au but they’re just in the library and walk between lectures and have own apartments lol( F EXAMS ), epic bromance, epic eric feature, not as epic changmin feature, europe aesthetic ( this is a candlestick idk how widespread they are )
WARNINGS ⏵ y/n is just a little evil, loonaverse lore ( lol ), romanticised college!au bc I don’t want to write my reality 🫠, surface level world building ( don't ask me about the angel lore ), y/n & sw calls jacob angel & cupid either teasingly/mockingly/literally, y/n refers to sunwoo as loverboy once, sunwoo swears like three times, sunwoo calls people losers, heart attack by chuu is very gay mine is not😭, proofread twice
WORD COUNT ⏵ 18.8 k ( I’m so sorry )
AUTHOR'S NOTE ⏵ new banner style!( so proud! ). for some reason I was hellbent on getting this out before christmas, but it’s really not that christmassy😭. the heart attack mv tells a story about chuu's undying love for yves. the post below includes spoilers, but but will clarify this story in connection to the mv. it will be linked at the end too! please enjoy!
story ( symbolism & metaphor ) guide
like and reblog are highly encouraged!
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THIS WORLD HAS CHANGED ITS COLORS, DRIFTING FURTHER FROM THE SUN IN PRESENT SEASON.
As Eden has turned its axis away from the warmth, the trees stand with a single color. Instead of fruits in shine and leaves that paint the part in between world and heaven, its colors have, from the crowns, spread and blossomed over its people. The fabric of one's jacket and scarf decorates the boulevard down to the open square at the very center of the city.
Though, someone in cobalt blue seems to not follow the fast paced world around him. Jacob walks gently over the frozen mirror layered on top of the summer stone. His new body concealed in a jacket in that cobalt blue. To look out over the two streets and the cars driving in between, he observes how each silhouette before and behind him walks past him without a single glance or wrong step. Jacob looks down again, sees the reflection of daylight on the frost as his right foot takes another step forward. 
Last month, Jacob sat in his new bed, in his new room, in a new city. Picked apart the sharp lines on the telephone screen to figure out exactly the right passage to the blue dot. How time has moved forward without him, since he last stepped onto the fixed ground and stood before the mortals as a real figure. Jacob used to stand perfectly visible in a full crowd all the more frequently in the past. The little boy he guarded back then refused to learn how to stand up for two seconds before starting to run. At seven, during the midst of the summer season on an afternoon picnic, Sunwoo had managed to climb a tree he was incapable of coming down. Jacob, who had been observing him like a second baby sitter, granted Sunwoo luck that day and saved him before falling off the bended branch. 
Though, as he entered his teens, Jacob realized Sunwoo was rather a problem solver. So, as he watched from above, the secret pathways and hideouts, how he fired off a firework in the high school hallways and ran from the teacher, Jacob learned to not intervene. 
Jacob feels the cold water melt on his skin as morning snow starts falling. And between the white feathers falling from above, he sees the entré from where the fabrication spreads outwards to the exterior of his vision. The glass windows stand in height with the opening, making the trees in winter sleep all smaller. The glass doors and buildings in altering heights don't seem to intimidate him as much as last month. Therefore he lets the transparent frame to the other side, open up for him and the flakes on his hair start to melt. 
He vividly recalls summers from before as he walks down the corridors in pastel colors. How the daylight pierce through the ceiling height windows and spread itself over the cream walls like paint. As the memory recalls itself, all the way to the present, he finds himself before lecture hall A, a single turn before the library. The door stands open before him, from his spot on the stream line wood, he sees a row of students already inside. As he hears another pair of footsteps behind him, fused with muted conversations from the entrance, Jacob gathers the strap of his backpack and walks in.
In the lecture hall, the board stands to the left and before it spreads a massive sort of staircase to the highest windows. Though, as he has visited this place in what can only be described as dreams, this vision doesn’t seem to bother his conception. Instead, Jacob stands at the end, two meters away from where the first row starts. Faces that have passed him by in dreams and strangers he can’t recall are all scattered throughout the staircase. And as he eyes them down from the lowest point to the highest before the window, he can’t piece the face in his mind with anyone in the room. 
Jacob let his hand fall from the backpack strap and walk up the right side. Sunwoo has never been known for his punctual habits, neither in Jacob’s memory from his youth or the recent observation of him as a uni student. 
In the perfect middle of the seven rows, Jacob takes a seat close to the stairs down. He lets his backpack fall to the floor as he takes a seat. The silver computer reveals itself from the canvas material and he lays it gently on the surface before him. 
Conversations fill the lecture hall and he eyes the rows, down to the end floor. How two girls sit side by side, enthusiastically nodding when the other talks, or the lone boy furthest against the wall in the right corner. Though, the surroundings fall irrelevant as he anticipates each silhouette entering the door. Each person creates an even stronger blur of conversations and the colors and materials paint a motif before him. Each row and the surface before it becomes foiled with texture and at last, when the professor stands before the white board, none of the faces entering was him from his memories. 
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The empty corridor walls, enchanted in pastel shades and wooden floor. Each step he takes spreads to the furthest corners of where two walls meet, before they resile back towards him. All that while he turns further from the past lecture hall. Instead of right, the direction towards the library, he let the patterns on the floor take him whatever they wanted. Hoping it would lead him to the purpose of his visit. And as he thinks about that, he looks up from the wild patterns. As he stands still in the middle of the corridor, he sees a single silhouette at the end. At the end frame where the opening reveals a horizontal corridor, stands a silhouette reminiscent of his youth. His distinctive features are turned the other way, and Jacob stands on his toes as if to reach them. 
With gentle steps, as if to not disturb the rare life, Jacob walks towards him. The wings under his blue blazer attempt to spread in anticipation, but he forces them down under the thick fabric. Has the past finally runned up to him as he has searched the campus for the past month? he wonders. 
“Are you Kim Sunwoo?” Jacob finally asks when they stand about a meter away from each other. The boy turned his figure towards him and his features in day highlights and winter shadows graze itself before him. His face, though more mature, shows traces of the ones from his memories. How the certain parts of his eyes and full lips seem to be unaffected by time. 
“What I-” He before him stops himself from speaking as a door from the other corridor opens. 
Jacob watches how his eyes instantly grow wider and he moves all closer to the extended frame of the pastel wall. To trace the line up to the door, Jacob observes closely how an ocean wave of students crash through the single opening. And as the wave falls and spreads out from all directions, and five people walking alone, unaffected by another, he hears how the boy before him exhales gently. 
By the five last people, two take a left turn, one has a book bag hanging off her shoulder and she carries a computer in her left arm. The sight is rather ordinary, maybe that the winter sunlight hits her a certain way as she passes them  by from afar. But as he turns to look at Sunwoo again, he leans his head against the open frame, hands around the edges. His quiet expression melts the winter frost over the windows and a single point in his eyes that are crystal clear. Jacob was uncertain when still observing him from above, but Sunwoo’s painful adoration for the woman walking before them paints messages on the wall with red paint. 
She is the one he needs to save him from. 
The light hits her in another angle, when she turns her head, Jacob takes his arms closer to his chest as Sunwoo forces himself up from the wall and takes his hand up to his hair. The black lock tangles itself between his fingers as he pushes them back and a pen from his front pocket falls to the floor when his other hand comes down to correct the shirt. 
Jacob, quite amused, looking at the scene before him, recognizes how despite the loud noise from the pen, she at the opposite side doesn’t confirm his presence. Sunwoo’s eyes, covered in yearning, follows her serene figure until it disappears from his sight. Exchanges of words from the student mass further to the right echoes throughout the walls. And Sunwoo breathes out again, though, this time it’s heavy and low, leaving his lips in ache before falling to the floor. 
Jacob stands unchanged as Sunwoo starts to adjust the band of his bag. Suddenly he has become invincible in the pastel hallway. As he thinks of it, Jacob awkwardly takes his own backpack strap and falls back and forth on his heels. 
Finally, he coughs. 
Sunwoo looks up from his book bag. His features dull, tired eyes and his lips barely open to answer him. A rather familiar picture of him as he thinks of the past month’s visions while at home, to place his face in between all the hallways.  
“Are you Kim Sunwoo?” Jacob asks again. 
“Yeah…” He eyes him suspiciously, “Am I supposed to know you or something?” 
“No.” Jacob smiles. 
It falls silent again. 
The plan from the past months runs Jacob’s mind and disappears from sight. So as he stands and watches the boy before him, he starts counting his fingers from below, as if that will help him. 
“Okay.” Sunwoo puts his hands in his pocket.
“Oh right!” Jacob finally says, “Sorry, it’s been some time. I…”
Sunwoo tilts his head. 
“No, I-forget that.” Jacob motions with his hand, “We’re in the same course, I’m a bit after, I would need some help for the assignment…” He motions even more, “someone said you’re good.” 
“Who’s someone?” He asks with slightly squinted eyes. 
Jacob smiles, “Eric, I was with him last month.” 
“You shouldn’t trust Eric.” Sunwoo shakes his head and Jacob furrows his eyebrows, “He nearly burned down the lab last year.” 
That, I missed, Jacob thinks as he pursues his lips in. But if the heart has stayed the same all these years, a constant absolute when everything passes, a simple sentence should secure him. 
“Then, are you saying you aren’t smart?” Jacob eyes him. 
Sunwoo straightens his posture, scoffs and smiles at him on the opposite side, “No, I’m so smart.” He boasts. 
“Okay, then are you helping me?” 
“I usually don’t give out charity, but sure,” Sunwoo nods and reaches out his hand. Jacob sees the distance close as he takes his own hand out and bridges them together. They shake it slightly. 
“Thanks then, Sunwoo!” Jacob puts his hands in his pockets too, “Do three today at the library work?” 
“Sure.” He nods.
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How the days move fast, Jacob realizes as he stands by one of the five windows out to the white covered landscape. On one hand, the few daylight hours must change one's perspective on the passing time, but there is something very human, he has understood about the constant disapproval of how time moves in contrast to space. 
His legs and lower back rests against a heater with missing spots where white paint should be. The rough edges of its pattern delve a shallow cut at the right side of his spine. Though, the discomfort doesn’t force him to move, as the chilling hour in the lecture hall has frozen every part of his body. 
As Jacob stands there, melts the ice and watches how the snow falls towards Eden, he thinks about Sunwoo, again. It has been some time he feels, since the boy has been occupying his mind this frequently. Despite only meeting twice or so per day, he has started to ask Sunwoo if he needs rest or is tired. At those times, he rather looks confusingly at Jacob and answers sarcastically, “I’m always tired” or “Rest never works”. Somehow Jacob wants to tell him he should sleep since he’s been running all day, but he realizes on the way out of the entrance that it is only in his mind he has been running. It is something else outside their shared daily routine. 
On the other hand, the name of the girl from that day has been given. Y/n, a student Sunwoo has had classes with, works at a cafe in the mall. The cafe has changed names about four times. Scored lovely on exams the past year, but as if a wind came with a new heart, her eyes seem to, and quoting Sunwoo, “longing for somewhere else”.  A wanderer rather, he thinks, to be seen in spaces without clear intention without a single word said. The red veil connecting the two seems rather obscured at the moment. 
As he thinks about the mysterious girl, his other half and the mission, he sees people coming from the right. At the end of a group, standing Sunwoo, he waves to the three people beside him before walking forward, leaving them behind. The library stands right before Jacob, at the other side of the wall. And as he takes a single step away from the warmth of the electric heater to reach him, Sunwoo smiles. 
“Oh, hello, Jacob.” He continues to walk. Sunwoo’s figure passes him by while the Angel’s have a fixed position in the center of two lines. Jacob’s eyes follow his silhouette down the hall towards the frame. 
“Where are you going?” The textbooks nearly slips out of his arms as Jacob hurriedly shifts directions and accidentally stops two students on their way out. His other half doesn’t seem to catch him the first time as the double doors out to the snow covered scenery opens and barely closes before Jacob’s shoes make a pattern in it. 
“Where are you going?” He thinks it is probably the loudest he has ever talked and stresses each syllable. 
“The cafeteria” He says without any sort of worries. 
“But aren’t we supposed to study?” Jacob runs desperately after him. 
“We were?” The boy stops suddenly and Jacob flies head first against Sunwoo’s back head. The Angel caresses his forehead and Sunwoo turns around to watch him fully. The fact that he got a full skull into his own doesn’t seem to bother him as he quietly waits for the pain to ease off Jacob. 
“Yeah, I asked you yesterday and you said yes.” Jacob holds his cold palm against his forehead. Sunwoo’s eyes adverts from Jacob’s, up to the clear sky. It shines on his features brightly when he tilts his chin. 
“Can’t remember, either way I need to see Y/n.” 
The shoe patterns in the snow continue from where it ended. Jacob sighs as he pulls the backpack further up his shoulder, so that it brushes against his neck. As if half running to connect and grip onto Sunwoo’s college shirt, Jacob comes up to Sunwoo, steps become slower and falls into a sort of comfortable rhythm. The Angel looks down the stone pathway in clear ice, beside it molten snow. Their steps follow in rhythm. 
“Isn’t it very…” 
Sunwoo looks to his left, where Jacob follows his steps down the ice. Eyes set on the road before them and his posture starts to fall into a sort of shrimp-like fashion. The sentence in his mouth never finishes as Jacob starts to fall behind. 
“Very?” Sunwoo quotes and slows down just a little. 
“You know…” Jacob looks up again, sees his other half about a meter before him. Wide eyes and nods his head. The Angel starts shifting his hands around to express the thoughts running in his mind, but it doesn’t seem to do much for him, as Sunwoo tilts his head. The next step down the pathway, his sneaker loses grip on the ground and slides freely. Jacob lets out a surprised sound as fear paints his previously frustrated expression. Jacob grabs onto Sunwoo’s forearm, nearly forgets that his wings might have just ripped through the fabric layers. 
“Looking like Bambi.” Sunwoo says and takes Jacob’s upper arm. 
“What’s Bambi?” Jacob’s filters and deliberate calculations seem to have flown out the window the moment his face came close to the ground. When the very center of his vision finally leaves the ice covered path, he lifts his chin up to see Sunwoo eye him with a frown. 
“That little deer that can’t walk or something.” Sunwoo says. 
Jacob’s quiet for a moment. A bicycle comes beside them, catches their jackets in the artificial wind and takes Sunwoo’s fringe with it, leaving a part of his forehead for the world to see. 
“You say I’m a deer?” 
“I’m going to eat.” He deadpans and turns to face the street once again. 
“Wait!” 
-
The reflection in the glass door looks back at them. Disappears as Sunwoo pushes the door open to reveal the lines of tables. Jacob stands still for a single second, watches the overbearing ceiling weight down on the red tables and the floor shining from the lamps. To stand in the very line between outside and the room, he feels a wind pass by the chairs and he realizes it looks rather depressing. Though Sunwoo's footsteps continue through the tables, sneakers scrape against the odd floor which turns the older woman behind the glass to his place. 
Jacob himself takes uncertain steps around the cafeteria. Follow the odd patterns and watch each ugly lamp light up another red table. He lets his eyes follow the trails of seats further from the main windows and sees students scattered about two tables away from each other before the windows out to a snow covered grass field. 
At the center of one of the windows, just enough to the left that there are still about three places left to sit at the back, sits a girl. The light from outside filters through the window familiarly and hits her features in the exact manner as from before. Jacob thinks Y/n must have a favorite sort of place to sit. In the passing hours between lectures he sees her in the same lightning and in the same position each time. 
As he has wondered for another passage of around the clock. Jacob, unaware of the presence he has been having around him coming back. A light push on his shoulder, just above the wings takes Jacob back to the present. To cover the spot over the blazer where he just touched, Jacob, with wide eyes, watches Sunwoo with a single tray in his hand. The Angel stares at length even when Sunwoo walks two tables away and takes a seat. His shoulder brushes up against the counter, and his eyes immediately falter. Lies heavily on Y/n as Sunwoo’s arms support his chin. 
The tense posture and fixed position of Jacob’s hands loosens. Gently takes himself closer to the table and sits at the opposite side of Sunwoo. The chair is hard plastic, causing a slight discomfort in his skin, as so, Jacob doesn’t bring his back to the rest. 
“You want some?” 
The Angel looks up from his lap. Sunwoo holds out a plastic cup filled with chocolate filling. The inside has a sharp surface and a clean line between transparency and chocolate. A depressing pudding for the depressing interior. And apparently the expression on his face as he thought of it, didn’t pass by Sunwoo, 
“I’m broke". It’s the only thing in this place that doesn’t cost me four thousand and a kidney.” “Plus, it’s actually good.” Sunwoo opens his eyes wide at the last sentence, nods his head as if to make Jacob agree by mimicking. 
Jacob moves his head, “Thank you, but I don’t like chocolate.” 
Sunwoo drops his hand with the pudding to the table surface, “Liar, everyone likes chocolate.” 
The Angel shakes his head gently, “Not me.” 
The one facing the window sighs, forces his hand back to his side of the table and instead, takes up the other container on the tray, “You’re weird, here’s your vanilla.” Sunwoo pushes the plastic cup over the distance and it slows down perfectly in front of Jacob. He looks at the cream white color before him and then up at Sunwoo who has opened his pudding. 
“Did you not want it?” Jacob tilts his head. 
Sunwoo shakes his head with the plastic spoon in his mouth, “Chocolate’s better. I thought that was a pre chosen feature before birth.” He takes the spoon and picks up another bite, “But apparently not.” Sunwoo smiles. 
Even when the conversation finds its final period in the end of a last sentence, Jacob finds himself staring and holding the thin cup between his fingers. And sometimes, when he tears his eyes off the plastic to look at Sunwoo, he sees the one on the opposite side gaze in deep adoration onto a point he can’t see from this side. Though, between the limited hours they’ve spent during this time, he figures it is not much in this scene of life that has his eyes so enchanted. 
Finally Jacob takes off the lid and takes the thin white spoon off the tray to tear the perfect surface of the pudding. As he takes his first bite, he tastes the sweet flavor from the vanilla melt in his mouth. Jacob, on his limited days on land, has never built any deeper interest for pudding he acknowledges. But every time he looks towards Sunwoo who takes a bite off his chocolate one, he gets a sudden desire to eat pudding tomorrow too. A sort of feeling he can’t quite figure out where it comes from or places in his heart. 
Jacob fascinatingly observes how, for each round sound of the clock, Sunwoo falls deeper into his palm. As if spellbound by the person, he looks as if to be in complete dissociation from the real world. Jacob wonders what he sees before his eyes as he watches Y/n, feels in his heart and senses between his veins. 
“Sunwoo?” Jacob says suddenly. It breaks the silence between them and the cafeteria for that part too. The one in deep infatuation looks away for a single second, though, still chin in palm, a position ready to turn back to at any time. 
“Why do you like Y/n?” Jacob tilts his head. 
Sunwoo frowns for a moment and then lifts his shoulder, “I don’t know, why wouldn’t I?” 
“You tell me.” Jacob leans in closer. 
Sunwoo scoffs, “She’s pretty. She’s smart, I don’t know…” His eyes shimmer from the daytime and his other hand comes up to his face. The end sleeves of his hoodie folds from the position and it covers some of his features. The words from his lips become muted in between all the fabric, “...She’s like from another world.” He sighs, “She’s beautiful like a dream and intriguing.” 
“Intriguing?” Jacob tilts his head again. 
“She talks really fast with a really flat tone. Then her body language, it’s as if she has none. That’s her body language.” 
Jacob nods. 
“Why do you wonder?” Sunwoo asks suddenly. 
Jacob’s quiet for a second, looks behind his shoulder towards Y/n before turning back to the table, “I don’t know, she seems a bit disinterested just.” He speaks gently. 
Sunwoo nods his head without making eye contact. 
“I think many would have gone for someone else.” He speaks slower than in previous conversations. Watch each motion of Sunwoo’s fingers and where his pupils are directed. Touch the surface just slightly and see how the waves starts to form. 
“I guess.” Sunwoo scratches his nails and looks towards the ceiling. 
“I-” 
“I have to meet up at five.” Sunwoo sits up, smiles with pressed lips towards Jacob and nods his head once again, “See you tomorrow, I guess.” He pushes his chair under the table and takes a first step out the odd patterned floor. 
“Wait, I should pay you back for the food.” Jacob stresses and starts searching in between his pockets. But the Angel stops once Sunwoo laughs just lightly and puts his hands in his pockets. 
“Don’t worry about it, it was like three thousand.” He turns his head fully and Jacob is left seeing his silhouette become all smaller and disappear out the glass door. 
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Despite the definite numbers of daylight there is in a December afternoon, Jacob finds himself at the avenue down the meters between university and his home. The lights hang above his head in lines until the very end of the buildings. And as Jacob lifts his chin even further up, his nose touches the cold air and in every window shines a candlestick. The thousands of lights enchanting the avenue shines in golden yellow. A warm vision as Jacob pulls the scarf a bit tighter around his neck. 
As he watches a couple come out of the glass door before the mall, Jacob thinks back on his conversation with Sunwoo. The Angel turns on every angle possible of the words he spoke to him. To imagine the different dimensions where the timidly spoken sentence could have affected him. Sunwoo was very quick that time, to stand up and leave the conversation. Jacob gets a discomfort in his spine as the scene plays over, but then it continues playing, showing the open motions and tone before he turns. Jacob shakes his head again, to make the screen fade from his mind and look at the white floor. 
It’s confusing, he thinks. Humans are confusing. 
“Hello.” 
Jacob takes the wrong step with his right feet. Shoe, trapped under an elevated part of the pathway and his hands comes out of his pockets as his weight leans forward. Before Jacob’s face comes even closer to the ground, his other leg lands to support the parts of his body that come to lean over. With a few foolish motions as to regain his balance and another second to get his posture upright instead of horizontal, Jacob looks behind him to see the voice that continues to linger in his ears. 
How the Angel’s wings tenses underneath all the fabrics and the features on his face become rigid and pale. The substantial shift in his current state, from outside it may look like a sudden winter storm passed him by. To steal every little warmth left between the layers. But truly, there is only one reason. As Y/n stands before him, a certain distance but in eye contact for the first time. 
“What’s your name?” She abruptly asks when he has stared for too long. 
Jacob grabs his backpack, “What-Why?” 
“I’ve seen you a lot lately.” She’s quick. 
“I’ve seen you a lot too.” Jacob starts to take steps away from her, but as he turns back, her silhouette follows him. 
Shoes in deep snow during winter evenings come from behind and wrap around his ears. 90s Chirstams melodies play weakly from the stores and he finally breaks silence, “Do you need help or something?” 
“I do.” 
“Okay, but I’m not good at math, just so you know.” 
“Don’t worry, it’s not math.” Y/n smiles lightly, though it sends shivers much deeper than any weather has ever done. Jacob swallows and looks before him. The avenue splits into two and he sets his eyes on the pathway into the badly lit park. 
“I’m Y/n.” She stops walking suddenly but continues to look at him, “Will you help me if I ask you?” 
“Jacob.” He answers weakly and shifts his sight between two opposite points. Y/n opens her mouth to speak, but Jacob rushes, making no space for more than one sentence. 
“I’m late for the bus.” And crosses the red light as another car passes. Head to look in the two different directions and the blinding lights coming all closer. Though, he does make it to the other side. Where lamps stand in row between the tall trees and the Christmas lights from the avenue can’t reach. Jacob looks behind him for a last time, to see a painted figure against the avenue, but at the entrance of the park, there is no one. As so, the wings on his back falls to his skin once again. 
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How the evening from before haunts him as he passes each corner and wall. There seems to be no logical reasoning, he thinks, as to why a girl he has never met or established any similarities to in the real world, to seek his company. Jacob stands, once again before the library in endless waiting for Sunwoo, but as all other days, he is nowhere to be seen. The Angel sighs, looks to the window and uncomfortably shifts his back. There has been a sort of constant ruler watching his every move, the one hidden among humans thinks. 
“Hello.” 
Jacob moves one step further down the pastel wall as another presence stands beside him. With his hands close to his chest, Jacob looks to see the person before him. With wide eyes and feet tightly set against each other, he forces himself to become smaller when she who he has wandered over stands in complete view. Her face is familiar by now, but the incredibly monotone voice that echoes throughout the halls felt as if picking on the past memories of her. 
“Hello?” Jacob stutters as silence passes them by. Her eyes, like the echo of her first words, lingers like the snow outside and with difficulty, won’t go away.  The blazer around his upper body sits as it always does, but somehow he feels like it has torn by its sides and reveals  his secret fully before her. As her eyes follow his silhouette, his hands cramp together even tighter. 
“Has someone ever told you you sound like an angel, Jacob?” Her voice, not as severe as before, reaches him through the awkward distance. The expression on her face is rather vague, not so drastic lines of emotions, instead nearly detached from the scene they find themselves in. Aside from her faintly north crescent lips and her eyes with the finest of pearl at the pupil. Sharp crystals like the ice hanging from outside the building. 
“No-Why?” Jacob coughs slightly and throws back the question. 
She changes the weight on her legs, “I don’t know, isn’t there a rumor that there’s angels walking among us.” 
“Well,” he takes the collar of his blazer and adjusts it, “It’s just a saying .”  
“You think so?” 
It becomes quiet once again, aside from the friend group that cross the wooden floor and follow the lines down the second corridor. As their conversation fades from these walls and lives on their own, Y/n takes a step closer towards him. In the everlasting coldness enchanting all corners of the building, he suddenly feels her warm shoulder closing in against his own. 
“You don’t believe in angels?” 
“No.” He answers hesitantly, only letting his eyes wander to the left for a single second before moving back to the window on the other side. He sees the eyes of students observing them as they stand in the center of two ways. 
“Just fate.” He pats his blazer again. Y/n eyes him in  silence to observe the invincible dust layered over the fabric, his hands brush it off. Falls down from the fabric to the hem line and adjusts it, despite no failed folds. 
“Nice blazer by the way.” She abruptly stops him. 
He looks at her without words. Now she’s leaning on the wall with crossed arms, eyes aimed at the two people who briefly cover sunlight on the pastel wall before passing it by. This time the two lock eyes completely, a shiver runs through his body as she observes him with an intensive sort of coat over the lobe. To pass through the very fiber that makes them two similar, she sees his soul wrapped in plastic. Burn it with her eyes until it starts to smoke. 
“You’re indiscreet Jacob, I know you’re not from here.” 
A single sentence seems to set off the second visor on the analog clock. Jacob breathes heavily and turns his head away from her. The reaction burns a part of her consciousness and the blood between her vessels moves all quicker as she opens her lips again. Another person passes them by precisely, and Jacob takes her wrist as the very opening of her sentence echo through the pastel passage. 
“Be quiet, please.” He whispers. Y/n is forced up against him, his eyes shining of heaven as he looks down at her. 
“Never.” The shift in dynamic doesn't seem to face her, he thinks. 
Jacob sighs loudly and lets go of her wrists. He throws it against her thigh before turning the other direction, each step, a dimension away from Y/n. But as he comes further down the corridor, where the pastel starts to become sun faded and spots of paint have withered away, a constant sound of steps in a rhythm just like his own. Jacob’s eyes follow the lines between the floors. Force each sound of his shoes against it to become all louder as they come to the very end of the corridor, where it splits in half. 
Her fingers grip onto the back collar, where the fabric folds into two. She forces it closer towards herself and Jacob feels the neckline move further up his skin and strangle the end of his throat. All at once, she pushes him to the right. Jacob lands with his back against the wall, the very fragment of the thin material seems to shrivel at this motion, and the wall, as it’s completely hollow, echoes throughout the empty hallway. 
Jacob lets out a cry as the fabrication and his own body press the wings under the blazer. Y/n comes up closer, with a distance enough for herself, but has her arms up against his head to constrain him to the small square beneath him. 
“Hurt your wings, Angel?” She tilts her head. 
Jacob’s right arm is wrapped around his upper body, to caress the aching spot on his back. The loose strands of his fringe have fallen before his eyes and the collar of his blazer is unfolded. He feels the dry bits of paint on the wall against his head as he leans away from her complexion, as much as this dimension allows him to. 
“You look like a mess.” Y/n tilts her head, “Like a sin.” 
“What do you want anyway?” Jacob says frustrated. 
“You’re not fallen, Angel. Tell me how to do it.” 
“Do what?” 
“Fall from this place.” She rolls her eyes, “Leave.” 
“You’re insane.” He takes a step to the left, but Y/n mirror it perfectly. So, her hands are beside him from both directions, still, to cage him in. 
“Why are you even here? With Sunwoo? Loverboy can’t do uni on his own?” 
For the first time, the features on her face shifts. From being forever still without any sort of indication of time or emotion, her eyes are coated with a thin layer of light, lucent from the moon and the corner of her lip twitches between the sentences. The fine pupil of her eye shifts focus on the different shadows of his face, when neither of them gives her any answers, she desperately starts asking him again. 
Jacob feels the human heart in his chest hurt severely. It pushes against his skin and the organs right besides it. Between each breath, the words lie on his tongue daring to be heard, but as she stares at him, just a little bit more frenetic than before, they fall back in his throat, tangle in each other and strangle him. The eyes sharp and vivid like yesterday’s nightmare, he closes his eyes and wishes for the sun to rise up. And at the exact moment, the two of them hear footsteps coming all closer to their spot behind the wall. 
As suddenly as Y/n appeared beside him before the library, she is now gone, with just a few steps and a temporary current from her disappearing arms. Jacob dares to open his eyes and see nothing but the yellow pale wall. To look behind the paper divider, he sees Y/n’s silhouette become all the smaller as the hallway continues forward and a student, much older, opens the door to the left. 
Once again, he falls against the dried off paint. But this time let his arms hang loosely by his sides, lend his head as far up as it goes, to stare at the high ceiling and breathe out loudly. 
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The days seem to obscure each other. How the distinctive line between day & night blemishes at its edges, and creates a wavering pattern of his life. Jacob sits in the library. Though, this time, he looks out over the high shelves and people’s heads from the second floor. To follow the figures from above as they navigate the shelves of titles and to look out the top part of the windows to see the snow covered cityscape. How this place seems unaffected by time, he thinks as his chin lies in his palm. 
The door from below opens again, and his eyes diverge quickly from the window down to the first floor. He sees the hair color at the top of the stranger’s head, it shines in a different shade than the one he seeks for. Therefore, Jacob feels his shoulder fall into a comfortable position once again and his eyes aspire for the white landscape through transparent shine. 
After another passing of the clock, a sensation, in heavier violence than the night weather, has taken a place on both of his shoulders. It weighs heavy over his chest, for a single second he forgets how to breathe. Without any intentions, his hands grab the textbook at the center of the table. Slowly, in contrast to the thoughts racing through his head, Jacob takes just a momentarily stop to them, as to figure out what to say. Though, words never come out when the eyes behind him meet his own. Instead, a laugh chimes throughout their part of the library. Sweet and bright, boyish as from a memory from a past life. 
Sunwoo stands behind him, letting his hand hit Jacob’s back gently as the ends of his eyes curl to a crescent. 
“Is the devil behind me or something?” He continues to laugh before walking to the opposite side of the table. Jacob still won’t answer, his eyes instead follows Sunwoo’s silhouette around the edge of the wood. As he stands up, he suddenly covers the massive window, but the sunlight shines back on him when Sunwoo sits down before him. 
“I have something.” The one on the opposite side is quieter than before. Jacob curiously tilts his head as Sunwoo reaches down to the floor. His backpack lies beside the chair, and as his shoulders disappear behind the table, Jacob hears slight sounds of paper scratching against each other. 
“Are you eating again?” Jacob asks bewildered. 
Sunwoo takes his finger up and pushes it before his lips, “Do you want some or not?” 
Jacob’s face falls flat once again. Eyes on Sunwoo’s as his own expression lights up all of a sudden. 
“Exactly.” He whispers. 
The paper folds a few more times and Jacob looks behind him to see if anyone else sees them. Sunwoo’s hand comes up from the white paper bag, in his palm, gently cupped lies a golden brown pastry, the layers flakey and falls off in his hand. Jacob turns back towards Sunwoo and reaches his hands out for the layered pastry. He brings it up to his face, beneath his nose as to smell it. Sunwoo reaches down again and smiles when Jacob’s eyes are wide and searches for the specific flavor wrapped in golden dough. 
“It’s vanilla.” He whispers and Jacob looks at him, “I’ll take the chocolate one.” 
His words gently wrap around his heart and sets off a sensation he has never experienced before. It’s warm like the memory of coming inside and closing the door after being outside. And when he looks at Sunwoo who takes an outlandish bite of his own pastry, Jacob feels the urge to take out his wings and gently cover the kid’s shoulder like it's a blanket. To fend off the nightmares of the world, events that make one soul a bit smaller, all of it would not come to him if Jacob stood like in imagination, protecting him fully. 
They sit in silence for some time. Let each book page that lifts from one side to the other blow around their ears. Jacob savors the last bit of his pastry and looks out the window again. Snow falls outside and lies like a grainy filter over the city horizon. As he falls deeper in trance of the portal to the outside, and counts each flake falling from above, Sunwoo suddenly taps his finger on the side of the computer. 
Jacob looks at the kid with wide eyes. His head slightly forward and posture completely still, as  if he does stand outside in the pouring snow. 
“Our holidays are soon.” Sunwoo too leans forward, “Eric-” 
He points at Jacob, “You know Eric?” 
The other one nods attentively. 
“Okay, good." “He’s holding a party this weekend, let’s go.”
Jacob leans back again, letting his back fall to the rest of the chair and he looks at Sunwoo with a rather uncertain expression.  
“I don’t know.” 
“Why?” He sees Sunwoo’s eyes squint with a momentary head tilt. 
“I’m not good at parties.” His shoulders are stiff and features rigid and square. 
Sunwoo too falls back in his chair, to mimic Jacob’s expression before smiling again “Saying it like it’s hockey or something, you just have to be there.”
Jacob’s still looking at him without words or smiling. 
“Either way, Party Pooper, I’m going to get Y/n to the party.” He suddenly grabs the black ink pen from the right side of the desk. Brings it close to the Angel’s face and motions it in the same pause between his words. 
The silly little witch movements makes Jacob quite amused, but nonetheless, the words leaving his mouth and the determination behind his eyes. It all shines like the metal frame, outlining each square of the high ceiling window. 
The Angel lifts himself off the back rest once again, reaches his hand up to the metal tip at the end of the plastic pen. As so, he forces it down to the wooden surface and Sunwoo still looks at him. 
“What if she doesn’t want to go?” 
“I’ll have to deal with that later.” He lifts his shoulders. 
“But isn’t that a waste of time?” Jacob continues. 
“Not in my opinion.” 
“But what if-” 
“Do you have something against her or what?” Sunwoo cuts him off abruptly. The one from the opposite side notices how his eyes diverge from his own and flees everytime Jacob chases after them. Sunwoo’s own question is rather loud when he crosses his arms and eyes sharp directed towards the Angel. Jacob feels his own hands grasp each other in his lap and his eyes awkwardly look down the first floor as to see if anyone heard. 
“Not against her so.” Jacob shifts his arms around before his chest. 
“I just don’t think…” He struggles as their eyes lock once more and in the furthest corner of his vision, he sees Sunwoo’s fingers impatiently bend the plastic of the ink pen. 
“...That she’s good for you.” 
Sunwoo furrows his eyebrows, "Why?" Like you know her? She doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“I do know.” He looks at the other one sternly, “I do know, Sunwoo.” 
He rolls his eyes, “Who have you talked to? Danny from architecture that has seen her once like everyone else? Stop falling for peer pressure, Jacob.” 
“No.”  Jacob buries his face in his hands. The sigh echoes throughout the square area they are in. He stands up. The chair grinds against the wooden floor and spreads from their table. Students from the same floor behind the bookshelves eye the two. 
“Chill, dude.” Sunwoo puts his hands up. 
“No.” Jacob grabs Sunwoo’s right wrist and forces him up, his chair too leaves a mark on the parquet. 
Sunwoo sees the eyes of their peers as each step Jacob takes echoes throughout the shelves and climbs up to the floor ceiling. The right side of the double door flies open as they walk out. At the center of the horizontal hall, the one in disguise looks left and right as the one connected by the wrist stares at the other in bewilderment. At last, at the end of the hallway on its left plane, sits a door in the same color as the wall. A rather beaten up one with a slim frame and no rectangular plate to inform its name. 
Before Sunwoo realizes what he’s staring at, Jacob forces his hand closer to him and starts walking towards the door. And at just one meter away from it, as Jacob reaches out to the door handle. 
“You’re gonna take me hostage now or what?” Sunwoo asks. 
Jacob doesn’t answer, instead, the door behind the two of them shuts close. The corridor they stand in falls silent once again and neither of them can make out the lines of silhouettes or practical equipment in the still darkness. 
“This is a secret.” Jacob speaks to him as his eyes have started to adjust, “I’m here to protect you, Sunwoo.” He says clearly. 
“Okay?” Sunwoo says skeptically. 
Jacob sighs deeply before he angles his arms to get the blue fabric off his back. Now, Sunwoo’s eyes have also started to become familiar with the shadows. And before him, near the corner of the room where the shelves are, he sees Jacob struggling to get the blazer off and his arm meet the one shelf, creating a contained sound in the room. 
“Don’t take off your clothes, dude.” Sunwoo eyes him in disgust. 
“I’m not getting naked.” Jacob answers frustrated. He refuses to argue further with the one crammed into the far corner. Sunwoo stands beside a rigid old broom, his eyes following its silhouette down to the floor and takes it in his hands. 
As he looks at the one opposite towards him, his figure outlined by the faint light seeping through the cracks in the door. Jacob finally gets that piece of fabric off his arm and the blazer falls to the left off his leg. Suddenly, the light between the door and its frame fades out of view. The liminal space in the midst of the corridor becomes even darker and cramped as a white clean complexion rises above their heads. 
Sunwoo squints as he lets go of the broom. The wooden material hits the wall loudly before it plummets to the floor. 
“Take the wings off man, that’s embarrassing.” 
Jacob feels Sunwoo's shoulder brush against his own, and without hesitation, Jacob turns around before the other reaches the door handle. The fabric of his shirt tangled between Jacob’s own fingers as he drags the boy closer, away from the door. 
“It’s real! I’m your guardian angel!” He whispers-shouts and points at the feathers behind him, “Touch!” 
“No!” Sunwoo holds the same tone. 
“Why are you so stubborn!?” 
“Why do you have wings on!?”
“Because I’m your guardian angel!”
Jacob continues to whisper back at him, Sunwoo stops answering, instead silently stares at him in the dark. The Angel lets out a frustrated sigh and as he does, the wings behind him twitches slightly, opens and closes as much as they can in the liminal space. Sunwoo tilts his head, through with furrowed eyebrows and back against the door. He still bends his knees slightly to see the end feathers of his wings. 
“Here.” Jacob has stopped whispering, his voice, gentle and silken like the first time they met. He turns around, with his back towards Sunwoo, to let him see the practical details, he spreads them slightly. 
“They look pretty good. Where did you buy them?” Sunwoo asks with crossed arms. 
“You can’t buy them, I’m born with them.” 
There’s two holes in the back of his white shirt. Slit vertically down, and the right goes just a bit further down the left. And truly, as Sunwoo leans forward, he tells his eyes not to deceive him when the skin underneath the layers of white feathers connects seamlessly to the back. 
“You truly are a weirdo.” His posture falls straight again, back against the door surface. 
“What does your wings even have to do with Y/n?” 
Jacob reflects the change in the way Sunwoo holds his body, as he lifts his head up to face him. The Angel rolls his eyes, letting the distance between his lips grow wider as to whisper debate part two. But as his vision, faded in shadows from all sides,  comes up to the same level as Sunwoo’s, the eyes of his human, spellbound by genuine intrigue. Sunwoo’s head is tilted just slightly upwards, to watch his features in an angle never discovered before. Turn the motif he has built up of the man before him the past week. 
“Not my wings.” ”But that I'm your angel.” Jacob corrects him. Without any motions, instead let his arms fall vertically down its sides, like before they stepped into the room without brilliance. 
“Sorry, I don’t get it, dude.” He put his hands up again, “You don’t think it’s a good idea to shoot the arrow or are angels psychic all of a sudden?” 
His wings flutter just slightly as Jacob breathes in, “First off, I’m not Cupid. Second, I’m not psychic.” He breathes out, “My mission is to protect you, we’re-you’re in danger, she’s betraying this place, using others for her own need.” The Angel points with his finger towards Sunwoo’s face. Follow the breaths as he speaks. 
Jacob comes closer, laying his right arm over Sunwoo’s shoulder. The soft material of his sweater and the slight warmth that filter through the minimal knits. The Angel’s hand gently on his consciousness, Sunwoo abruptly becomes aware of the four walls, a border tight against them, cold because of lack of either sunlight or electric heat. A part of Jacob becomes rather confused as the one he protects, stubborn and appalled by inferiority, doesn’t move his hand away. Instead let it share its warmth. 
Jacob bites his lip, nearly letting his fingers push against the fabric on his shoulder a bit harder. Something at an unknown place in his mind, draws a deep line within that place. Impending on the new wound, a part of him wonders if the words on the tip of his tongue are worth saying. That he’s slowly, but firmly pulling a part of the fabrication of the very machine he rules and protects. Nonetheless, he looks up again and speaks;
“I need to protect myself too, Sunwoo.” He whispers, “I’m not here on my own will, I need you to know that.” 
How the world has refused to move even one step since they tread into the room. When they come back to the open floor and watch the identical students from before sit in the same position and flip through pages, the two of them wonder if it is the same pages they look at as before. Though, as the chairs from their table stand turned and diagonal, next to the vertical lines of the floor. Jacob watches how Sunwoo takes himself closer to the decorated edge. Like an image from a painting, the Angel sees his back clearly in view, follows each step and takes the place right beside Sunwoo as he leans on the wooden railing. Both of their shoulders fall in place without agitation as they look at the slow motions of the life before them. Sunwoo who fills his lungs fully with air, his body shifts like the transition of winter to spring as he breathes out. In another perspective, Sunwoo himself watches the white landscape grow all whiter as the snow continues to fall. Build on its height and dream of reaching back home. 
“I guess that makes sense.” Sunwoo’s voice is rather low when his chin is cupped between the skin of his palm. 
Jacob tilts his head and looks down at him, “What makes sense?” His voice is gentle. Pure like the true white color of snow. Sunwoo smiles slightly, which only makes the right tilt of Jacob’s head force the end strands to reach his shoulder. 
“That.” Sunwoo looks up at Jacob. To use his shoulders in effortless motions, let the sharpest part guide the Angel’s eyes to an abstract point behind his back. Jacob eyes him without words and takes his hand behind his back, opens it fully and stretches his fingers around the center of the two wings. 
Sunwoo laughs, “That explains why you’re so weird.” 
“Good or bad?” Jacob asks worriedly. 
“Good.” Sunwoo answers without hesitation and Jacob once again is left in a lone corner over the hidden paragraph between a single word. 
“I like weird people.”
The one clothing reveal didn’t become as scrutinizing as he once thought. He watches the top of people’s heads navigate through the thin lines and how their steps cut right through the sun reflection on the parquet flooring. Though, despite the positive outcome of the break of rules, there must be an underlying reason, in his unconsciousness as to why he refuses to look up from the stained floor. 
“Are you immortal or something?” Sunwoo asks abruptly. His voice, low and muted to the outside world, but the clearest thing in a single room as he speaks to him while conscious of the sentient world. His head finally gets to move with the minutes left of daytime. 
“No, I’m not.” He furrow his eyebrows. 
“How old are you then?” He looks back at Jacob. 
The Angel’s quiet for a second, “As old as you? Or what do you mean?” 
“So twenty three?” 
“Probably not twenty three in human twenty three ways, but close enough.” Jacob motions with his hands. 
“In dog years?” 
“No-” Jacob stops himself to look up at the chandelier in a high ceiling, leans closer to Sunwoo and tilts his head, “Dog years, isn’t that the concept of a dog's maturity in human scale?” 
“Yup.” Sunwoo answers in gray, dull tone. 
“Okay, then kind of.” 
“Do you have any memories then?” Sunwoo is now fully leaned on his arm with his entire body shifted towards Jacob’s own essence. 
“I do.” Jacob smiles. 
“What do you remember?” 
“You.” 
“Nothing else?” Sunwoo asks. Jacob looks away from him, the lids stay open as they refuse to close as he looks at the wall of spines. To run through all the pictures captured in time, see the grainy filter over his past and not a single one has without his face. He’s always there, either in perfect font or dream. 
“No.” Jacob shakes his head. 
“Really?” Sunwoo says skeptically, “You didn’t accidentally drop your ice cream before God or something?” 
Jacob shakes his head, “I remember you dropping your ice cream at four, you started crying but your mom and dad were somewhere else, so I just stared at you. That was awkward.”
Sunwoo smiles at how Jacob’s eyes are focused towards a distant point as he describes parts of the life sequence. There is something amidst them, that distance between their two shoulders that have seemed to become shorter for every day, that has started to grow. A single sprout that gently planted itself at the center without either knowledge, and now starts to spread its petals. Time has seemed to strengthen the fabrication of each leaf. 
It is rather funny, Sunwoo thinks, how the flower has bloomed between the frozen cracks of a winter. But only a sprout that has been through wither would be able to force itself up, between those layers. Therefore, Sunwoo finds himself quietly giving into the fabrication between the two of them. When looking at Jacob, he realizes he’s staring at his youth.
“I’ve been here as long as you” Jacob says suddenly, “, and stay here til you do.” 
Sunwoo doesn’t say anything. 
“All you do affects me too.”��
Sunwoo nods his head silently and leans on his palm, “So if I jump out the window you’ll die too?” It was rather satirical, a hypothetical scenario wrapped in unseriousness from Sunwoo’s side, but the human has come to realize angel’s don't always take sarcasm.  
“Yes.” Jacob says with a stern face. Sunwoo laughs silently and Jacob eyes him. Observing his serene motions and dares to walk closer. 
“So don’t do anything bad.” 
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“Nice home.” Sunwoo looks around the room before he drops his bag onto a right angled carpet that hides whatever’s before the door. 
“Mine looks like shit.” 
“Yeah, I know.” Jacob nods his head and walks over to his bed. 
“You do?” Sunwoo stands before the closed door and looks at Jacob who lies between sheets and pillows of low saturation in peach shade essence.
“Not seen it now, but when you were little.” He looks at the ceiling, “I just guess you haven’t changed.” 
Sunwoo’s shoes stand in different directions of the black carpet beside Jacob’s that pointed towards the wall. He walks over to the one laying down, inspecting him silently before taking the pillow closest to the edge. 
“You’re dissing me or what?” 
“No-” Jacob doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Sunwoo throws the pillow down the calm state of the Angel’s face. 
“Yeah, Cupid.” 
“I’m not, Cupid.” Jacob sits up and takes the pillow from under his head and aims right at the center between Sunwoo’s eyes. 
And so it continues until the one with a full human heart lies on the floor. His locks scattered over Jacob’s peach muted carpet. He looks a little pathetic from above, Jacob thinks and smiles. As the reflection of the angel above him clears, the outlines become perfect, he sees how Jacob reaches his hand out towards him. 
“You’re so weird, why are you hitting your guardian angel?” Jacob forces him up and they stand in the center of the small square. 
The brief daylight hours has passed this age by too and now, it’s the warm light from Jacob’s ceiling that pierce through the window and spread out over the nearby snow. The room has warmed up from the center where they sit and spread slowly to the outer corners. Jacob sits on the bed, his back against the window frame. In contrast, Sunwoo sits at the very bottom, on the peach colored carpet, but both with posture bend forward over the textbooks and computers like grass over the windy field. 
Sunwoo has fallen in and out of the blank page before him about three times. To look at the window behind Jacob where, it every time, disappoints him, because there is nothing to look at in winter evening. Or go to the toilet.
At some point, when Jacob’s cursor hits the end of the A4 page, he stretches his back and yawns. Sunwoo looks over the horizontal line where the bedsheet gathers in folds, and sees how Jacob’s arms struggle in the blue fabric. The sounds of keys on the computer are now lost from this space and only the light noise of the ventilator lingers between the four walls. As Jacob stops stretching his arms, he takes off his blazer and lets it fall behind him on his orange sheets. The white wings stretch to the two opposite sides of his bed before they fall. 
Sunwoo looks at him while leaning his hands on the carpet behind him, “How do you shower?” 
Jacob answers hesitantly, “Like you normally shower?” 
“Do you wash them with shampoo or something?” 
“No..” 
“Gross.” Sunwoo makes a face. 
“Why? "Should I?” His eyes widen as he caresses the feathers of his left wing. 
“I don’t know.” He suddenly falls down onto the floor, smiles as he closes his eyes, “I’m no angel.” 
“Pretty obvious.” Jacob hums quietly and walks up. 
At some the curve of his posture had fallen so deep that Jacob swore he could hear cracks of bones. And instead to pull strings above his back, Jacob fell backwards on the pillows. The computer on the lower end of his stomach and his chin in an unflattering position to see the lit up screen. Though, he let the words between four frames judge his current state and the sounds of keys filled the four walls. After another passage of time, Jacob’s stomach growls and he registers the lack of sound as he himself stops writing.
“Are you hungry, Sunwoo?” Silence.
As no answers come from the one below him, Jacob reaches himself over the edge. Spread across his carpet lies Sunwoo with his arms tangled and body in a rather complex position. His eyes, closed off from this plane of existence as his mind reaches another. For just a moment, Jacob watches him quietly from the bed above. There is something nostalgic that evokes from this scene. 
Though, he does eventually stand up and take the pillow from the inner corner. It’s just a little cold as it was compressed between himself and the wall, isolating their frame from the winter lined streets. Jacob sits down beside Sunwoo’s chest, he gently lifts the boy’s head, without much sound lets the soft fabric catch his locks and the rest of his head. They sit for a second, completely unchanged, but Jacob sees the skin on Sunwoo’s upper arms create patterns of small dots. That he knows, his human form does that too when the cold itches to take the degrees from him. So, Jacob reaches over to his bed again, takes the blanket at the very end. He stretches it before it falls to the floor and replicates the silhouette of Sunwoo’s body. 
As time passes and the visor on the clock up on the high wall runs in bold progress, Jacob sits in a silence, one he only can experience in this form. Despite the constant noise of the clock, the undying reminder that he does exist, the world somehow moves slower. 
Jacob looks at Sunwoo’s face. Complexions without stress, in dreams he must be somewhere else, where life doesn’t tweak his eyebrows and strangle his skin. As they sit like this, Jacob wonders about his mission. The purpose of his arrival and existence. If he gets to reveal his thoughts, be true to the feelings inside his chest, Jacob can’t see a possible outcome where he forces Sunwoo’s heart in another direction. Despite their agreement, nothing but Y/n seem to cast over him as if  in dreams. 
Jacob reaches out his right hand over Sunwoo’s hair, gently feeling the strands brush past his skin. His mission to protect seems to have widened its edges and to save the boy before him has become more than to prevent blood scattered wounds. But to see him in delight knowing his fortune. As Jacob comforts his other half in the night, he thinks of young love and to, at least, not let the another presence color Sunwoo’s heart. 
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Ever since that day, when Jacob, just another student in his class, revealed his life secret and told him there’s someone actively protecting him. He hasn’t been able to describe it perfectly, to set his finger on the singular mark and feel confident in the linear placing. Rather, he lets the skin of his point finger brush past the reflective paper, stop at a spot underneath a highlighted world, until he reverts back to the opposite side of the paper. 
As he walks away from campus, out on the broad streets, two lined at the edges and a center path where all the snow has collected towards the sides, painted brown from cars. Sunwoo feels a strange sort of responsibility for the new perspective of the world. Despite the enlightenment being a revelation  of a ruler watching him silently, he feels an even stronger obligation to become an active part of the otherworldly dynamic. 
A father with his child walks past him, and Sunwoo pushes his hands even deeper into his pockets. His breath paints a vague white cloud in the shade of the snow beneath him. And when a car drives past him, in the back of his mind, he considers walking closer towards the decorated glasses. 
As he looks at the same scenery, but in different seasons, he stops as he comes outside the mall. At the center, beneath the fabrication folding out over the street, he looks at the sign that will soon turn on, and then, the glass doors on row. How people push and pull the doors without a consistent pattern. Each window shop is scattered with snowflake stickers, red ornaments, green bushes and golden lightning. Sunwoo adjusts his hands in his pockets once again as he longingly watches into the world he knows too well. 
To stand there, he realizes how much of his time depends on a single ritual, a single person. What is he supposed to do if not going in, he thinks. Jacob was busy, apparently. Been running around all month trying to convince him to not reach out his hands towards Y/n, seems like life finally catches up to him. Sunwoo smiles as he thinks about Jacob ignoring papers, deadlines and assignments and how his wings twitch in anxiety as he runs to the shelf in the library. . 
“Hi.” 
Sunwoo jumps from one concrete square to the other. By reflexes alone, his hands tangle themselves out of the pockets, and he holds them before his face directed right towards the voice who called him. Though, the frown on his face fades from view as he sees the features between his fingers. On the opposite side of the concrete square, drowned in melted snow, stands the girl he watches everyday from this place, though, instead she stands beside him. 
She looks at him, doesn’t break eye contact for even a second when his hands fall down to its sides. As they stare through the looking glass to the heart of the other, Sunwoo wonders if Y/n has ever looked at him for this long. He figures the longest they’ve held some sort of visual connection outside his dreams, it is the barely second long stare when he drops a pen during lectures and she turns behind to look at what went on. 
Y/n herself forces the part of her face to stay in place. The boy before her stands with eyes large as the reflective ornaments behind them. He refuses to blink and she wonders if she’ll need to walk up to him and move the lids up and down for him. As to not laugh, Y/n reaches down to the ground, and Sunwoo’s eyes follow. A glove and candy wrapper lies on the spot between the two of them, it must have flown out when he shoved his hands out ( like a loser!!?!??!? ) he thinks, does a painful face when she faces the ground instead of him. 
“Here.” Before she reaches up fully, Sunwoo lets his shut eyes and creased skin fall into an unbothered expression.  The hand in front of his mouth, fingers that curled up slightly as if to rip a piece out of his own teeth, shifts behind his back. Now she stands before him fully, even closer than the first time she scared him. Her hand with his glove and wrapper are dreadfully close, in a way where he sees his past selves fall to the floor. He thinks he can sense her perfume from this distance (really it’s the beauty shop five meters away) and he hopes to brush past the skin of her hands when he takes the glove. 
“Thanks” Sunwoo scratches the back of his neck and reaches out carefully for her hand. Though, he doesn’t need to wish as he spreads his palm. A single star enchanted in a miracle must have fallen in daylight as Y/n takes her free hand around his wrist gently, turns it so his palm faces the sky and gives the glove and wrapper. A butterfly that has been slowly waking up in his stomach, for the first time sets itself free when she brushes past his fingers. 
“No worries.” She smiles and Sunwoo says something incoherent which makes Y/n lean in closer. The simple motion makes him nearly drop the glove again and Y/n smiles even harder than the moment before. 
To have never paid much attention to the boy before him, simply just acknowledged his present when the moment called for it, she feels strangely enthralled by having so much affect on him. Though, she decides to conceal that feeling, hiding it away in the cold shadows so as to not make judgment for her. 
“You’re not with Jacob?” She asks curiously. 
Sunwoo who has stood in absolute silence, barely on his knees as they seem to give up every time she takes a step closer towards him. The butterflies grow old in a single second at the mention of the Angel’s name. That conversation from a day before replays in his mind and apprehensive commotion take his heart from behind, like the sudden wind. He straightens his posture. 
“No, he had other things.” Sunwoo falls over his own words and the single pupil can’t seem to find a comfortable spot in the crowded entrance decorated in warm tones. Y/n’s own arm falls to her sides, out of her pockets and her chin forces upwards, to let her features hidden under the scarf out. Each part and motion of her essence seem to open up as Sunwoo forces his body closer against his heart. To rigidly press up his shoulders and force the scarf higher up, as to feel his warm breath on the fabric.
“Are you cold, Sunwoo?” Y/n takes another step towards him, takes her hand without a glove on his red cheek. The sigh at the back of his throat that suffocates behind the material of clothing, he sees the red ornaments in the background, become vivid as her eyes, clear as the lightning in the shop window, looks into his own. A part of him speaks to lean in against her touch, close his eyes and let her brush the past off his skin. While he hears how Jacob’s voice lingers between his two ears. To run away and stay close and protect his unstained heart. 
“You really are.” Sunwoo doesn’t get to react before Y/n takes his arm jacket. To navigate the thin space between padded layers and paper bags, Sunwoo nearly trips over as they come to the final glass door, dividing the two spaces. In the mall, at the black carpets where melted snow has spread over, they stand, Y/n still in grip with his jacket. 
“You should get something warm.” Y/n says and looks up at him as they walk further into the mall. 
“I have no money.” Sunwoo answers distressed as he can feel Jacob’s almighty pressure beat down on him from above. 
“I have, don’t worry.” 
How foolish he does feel as they sprint pass the endless store windows and openings. His sneakers that are not built for melted snow lose grip on the marble floor as they come closer to a cafe in the inner corner of the mall. Sunwoo curses himself silently as he every season refuses to change shoes, better not become a habit if he ever gets rich enough to get a car, he thinks. 
The cafe they walk into has a rather dark complexion, contrasting to the white marble floor of the outside. Y/n is still holding his arm, she leads him further into the warm light and velvet furnitures. Sunwoo simply looks up at her own features as she gently pushes him down the couch in the absolute furthest corner of the cafe. Y/n herself, takes a step back, in which Sunwoo starts incoherently talking and reaching out his arm again.
“I’m getting us something warm, I’ll be back, Sunwoo.” 
His arm, freezed in that space she left it in. He watches her silhouette disappear behind a wall to get to the counter, and when only the low sound of christmas music reaches him. He falls back into the velvet material, smiles so deeply that he has to hide his face in between the material of the scarf. 
His emotions as if being pushed by two opposite parts, he feels like. Sunwoo rests his head against the soft material and feels two identities on each shoulder. Jacob on one, Y/n on the other. Each one takes a stern grip on his shirt and creates tidal waves in his heart. And how hard it pulsates in the very center of his chest. He tries to figure out, as he watches the abstract pattern on the ceiling, is it of fear of complete infatuation? 
He doesn’t get to wonder about that for much too long as he hears footsteps come all closer. Sunwoo forces himself off the back rest, a red pillow lands on the floor, before his feet. But it flashes past him and he forgets it as soon as Y/n stands before him with a black tray. Her beanie and scarf is off and it rather rearranges her hair and shirt. So beautifully natural in a slightly tired stage, how he wants to grab his shirt and kiss her, he thinks. And if it weren’t for Jacob at the other line, he might have stood up and asked her. 
“You’re throwing pillows?” She asks while laughing. Y/n place the tray on the table and reach down. Sunwoo, too, reaches for it  after scratching his neck. They awkwardly meet at the very bottom of the floor, both of them with their own hand on the velvet material. Sunwoo looks in her eyes genuinely as she too has paused before him. As if it’s the only time in his life where stars collide, he observes each of her shadows and highlights in deep adoration, as if to paint that picture when he can’t reach out for her. 
Y/n who gifted her hand to fold him weak in his knees, feels her own heart suddenly chime off like the bells in the far winter distance. Those seconds feel like minutes and she tears her eyes off his own and takes the pillow. 
“You should eat, Sunwoo.” She coughs and motions at the tray. 
He slowly sits up too, looks at the tray. Latte, a pie of sorts and two apples. 
“Okay.” He stutters and tries to take off his scarf. The end tangles itself into his jacket which in turn, secures in a part of the couch. 
Y/n bites her lip as too force down a genuine smile over his fast paced and incautious motions. 
“Here, drink this.” She coughs again as she holds out the white porcelain cup towards him. How the tidal wave turns again and Sunwoo scratches his neck and leans just slightly away from the cup. 
“I don’t think I should-” 
“Why?” Her smile disappears in an instant and he grows even more anxious. 
“I’ve been sleeping badly.” He forces a laugh and takes the cup from her hands, “But I’ll take it either way.”
Time awkwardly passes them as they sit by the table. Sunwoo drinks from the coffee, but hasn’t touched either the pie or the apple. A part of her suspiciously watches the scene in third person perspective. The rigid posture of his shoulder and the constant change in focus point. As if someone else is on his mind. 
“What are you thinking of, Sunwoo?” She asks gently. He looks at him with big eyes and then the window. 
“The coffee." He says enthusiastically and lifts the cup, “I think it’s the best of my life!” He smiles, but he judges her as unconvinced by the look she gives him alone, so he supports his statement, just like in class, “Wow!” 
As no words come out or a change in expression, Sunwoo closes his eyes for a second and mentally throws his body out the window. And when he opens and sees her face once again, he falls back in his seat. 
Another moment of silence passes. 
“You can tell me, Sunwoo.” She smiles and scoots a bit closer towards him, “If you’re comfortable of course, I’m a good listener.” 
The pendulum in his heart swings to the opposite side as he looks at her eyes filled with warm light reflection from above. The worries in his mind, that’s been running all day and night, that tears at his skin and holds him away from dreams. He holds the cup in his hands, because if he even dares to open his mouth, he feels the words come out of him like waterfalls. 
“I’m just a bit confused, I guess.” He admits and looks at the dark wall. 
“Of what?” She asks with a low voice and watches his side profile. 
It is painfully quiet before he speaks, to filter the words he wants to say, “Life, I guess.” He says, “I don’t really know what I want.” 
Y/n, too, becomes rather like the snow falling outside as he sincerely, just lightly, loft the curtain cover over his heart. The music fades as her mind leans closer towards him, the thin line into an undiscovered part of the world. 
“Is it a lot of choices or…is it just blank?” She asks cautiously. 
“Or I do know.” he falls back in his seat, “It’s just, someone said it’s not a good choice for me. But I feel happy when I think about he-it.” 
The sentence leaving his lips comes like an arrow, aimed at the very center of her complex. The fatal end of the arrow forces itself in between her skin and before Y/n can even react, it sits, so dangerously in her heart, hanging by that very metal. How her own structured play melts in that same spot, run down her lips even when that inner part burns to keep it in. 
“I also want something that is bad, apparently.” She speaks and looks down her own lap. 
“Is it a person or…” Sunwoo dares to ask, “or something else?” 
“Something else.” Y/n fiddles with the hem of her sweater.
“Will it hurt you if you do it?” 
Y/n looks up from the tearing string of her shirt. As another snowflake falls to the floor, their eyes connect. She needs to look slightly down, as he lies on his back against the furniture. The lights illuminate him from above and a single shine from the left casts itself over his heart and eyes. The sight before her leaves her breathless somehow, the arrow twists itself a bit harder and somehow she leans in and answers him with a tone of clear night sky. 
“I don’t think so.” She pauses and looks at his brown eyes dipped in sunlight, “Will it hurt you?” 
Sunwoo shakes his head delicately against the fabric, “No, …but someone else might.” 
She frowns, “Might?” 
“I’m not sure, I haven’t ask-” He stops talking mid sentence, sees from the perspective behind the wall how the curtains lift a centimeter higher for every word spoken, “I don’t know.” He repeats. 
Sunwoo’s hand, softly spread out over the couch. The velvet material forces itself out between his fingers and plummets down against the frame when another, just like his, lies over it. Sunwoo looks down at the spot where two essences connect. How the impulses bridge over to the other when they lay skin to skin. He follows her arm, up to her shoulder and her eyes. He gets taken aback just a bit by her expression. She’s awfully quiet and won’t give him that gentle sweet smile she has been giving him since outside. Rather, it’s something earnest in her dull frame. Something that can’t be quite expressed in words, rather he stares at her and tries to figure the feeling in her eyes. There’s a window in her eyes to another world, and he feels an yearning to get to that place. 
“Sunwoo?” She asks him with her hand still on his, “Will you help me?” Y/n stops. 
“Help me get away-” 
Y/n’s hand falls behind her back, when Sunwoo abruptly takes his hand closer to his own presence. To stand up and reach for the high ceiling when everything else melts to the floor.
“Sorry, I have-'' He desperately reaches for his scarf in between the pillows.The oil lamp on a round table shakes as he accidentally hits it walking away from the table. Sunwoo tears his eyes off her figure and down to the floor the moment he sees her expression drenched in midnight rain. Though, the angel on his shoulder points at her wildly, turns on her sides and desperately shouts in his right ear until its voice rings of pain. 
“I’ll pay you back later.” He falls over words and trips over his other foot as he turns on his heel. Y/n opens her mouth, but before even the first syllable escapes her lips, Sunwoo is behind the wall, out of view. The last trace of him is the fading footsteps running out of the small corner, and the dark velvet spot where his hand was.  
  “You forgot your apple.” She nearly whispers as her voice is no longer to use. 
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The sun has completely disappeared under the horizon. Not even a moon in a clear dark night, as it snows heavily. Beneath the streetlamps, where the light is at its strongest before spreading in all directions, you’ll see the feather-like fragments plummet down towards the white mass. Though it’s dark without a star course in the sky, the snow is astonishingly white that the warm tone from the lamps reflects from the ground. 
A single trail in the new snow leads up to an apartment complex. Horribly painted spots in rough edges, scattered without a clear pattern and probably pretty badly isolated. Jacob sits at the edge of a window frame. About three meters off the ground. To carefully watch the secret world behind the glass, Jacob turns himself slightly and leans in towards the room. It’s completely dark, not a single light source on. Rather the only thing looking back at him is his own eyes and the faint shape of his wings. 
The snow on the frame melts underneath his fingers, it turns red and itches. Jacob waves the water of his hand as his human body is a burden before starting to unlock the window. He remembers back in time, when Sunwoo had his own little room, one wall away from his parents. It was about two or three times Jacob had to force himself between the thin creak.
He gets the glass door open and widens the gap. The wind from outside prevails and spreads into the room. Brush past the curtains and extend itself onto each surface of the apartment. Jacob himself takes a step onto the carpet beneath the window. His bare foot makes no sound and a slight grind lingers between the four walls as he closes the window. 
Jacob let his eyes observe the home in a panorama like manner. And at the very right of his presence, is a bed in the farthest corner. He leans in, to discern the shadows in the fabric. Nearly completely covered by the sheets, he does catch the top of her head. Y/n sleeps in near silence and Jacob carefully takes a step backwards from the bed, instead closer towards the kitchen area. 
He saw the scenery from today, brushed past him and he shivered as he sat in the library. On the way home he tried to meet up with Sunwoo, but his voice was short and rigid on the other line. Events seem to fall in line for her, but stars can’t die right now, he thinks. So in a desperate attempt to save himself and Sunwoo, Jacob stands as an intruder in her home to find the red apple from the cafe. He knows she took it home, therefore he takes his hands on the wall to feel himself getting closer to something of a different texture.  
“Why are you in my room?” A voice tired and confused from the corner he just left takes a single knife and lets the blade wound the quiet night. His shoulders tense up and he refuses to either turn his heel or take a look behind his back. 
“I’m not.” Jacob answers in a painfully unconvincing manner. 
“You are.” By the two words alone and her tone, he can see the frown on her face. 
“No.” Jacob walks further away, accidentally hits the wall and moves left. 
“Why are you showing your wings?” 
He’s quiet for a second, “It’s a costume.” 
“Like Cupid or what?” She scoffs. 
He breathes in, “For the las-I’m not Cupid.” He moves his hands in an outward motion, “I’m an Angel, an Guardian Angel.” 
“Seems like I hit a nerve.” She says and sits up. Jacob’s quiet. At this point, the dark complexion of the room and their eyes has adjusted to one another and Y/n sees him in the other end, outlined without any blemishing. Awkwardly rigid in the very end, reminiscent of a lamp post and he caresses his left wing.
“You never answered my question, Angel.” She says. 
“What?”
“Why are you in my home?” 
“I don’t know.” He flees again. 
“You’re in here checking the architecture or what?” She sighs and looks at him with sharp eyes, “I know you’ve been talking with Sunwoo.” 
Jacob looks at her again, expression much colder than before, “And I know you’ve been too, don’t come close to him.” 
“Is that what this is about?” She asks. 
“I’m not telling you.” He takes a step forward and looks over the kitchen  sink, “Where do you have your food?” 
“In the fridge.” Y/n deadpans. 
“No.” Jacob hits his forehead.
“You’re not even human to begin with, don’t tell me where I should store my groceries.” She pushes up the sheet and stands up. Jacob looks around the counter again, to seek a rounded form with red shadows, but as the surface is seemingly empty. Jacob takes three steps towards the window and opens the glass door. 
“Jacob-” Y/n turns from her bead and grabs his arm as his wings fold out in her room. The wind from outside brushes harshly against her skin. 
“Don’t bring Sunwoo into your mess, Y/n.” He looks at her and his eyes of liquid moonlight, in the same shade as his wings but brighter. She’s left with her mouth just slightly agape as Jacob looks less human by a single change in perspective. The wings weighs over him heavily and another wind scatters the hair oóver his human complexion. 
“But I-” 
“Just don’t, please.” As the last words leave his lips and the grip on his wrists has started to loose. A wind much stronger than anything from outside forces her hair to alter from before her chest to behind her back and waters her eyes. She closes her eyes before desperately letting her upper body out the window, watch how his silhouette fades into snow in the night.. 
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“Do you need to go, then?” Jacob stands before the sink in his room, drops of water following a constant pattern down the drain as he watches a puddle in the very bottom form. Though, he does shift his vision away, out to the open space before his bed, where on the carpet, Sunwoo lies spread out like a starfish. The sight has become too familiar that when Sunwoo isn’t here and Jacob goes to bed and looks down to see no one, it feels rather desolate. He walks through the front door nearly everyday in the afternoon or evening. Jacob asked him if he should get a mattress, full time on the hard floor spot, but Sunwoo insisted not to.
“Yes, Eric’s gonna kill me if I don't," he sighs. Jacob takes the glass up to his mouth once more and watches Sunwoo shift his head on the ash orange fabric. 
“He’s like “Sunwoo,we’re were you?! I prepared this little bowl-you didn’t even show up!”” His hands up in the air, vertical from the floor. It is rather amusing when he shifts one of his legs up and starts imitating his friend in a high voice. 
“Either way, Y/n’s not gonna be there.” Sunwoo sighs. 
“Why?” Jacob asks. 
“We sat at a cafe, short said, she probably thinks I’m a maniac or something?” 
“Did you tell her about our suspicions?” Jacob eyes him. 
His hands force the rest of his body off the floor. The strands in his hair are loosely tied together and his eyes roll up before coming back down, “No, I didn’t, I wouldn’t do that.” 
Only the awkward lingering noise of the microwave can be heard in the room until Sunwoo speaks up again. To watch the Angel before the counter behind the illuminating light beneath the shelf, “I’m going, you decide on your own, Cupid.” 
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Jacob did go eventually, though half way towards Eric’s house Sunwoo needed to hold onto Jacob’s arm. The angel either fell knees first in the snow accumulated corners or landed on his back when the streetlights hit the ice at a certain angle. At the front of the house, behind the windows you’ll see pink purple shade light seeping out and faint music from the vertical wooden walls. Sunwoo takes Jacob’s lower arm tightly against himself as he nearly cartwheels down the steep to the right. 
“Aren’t you supposed to fly or something? Why can’t you even walk?” 
With Jacob being a closer impression of Sunwoo’s potential cross body bag when they stand before the door, the one with free hands knocks at the upper side of the rectangle piece. Before he even gets to fully let his hand fall back to his side, the door frees from the frame and before them stands Eric. Expression extremely bright at first, the most vivid detail of a single scene, but it fades when his eyes form into a frown.  
“Who is he?” The one inside tilts his head and looks at Jacob desperately hanging from Sunwoo’s arm. The angel realizes the rather massive plot hole opening up from underneath him and stays quiet. 
“Jacob, you’ve met before.” Sunwoo says, so clearly without any sort of doubt, that he may have convinced Eric alone with that. 
“Have I?” "Maybe I have?” He looks up at the upper door frame. Crosses his arms and falls into wonder.  
“Let us in Loser, feeling like a frozen fish finger out here.” Sunwoo deadpans and Eric immediately jumps to the right, extends his hand out and motions it slowly towards the warm litten inside. Jacob, though, he’s inside and feels the warmth of the electric heaters dissolve the frozen part of his skin, he becomes even more rigid. 
People with faces he can’t name stands in groups. Each conversation  blends together with the other and that in it by itself, overpowers the faint music playing from a corner on the left. fairy lights taken from the constellation itself hang on the edges of the second floor. It is darkly lit with a warm violet hint covered in every wood wall. A single christmas tree in the inner corner. 
 A strong feeling of embarrassment comes rushing over him in a single storm and Jacob awkwardly starts grabbing the color of his blazer and stands, once again, like a street lamp far from the corner. 
“What are we supposed to do?” Jacob says quietly and looks over at Sunwoo. The expression of the other one is as casual as if they were just walking down the uni lectures, though, he frowns his eyes and asks him to say it again. 
“What’s happening?” Jacob repeats. 
Sunwoo lifts his shoulders, “What usually happens when you’re with people.” 
“Am I supposed to know that?” Jacob higher his voice. 
“This is what middle school dance parties prepared you for.” 
“I never went to middle school.” He deadpans and Sunwoo stares at him with tired eyes. Despite the moon-like shine illuminating over the walls and reflected in the single ornaments, Sunwoo’s eyes are as dead as if staring at a piece of concrete.
“You Loser, I forgot you didn’t go to middle school.”
The Angel is about to take his arm up and defend himself, but Sunwoo shifts his vision from him towards the violent presence hitting his shoulder. The group of people standing before them, Sunwoo, returns the hit on a guy much taller than him. As if a scene out of his horrors, Jacob once again tense up as the group of guys smiles and takes Sunwoo’s shoulder, but becomes wide eyed or frowns when they see the street lamp in blue blazer. 
“Who’s this?” One further back asks and Sunwoo casually takes Jacob’s own shoulder. 
“Jacob, my big brother.” 
“You don’t have a brother.” One is quick to interrupt. 
“Now I have.” Sunwoo turns his head in a motion so quick that Jacob takes a step back. Two of them seem to have fallen into a conversation on their own, slowly walking away from the circle. Jacob makes eye contact with the one closest to him, he examines him in a sort of manner that makes him strained and legs nearly restless. As Jacob takes steps in his place that ultimately leads nowhere, he gives a painful smile to the guy closest. Lips pressed and eyes in full contrast to the smile. Is he even there? Jacob thinks as the guy, still expressionless, watches him.
Another guy, beside Mister Dazed, takes a step out and reaches his hand towards him. 
“Hi, I’m Changmin." Nice to meet y-”
“I need to go.” Jacob says abruptly and the group looks at him. The Angel points at a vague part of the horribly lit corner beside the closed door. It is rather a pile of outerwear, soaked in water from molten snow,  
“You smoke?” One steps closer to him and suddenly throws his arm over his shoulder. In which, Jacob tenses up even more, dramatically presses his wings closer to his skin as he feels the stranger’s arm brush against the back of his neck. 
“He can’t even-” Sunwoo starts. 
“Yeah!” Jacob forces a smile. 
“We’ll go together.” The guy says and Jacob laughs with wide eyes. 
“Actually.” He bends his back just slightly, escapes the stranger’s arms and shifts his direction. Back against the door as he moves all the further from the group, “...alone smoking is my favorite thing.” He smiles, “Been waiting all day!” Jacob takes a last step before turning fully away from them, each guy stares in silence as the door opens once again and his figure disappears out the cold landscape. 
“He won’t need an extra jacket or something?” Changmin points at the door and turns his head towards Sunwoo. In which the younger lifts his shoulder and takes a step further into the house. 
“He’ll figure it out sooner or later.” 
To stand up for another passage in time, Sunwoo stands with the group of guys, laughs in between their sentences and moves his legs to the standard christmas playlist in the background. His stomach may be just so empty that nothing’s enough to fulfill it, therefore he takes his hands up and gently forces the plastic cup in Eric’s hand back from him. And as the alcohol runs between the veins of every passing face, the center floor fills and spreads out in every direction. At some point the music rises in volume and his peers walk across the floor, up the stairs to the second. Someone hangs on the edge and pours the drink down the crowd. When Eric started to hysterically wave his hands to the person above and the broom became a proper part of his outfit, Sunwoo moved backwards from the crowd. Sit down on a sofa beside the christmas tree. 
Though, as he has been sitting in silence, watch the crowd. A voice from another direction than where the silhouettes of black slacks, mini dresses and glitter in hair stands reaches him. Though the hopeless love song playing in his right ear, a gentle voice in his left says his name. 
“Sunwoo?” 
To move from one square of the couch to the other, he holds his hands up as he leans against the arm rest. It is nearly more than a meter in between the two of them as he sits like that. Though, his arms fall down to his lap once he sees her figure, contrasting the christmas tree behind her. He thinks about her posture, much more rigid and sharp than when he sees her in the hallways. Both of her hands, gathered before her thighs and held a small white bag. 
“Hi, Y/n.” Sunwoo says in a monotone voice. His legs fold out in a comfortable position and his face shifts, away from her own presence and focuses on the floor, the high ceiling or the people on the second floor. Y/n bites her lip, just slightly before the lip tint fades because of his motions. The space between, as time passes it becomes a wall. It makes her tug on the red straps of the white paper bag. 
“Are you having fun?” She asks after a time of silence. Sunwoo looks up again at her before, once again, taking a look at the door out. 
“Not really.” He admits. 
“Why?” She dares to take a step closer, so her knees touch the armrest on the opposite side. Sunwoo lifts his shoulder, letting his head scan the room in a panorama like frame before it falls to his shoes. 
“I don’t know, I'm a bit lonely.” 
Y/n nods, though he can’t see it, “Isn’t Jacob here?” 
“He is.” He sighs, “Just pissing himself outside before coming back in.” Sunwoo deadpans as his head lies in his palm. The picture he drew with just one sentence makes the tense grip on the bag a bit looser. Y/n smiles as she imagines the Angel hesitantly running after Sunwoo in the dark. Run around the house ten times, do a breathing exercise he saw on youtube and come back in. She laughs slightly. The faint sound does reach Sunwoo’s ears and he looks towards her side.
“Sounds good.” She nods. 
A sequence of the rather insignificant details of her life. Lied out before him in a span of a few seconds. Sunwoo stares at her, breathing and feels his own essence collapse further down the fabric of the couch. To shift back his vision to the dull colors and silhouettes of his shoes, Sunwoo closes his eyes, smiles only for himself to know, letting the nail of his thumb scratch on the skin of his pointed finger. 
Y/n bites her lip again, feeling a sort of rush similar to eating sugar. It runs towards every corner of her body and cycles back to her heart. Slowly, Y/n takes a seat on the couch, still with a noticeable gap in between. 
“What would you say if you got a present?” She asks and tilts her head to inspect him closely. 
Sunwoo frowns, “I don’t know, I haven’t.” 
Y/n moves a bit closer, “You got one now, would you reject it?” 
Sunwoo silently watches her, feeling how the shirt tightens around his chest.
“I guess not.” He scoffs, this time can’t suppress the way his lips crease upwards. The vision of his eyes won’t seem to fall in place, as they land on the wooden floor again. 
With that, Y/n takes the white bag from her lap, how the distance becomes extremely insignificant when Sunwoo can smell her scent from the bag and her wrists. Though, he simply watches her, without words or major motions. His eyes glisten from the shining light in the ceiling, stars above the ceiling and in the top of trees, but  truly she thinks none of them compares to the single reflection in his dark brown eyes. 
“Here.” She shakes the bag one time.  
Sunwoo hesitantly reaches his hand out for the white paper. Takes the edge between his fingers as if not to stain the perfect white shade. Sunwoo looks between the bag and Y/n’s eyes, she nods her head and smiles again. Her hands grip the hem of her dress as he anxiously thinks about how he opens the package and waits for her confirmation as he undoes each bow. 
As the edges open and reveal the inside. The folds of his clothing fall over his still body and a single strand of his fringe loosens from the side and covers his eyes. With his eyes curved perfectly in chocolate shade, he looks up to her what feels like the thousandth. She nods and he takes up a red apple. He observes the shade and slight pattern in the skin. 
“I bought it for you then, I wanted you to have it.” She says. 
There is too, the pie slice wrapped in plastic and tied in a bow. As if a picture from before has come back to life, to the present to affect their lives. Sunwoo grips the apple a bit tighter in his palm. Let the fruit shimmer from the light in between his fingers.
“I think food as presents is best.” She says suddenly, “You use it.” In the very bottom of the paper bag, filled to all for corners lies a red packet of strawberries. 
He looks at the apple once again. He can’t quite describe the feeling in between the ribs and his lungs. How his heart beats profusely and the vision before him is as if from a dream. Sunwoo swears that this couch, behind this tree in this light, he has dreamt of before last night in his bed alone in his apartment. But unlike him in that bed in  his past, he can’t without hesitation or extra thought bring her gift to his mouth and let it fill his heart. How the red skin glistens astonishingly bright, to fill his heart with red until the end of life. But unconsciously, he turns the apple, as if looking for mold spots. Purple shades where it has been infested and already consumed. 
Though, as Y/n looks at him with an expression she has never given him or anyone else. One that wouldn’t be seen in the crowd, just between where the secret records can be hidden and never played. Sunwoo finally licks his lips, brings the fruit up to his mouth and takes a bite of the apple. 
How the fiber texture crushes and spreads sweetness all over his mouth as he bites down. He looks at the broken spot where the red turns white and visualizes the deep red becoming a part of his own self, his own essence. As he looks up from that spot, he sees Y/n close to him. Her upper body leaned over his legs and her features so detailed in view that everything else bleeds into the other. And he nearly starts coughing on the piece of apple in his mouth. 
Though, as she is leaned over, she holds one of the strawberries in her hand. Bring it close to his lips. Her left hand comes down to a spot on the couch between his thighs to come even closer when his face blossoms spring, red like the two fruits and forces his eyes away from her. Unintentionally lay his eyes on the crowd unaware and start laughing. 
“Please, Sunwoo.” She says in a strawberry sweet tone. 
Sunwoo rolls his eyes, in a single motion comes back up and takes a bite of the strawberry in her hand. Immediately after, taking her wrist and guiding the remaining part up towards her own, in which she too takes a bite. At that single moment, Sunwoo shifts abruptly closer to her chest as a cheer breaks out at the center of the floor. Red paper petals, like snow itself paints the space between floor and ceiling before decorating the floor.
-
How that world becomes silent as he steps out into the snow and lets the door behind him close. Jacob stands with his hands down his sides and watches how the moon and her stars let it shine graze the surface he stands on. The snow around his feet reflects it back, sparkles like it is earth's own constellation. 
After some time, Jacob presses the snow beneath his feet into a tight layer as he walks away from the door. He comes to a rather hidden side where street lights are dim and a single wall faces him. To the right of a lonely window stands a green bin covered in snow. Each step echoes in that corner as he brushes off the snow and opens the bin. The moon shines its vague light over the insides and reveals black bags of shining material. He looks down for a second, letting the cold from around him come between his hands and numb them. 
An angel’s mission has been broken. When Jacob opened the door once again, the crowd, as if all knowing, separated like curtains to reveal the one his purpose is to protect, on the sofa entangled like the galaxy itself with Y/n. How a scenery in a second sets off his breath and the constant fear that has been choking his neck. It chases him desperately as he walks a deep pattern in the snow. He feels his wings from behind. 
At last, Jacob takes his hand back to the front. Down to his right pocket on his blazer where he takes out a lighter. Red hard plastic against his cold skin, taken from the pile of jackets, as he brings it closer to the black bags in the bin. How the music comes to him through the cracks in the walls as he struggles to push down the extinguisher. That single spot on his right thumb hurts as he, over and over again, pushes down the metal. 
A hard knock against the wall before him makes Jacob fall behind the bin. He nearly lands on the snow as he embraces his knees in order to stay up. It falls silent the second after the rapture and Jacob slowly takes the lighter to his chest. Each of his breaths creates white clouds like the snow beneath him. Jacob lets his knees up gently and takes the tip of his fingers on the window frame. His figure in the corner furthest from sight while he peeks into the warm world before him. Three meters away stands Sunwoo with Y/n. Jacob swallows and lets his breath paint the cold window. They stand like him, in a far corner of the room where all the light has a hard time reaching and people pass them by. Though, the cold sensation on his fingers becomes all the more nonexistent as he watches how the two of them take each other's hands and fall back and forth to the muted rhythm. As they start turning around, Jacob sees the light nostalgic of the moon paint itself on his face. How every moment before this one has fallen obscene. 
The last bit of ice around his heart, melts and drains out in the snow, as he watches how the world now belongs to them. It pains his hearts and even more the wings, but how the fear has stopped chasing him, sits beneath the window right before the Angel, to watch their mouth speak words only they can hear. 
Jacob lets his hand fall off the window frame, all as his body too becomes even weaker. Finally, he sits fully in the snow with his back leaned against the wall, right under the window. The lighter against his chest, too, must now fall out of mind and plummet to the snow, like the rest of him. 
“I’m so sorry, I hope you can forgive me.” Jacob whispers, and lets his wings free from his blue blazer and embrace the rest of him tightly. 
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A pastel filter lies over the world as Jacob opens his eyes. The angle gives the floor a steep perspective as the wooden lines lead him to the door. Red petals of paper are scattered before him. The spot on the floor has become warm, he feels his body get colder as he shifts his left leg. But rather than the cold, he feels a sensation much stronger as he gently spreads his finger over the floor. At the center of his back, pierce and rips burning wounds in his skin, and it becomes all sharper as the lines of the world become clearer. 
“Jacob?” 
He forces his head up from the floor, to again face the entrance. But as his eyes fall onto a figure, he angles his head upwards and sees Sunwoo looking down towards him. His silhouette is draped in haze and his blurred complexion shows concern over his impending body. Sunwoo comes all closer and falls onto his knees before Jacob’s weak figure. 
“Are you okay, Jacob?” His voice is even louder than the last time. 
Sunwoo’s hand touches Jacob’s arm and in the same instant, Jacob feels a sensation reminiscent of the end of a knife piercing right through the burning spot on his back. As the sensation affects him and forces him to fall back onto the floor, Sunwoo hesitantly takes his hands back, before leaning closer again. 
“Jacob?” 
“What’s with Jacob?” Another voice in the far corner of the room reaches the very mit. Hers is tired and exhausted, reflected in the way she looks around the room from the floor and weakly walks over to the two of them. 
“Jacob?” Sunwoo says again and takes his hands over his upper arm. At that moment, he sees the spot beneath his blazer move frequently, pushing desperately to tear the fabric. Slowly, Sunwoo takes the collar of Jacob’s blazer and forces it off him. As the fabric lies beside his aching figure, both Y/n and Sunwoo watch how the white wings on Jacob’s back spreads free and falls before it fades to black. At the single spot in the room, each feather falls like snow over the pastel complexion. 
Without another second of thinking or brushing his blazer, Sunwoo forces Jacob up by his arms. The fallen shut his eyes fully and his head hangs down and the strands of his hair cover whatever life left in him. 
“Help me, Y/n.” Sunwoo says frustrated. Y/n watches in complete silence and opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. 
“Please, Y/n, please.” He begs and Y/n shakes her head, leaves that spot and takes Jacob’s other arm. The Angel hangs by his arms on the two shoulders. He is heavy on their human bodies and Sunwoo starts walking towards the door. 
“Where are we taking him?” Y/n breathes out as her head hangs low because of his weight. 
"The hospital.” He stresses. 
“We can’t.”
“What else should we fucking do?” Y/n doesn’t speak as his eyes are desperately staring into her own. The sight alone aches her. To whatever words that could be voiced, she suppresses them. Take a steady grip on the Angel’s arm and take the first step towards the door once again. Sunwoo follows without hesitation. The trail of feathers, mixed with red paper bits from a past night. How it all seems to be from a different life when they fiddle with the door handle. At last, the apple, half bitten, hits the inner corner of a wall as Sunwoo gets the door open, looking at the new sun as if it is the first time. 
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© littleroaes, written and all
symbolism & metaphor guide !
thank you for taking your time to read! a virtual cookie for you 🍪
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wonik1ss · 10 months
Text
Y/n’s Lovely Fimily —
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synopsis : Little moments of Y/n and her members throughout the years
pairing : le sserafim x 6th member reader
song rec : cheeze - sarah kang, andrew kang
a/n : still on a break just! got the urge to write this!
“ Woah Woah Woah Y/n when did you become such a badass? “. Yunjin asked as your cheeks started to flush red.
“ Yunjin there are children here! “. Chaewon said as she blocked Eunchaes eyes that were still glued to the computer screen infront of her.
You all were watching your new mv for Unforgiven when your scene were you tore of a part of your dress revealing another one. The girls stared in aw as Yunjin made her comment.
“ Ya! What’s wrong with Y/n being a badass? “. Eunchae says as Sakura’s eyes went wide as Yunjin and Kazuha giggled as you sat in between them flustered
“ Ahh look at Y/n strut her stuff so fearless! “. Eunchae said as you walked the little runway in the fearless mv recording. She smiled at the camera as she zoomed into you. As soon as you saw the camera you winked.
Eunchaes eyes went wide as she turned the camera back to herself.
“ Our Y/n’s snatching hearts left and right! “. Eunchae said as you ran to her giggling.
“ I looked cool right! “
“ Totally ! You gave me chills ! “. Eunchae said as you beamed at the girl
Chaewon tried to close the dorms door as quickly and quietly as she could before she turned to see you waiting for her. Hands on your hips eyes furrowed and lips downturned.
“ Y/n what are you doing up so late! Kids under the age of 18 go to sleep at 10 in our dorms you know that “. You got closer to the older girl as you squinted and looks her up and down.
“ You look drunk “
“ That’s because I am! I had to film a video! “. You nodded as you got Chaewon a bottle of water as she sat down on your dorms couch.
“ So why are you up so late? “
“ We promised me you would watch a movie with me.. and Sakura didn’t want to do I just waited for you “. Chaewon nodded as your eyes furrowed again.
“ I’m still made at you! You promised me free snacks too! “. Chaewon sighed as she took of her Viking hat.
“ Will this be enough? “. Your eyes beamed as you grabbed the hat and ran to your room to take some pictures. As Chaewon smiled and went to her room to change.
“ Ahh look at our little princess Y/n! “. Yunjin yelled as you came out of your changing room with a little crown on your head. She bowed and escorted you to your set as you giggled.
“ Do I really look like a princess? “. You asked as Yunjin fixed your hair a little.
“ Mhmm with and with out the crown too “. Yunjin winked as you smiled and she ran of set so you could shoot your scene.
“ Everyone look over there that’s what a real princess looks like! “. Yunjin whispered to the camera as you giggled.
“ Hi everyone! “. You said as Kazuha waved and put a bag on the table infront of the two of you.
“ Woah! I wonder what’s in there! “. You said as Kazuha giggled and opened the bag showing a bead set.
“ Fearnots today we are making bracelets! “. Kazuha said as you set of the beads as she watched the comments fill in.
“ What colors should I make my brackets Zuha? “. Kazuha focused on the 4 beads that say infront of you as you giggled at the girls concentrated face.
“ What? “
“ Nothing you just look so concentrated looking at the beads “. You giggled as Kazuha did too.
“ Go with the Purple ones “
“ Ok then I’ll go with the blue ones then! “. Kazuha looked at you in shock as you giggled and picked out all the blue beads you could find.
“ 123 pose “. Sakura said as you posed in your antifragile outfit infront of the fire Chaewon was just infront of 2 minutes ago.
“ Y/n be careful! “. Sakura said as she took the last photo and grabbed your hand to be father away from the bright lit fire.
“ Wow these look so pretty thank you Kura! “. You hugged the girl as she patted your back and then gave you her phone as she posed infront of the fire.
“ Wow or Y/n should be a photographer! “. Sakura said as you she looked at the photos you talk as you giggled.
“ I think Y/n changed the most in the year from our debut “
“ She has really opened up to us and she really shines bright when she walks into any room really “. Chaewon said as she sat on the stool for eh first fimily party.
“ Oh Y/n has definitely changed a lot she has definitely become louder because of our group and I’m very happy about that “. Yunjin said as she smiled at the thought of you taking pictures with Eunchae in your bob for the Unforgiven mv.
“ Ohh I would say Y/n is my favorite member.. but don’t tell the other they’ll get really jealous! “. Eunchae said as she giggled.
“ She always treats me to food after I film at music bank and we’re basically twins! I see that some of the fearnots think this too since we are basically attached at the hip! “. Eunchae said as the video went to Sakura.
“ I think one of my favorite moments of Y/n was when fearless was uploaded and she hugged me as I started to cry.. and also offered to get me dinner after.. our Y/n is so thoughtful I’m really glad we debuted together “
“ Ahh me Y/n and Yunjin used to talk in English a lot but now me and Y/n just talk a lot in English to help me become better and I talk a lot in Japanese to help her get better! It’s really fun to teacher her because she always try’s to use it anytime she can and I just makes me so proud she cares that much to learn it! “ said Kazuha.
You cried as the mc handed Chaewon the award. Eunchae immediately ran to comfort you as the rest followed her. Yunjin whipped your tears as you whipped hers and your song Unforgiven starts to play.
You started to sing as your members hyped you up. In a matter of seconds you all were smiling and jumping around the stage.
What a beautiful fimily
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darlingverse · 3 months
Text
Things Have Helped Me Become a Better Writer ('23)
I've seen a lot of growth in my writing this year and developed some solid practices. Though I didn't obsessively track my word count, I wrote over 120k words with different projects. That's pretty damn good. So here are some of the things that helped me become a better writer this year, both in the quality and quantity of words written.
Rewriting, Not Editing
This is the big one. I hate editing because I can't focus on a big block of text without it blurring together.
I had always heard the advice 'rewrite, don't edit' but didn't give it a chance because I thought it would be taxing. Like, you expect me to start from scratch? Do you even know how long it took me the first time?! Hell no!
BUT - then I tried it.
When I tell you I'm obsessed, I mean it. I'm OBSESSED. Like, to the point that I'm looking for old, shitty drafts to revamp because rewriting is so satisfying.
I hesitated to 'rewrite, not edit' before because I thought I would have to do it blindly. To me, rewriting meant putting the original draft away and starting from memory, but that's not it. (At least, that's not how I do it. If you rewrite like this, you're a god.)
Instead, I use the shitty first draft as my roadmap. It works better than any outline because I can see my train of thought and improve it.
Usually, I go about rewriting one of two (or three, if you combine them) ways:
By hand - This could be a section by itself, but I've started rewriting by hand. I do it in pen because it helps me choose my words more carefully. Plus, if I mess up, I can scribble the error out. My handwritten rewrites never look nice, but that's good because it reminds me that perfection is an illusion. It helps me remember that being messy and making mistakes is okay. I'll take my shitty first draft and write it out, changing phrases, expanding on ideas, and improving dialogue. From here, I retype everything into a new document, but sometimes, I'll rewrite the rewrite by hand again if it needs more time. Handwriting helps me examine the work up close and personal and really think about the words I'm writing.
Retype - If I've handwritten the rewrite, I will type everything into a new, clean document and expand on my ideas even more. (Because as much as I love my handwritten method, it's not foolproof, and there's always room to improve.) Otherwise, if I go straight into retyping, I'll do a split-screen between the shitty first draft and my new draft.
I like rewriting over editing because it encourages me to read through every line, whereas I can't do that with editing. I don't know why. My brain doesn't work like that.
Rewriting helps me fix things, like POV (if I want to change a 2nd person fic to 1st person) and tense.
To me, rewriting feels like adding muscle to the bones of a project. I can beef it up and usually add at least 1,000 words to a project.
Wear the Damn Bra
Or take it off. It doesn't matter. I can concentrate on my project if I'm not in the same clothes I was in earlier. Usually, this is my pajamas. I like to wear 'normal people clothes,' aka jeans, a shirt, and a bra (I don't know why, but the bra is key) before jumping into a big writing session. Being dressed helps me get into a writing groove.
Sometimes, it's the opposite. If I've been out doing errands all day and want to write when I get home, I need to change into different clothes and take the bra off.
So, I guess the main point is purposeful dressing. When I change something about my environment with the intention of writing (such as my clothes), it prompts my brain to be in 'creative' mode—like a superhero costume change.
This is by far the weirdest writing hack I've unlocked for myself, but it's one of my most helpful tricks.
Change It Up
This is not a 'me' trick; this is something I'd seen everywhere but didn't try until this year.
Whenever I work on my laptop, I change the font, background color, and even page dimensions to encourage me to write more.
I like to use darker page colors, like black or maroon, and white font. I also love the typewriter fonts. Those help me write super fast in a way Comic Sans never could. I also love to screw with the page dimensions and make it statement-sized with 0.5 margins because it makes my page count skyrocket, thus making me feel more productive.
No Procrastination Punishment
I get WIP Guilt, which means I'll procrastinate if there's a project I know I should be working on but I don't have the energy/drive to work on it. And then, I'll be struck with inspiration to write something new, but instead of pursuing this, I ignore it because I should be working on the WIP, not something new. My creative energy goes to waste because instead of doing what I want, I don't work at all.
Procrastination is the death of creativity.
This year, I have (slowly) learned to go where my creativity flows because writing is writing. If I want to improve, I need to write, not beat myself up about not writing the right thing or not writing at all.
This one is still tough to keep up with. I still give myself a hard time. I'm my own worst critic. But, when I give in and write whatever I want, I've found that I can pump out 10k words in a day. That's insane.
In 2024, I want to balance the things I should be writing and what I want to write. (Like, if I spend one hour writing X, I need to spend one hour writing Y. This way, I can still do what I want while meeting deadlines.)
Writing is better than not writing. Procrastination is the death of creativity.
Of course, I take breaks whenever I'm burnt out, but 85% of the time, I'm not writing because I feel guilty. So, while this has helped me write more this year, I still need to improve it.
Writing Partner
This is another big one for me! I actually don't think I started doing this until August, maybe September of this year, but it has changed so much for me.
I have a writing buddy now, one of my dearest online friends, and it has kept me so motivated. We have somewhere around ten shared google docs and they are a judgement free zone, where we collaborate with each other, or write one shots.
It's nice because not only can we hype each other up, but we know that we're not critiquing each other. I write horribly shitty drafts in these docs all the time, and they will still cheer me on. Having them has also created a sense of accountability because I want to finish fics for them.
Collectively, I think we've written over 100k (and that's just in a few months!!) which is so cool. And it motivates me to keep going. I honestly feel like I've written more this year than I have in the past, and the crazy part is I've hardly posted any of it! It's been pretty nice to step back and write for fun rather for consumption, and it's helped my creativity too.
Fanfiction to Original Fiction
This is not a new idea. I've done this before, but I've done this even more as of late.
I have a lot of original story ideas that I want to independently publish (hopefully someday soon), but my problem has always been taking the first step. However, recently, I've taken a handful of these original story ideas and made them fit into a fanfiction universe. I don't know what it is about this that motivates me, but it really helps, especially in a fandom with a wide cast of characters. Because the biggest thing I have to change are the names and maybe some physical descriptions, and boom! Original story.
In conclusion, I am proud of myself for the things I've accomplished. Writing plays a major role in all of my 2024 goals, and maybe this time next year I'll make an updated list of all the things that have worked for me.
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mama-qwerty · 6 months
Text
Little and Broken
This started as a little Shortie for an ask from @wingsofthesun and instead turned into THIS.
~~~~~~~~~~
Eclipse pressed himself flat against the wall as he peered into the living room. The lightbox (teevee Silver called it) was on, and colorful images flashed across the screen.
Silver and the human woman sat on the couch, with the hedgehog snuggled up close to his mother. Her hands ran absently through his quills, and every now and then he would turn his nose to nuzzle against her side.
At first, Eclipse wasn't interested. They watched that teevee almost every night, sometimes laughing at what they saw, sometimes crying, sometimes cheering. He didn't understand--they were just some sort of transmission. He'd seen similar ones on the Comet--feeds of various planets the Black Arms were studying to destroy more effectively. (Even though they were the strongest warriors in the galaxy, they still didn't want to waste effort and energy in an attack that could be won in a simpler way.)
He didn't get the appeal. Or how they could become so invested and reactionary to the images. It seemed silly.
The darkling had stayed in his little closet, trying to ignore the noise from the other room as he napped. But then, certain bits of dialogue came to him, and his curiosity got the better of him.
"Monstrosity? What you see before you, is the first of a new species. I call it, Experiment 626."
Eclipse's brow furrowed. He poked his head out through the blanket acting as the door to his 'room'.
"He is bulletproof, fireproof, and can think faster than super computer. He can see in the dark, and move objects 3000 times his size. His only instinct, to destroy everything he touches!"
The darkling crawled out from his hidey hole, making his way to the archway between the kitchen and living room. This was sounding interesting. It sounded a lot like him! A creature created to be a fierce warrior! To be strong and capable and formidable and--
"So it IS a monster."
That stopped him in his tracks. Monster? No, he was created to be the best parts of the Black Arms. This, well, whatever it was on the teevee was also created to be strong, to be a warrior. That's not a monster.
Eclipse slid against the wall, being careful to stay out of sight as he watched the events on the screen.
"And as for that abomination, it is the flawed product of a deranged mind. It has no place among us."
"The council has banished you to exile, on a desert asteroid."
That word made Eclipse's heart clench. He wasn't quite sure why he was on this backward mudball of a planet, but he'd always thought it was for some secret mission. Some valuable scouting mission for his father, the great and powerful Black Doom. It's what helped him keep his sanity in those early days.
But late at night, he thought of that word. Banished. And part of him whispered that that's really what happened. He'd failed his father one time too many, and now he was sent away. Banished to die alone on this pathetic planet, full of pathetic humans.
He tried to push that thought away.
On the teevee, Experiment 626 managed to escape. Eclipse watched with wide eyes as the ship he stole headed toward Earth.
~X~X~X~
"This is you. This is your badness level. It's unusually high for someone your size. We have to fix that."
Eclipse wrinkled his muzzle. Experimen--Stitch, wasn't bad. That was how he was created! It was just who he was. Changing him meant making him be a different person. That wasn't fair. That wasn't right.
He didn't like the humans in this transmission. Not at all.
~X~X~X~
"Look at him Lilo, he's obviously mutated from something else. We have to take him back.”
“He was an orphan and we adopted him! What about ohana??”
“He hasn’t been here that long!”
“Neither have I! . . . . Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten.”
Silver laughed at this part, pointing to the teevee.
“Look! That’s just like what happened with us when Eclipse came!”
The woman laughed a little, nodding. “Yeah, that’s kinda the gist of it, isn’t it? You were all about keeping him and I, well, needed a little convincing, didn’t I?”
“You were just mad because he bit you.”
“Oh, and that was so unreasonable!”
The two laughed a little more, and Eclipse looked on from his hidden spot near the archway.
The hedgehog was right. That was very similar to how it played out. To be fair, the darkling still wasn’t completely sold on the idea of staying here. His arm was healed, but the weather was getting colder outside. He’d never survive without shelter. And the human had welcomed . . . well, accepted him into her home without any demands for repayment or compensation. Sure, he couldn’t fight or hurt anyone, but that was a small price to pay for warm shelter and a full belly, right?
That word kept repeating through his head, though. Ohana. The older human in the transmission didn’t seem to want to keep Stitch, but the little one was insistent they did. Because of ohana. Family. She saw Stitch as family, even though he caused trouble, and had only been there for a short time.
His eyes wandered to the couch. Silver was like that. He had wanted to help Eclipse from that very first night he’d appeared, trying to snatch food from their trash. And the hedgehog was so happy to have Eclipse here now.
But the woman wasn’t as sold. Just like the one in the transmission. She was more wary of Eclipse. She was more interested in taking care of Silver, like the one in the teevee was all about caring for her sister. They were just the same.
It was strange how similar it was.
~X~X~X~
“This little girl is wasting her time. 626 cannot be taught to ignore its destructive programming.”
“This is interesting. 626 was designed to be a monster, but now, there’s nothing to destroy. You see, I never gave him a greater purpose. What must it be like to have . . . nothing? Not even memories to visit in the middle of the night.”
Eclipse stared at the teevee with wide eyes. Was that . . . was that like him? He had been created as the Black Arms’ greatest weapon. A prince to the most dangerous and destructive race the galaxy has ever known. His entire life, since he was hatched, has been dedicated to fighting, destroying, being stronger and better than everyone and every thing else.
But on this planet, he didn’t have to fight. He didn’t have to destroy. He didn’t have to earn his right to exist, or suffer the consequences of failure.
He was still allowed to stay here, even if he didn’t prove his strength. He was still allowed to eat, without having to fight others for the barest morsel.
But if he didn’t do what he was created for, what did that make him?
The only difference was, Eclipse did have memories. But they weren’t exactly the type he wanted to visit in the middle of the night. Because they hurt. And were scary. And reminded him of just how much of a failure he was.
~X~X~X~
The humans were on the beach. Riding some sort of boards on the waves in the water. They laughed and had fun together. Stitch watched them.
Eclipse watched, too. His gold-on-black eyes flicked to the couch, where Silver and the woman sat. Silver leaned closer, and the woman reached down to pull him closer, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She rested her chin on the top of his head, and a smile curled the hedgehog’s lips.
Stitch reached for the little human. Wanting to be included. Risking a return to his greatest weakness. Just to be part of their family.
The darkling stared.
~X~X~X~
“I hear you cry at night. Do you dream about them? I know that’s why you wreck things, and push me.”
“Our family’s little now, and we don’t have many toys. But, if you want, you could be part of it. You could be our baby, and we could raise you to be good.”
“Ohana means family. And family means nobody gets left behind.”
“But if you wanna leave, you can.”
Anger stirred in the darkling. He hated this transmission. He shouldn’t be wasting his time watching this—he was a weapon, a warrior, and should have been spending every moment training to be stronger. Better. What did this transmission do to help him? Nothing. He should just head back to his closet and rest, so he can get up at first light and restart his training. He’d gone too long without it, and knew his father would have found that disgusting and unacceptable.
He should. It was what his father would want.
But he couldn’t move.
His eyes moved back to the teevee. And he hated himself for being so weak.
~X~X~X~
“L-l-lost.”
“I’m lost.”
Eclipse nearly ran into the room to break the teevee. He hated this. Something was stirring deep within him, and he didn’t know what it was, but it made him angry and sad and scared and his stomach twisted and clenched.
His eyes burned with tears and he grit his teeth to keep them away.
Weapons didn’t cry. Weapons didn’t feel sad or scared. Weapons fought. Weapons won.
The darkling clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.
~X~X~X~
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“Family.”
“Aaahh, you don’t have one. I made you.”
“M-maybe I could . . .”
“You’re built to destroy. You can never belong.”
That thing stirring inside Eclipse surged, and he swallowed down tears. Bit back sobs. He never should have started watching this transmission. It did something to him, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control it.
The thought of breaking through the glass door and running off into the night flashed through his mind.
But he couldn’t.
~X~X~X~
A heartbreaking separation. An unlikely alliance. A daring rescue.
Stitch, this little monster, this abomination, this creature who was only created for destruction, became a hero. He found his family. Found his purpose. Found his place.
“This is my family. I found it, all on my own.”
“It’s little, a-and broken. But, still good.”
“Yeah. Still good.”
And now the feelings within Eclipse couldn’t be contained any longer. They churned inside, pushing their way out, whether he wanted them to or not. Tears rolled down his cheeks, soaking his muzzle and dripping onto the floor as he held his head. Sobs barked through his throat, and he scurried back to his closet, curling up with his tail wrapped around him.
Silver and the human appeared, identical looks of worry and shock on their faces.
“What’s wrong??” the hedgehog cried, his hands yanking on one of his long head spikes.
“I dunno.” The woman knelt in the doorway, looking like she wanted to touch him, but hesitant to do so. “Eclipse? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
Worried. They were worried about him. They heard him crying and came running to make sure he was okay.
Both of them. Even the human.
He squeezed his eyes shut, curling up tighter.
“Go away!”
He wanted to scream it, bellow it, turn and lash out at them. How dare they. How dare they make him feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to feel. He was only supposed to hate. To conquer. He didn’t want to feel like he could relax, and be comfortable, and not worry about being beaten or starved or punished for not doing just the right thing.
Because that was wrong, all wrong. His entire life was about strength and fighting and being better and never, ever, ever disappointing his father, even though he seemed to do it all the time. Even when he tried his best. His best was never, ever, ever good enough.
“Hey,” the woman called, shifting to sit on her ankles. She glanced over at Silver and encouraged him to do the same. “Hey, shhh. Take a deep breath, okay?”
Why should he listen to her? She wasn’t his guardian. His caretaker. His m-mother. She was Silver’s and that’s it. She only cared about him, not Eclipse. She only begrudgingly allowed Eclipse to be in her home, taking care of him only out of obligation, because that’s what Silver wanted. She didn’t want him here. She didn’t care.
“C’mon, deep breath,” she said again, her voice soft and soothing. “Focus on that for me, okay?”
He didn’t want to. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to just lash out—to slash and bite and punch and kick. He hated these feelings and wanted them gone.
But he found himself pulling a deep breath in, and letting it out slowly, following her lead. She smiled and said soothing words to him, continuing this slow breathing.
After a few more breaths, Eclipse’s tears slowed, and he uncurled, but kept himself in the furthest corner from them.
“Better?” she asked, a little smile on her lips. Eclipse turned away, but nodded once. “Good. Are you hurt?” He hesitated before shaking his head. “Okay, also good. Do you wanna talk about it?” Another head shake, this one more immediate. “Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. But both Silver and I are here if you change your mind.”
Eclipse grunted in response. He wouldn’t change his mind. What could he say? The transmission they were watching made him feel things? How stupid. It was stupid.
“How about some ice cream?” Silver asked, flicking his amber eyes between Eclipse and his mother. “That always makes me feel better after I get upset.”
The darkling turned slightly, an eyebrow raised. He wasn’t much for the sweet foods Silver seemed to like, but ice cream was something he could tolerate. Even if it was cold. He gave the hedgehog a little nod.
“That’s an excellent idea, Bug,” the woman said, pushing herself to her feet. “C’mon kiddos. Ice cream makes everything better.”
Silver quickly followed after his mother, a big smile on his lips. Eclipse slowly crawled out of his closet, watching as they gathered bowls and spoons.
This world was nothing like his home on the Black Comet. These people were nothing like the Black Arms’ or Black Doom.
But maybe . . .
Maybe that was okay.
~~~
Like this? Check out my other snippets. Reblogs are appreciated!
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thepenultimateword · 2 years
Note
I know you might continue it anyways but just in case, can you please write a part 6 for Sweet Dreams? I’m so invested in their story now and need to know what happens with their relationship! Thank you and I love all your stories by the way,
*Me writing this series:
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Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five
Cw: blood, needles, medical supplies/procedures, violence,
“Uuugh,” Villain grimaced, peeking through their fingers at the dramatic blood splatter speckling the tv screen. “How about I choose the next movie?”
They both lounged comfortably against the headboard of the bed, barrier still set firmly and conveniently down the center. The hotel staff probably thought they were crazy for asking for so many extra pillows, but the results were worth it. It had definitely made these last few days inside the hotel room easier. Henchman was certain their pounding rabbit heart wouldn't have been able to handle being so continually close to Villain otherwise. Yes, it was just feathers stuffed in fabric, but the principle of it was much stronger.
“Are you queasy?” Henchman said in disbelief, offering the skittle bag over the barrier.
Villain took a generous handful, though still shielding their peripheral vision with one hand. “Slashers are not my film of choice. They’re so gory.”
Henchman held back a scoff and crossed their arms on top of the mountain of pillows to peer over at them. “Don’t you kill people, like, all the time?”
Villain's head remained fixed downward, but Henchman still picked up on the little furrow between their brows as their entire face scrunched up with distaste. “First off, ‘all the time’ is a massive exaggeration. Second, when I do kill people, I don’t leave a mess. It's very different."
They had already begun pushing all the grape skittles to one side of their hand, cutting a tiny gap between them and the other colors; once they were finished, they waved for Henchman to extend their hand to them, and poured the little pile of purple into their palm.
Henchman had only mentioned in passing that grape was their favorite, but now Villain made a point of picking them out for them every time.
"I like strawberry best anyway," they'd insisted when Henchman tried to protest. It still felt strange. Villain didn't need to share anything with them, and they'd certainly never seemed inclined to before, not unless it was to their benefit, at least. But by now, after so many snacks and movies, Henchman just accepted it.
“What sort of movies do you like?” Henchman asked, clutching the handful tight at their side and ignoring the sticky stains coloring the inside skin.
No hesitation: “Romantic comedies."
Henchman barked a laugh and then hastily covered their mouth with both hands.
"I-I'm sorry,” they mumbled through their fingers, “I just...wasn't expecting that."
Villain shrugged, completely unabashed. "They're simple. People meet, they fall in love, they fight, they get back together. You never have to worry about the conflicts getting too big because you know there's always a happy ending. I think there's enough stress and fear in life; it's nice to escape into something optimistic once in a while."
"That...makes sense," Henchman nodded slowly.
It still came off as a little surprising. They'd learned a lot more about Villain over these past two days, but the revelation that they didn't crave violence was definitely one of the most eye-opening. They knew it didn't change the fact that Villain was willing to resort to such tactics, or that they were very, very good at them, but it definitely soothed some of their more fearful apprehensions over them.
A sudden blood-curdling scream blasted from the tv speakers, sending an electric jolt through Henchman's body that made their arms flail out to either side. Their fist slammed into one of the barrier pillows, making a small chink in the top layer and ending with their hand on the other side.
Villain seized on the balled fist as if they'd been laying in wait all along for such an opportunity, spreading their fingers tightly over Henchman's knuckles.
"Wait," they said after a couple seconds. "Are you still holding the skittles I gave you?"
Henchman blushed, wriggling their hand free and popping the entire handful into their mouth at once. That could have been the end of it. They'd had a real excuse to come back to their side. They could have folded their hands under their arms, turned staunchly back toward the screen, and pretended it never happened. But no, they had to immediately offer their hand back, purple dye and all.
Henchman registered the sweaty stickiness probably a couple seconds after Villain did. They blushed even more furiously.
"I...uh..."
They tried to draw back, but at the same time, Villain clapped their hand down onto the grapey mess, twining their fingers together without hesitation. Their skin clung together like adhesive as soon as their palms touched, but Villain barely reacted beyond a sly smile.
Henchman forced their eyes straight ahead and tried to keep them there for the remainder of the movie but, they couldn't help but steal a few harmless glances. Not that it told them much. Villain was too hard to read, and honestly, they weren't really sure what they were even hoping for.
However, they did notice that Villain treated the rest of the movie much more calmly than they had everything previous.
***
It was that very observation that still had Henchman's thoughts captive hours later.
They glanced at the red numbers blaring off their alarm clock. 5:15 a.m. Usually, they’d be dead asleep by now, but the questions kept itching at them. Did they really have a power? And if so what was the extent of it? Apparently, they could soothe nightmares, some pain, and, maybe, fear. Though there was still always the chance that it was all a major coincidence. They really wished they could know for sure. They knew only vaguely how the test worked and even less about how detailed it was, but they had enough information to know it was fairly simple and very accessible.
Maybe…they should check it out.
If you go, and it turns out you don’t have a power, Villain won’t want you near them anymore.
Henchman wasn’t sure if that was a pro or a con. They really didn’t want Villain to get close to them simply to use them, but then again, the possibility of the criminal dropping them was terrifying.
You don’t have to tell them the results, their inner scoundrel convinced them. Not right away. In the meantime, you’ll have time to decide.
That plan seemed reasonable enough. Though for it to work, it required Villain not to know they were being tested. They were supposed to lay low--they'd been ordering food by delivery this whole time precisely for that reason-- so Henchman would have no excuse to leave later. Meaning they needed to go before Villain woke up.
They needed to go now.
Henchman let their hand go limp in Villain's grip and with a little light, back-and-forth shimmying, very carefully slipped free. They waited a moment to see if Villain would stir, but when they simply let out a long exhale and tossed the other way, they swung their legs over the mattress and rose slowly to their feet.
They didn’t bother with their hair or their face, simply changing out of their pajamas into jeans and a hoodie and grabbing their shoes by the heels as they padded toward the door. When they turned the handle, the hinges let out a long, high-pitched whine that made Henchman wince, but once again, Villain didn’t awake.
Henchman plopped down on the nasty hallway carpet to yank their shoes on, and about 15 minutes later they were outside a pharmacy, though it didn't open until 8. Hopefully, Villain would sleep in.
Henchman gathered their legs up against their chest and rested their forehead on their knees. They must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing they knew somebody was tapping them roughly on the shoulder.
"You can’t sleep here," a tall, bespectacled man with a pinched mouth said, looking down at them from over their glasses. "Please move elsewhere."
Henchman blinked several times, eventually registering the keys in his hands and the slight way he angled himself toward the pharmacy door.
All sleep suddenly fled from their eyes, and they leaped to their feet. "Wait, no, I was just waiting for you guys to open!"
The man winced a little at their too-loud voice before shooting them an odd look. "In any sort of emergency, you should visit a hospital."
They must have misread their desperation.
"I'm not sick, I um..." Suddenly it was hard to say aloud. "Do you do...power-ability tests here?"
A new wave of understanding washed over the man. That sort of thing wasn't life-threatening, but it definitely could feel like it to some people.
"Yes." The door let out a little chime as he pushed it open. "You can go take a seat by the back counter, and I'll be right there."
Henchman stepped hesitantly into the building's sticky warmth. The air conditioning must be out, or maybe it just hadn't been turned on yet, maybe that was where the pharmacy man was going first.
Sure enough, a little chair was pushed into a far corner near the back counter, the seat all maroon and cracked leather. It wasn't exactly comfortable to sit on, but at least it was a distraction from the unknown ahead of them.
A P-A test costs about $150 dollars," the man said as he approached, a little square box in hand. "Do you want to pay that up front or fill out your insurance information?"
"Uh, upfront," Henchman said, fishing the leftover cash from their last paycheck out of their jeans pocket. They separated a couple hundreds, knowing they probably looked crazy suspicious, but if the man was bothered, he didn't show it. He disappeared around the counter for several moments and returned with two twenties and a ten for change.
"Do you know how this works?" he asked, popping open the tabs of the little cardboard.
"N-no," Henchman said, staring intently as the pharmacist pulled out a little needle and stiff, translucent piece of paper. "I know it's something that can be tested in the blood, but...no, I don't know much else."
The man crouched down and began wiping their index finger with a cold alcohol wipe, every once in a while fixing them with that serious gaze that had been unsettling earlier, but now suddenly brought comfort. "Basically, I take a few drops of blood from your finger, and let it land on this card. The card then changes color depending on whether you are positive or negative for powers or abilities. Red for positive, blue for negative. However, I won't be able to tell you what ability you might have or what level it is, for that you'll have to go to one of the institutions; they're all over the place."
Henchman nodded. They didn't really care about that part, powers or not, they were sticking with Villain's team, supposedly there were counselors and trainers available.
"What's your favorite color?" the man asked suddenly.
"What does that have to do--"
A sharp prick stung their finger, and they nearly yanked back with a loud yelp.
"That's the hard part done," the man said, unfazed by the outburst, and drew their hand over the translucent card. Three drops hit the center in quick succession, each one rippling a strange shimmer across the entire square.
"H-how long does it take?" they asked.
The man rotated the card up and down in a circular motion. "A couple minutes or less. Ah, here we go."
The color struck all at once. One moment, Henchman could see straight through the card, the next it bled a deep crimson.
"Look at that," the man said. "Powered after all."
Henchman stared with their mouth half-gaped open. They weren't sure why they felt so shocked; they'd come here because of the possibility that they had powers. Perhaps it was because they'd gone so long in their life not knowing, not even suspecting. Or perhaps it was that deep down, they really had been expecting Villain to be wrong. Because how could something like this ever happen to someone as average as them.
"Th-thanks," they finally managed.
The man nodded, seeming sympathetic but also ready to continue with his day.
"D-do, I keep that?" They motioned to the card.
"If you like," the man said, handing it off to them.
They stared at it for several more seconds before sliding it into their pocket with the cash.
"Thanks," they repeated and numbly walked out the door.
Once outside, they walked a couple blocks before finally stopping to look at the card once again. This was real. Really real. They had a power. And they possibly already knew what it was. Should they start testing it out to find the limits? If the mentioned it to Villain, would they have to tell them about the test? Would they even be able to keep that to themself?
With a grimace, they realized they had no story in case Villain was awake when they came back and asked them where they had been. Maybe a quick trip to the bakery would be enough. They'd be upset, but no too upset with a cheese danish in hand.
They only got a block before they were suddenly slammed to the ground.
Their head smacked the earth with an explosion of ugly stars. They twisted blindly, feeling the scrape of gravel against their cheek and tangling into their hair. This wasn't the sidewalk, this was somewhere else. Their fingers scraped toe either side, tips touching the leg of something cool and metal on one side.
They pressed past the throbbing pain beneath their skull.
A...dumpster perhaps? An alley?
Abruptly, both hands were pinned against their sides, gruff hands gripping their wrists so tightly Henchman wouldn't be surprised if they bruised. Warm breath blew across their throat and then warm skin pressed into their hair. The person inhaled deeply through their nose.
A shiver ran down Henchman's spine.
"You smell like them," a raspy voice whispered. It was one part curiosity and two parts self-satisfaction.
Henchman blinked as hard as they could without making the ache in their temples worse, and as the bright spots in their vision dissolved, they made out a long, wind-tossed hair and a crooked nose. The hair was a deep chestnut and it tickled their face as the man leaned over them, a sadistic grin plastered from ear to ear.
"You dear thing, why don't you tell me where you came from?"
"Jer!" a woman's voice said, followed by the crunch of footsteps. "You can't take off like that! What are you--"
She cut off, taking in the scene in front of her. Henchman could hardly see her around "Jer's" head, but they did glimpse the toes of a pair of long mint boots.
"Who are they?" she asked.
"Our way to Villain."
Henchman had already begun to suspect, but that sentence dropped their heart into the pit of their stomach, churning it into heavy nausea. These were heroes.
"I smelt them from a mile away," Jer said, emphasizing his ability with another long sniff, this time in Henchman's neck. "The scent of Villain is all over them."
Some heroes had the power of enhanced senses, usually only one, though some ended up with a combo. This man seemed to have been gifted with an extremely sensitive nose.
The woman stepped up closer, cheeks puffy and ruddy from running, but eyes sharp and glittering as blades. "Where is Villain?" she said, smiling pleasantly even as every nerve in Henchman's body began to writhe in agony.
Henchman bit back the brunt of their scream, but it still escaped through clenched teeth loud enough to echo back to them off the building walls.
Completely unnecessarily, nose-man punched them in the ribs. "We asked you a question."
"I...don't know what you're talking about," Henchman gasped.
They couldn't break; they couldn't let them find out where Villain was.
"Your scent begs to differ."
Another punch to the exact same spot.
"I don't know!" they cried, almost a plead. "I've been all over the city! I could smell like anyone!"
"But you don't smell like anyone, " the woman said. "You smell like Villain."
By this point, their nerves felt stretched and stringy, maybe to the point of snapping.
"I don't know who that is," Henchman said. The ignorance card could probably only take them so far, but they needed to cling to it for as long as it worked.
"Come on," she said. "Just a few little words, and you'll be free to go. I'm feeling generous so I won't even report your involvement with Sun Agency's biggest thorn in the side.
"I don't know what you want!" Henchman begged, finding real tears streaming their cheeks. "I just want to go home! I want to go home."
The woman sighed. "They always choose the hard way."
Henchman wasn't sure how long they spent in that alley. They couldn't quite tell where the pain began or where it ended either. Every bit of them felt like one big wound, so excruciating, they could barely breathe. To their credit, they didn't give up Villain, but they thought about it with every blow.
It might have gone on like that forever if not for Hero.
The terrifying bag of muscle lumbered in and caught sight of Henchman's face, the bruises from the other day's run in a dull yellow across their nose, though it probably paled in comparison to the colors painting their face now.
"Hey, hey, hey!" he said, waving both heroes off of Henchman. "What is going on here?"
"They know Villain," Jer piped up defensively. "They smell just like that scent bottle you gave me to track them with."
Hero blinked a couple times then sighed heavily. "They smell of it because they ran into me the other day. I had it on me to give you and some of it got on my hands during packaging. I probably rubbed it all over them. That stuff is concentrated; it can last for days.
"Crap," the two minor heroes said in unison.
Jer looked over at Henchman with, not horror, but apprehension.
"What do we do?"
"There's nothing to do," Hero said. They paused, looking almost regretful. "Leave them. You can't get another strike on your record."
Jer nodded, and as Hero waved at them, the two heroes scampered off.
Hero crouched down by Civilian for all of three seconds. Their index finger traced a gash down their hairline, sending a crawling chill through their entire body.
"Sorry about this," they said, observing the blot of blood that now stained their skin and rubbing it between their thumb and index finger. And then they were gone too, leaving Henchman flat on their back, too injured to move and staring up toward the sky.
The building tops blurred together with the cerulean blue, twisting kaleidoscopic and sickening. They were so nauseated that eventually Henchman had to close their eyes to fight the acidic burn at the back of their throat.
Once closed, the dark took them quickly.
***
They awoke they didn't know how long later to soft fingers dragging gently through their hair and caressing their face with the delicate touch of butterfly wings.
Henchman suddenly became aware of the agony shooting up every muscle. They groaned pitifully.
"Hey, hey, hey. Dreamcatcher. Henchman. I'm taking you back. It's going to be ok, alright? You're safe now. I'll take care of you."
...
Yeaaah, this is one is definitely rough, another case of wanting to finish it even though I was super tired. I'll fix it up tomorrow.
Part 7
Master Taglist:
@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378 @watercolorfreckles @thebluepolarbear @yulanlavender @kitsunesakii @deflated-bouncingball @lem-hhn @office-plant-in-a-trenchcoat @last-ditch-entry @pigeonwhumps @demonictumble @ghostfacepepper @vuvulia @inkbirdie
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shhh-secret-time · 1 month
Text
Seasons Change to Someshing Cold
"Run away, run away and let go; you're carrying too much. You'll break under all the weight."
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Prologue
It started when he was ten. Or maybe before that, and he just can't really seem to remember, but does anyone when they open their eyes for the first time? Waking up to a world that greets you with dim colors, colors that seem to fade in and out like the seasons. But if you're anything like he is, then colors don't pop like they should. Everything is dull like a filter over his eyes he can't peel off. Maybe that was a common way to describe it, but there had to be a reason why so many people said the same thing.
Dull. That word popped up so much that it was starting to lose its weight. Even he had to admit he used it too many times in his songs or the little poems he secretly wrote in the back of his warped composition notebook. But how else was he supposed to describe it? Why fix something that's not broken, right?
It started when he was sixteen. Cheap whiskey and crumbled cigarettes coursing through his body; hazy nights lost in the bottom of some backwashed alcohol. Waking up in the back of his truck with a few missed calls from his mother or sister, never his father, wondering where he was and if he was safe. That's when the texts asking him if he was alright turned into ones telling him to get his shit together.
Or maybe it started with the farm. Screaming matches between his father getting louder and louder he swore someone in town was bound to hear them. Where the bags under his eyes got heavier and his mind got louder, so loud that even his music couldn't drown out the thoughts. Some nights it was lying on the floor of the bathroom trying not to vomit the cheap gas station food as it battled the alcohol in his stomach. Some nights it was him curled up in bed trying to find a reason to get up and do anything besides doom scrolling on his phone.
What he would have given to just go outside with his friends and get the rush of doing something. Anything. Instead of watching some stranger on his phone, do it. Like he was trying to squeeze that feeling out of the little box in his hands. Instead of sunlight, he'd settle for the screen's light in a dark room. His only saving grace was his guitar and his poetry. It felt like the only thing that got him through it some days. That’s when the fog would lift, and the seasons would change into something warmer. Where he'd pick his pen and create, his addiction turning into creation. The guitar strings digging into his fingertips would ground him and bring the color back for a little bit.
It started last month. He finally pulled himself out of bed. Talked to someone outside of class or one of the million parties he showed up to. It was Michael, someone he hadn't put merit in since middle school, the two sitting behind the school wasting time and probably years off his lifespan with a cigarette. Michael was the only one he really showed any of his poetry too, the two sitting in silence as he flipped through the book. Smoke billowing from his lips catching the light of the early sun and disappearing up into the clouds.
"It's good. Maybe a little rough around certain parts, but I get what you're trying to say." Michael pulled the cigarette from his lips and in between his fingers, giving it a new home. He was getting at praising the things around him, something that he grew into when he hit his senior year.
He didn't say anything as he rolled the cigarette between his lips, focusing on the burn in the back of his throat. He didn't need it to be good. He just needed it...to be heard. Maybe he didn't believe Michael really understood what he was trying to say, but it felt good to hear.
"I think you need to talk to someone though." He turned towards the taller man as he stood up using his cane. The silver tip tapping the ground wordlessly asking him to take a step back and give him space.
"I didn't realize you cared." His joke falls flat.
Michael doesn't laugh. Doesn't give him that pity laugh or nervous chuckle others do when he tries to deflect. Not that the goth was known for his laughter to begin with. He liked that about him. He was real.
What he didn't like was the way the curly haired man stared him down and silently took another puff of his cigarette. It made his skin crawl as the silence crept back over the two, but it wasn't the one he liked. The kind of silence where two friends could just bask in each other's presence, the warmth of their bodies reminding each other that they were there. He hadn't had that kind of silence with anyone in a long time, but he felt something like that when Michael was reading his work.
"Stan. I'm not the type to give you a lecture, preach to you about how it gets better." Michael breaks the tension when he's decided Stan's had enough, "I don't make pretty speeches, so I'll just come out and say it. Get help, talk to someone about what's going on in your head."
Stan's jaw shifts as he blows smoke from his nose, his eyes immediately shooting towards the ground. "I didn't say I needed your advice. I just wanted you to read what I wrote." He grumbles.
"I don't care what you want. I do care about you though, as much as I can." Michael responds with a bored expression like the venom in Stan's tone didn't even touch him.
"What's that supposed to mean? Am I that hard to care about?"
"Sometimes, but it's not because I don't like you honestly. You're one of the few that don't drain me." Michael pauses in between snuffing the light out of his cigarette on the brick wall behind him, being careful not to put it out on some of the artwork. "It's because it's like you don't want people to care."
Stan scoffs and rolls his eyes; he's not taking pulls from his cigarette anymore so he can feel the wind brushing against his lips. The cold nipping against his skin reminding him that it's here. The seasons are changing again.
"At least that's what I got from your writing, now if I'm looking too much into it than that's that." Michael taps his cane against the dirty stone, brushing away some crumpled-up newspaper as he limps over towards him. "You could always tell me I'm wrong."
God does Stan want to, to tell him to shut up and to stop talking. The embarrassing memory of him losing his cool in middle school flooding back into his mind, he squeezes his eyes shut to try and blink the thought away. The thoughts clawing at his lips trying to push themselves out.
".... When I graduate, I'm leaving South Park. I'm getting out of this hellhole and finding another one to call my own." Stan looks up from his feet at him as he speaks, "I might not find anything but it's better than wishing I did. Find something Stan, do something instead of wishing you could." Michael goes to walk past him like he didn't just pierce through any wall Stan tried to put up, maybe his poetry got too much across.
Find something.
Fuck that. He didn't have the energy or the time to deal with that.
"Here." Michael presses a worn-out looking card in his palm. Stan looks down at the creases where it was folded and unfolded over and over again.
Some therapist's business card looked like a woman's name if Stan had to guess, the address and phone number written in small text. His brows furrow together, and suddenly everything feels too heavy again. He feels too tired to walk back to class or even try and eat lunch with his friends.
"Do it or don't, I can't control you, but I don't waste my energy on people I don't care about. I can just hope you'll be here when I come back one day."
And that was the last thing Michael ever said to him, the last time he smelled the clover cigarettes in the air. The last time he ever showed his writing to someone. Rumors floating around school that he just packed a bag and left in his hand me down car he got from his mother. He didn't even wait for the school year to be over he left exactly how Stan thought he would.
Now it starts here. With him staring out the window, wondering what exactly it was that Michael was going to find out there. Stan presses his lips into the palm of his hand, hiding behind the fingerless gloves. The card tucked away in his worn-out brown jacket with his other hand, palming the card repeatedly bending it over and over.
Prologue | 1 | 2
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weekend-whip · 11 months
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What phone cases do they have? Backgrounds? Fancy widgets/little digital pets on the black bar at the top of apple phones?
was gonna draw these but i don't have the patience nor time lol
And I dunno nothing bout no widgets or digital pets, but everyone's got a Borg phone, and if anyone had anything wacky it would be Miranda (and her digital pet would be a dog) or Olivia (with a shark)
Kai: His phone case is a super-cheap plastic one that's just solid red, but he decorates it with fire stickers to "spice it up". Never drops his phone cuz he's always paranoid vigilant about where it is. Home screen is a pic of himself; lock screen is a photo of the main gang just hanging out <3
Jay: Black heavy-duty case with glow-in-the-dark blue lightning bolts, custom made. Very often drops his phone—or it gets knocked off of him—hence the extra padding. Has only broken his screen once. Home screen is a pic of Nya; lock screen...is also Nya.
Cole: Fancy black heavy-duty case, with the rubber on the corners for extra cushion. Swaps between the rainbow-rimmed one he originally had and a glow-in-the-dark lava one Jay made for him, depending on their current endeavors. Lock screen is a pic of his mom; home screen is his current crush.
Zane: Plain white case with a single black bird (falcon) design. Has ironically dropped his phone more than anyone else; only cracked the screen twice (in which Pixal was quick to fix it). Doesn't like photos as a background, as he finds them too distracting, but does eventually change the home screen to a solid icy blue and the lock screen to purple.
Nya: Has one of those cases filled with liquid and glitter that swooshes around when you tilt it. The phone itself is gray, the case itself is clear, but the liquid + decorations are various shades of blue. Has a bad habit of throwing her phone when upset (but eventually has Lloyd to fix it). Lock screen is a scenic beach photo with a dolphin; home screen is a silly photo of Jay.
Lloyd: Doesn't want to bother with a case, since he could just fix any dings on the spot, but eventually gets a cheap one like Kai. Has two: one solid green + trimmed in gold, one black and covered in Starfarer stickers. Swaps them out as needed like Cole. Puts some of those phone charms on the Starfarer case. Both screen backgrounds are photos of the main gang—lock screen is casual wear, home screen is ninja wear (with masks on, of course).
Jesse: Very heavy-duty light pink case with extra padding, due to how accident-prone he is, and covered in dense silver glitter. Doesn't even have to drop his phone to wind up with a cracked screen somehow—but they're usually fixed by Jay or Lloyd. Lock screen is of him and Miranda performing; home screen is a marigold flower.
Antonia: Plain orange case with phone charms of various things that seem to change by the day. Her phone has a strange habit of only breaking during a crisis. Lock screen is of all the student council members; home screen is of her, Jesse, and Harumi (until it is replaced to be her, Jesse, Mira, and Nelson).
Harumi: When she does eventually get a phone, her case varies by whichever "phase" she's in—first one is green and white with spider lilies, second one is black and navy trimmed in silver, third one is pink and purple marble. Her backgrounds are the Shark Army symbol and/or Garmadon's symbol off and on; when they're neither, the backgrounds are just pure black. Maybe a pattern if she's feeling daring.
Olivia: Cheap case, deep blue with a mermaid scale design. Waterproof. Screen is cracked to high heaven but somehow still works; too lazy to fix it. Lock screen is a majestic shark; home screen is her and Nya back when they first met (until it isn't). Lock screen may also sometimes be of any individual she's currently got her eye on, however.
Miranda: Her phone case has one of those "Game Boy" designs in bright blue (that you can play games on); her tablet case is black with neon stripes that change color (which she programmed to stay pink and blue). Drops things often, especially when one-handed, but her stuff is so sturdy that you'd never know. For both items, home screen is a wallpaper of the Borg Tech logo; lock screen is the same picture as Jesse's.
Pixal: Doesn't even need a phone, as all her communication is near-exclusively through the communicators, but is given one due to her father's insistance. The case starts just solid purple, but she feels a little plain with it and winds up bedazzling it. Home screen is a huge group pic; lock screen is of her and Zane.
Skylor: Has one of those cases that changes color with heat, and also works like a mood ring. Is not actually all that phone savvy; has to work up to it. Lock screen is a pic from a girls' night out; home screen is a candid of a very flustered and blushing Kai.
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crashional-thinker · 6 months
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i had a dream two nights ago about a society of robots that i (or maybe my oc) found myself in, flesh amongst a sea of circuits
the designs for these anthropomorphic robots were still decidedly humanoid, but still distinct enough to be visually interesting.
unfortunately, i don't remember many of them, or the encounters that happened to the dream protagonist, except for one of them:
i do not remember the name of the robot in question but i do know what they looked like and what happened to them.
their general color scheme was gray, with teal-blue and yellow highlights. perhaps about 6.5 to 7 feet tall, they had relatively spindly limbs with some exposed wiring. the digits of these limbs were fairly rudimentary and boxy, but still with five fingers on each hand, which were perhaps the most human-looking body part; the feet had two "toes" each. the elbows and knees had exposed servos and gears that would move as they bent those limbs.
most notably, they had a sort of "tv head", but it looked more like a computer monitor; it was not a flat screen, but instead a row of very thin lights that varied in brightness from being completely off to a light blue. they also had two long antennae off the top of either side of their head.
these lights seemed to supposed to be on by default, but for whatever reason, about half of them were in an inverted state, distributed somewhat randomly, so their "face" looked like a barcode. the lights would change in brightness (and between on/off) whenever they spoke, kind of like a futurama robot.
during my encounter with them, one of their legs had supposedly been destroyed, and they were next to a bench in the middle of a park, nobody helping them. the damage had rendered their other leg unusable, so they were sort of sat there defeatedly, staring at the exposed wires, occasionally sparking.
i stumbled upon them and offered my assistance, to which they begged for a replacement leg. after scrounging one up, i managed to find one; didn't quite fit their color scheme, it looked more red, but it would work suitably and was the same size. after some hassle attaching it, their legs still didn't work.
the problem was a lack of electricity. to fix this, i grabbed a tazer and something metal to act as a conduit, attached one end of the conduit to their new leg and the other to the end of the tazer, and fired the tazer. the resulting shock had them faint, but after coming to, their legs were working again. they were overwhelmingly grateful and i stuck to them like glue for the remainder of my trip through the strange city i had found myself in
i think they even gave me a ride on their shoulders.
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underspacegame · 9 months
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Patch 2.25 for Underspace's official demo is now out! Demo 2.25 is mostly a series of bugfixes, but there's a fair amount of new features and new content here. Check out the full changelog below, and as always be wary of known issues.
KNOWN ISSUES
Interior detailing and colliders to prevent falls on a majority of stations are not in.
Voice acting is currently unimplemented, unbalanced, or placeholder for several quests and dialogue lines.
Joystick and controller support vestigial and more or less not implemented and having a controller plugged in can introduce weirdness.
Cockpit textures are unimplemented. 
Several large filesizes are currently uncompressed and unoptimized.
Trading in ships may have a UI mismatch between ammunition counts on a ship and the actual ammunition.
NEW CONTENT & FEATURES
The abyssdrive. At top speed in highengines you can charge an even more powerful, even faster version of it. Be wary, it can’t be used too close to gravitational bodies, 
Planet Vauldric now has a trading center. No more buying chorm off the streets from a shady figure, now you can do it out in the open like a proper member of society.
NPC loadout randomization. You’ll find NPCs have a habit of using different attacks, including missiles, mines, better thrusters, more guns, etc.
Automatic targeting! Killing an enemy in battle will automatically switch you to your next closest target.
Distant horrible objects in storms are now animated. 
Jump holes now distort the camera when near them. 
The in-game manual is now implemented, along with full videos for all topics!
Musical stings for leveling up, completing campaigns, defeating bosses, defeating storms, and more.
You can now access the storage menu from the cargo trader’s menu, on stations.
CHANGES & BUGFIXES
Fixed black screens and softlocks related to taking on new missions.
Fixed issue where starting a new game aftering having quit to the main menu could cause a crash.
Rebalances of countermeasures, mines, and autoturrets.
Autoturrets can now take down incoming projectiles.
Heavy equipment now displays in full its stats, damage, etc.
In-game graphics options, such as FXAA, resolution, run in background, and more, all work properly.
Fixed issue where certain effects weren’t getting colored by the customization system.
Minimine is now an animated pet.
Resized several equipment pieces on your ship to better fit it.
Fixed issues with NPC avoidance and infinite idling. 
Fixed several issues with player autopilot avoidance. 
Fixed issues with shadow rendering in various places.
Fixed issues where certain weapons platforms couldn’t die.
There is now a slight autolock when emerging from a laneline. It can be overridden, if you so choose.
Fixed issues where some equipment didn’t report every stat it had.
Fixed price mismatch issues between the trading UI and the money readout UI.
Fixed issue where you could buy too many or too few hull webbing units, shield caches, and ammunition.
Ship headlights now illuminate a much wider area.
Leaving a conversation early will now piss off any ship if it’s a demanding conversation.
Added options for eye adaption and disabling different kinds of spacedust.
Fixed several saving and UI issues relating to destroying storms.
Fixed issues where several player stats, including garage size, weren’t saving.
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powpowpunchout · 1 year
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Spending Time Together
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Octave laid across the dark brown couch in his living room. His bare chest was pressed against the cushions, his feet hung off the armrest, and his face was buried in a pale yellow pillow. He shifted his legs around, trying to get comfortable, but his bruises flared up.
He dug his fingers into the cushion as he hissed to himself.
He doesn't care how much pain he’s in, he’s been lying in this position for hours, he can’t stay like this forever.
Octave pushed himself up. His arms felt like they were about to snap. His legs felt like they’d been set on fire. His whole body felt so, so heavy. Despite it all, he managed to turn around and lay on his back.
He let out quiet curses in between his slow, heavy breaths. He hated that. His body hated that. But he’ll take a few minutes of pain over staring at that stupid pillow for another second.
As he waited for the pain to fade, he turned his head and stared at the TV that stood across from him. His ‘old, clunky piece of junk’ as the seller he bought from called it. The shape of it was odd, sure, especially compared to the TV he’s seen at Aran’s place or the ones hanging on the walls at WVBA’s bar. It was boxier. Longer. It went just past his hips in terms of height, and a small screen took up the top half, while the built-in speaker took up the bottom. Despite how ‘clunky’ it looked, it still worked fine.
He could watch his old movies without a problem, he could turn it on and off no issue, the audio was almost alway clear, but those knobs…
He narrowed his eyes, trying to get them adjusted to the darkness.
He needed to fix those knobs. Eventually.
They weren’t completely broken, yet, but it was getting harder to use. He had to walk over, spin them around some, press them in, spin them around some more, then he’d get frustrated and shake the entire TV before he went back to spinning them again. Just thinking about all those steps was annoying him. He needed those knobs. He needed them to adjust the size of the picture on the screen so he could see the films normally.
Octave let out a long sigh.
If he had the strength, he’d turn the TV on right now, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
His stomach was still killing him.
He wasn’t sure if it was from the boxing match, or because he hadn’t eaten since he’d gotten home–oh, jeez, that match was yesterday. It felt much longer than that.
Octave clutched at his stomach.
It felt like someone was twisting a knife inside of him.
When was the last time he ate?
He remembered coming home, throwing his stuff aside and wanting to take a shower, but he only had enough energy to change into a pair of black shorts before collapsing on the couch.
Has he really been laying here for an entire day?
He probably reeks.
His stomach’s probably hurting because he’s hungry, but he wasn’t in the mood to get up and drag himself to the kitchen.
He let an arm dangle off the couch and touch the light beige carpet below.
Beige.
Browns and beiges. That’s all his living room consisted of.
The walls were beige, his carpet was beige, the tiles in his kitchen were beige, the counters? Beige. The small dining table was brown, its chairs were brown as well, as was the coffee table that sat between him and the tv. The end table pressed against the left side of his couch was brown, heck, every piece of furniture he had were all some shade of browns and beiges.
The only things that had any pop of color were his collections of old vinyls slipped into shelves, whatever decor he hung around the house, and the stack of old books and record covers atop his TV that looked seconds away from toppling over. Everything else though? Browns and beiges.
Tonight, though, his house had been consumed by the deep, cold violet of the evening.
It wasn’t often he got to see his living room washed in another color.
He brought his eyes up and saw a bright yellow streak of light going across his wall, hitting the string of decoration he had put up some time ago. They weren’t anything too fancy. Just pennon flags of boxers’ initials, old movie tickets, newspaper clippings of his past victories, simple things, but he liked them. He then glanced at the window beside the dark brown front door. It was cracked open, as were the blinds, allowing the headlights of his neighbor’s car to shine through. Idiot must’ve forgotten to turn the dang thing off–
The phone on his end table started to ring. Octave rolled his eyes and stayed put.
He’s not answering that.
Whoever’s calling this late can go rot.
He stayed still. His black candlestick phone shook with each loud ring.
It kept ringing and ringing and ringing.
And then it stopped.
And then it was quiet again.
He laid still, a cold but pleasing breeze hitting his face.
He looked at his body.
His poor, bruised body.
Even with how dark it was, he could still make out the disgusting purple marks across his chest. He–
The phone started to ring again.
Octave groaned and shoved the pillow into his face.
He stretched his arm out and felt around for the phone. He cussed when his fingers hit a sharp corner of the table. Great. Wasn’t like they were hurting enough.
His hand managed to find the table top. He continued to feel around, knocking off crumpled papers, an empty cup, and whatever else was on there before he finally felt the base of his phone.
His fingers traveled up before curling around the thin, cylindrical spine. He sat up, brought the phone to his face, tore the cone-shaped receiver away from its hooks, then pressed it against his ear.
“Yeah?” He said, tightly wrapping the phone’s cord around his finger in an attempt to ignore the surge of pain rushing through his body.
“Aye, Overload.” Aran said, his voice grainy, “Ye busy?”
“Yeah.” Octave tilted the phone so that the mouthpiece on top was closer to his mouth.
Aran clicked his tongue, “Awh, that’s too bad. I was hopin’ we could spend some quality time t’gether.”
Aran’s voice kept getting overpowered by… Something loud.
Octave ignored whatever Aran was saying and listened closely. It sounded like he was in a car, but that can’t be right, Aran’s license got revoked.
He kept listening.
Was that…
Was that cheesy 70s music?
“Aran–Aran are ya with Disco?”
“That obvious?”
“I can hear his stupid music through here. Why th’heck are ya with him?”
There was some shuffling around on the other side before Aran spoke again.
“He was jus’ drivin’ me back home is all. Wan’ me to tell ‘im ye said hi?”
“No.”
There was a bit more shuffling.
“O’erload says hi.” Aran’s voice was quiet, but Octave heard every word perfectly. Along with Disco Kid’s little ‘Hi!’
Octave groaned. Aran’s staticed snickered creeped through his ears.
“So, wan’ go out for a bite?”
“I’m hurtin’, Aran.”
“Sure y’are.” Aran said. Octave could hear the grin growing on his face. “C’mon, when’s th’last time we hung out?”
“I ain’t goin’.”
Octave heard Disco speak again, but he could hardly make out a word.  
“How bout tomorrow night then? Y’pick th’place, I’ll pay. My treat. It’ll be fun. See ye then.”
Aran hung up.
Octave sat there, hunched over, staring into the mouthpiece of his phone.  
He tightened the cord around his finger.
Whatever.
He can’t stay on this couch forever, and he needs to eat eventually.
It’ll be a good reason to finally shower too, maybe he could even dress decently. Maybe he does need a night out.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Great Tiger lifted his head off a pillow. He opened his eyes and was nearly blinded by the sunlight. He hissed and looked away, only to see he was surrounded by more colorful pillows.
He slowly blinked.
Did he fall asleep during Bald Bull’s training last night? That’s embarrassing.
But this was Bull’s room. He doesn’t remember stepping foot into Bull’s room last night.
Did Bull carry him here? That’s even more embarrassing.
Tiger sat up, but a lock of his dark brown hair snagged onto something. He looked down and saw it got tangled around the beaded edges of a pink pillow. He grumbled as he placed the pillow on his lap and carefully pulled his hair free. After that was done, he ran his fingers through his hair–his face scrunched when he felt how tangled it was. That’ll be a joy to brush through.
Tiger then patted down his low, white v-neck long sleeve shirt. It looked horribly wrinkled. His loose, sand-colored, wide-legged pants weren’t as bad, thankfully–
His eyes scanned the bed.
Where in the world was his turban?
Where in the world was Bull?
His turban was surely… Somewhere… On this bed, but what about Bull?
He looked ahead and saw the thick, pastel purple curtains that surrounded the bed were parted at the very front. That allowed Tiger to peek into the bedroom. It also allowed that accursed sunlight to shine through and assault his poor eyes.
Tiger crawled towards the curtains and poked his head through. His brows lowered when he saw there were still no signs of Bull.
Bull wasn’t by his redwood dresser that was pressed against the wall getting clothes out, he wasn’t sitting on one of the colorful, patterned orange couches and cushions placed in the far right corner of the room, and when Tiger leaned a bit further to get a better look through the archway that led to the balcony, he couldn’t see Bull there either.
Tiger pressed his lips together. Perhaps Bull was already downstairs preparing breakfast? The sort of breakfast that was always far too sweet for Tiger to ever finish? The sort that always left a giant mess behind? That left behind a syrupy scent that lingered in the air for hours? It’s possible.  
However, before he checks down there, he needs to find his turban.
Tiger started digging through the pile of pink, yellow, purple, and who knows how many other colored pillows that buried Bull’s bed.
You know, Tiger could tell you every little thing about Bull’s room. He could tell you about the large, arched windows on both sides of the room, how you could get an excellent view of the garden and city on one side, while getting a wonderful look at the rich, neighboring forest and the wildlife that passed on the other. He could talk about the decorations for hours, from the mosaic lamps that hung from the ceiling on brass chains, to the strings of beads and cut paper that dangled from the walls. He could talk about the giant, round red rug in the center of the room with tiny, intricate, embroided patterns that could mesmerize you for hours. Oh, and the fabrics that were tied around the four large, elegantly carved, light-peach columns that were placed in each corner of the room? Magnificent.
He could ramble for hours about the fabric alone, honestly. The way they were tied to the tops of the columns and stretched across the ceiling? The way they met in the middle where a big mosaic lamp hung and circled around it? The way each fabric had such different colors and patterns from one another yet still harmonized? From magentas to purples to pinks, from stripes to speckles to plain, each one was splendid, and even more so when they were all tied together. And the way the sun bounced off them and tinted the tan floors and walls in a gentle hue of pink? The only word that he could use to truly describe the look of it all was: ‘Magnificent’.
The lamp in the center of the ceiling was broken, unfortunately. It’s been broken for as long as he can remember. He keeps offering to fix it, to fly over and change to bulb, but Bull always says he’ll change it himself. Eventually.
And Tiger may or may not have influenced Bull to hang up a tiger-patterned fabric.
He didn’t mean to!
He just made a comment one day, jokingly saying: ‘Oh? No tiger stripes? How disheartening.’ Or something along those lines, and the next time he came over, Bull happily pointed out his latest purchase. It honestly did make Tiger’s day. Even looking at the fabric now, a feeling of delight fluttered inside of him.
So many of Bull’s things had all sorts of stories to them, stories he’s told Tiger all about, and Tiger could spend all day sharing every single one of them with you, but if you asked him about Bull’s bed? Tiger would have no idea what to tell you.
He’s never seen Bald Bull’s bed before. It’s always been covered with pillows and thick, patterned blankets.
The bed sheet might be purple? But that could’ve been another pillow for all he knew.
And sure, even though the pile of pillows were comfortable, it’d be nice to sleep on an actual mattress. Something that didn’t snag his hair every time he tossed and turned. Bull always tells him that the pillows don’t tangle up hair that badly, but he’s not the one with hair going past his back.
Tiger sat up and put his hands on his hips. No luck finding his turban so far, and he did not want to spend the entire day looking for it.
He snapped his fingers. Then waited.
And waited.
Suddenly, his unraveled white turban teleported onto his lap. He smiled. A little bit of a delay,, but it still appeared! Perhaps his magic won’t be too much of a hassle this morning.
He got to his feet and started shuffling through the pillows as he carried his turban, wondering what Bull made for breakfast. Pancakes? Muffins? Did he order donuts again? Whatever it was, Tiger knew it was going to be delicious, and that he'd only have enough stomach to eat a single bite.  
Tiger felt his foot get caught underneath a blanket. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his balance, but as he fell closer and closer to the floor, he squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Teleport me back onto my feet!’ He told himself.
That’s all he needed.
To be back on his feet.
That’s all.
The sensation of magic sparked inside of him.
That familiar, sharp, cold sensation that started at the tips of his hands and feet and shot right into his chest.
Then the feeling of high winds started to hit his face, and though his eyes were closed, his vision was filled with an array of colors that swirled together and whirled past him.
His hair flew. His grip on the turban tightened. Everything got faster and faster–
And then it stopped.
His hair fell down to his back. The fabric drooped. And his feet touch the ground.
He breathed out then cracked an eye open.
“Ah.” He said as he saw he was no longer in the bedroom, but the kitchen. He’d be mad at this teleportation mess-up had it not been for the fact he wanted to be here in the first place.
Tiger’s mustache twitched. Plenty of sunlight came through the small window above the kitchen sink, and through the sliding glass doors nearby that lead to the backyard, leaving the kitchen perfectly lit and warm, the perfect conditions Bull loved to cook in, but despite that, the kitchen was completely spotless.
The umber countertops weren’t covered in batter or flour, none of the cream-colored drawers were open, the sink wasn’t filled with a mountain of dirty dishes–heck–all the clean dishes from yesterday were still untouched on the drying rack, and there weren’t any pots or pans sitting on the black stove. In fact, they were all still hanging on the metal rack above the kitchen island, which was also perfectly clean.
His eyes flickered to the light tawny shelves placed along the white tiled walls. The small bags of sugar, the little containers of baking soda and powder were unopened, the thin, cylinder baskets that held Bull’s cooking utensils looked unmoved. The only sign that Bull had ever stepped foot in here were the houseplants sitting on those same shelves; fresh water droplets adorning their leaves.
He caught a glimpse at the timer on the stove. 8 AM.
Tiger mindlessly started to circle around the kitchen island, the wooden floor creaked with each step he took as he stroked his beard and wondered where Bull could’ve gone off to.
He wrapped his turban into a tight ball and placed it inside the pocket of his pants as he slowed and brought his attention to the white pantry pressed against the wall. His eyes trailed down and landed on the small, chestnut-colored prep table sitting beside it. Bull was originally going to put it in the living room, but he kept forgetting, so here it remains, holding stacks of boxed snacks and an assortment of fruit.
He stared at the fruit, specifically at a red apple.
He flicked his wrist. The apple poofed away then reappeared in his hands. He smiled.
Then a banana teleported into his hands.
No, no, no he doesn’t want that vile thing. Put it away.
He glared at the banana. It teleported back onto the prep table.
The apple suddenly teleported back as well.
He huffed and flicked his wrist again. The fruit disappeared and…
Tiger’s head darted around.
Where the heck did they go?
He stopped when he spotted them sitting on top of the sleek, gray fridge, but before he had the chance to reach out for them, they poofed back onto the table. Again.
Tiger looked at the apple. He folded his arms, sighed, then hung his head in defeat as he did the walk-of-shame over to the table and picked up the fruit like a normal person.
‘Blasted magic.’ He thought to himself as he went over to the sink and washed the apple, ‘Hopefully it decides to wake up sooner than later.’
As soon as he went to bite the apple, he heard a phone ring. It sounded rather… Muffled.
Tiger’s eyes darted about. Was it coming from outside?
He turned to the small window above the sink and leaned close to it. He cracked open the blinds and peered through–Oh, Bald Bull! He’s out there!
Tiger set the apple aside and hurried to the glass doors.
“Good morning, Bull!” Tiger said as slid them open and stepped out onto the patio, the feeling of cold concrete against his bare feet was more than enough to wake him up.
“Ah–” Bull looked away from the chained punching bag that hung from the balcony overhead, “Morning.”
He wasn’t wearing a shirt–that was tossed over one of the many magenta cushions that surrounded the pale, wooden round table placed under the patio. His shorts a shade of warm purple that reminded Tiger of the jars of fig jam Bull kept in his pantry. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. Or socks. But seeing how the grass he stood on was glistening with dew, it was probably for the best.
“I was looking all over for you, you know.” Tiger put his hand on his chest. The subtle smell of pollen and just-watered flowers was growing stronger with each passing second. “Why–”
A loud, obnoxious phone ring interrupted him.
He shot a nasty glare at Bull’s maroon flip phone. He grabbed it off of the table, being careful not to knock over the water bottle beside it, and raised it in the air.
“Would you like–” Tiger stopped and quickly stepped onto the large, red, pink, and blue striped mat beneath the table. He couldn’t bear to stand on the frigid stone floor for another second. “--would you like me to answer the phone for you?”
“No, no. Probably another photographer.” Bull’s voice trailed off as he gave the punching bag a half hearted swing.
“Another…?” Tiger tilted his head. His mind blocked out the constant rings as he… Well… He was a bit worried about Bull. He didn’t sound nearly as energetic as he usually does. Usually Bull was always the first one to give a loud, hearty ‘Good morning!’, then he’d ask how Tiger slept, if there’s anything he’d like for breakfast, but here he was–
The caller hung up. Tiger flipped the phone open and gasped.
“Good heavens, over 50 missed calls?! What happened?” Tiger exclaimed.
“Macho man.” Bull said as he rubbed his eyes, “He did not show up to the photoshoot like he had promised.”
Tiger raised a brow, “I didn’t know Macho had your number.”
“Neither did I.”
“Are all these calls from Macho Man?”
“No, he–”
A voicemail started to play. Tiger hit a button and put it on speaker.
“Hey Bull buddy! Ya accidentally blocked me again.” Super Macho Man’s voice came through. Tiger glanced at Bull, who looked absolutely exhausted.
The voicemail continued, “Anyways, Super-Macho Sorry bout th’photo thing again. And th’guys constantly callin’ ya. Totally didn’t think that’d happen. Any way I can make it up t’ya? Drinks? Couple hundred bucks? A wig? Cake? Ya like cakes, right? Jus’ lemme know when ya get th’chance. Later.”
Tiger stood there. Mouth hanging open. Before he slowly turned to Bull.
“Super… Macho… Sorry?”
Bull groaned and rested his head against the punching bag, “Tiger.”
“Yes?”
“Scroll down.” He made a little motion with his finger.
“Alright?”
“Do you see the small red box at the bottom of the screen?”
“The one that says ‘Block Caller’?”
“Yes. Click it.”
Tiger did so. A little ‘blip’ came from the phone.
Bull nodded then brought his focus back to his training.
“So,” Tiger twirled the tip of his mustache, “who else has been calling you?”
“Photographers, journalists, fans.” Bull said as he struck the bag, “Macho told me he had given my number to some people on the night of the photoshoot for some reason, and since then things have been getting worse and worse.”
The calls didn’t start coming till yesterday afternoon, while he and Tiger were taking a break from their work out. It started off slow. Every other hour he’d get a call here, a few messages there, nothing to pay much mind to, but before he knew it, those ‘couple of calls’ turned to hundreds.
‘...I just thought that–ya know–if th’fans were so bummed bout not seein’ ya, they could give ya a quick call ‘n say hi!’ One of Macho’s voicemails said. Bull’s face soured at the recollection. Thanks to him, he’ll have to change his number. Again.
Bull gave the bag another punch.
“I could hardly get any sleep last night.” Bull muttered. He remembered laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with wide, aching eyes as the muffled rings of his phone taunted him. Tormented him. Even with it being shoved in the far back shelf of his pantry on the first floor, he could hear it so clearly.
The fears that plagued his mind certainly didn’t help either. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to sleep, the voice in the back of his brain kept screaming at him to check the windows. Lock the doors. Make sure no one was standing in his driveway. Make sure no one was getting closer to them–
“Is that why you got out of bed last night?” Tiger asked.
Bull stopped, “Did I wake you?”
“I felt the bed shift around,” Tiger shrugged, “and I saw you leave the room, but I thought it was a dream.”
“Ah.” Bull’s face grew warm, “I apologize.”
“Oh, don’t be. I fell right back asleep.”
Bull raised his fist and lingered for a moment before hitting the bag, “I took my phone outside, thought if it was not in the house, I’d sleep easier.” He hit it again, “I did not.”
Tiger leaned against one of the thin, pale-peach colored columns that supported the balcony, “Well, if you’re tired, why not rest? You’ve earned it.”
Bull didn’t take his eyes off the punching bag, “I do not want to fall behind.”
“Oh, ‘fall behind’.” Tiger scoffed, “You’ve been training all day yesterday. It’s not a crime to relax! Have you even had breakfast yet?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Tiger folded his arms and frowned, not like Bull could see. He then sharply exhaled and stepped forward, “Well, at the very least let me help you.”
Bull stopped.
“Are you sure? Is your magic awake enough?”
Tiger raised his hands into the air and started making quick, little pulling gestures. His turban slithered out of his pocket and into the air. He then made small, circular motions with one finger, his hair tied itself into a tight bun before the turban wrapped itself around. And with one flick of the wrist, his gem appeared right in the center of his turban, securely placed between the fabric.  
He gave Bull a smile, “I think it’s waking up quite nicely.”
“Showoff.” Bull lightly rolled his eyes. Tiger could see the tiny smile underneath his bushy mustache.
“We’ll start off the way we did yesterday.” Tiger said, pulling out one of the cushions with his magic and sitting on top, “I’ll move the bag around a bit, make it dodge your attacks, all that delightful stuff, and then we’ll pick up the pace. How’s that?”
“Perfect.” Bull said as he walked further out into the backyard, watching as Tiger used his magic to take the bag off its hook and fly it over to his side. Bull’s eyes locked onto the bag. He dug his feet into the ground, swung his arm back, then–
As soon as he went for a hit, the bag quickly moved aside.
Bull tried again. Only for the bag to dodge again.
He watched as the bag jumped from place to place, and once he caught onto the rhythm, he reeled his arm back and socked it square in the center.
The punching bag went flying across the garden–Tiger quickly stopped it before it could crush any of the flowers.
Bull’s smile widened as Tiger teleported the bag back in front of him.
Bull tried to hit it again. The bag moved.
He tried again, only to miss again.
He kept trying over and over to get another punch, but it felt like with every missed swing, Tiger made the bag faster.
After another missed hit, Bull grit his teeth.
He let the bag dart around before he uppercut it.  
A loud ‘BANG’ shot out from the impact. Music to the ears.
Bull put his hands on his hips and let out a confident laugh. He repositioned himself, hands curling to tight fists, energy flowing through him as he was ready to–
Ready to…
Where did the bag go?
Bull scanned the backyard.
That’s strange. No traces of it anywhere–
Bull stopped when his eyes landed on the patio. On Great Tiger.
“Tiger.” Bull folded his arms.
“Oh goodness! It seems the punching bag has vanished into thin air!” Tiger covered his mouth dramatically.
“Tiger.”
Tiger hovered off the seat and gravitated towards his unamused friend, “And it seems the only way to make it reappear is by… Having breakfast!”
“Tiger, where is it.”
“Ah-ah, a magician never reveals his secrets when he’s hungry.” Tiger grinned.
Bull raised his brows.
“Alright. I will make us breakfast.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Octave stood outside, hands shoved into the pockets of his high wasted, dark gray pants as he leaned against a lamppost, waiting at the corner of one of the city’s blocks. The one that was right beside the laundromat he goes to; where he’d help himself to a small handful of candies from the dispensers right beside the counter as his clothes were in the washer, or go for a walk outside as he waited for the dryer to finish.
It was the only laundromat he knew of that was close to his house and open 24/7.
‘Brightest building on th’block. Can’t miss it.’ Octave told Aran over the phone this morning. Heck, it was probably the brightest building in the whole city. That’s what made it the perfect place to meet up.
Sure, the outside wasn’t too flashy, it looked like every other brick building with a worn down sign,, but the inside? The bright, blinding white lights on the inside that shone through the wide, rectangular windows? It was enough to illuminate the entire street. 
It didn’t matter what hour it was, what day, or if a giant storm swept through the city, the laundromat kept its dang lights on at full blast.
Octave took one hand out of his pocket and fiddled with his black tie. He wished he had brought a watch. He was starting to get hungry.
Octave was starting to get hungry.
Aran was taking forever.
Where the heck was he?
Octave’s hand went from his tie to the buttons of his white shirt.
Aran better not be hitching a ride from Disco again. The last thing Octave needed was Disco’s stupid face pulling up in his stupid, flashy car, all while blasting his stupid, obnoxious music.
If Aran’s not here in five minutes, he’ll just go to the diner by himself–
“OY! O’erload!” Octave heard someone shout, “Izzat you?!”
Octave turned and saw Aran hurrying across the street.
“Bout time. Was startin’ to think ya got lost with how long you were takin’.” Octave said, pushing away from the lamppost, “Was ya daddy Disco not able to drive ya tonight or somethin’?”
“Ay, trus’ me,” Aran huffed, “I was thinkin’ bout ditchin’ several times.”
Octave scanned Aran up and down. There wasn’t anything good to look at. His t-shirt was plain and green, his shorts a dark indigo, his shoes were a dark seagreen–he didn’t even bother to tie his laces or brush his hair. Yeah, his hair always looked like a wreck, but it was especially bad tonight. It was more than obvious this outfit had been thrown on at the last second.
“Kinda wished ya did. C’mon.” Octave muttered. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and tilted his head. Aran followed behind.
The diner they were heading to was a straight walk from here, but as Octave stared ahead–stared at the line up of lampposts and buildings–he sorta wished he had picked an earlier time to meet up.
Don’t get him wrong, he loved how quiet the city was at night. He loved how there were hardly any cars rushing through the streets, playing their awful music, he loved how the sidewalks weren’t filled with hundreds of noisy people constantly bumping into him, and he loved how cool the air was, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the colors at sunset.
Instead of the sky being filled with pinks and purples, it was filled with a deep, dull indigo. Usually that wasn’t an issue, usually there’d be stars to look at, but tonight, the sky was consumed by thick clouds. Instead of the city streets being washed with a hue of orange, everything was just dark.
Octave looked to the left, trying to see if he could sneak a peek inside the windows of the stores they passed by, but all of their lights had been turned off, and the lamp posts certainly weren’t any help. They produced just enough light to dimly illuminate the sidewalk. Nothing more, nothing less.
It was kind of a downer, not seeing anything through those windows. He felt stupid for feeling that way, but there was something pleasant about seeing stores wrapping up for the day. Catching a glimpse of them cleaning up, waving goodbye to their last few customers, or locking their doors before they head home? It was strangely pleasant.
But there was nothing tonight. Nothing to look at besides the barren street ahead of them. Nothing to hear except the buzzing of street lamps.
Octave felt Aran tug on his dark gray, cropped suit, “What’s wit th’getup? We gonna have a fine dinin’ experience tonight or somethin’ tog’ther or somethin’?”
Octave pulled it away, “Wanted t’look nice.”
“Ye look bad.”
“Thanks.”
Octave kept staring ahead. Aran’s smirk twitched.
“Y’still mad at me bout a couple’a days ago?”
Octave didn’t answer. He heard Aran sigh.
“C’mon, I was jokin’ bout all that.” Aran rolled his eyes, “Thought it was somethin’ we could laugh at.”
“If I wanted t’laugh I’d lookatcha face.”
Aran cackled then wrapped his arm around Overload’s neck, “See? There’s that bite I love. But if we’re both bein’ honest ‘ere…” He leaned in closer, “We both know y’can’t see past that nose o’yers.”
Octave shoved Aran off. Aran stumbled a bit onto the road before jumping back into place.
Octave twisted a button on his suit. He was thankful he decided to pop in some painkillers before heading off tonight. While his body still ached a tad with each step he took, it was nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday.
He brought his head up. A yellow light coming from one of the apartment buildings’ windows caught his attention. It was rather high up, but when he narrowed his eyes, he could make out the silhouettes of house plants. His eyes darted over to another lit room where a couple was talking to each other. There were several other lit windows scattered across the buildings, all allowing little peeks into the evening lives of those inside. From cats resting atop their cat-trees, to people sitting on their balcony having a smoke, to others leaving their windows open to let the aroma of their dinners out into the world, it was nice. It wasn’t the same as passing by stores at sunset, but it was nice.
When Octave lowered his head, his eyes lit up when he saw a familiar red glow up ahead. He picked up the pace. So did Aran.
At the end of the block, sitting across the road, was his favorite diner.
He felt a small smile make its way on his face.
“Course y’chose this dingy place again.” He heard Aran grumble.
“If ya don’t wanna eat here then there’s a trash can right over there.” Octave motioned to the overflowing bin nearby. Aran elbowed him before rushing across the road. Octave hurried behind.
As they grew closer to the restaurant, the warm, welcoming red glow of the restaurant’s sign that read “DINER” grew stronger.
They made their way to the white door that jutted out from the otherwise perfectly flat front, white lights from the overhang shining down on them.
Octave has a clipping from an old newspaper that shared the story of when this diner first opened decades ago. The paper was worn down, partially stained and torn, but it was still legible, and the picture was in decent quality too. He has it framed and hung on his wall, along with several other old clippings.
The outside of the diner today looked the same as it did all those years ago. Simple. Not that simple was a bad thing. Its colors were nothing but white and shades of metallic grays, the only pop of color being the red stripes that ran across. The metal roof and its rounded corners still looked as sleek and stainless as it did when it first opened, the only thing that looked aged was the diner’s sign. Its red lights kept flickering, sometimes a letter would fizzle out and stay that way for a couple of weeks before the owners fixed it up.
Octave remembered how many cars were parked in the driveway of that photo, how many people were lined up by the door. Tonight? The parking lot tonight was empty, and from what Octave can see through the windows, so was the inside. Perfect.
Octave held the door open for Aran before slipping inside the diner.
The first thing to greet them were the strong smells of warm butter and pancakes. Enough to make a person’s mouth water, yet somehow overpowering enough to dwindle their appetite.
The second thing to greet them was an orange haired waitress who wore a white apron that stopped just below her knees and covered most of her pastel red, collared t-shirt, along with her tan khakis.
“Hi there!” She hollered from the other side of the diner, cleaning off one of the many white tables pressed against the walls, “You two sit where ya need’ta. I’ll be there to help in a sec!”
Octave walked over to the long, white counter that nearly stretched across the entire checkered floor.
The inside of the diner was on the narrower side and split into three ‘sections’. The first section–the side where the front door stood–was where all the booths laid. Most people liked to sit there as they all had windows beside them. The second section was the white counter with a whole bunch of red bar stools placed on one side–if you’re too tall, your knees’ll keep hitting the edge of the counter–and on the other side was the drink station and the black door that lead to the kitchen. And the third section? That was the area placed between the booths and the counter. The small bit of section of actual, visible floor that you could walk on. The section you need to walk through to get to the bathroom on one end of the diner, or to use the jukebox on the other end. The section you have to be the most careful in because so many people stuck their legs out there, making it incredibly easy to trip and crack your head open.
Octave sat down on one of the barstools at the edge of the counter. Aran sat beside him, but not before spinning around a couple of times in his seat like a five year old, chuckling to himself.
Aran grabbed one of the menus in front of them. Octave didn’t. He already knew what he wanted.
Something simple, something filling. Pancakes, maybe with a side of sausage patties.
As Aran skimmed through the menu, Octave let his eyes wander around the diner.
Only two other people were in here, not including the waitress. They were sitting rather far from the counter as well. Hopefully they won’t smack their lips or slurp too loudly.
Each table and small sections on the counter had their own salt and pepper shaker, napkins, and a couple of condiments that all looked replenished and neatly arranged. They must’ve been restocked recently.  
The old jukebox–which color had always reminded Octave of copper–was playing jazz from a band he didn’t recognize.
“Pah, nothin’ but th’cheap stuff ‘ere.” He heard Aran hiss. Probably complaining about the beer again. He threw down the menu and whipped his head over, “Y’know, th’last time I had th’hashbrowns ‘ere, they made me sick.”
“Yea, ya ate like three plates of ‘em in three seconds. Course ya got sick.”
“They nearly killed me.”
“Too bad they didn’t.”
Aran threw his arms up, “I put up wit th’crappiest food for ye ‘n ye can’t even–”
Octave jabbed him with his elbow, shutting him up.
Aran rubbed his arm as he grumbled strings of curses to himself. He was about ready to ask what that was for, but then he saw the waitress coming over with a notepad.
“Hi, hi! Sorry for th’wait! How’re you two doin’ tonight?” The woman asked, the corner of her eyes crinkling and the wrinkles around her mouth stretching to perfectly fit her big smile.
“Fine.” Octave said.
“Not too shabby.” Aran added.
“Good, good. Have you two decided what ya’d like to drink?” She asked, taking out a pen that was placed between her hair and ear before clicking it.
Octave opened his mouth–but Aran cut him off.
“Ay, two bottles o’ Stellar Soc’er for us.” He said as he placed a hand on Octave’s shoulder. Octave gave him a glare.
“Alrighty,” She nodded as she scribbled away, “and have ya decided what ya wanna eat? Or do ya still need some time?”
“Nah, we’re ready. I’ll have th’--uh–” Aran grabbed the menu again and quickly flipped it over, “Ham ‘n cheese omelet.”
“Any sides?”
“Ay, two things of hashbrowns.”
Octave shot him a ‘Seriously?’ look.
The waitress then turned to Octave, “And for you?”
“Silver dollar pancakes for me.” He said, propping his head up with his hand.
“Any sides?”
“Nah.” He wasn’t feeling as hungry as he was earlier.
The woman finished jotting down their orders before flashing them another smile, “Okay! I’ll be back with ya drinks in a minute!”
Octave watched as she went to the other side of the counter, black shoes squeaking across the floor. She turned to the drink station and bent down. She opened one of the cabinets and took out a bag of coffee, probably for one of the other customers.
Octave’s eyes started to drift away from the waitress and to the drink station itself.
Is that even the right thing to call it? Was there a specific name for it?
It’s an area.
That has drinks.
Well, it had more than just drinks, and it wasn’t an ‘area’, it was another counter on the other side–black–and the same height of the one he and Aran sat at, but it wasn’t as long.
Most of the countertop’s space was taken up by blenders, various coffee machines, and an electric kettle, and while those were all spaced out evenly from each other, the same couldn’t be said for everything else on there. The bags and canisters of different coffee brands? The small boxes of tea bags and leaves? The containers of sugar, cinnamon, and other spices? Those were shoved together in whatever space was left, piled on top of each other in such a way that they looked like their contents were about to spill all over the floor.
The staff would probably have more room to work with if they got rid of the large, clunky coffee dispenser they’ve kept since they first opened, or tore off those old, silver soda tap towers, but Octave would miss them. Sure, the coffee dispensers no longer worked and were decades old, but they looked great, and the tap towers still worked fine. It gave the place charm, what can he say?
Maybe it’d be better if the staff sorted through those dark brown cabinets below. Octave’s caught glimpses of what was inside of them before; the clutter was concerning, but it was honestly impressive how much clutter those cabinet doors could hold back.
There were a couple of shelves above the counter, the same color as the cabinets. The first shelf held stuff the diner actually needed. Stacks of cups, extra silverware, plenty of straws, but the other two? Those were filled with empty bottles of discontinued soda and beers they used to sell over the years. Octave remembered talking to one of the women who works here, he remembered how she took a vibrant, red bottle from the highest shelf to show it off. She made sure he got a good look at the fancy-looking arched logo plastered on the front while she rambled about how the owners used to have this soda shipped from a friend all the way in Russia.
‘Dang thing’s older than Popinski!’ He remembered her laughing.
In between the bottles were pictures of family members, along with souvenirs the owner’s collected over the years, and little toys their kids apparently used to play with.
If the staff shoved everything on the shelves into boxes and stored them away, they’d definitely have more room for their ingredients, but then the drink station would look boring.
Octave heard Aran’s seat squeak. He looked over and saw Aran had hopped out of his chair and wandered to the front door where a newspaper rack was. He squatted down and started sifting through them.
Octave thought back to the newspaper clipping of the diner he had.
He wondered how much the inside has changed over the years.
The article never gave any pictures of the interior when it first opened; ‘As clean as a whistle.’ Was the only description given.
He wondered if these white walls were barren in the beginning, if there weren’t any of these flags with colorful initials on them, photos taken by the owner, record discs of old bands, and business cards of neighboring stores held up by stickers when it was starting out. It’s hard to imagine the place without them.
Octave’s eyes traveled across the crowded walls. Framed pictures took up most of the spaces. Pictures of family, friends, and favorite customers, pictures of special events and holidays, there were even pictures of WVBA boxers who’ve eaten here.
Only the big names, of course.
Some of the men Octave’s only ever seen in old recordings, but there were a few familiar faces. Mr. Sandman has a picture where he’s posing with the owner, who looked absolutely puny standing right next him, there’s a picture of–ugh–Super Macho Man. Octave does his best to never look in that photo’s direction. And apparently there was a picture of Popinski somewhere, but Octave’s yet to find–
Octave stopped when his eyes landed on one of the customers at a booth licking the sauce off their fingers. His body tensed and he scowled.
Disgusting.
Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.
What’s so hard about using a napkin?
Aran’s excited laughter cut off his thoughts.
“Ye’ seen this yet?” Aran asked as he hopped back into his seat, shoving a newspaper in front of Octave’s face.
Octave yanked it away and read the front page.
‘Super Macho Man’s Amoooosing New Look?!’  
Octave hated that he actually chuckled at that joke.
The picture below was blurry, but there was no mistaking it was Macho Man in an ink stained robe. Octave skimmed the article. It just talked about how Macho was ‘potentially’ shifting to a new cow-themed appearance, and how Macho refused to answer any questions. Octave noticed there were comments left by fans and actually took the time to read them.
‘I was definitely shocked to see Mr. Macho of all people wearing such a tacky pattern! I don’t know WHAT he was thinking.’ One woman said.
‘I could see Bald Bull wearing it, but THE Super Macho Man? Guy must’ve gotten hit in the head a bit too many times.’ A man stated.
‘Looks bad.’ Another fan said.  
Aran pulled the paper down, “Good stuff, ay? M’sister had a holler when she saw it.”
“Yeah, yeah, good stuff.” Octave tossed the paper onto the counter. The corner of Aran’s mouth curled down
“Thought ye’d be a li’l happier than that. We go through all that effort ‘n for what?!”
“Look, I’m still hung up bout the fight a couple’a days ago, lay off.” Octave grumbled.
“Awh, izzat th’problem?” Aran spoke in a sappy, fake, sympathetic voice, but before he could continue, two blue bottles slid in front of them.
“There ya are! I’ll be back with your food in a few.” The waitress waved then walked off to help another customer.
Aran grabbed a bottle, popped the cap off, and started to down the beer, each gross gulp getting louder than the last. Octave grabbed the other bottle and held it firmly. The cold glass stung his skin.
Aran tore the bottle away and wiped the bit of beer off his face, “Y’gotta git ov’r it. People lose all th’time. Y’think whinin’s gon getcha anywhere?”
“I got 21 losses on top’a gettin’ beaten to a pulp, don’t I get to complain bout that?”
“Ye got 21 wins.”
“Second lowest in th’circuit right next to Bear.” Octave muttered as he twisted the cap off. Aran groaned.
“I wanted t’have a good time t’night. I wanted t’do somethin’ nice ‘n cheer ye up, but no, y’just gotta go ‘n make it some pity party, don’tcha?”
Octave stared at the bright purple ‘STELLAR SOCKER’ logo on the bottle. He then stared at his reflection. At the giant bruise on his face.
“I lost m’last match, ‘n ye don’t see me cryin’ bout it, do ye?”
As Octave brought the bottle to his lips, he remembered how much he hated beer.
He hated the smell.
He hated the taste.
And as he took a sip, he remembered how much he hated the burning feeling it’d give the back of his throat.
“Ye lost 20 times before ‘n survived, this isn’t gon’ be any different.” Aran’s nails started tapping along the side of his bottle.
Octave watched it.  
“If it really bothers y’this much, spend th’rest of th’week trainin’ away. Keep practicin’ till yer on the brink of death.”
Aran’s fingers were getting faster. So was the sound.  
“Or keep mopin’ th’moment ye get back home. Keep feelin’ sorry for y’self, like that’ll do ye any good.”
He kept tapping.
“But not here. Not when we’re suppose t’have good time tog’ther.”
“Knock it off, Aran.” Octave mumbled.
He kept tapping.
“So why don’tcha suck it up for th’night ‘n try to have fun.”
Octave wasn’t listening to Aran’s words anymore. He wasn’t looking at the scowl he was wearing. He wasn’t looking at how close Aran’s face was to his. He just kept watching.
Aran kept tapping.
Clink clink clink. That was the awful sound his nails made.
Clink clink clink.
Octave’s grip around his bottle tightened.
Clink clink clink.
His heart was racing.
Clink clink clink.
His breaths were getting faster and faster.
Clink clink clink.
An urge was starting to fill him.
The urge to raise his bottle in the air.
To bring it down on Aran’s head.
To drive the jagged glass into his skull.
The terrible scene played in his mind so clearly.
The blue shards of glass that’d fly in the air.
The blood that’d fly with it.
Aran’s body hitting the tiled floor–
Octave squeezed his eyes shut before he grabbed Aran’s bottle and pushed it away.  
Aran spun around in his seat and watched as the bottle slid to the far opposite end of the counter and stopped just before the edge.
He turned back to Overload and glared.
Octave narrowed his eyes back, “I said knock it off.”
Aran pushed himself off the seat and muttered to himself as he went to get his beer.
A plate of small pancakes was suddenly set in front of him. Octave blinked then looked at the waitress.  
“There ya are!” She sang as she placed Aran’s omelete down, “Need anythin’ else?”
Octave shook his head. The woman walked off.
Octave stared down at his pancakes.
He wasn’t that hungry anymore.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Ah ha! Look! Macho Man covered in ink!” Tiger exclaimed as he flew a newspaper over to Bald Bull, who was sitting across from him on a tuscan red sofa, “I told you I wasn’t making things up yesterday.”
Bald Bull set the instruction manual for his phone aside, “Huh.” He mumbled as he looked at the photo of an inky Macho Man, gently tugging on the end of his coral-colored shirt, “I am sorry, it sounded so ridiculous that I…” His voice trailed off as he skimmed the article, but he didn’t get the chance to read much as Tiger pulled the paper back towards him.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Tiger said as he flipped a page, he shifted around on the other couch–this one having a royal-blue blanket tossed over it–until he was laying on his back. Well, he wasn’t exactly on the couch, more like hovering above it, but regardless, he needed to be comfortable, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Oh!” His eyes lit up, “Apparently a new face might be arriving to the WVBA soon, isn’t that exciting?”
Bull brought his head up, “Really? Who?”
Tiger read a bit more before he let out a scoff, “No one interesting, that’s for sure.” He looked at the tiny picture provided, “Boring name, boring face, it wouldn’t surprise me if his fighting style was as boring as he is.”
He looked up from the paper, expecting to see Bull pushing himself off the couch so he could walk over and tease him for being oh-so-mean, that the man couldn’t be that boring, let him see! But instead, Bull just sat there. Staring down at the low, sienna colored coffee table that was cluttered with phone manuals, an empty box of sugar cubes, and two drunken cups of tea.
Tiger lowered the paper and drifted down onto the couch. He sunk into the cushions slightly.
Were his jabs a little too cruel?
“Are you alright?” Tiger asked.
Bull didn’t say anything. He looked tense.
Tiger saw that Bull was staring at his phone. His eyes narrowed.
That accursed thing has been going off all day.
Today was supposed to be their day to relax, the day where they’d lounge around and do absolutely nothing after the constant training Bull put himself through yesterday, but instead? They had to deal with the constant calls of fans and paparazzi who couldn’t grasp the basic concept of privacy.
Bull kept telling Tiger the calls weren’t that bothersome, but Tiger’s seen agitation that flickered in his eyes everytime the phone started to ring again. He’s seen the way his smiles faded every time he had to stop whatever he was doing to hang up on the caller. He’s seen how his movements grew stiffer throughout the day. Tiger knew those calls bothered Bull as much as they bothered him.
Tonight they were supposed to sit outside and ramble about their weekday plans, which would slowly change into them exchanging stories from their past for hours as their evening talks always went.
Tonight Bull wanted to bake cookies–whether it was from scratch or those pre-made cookies from the store, Tiger wasn’t sure, but he always enjoyed helping him.
Tonight was the perfect night to sit outside and spend the last few hours of the day together.
But instead, here they are.
In Bald Bull’s living room.
All thanks to Macho Man.
How miserable.
Tiger didn’t have any grudges against Bull’s living room. It looked… Fine.
The couches were fine, the golden and orange pillows scattered around were fine, the house plants placed beside the window–which Bull had cracked open–that was placed behind the couch Bull sat on was fine, the shade of honeyed orange for the walls was fine, the wooden floor was fine, the mosaic lamps hanging from the ceiling was fine, the unlit candles held up by their long, thin holders were fine. It was all fine. Fine, fine, fine, but it wasn’t where they were supposed to be.
“Bull.” Tiger said again, raising his voice. Bull shook his friend and looked at his friend.
“Sorry, sorry.” Bull scratched his sideburn, “I was–perhaps I should apologize to Macho Man.”
Tiger's eyes widened and he immediately sat up.
The moment Bull reached over for his phone, Tiger snapped his fingers and teleported the phone into his hand.
“Absolutely–!” A phone call cut Tiger off. Tiger rolled his eyes and hung up before continuing, “Absolutely not. What on Earth would you even apologize for?”
“Last night he had texted me that he was unable to do the photoshoot because he had been, ah, ‘tarnished’, as he said. I didn’t believe him. At the very least, I can apologize for that.”
Tiger furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, but he stopped himself and took a big, deep breath.
He exhaled, “Macho Man should be apologizing to you.” He started, “Now perhaps I’m being a bit harsh when I say this, but I think anyone with half a brain can understand that handing someone’s number out to strangers is the worst thing to do. Especially for a man of your reputation!” Tiger used his magic to raise the blanket off the couch and twisted it until it was one, long line. He then forced the blanket to create a simple outline of Macho Man’s face, “I think his careless act is far worse than you not believing a story.”
“He has already apologized several times.” Bull said.
“Super. Macho. Sorry.” Tiger chanted, “That doesn’t sound very genuine to me.”
“Trust me, from personal experience, that is as genuine as he can get.” Bull said as he pushed himself off the couch and walked over to Tiger, “He is not completely to blame either. Whole situation could have been avoided if I had gone to that photoshoot.”
“Oh–what? Are you blaming yourself now?!” When Tiger saw Bull try to grab the phone out of his hands, he used his magic and sent it flying to the ceiling, “This whole situation could’ve been avoided if those men in their fancy little suits actually bothered to tell you about the photoshoot ahead of time instead of at the last minute.”
“Tiger, my phone.”
Tiger stared at his friend. He huffed and flicked his wrist. The phone teleported into Bull’s hand. Bull then slipped it into the pocket of his dark blue shorts and picked up the cups from the table.
“I will get us refills.” He started making his way to the kitchen. Tiger followed behind.
Tiger tried to break the strange silence that filled the air, “So, are you planning on relaxing tomorrow? Make up for the time you lost today?”
“No. Not likely.” Bull said as he placed the cups on the counter, “After I finish changing my number, I will… Go to bed, wake up, and train.” Bull grabbed his copper teapot on his stove by the wooden handle. It’s been sitting here for a while. The tea’s probably cold now.
“Again?” Tiger didn’t even bother to hide the woe in his voice, “Bull, you’ve been training for nearly three days now, your fight isn’t for another few weeks, a day of rest isn’t going to kill you!”
“I know, I know, I–” Bull threw a hand up, “It just… It will help take my mind off of–of everything.”  
Bull rubbed his temples before he sighed, “I am sorry. It’s–”
The phone rang again.
Bull quickly set aside the teapot and hung up on whoever was calling.
“I want to rest, believe me, but with this fight coming up so soon after my most recent one, I can't risk falling behind.”
“You won’t!” Tiger said as Bull started to refill the cups, the smell of apple tea not nearly as strong as when it was first poured, “You’re Bald Bull, you’ll do excellent as always.”
Bull didn’t say anything. He just grabbed one of the cups and handed it over to Tiger, who gave him a whispered thanks.
It was quiet again. Tiger took a sip of his drink.
Bull searched around the counters for an extra box of sugar cubes he had taken out earlier.
He dragged his fingers across the umber countertops as he slowly walked around.
“I should have gone to that photoshoot.” He said.
Tiger raised his head.
“If I had shown up and posed for the pictures, I wouldn’t have been dealing with these calls. Macho wouldn’t have gotten covered in ink. We could have had a normal day together.” He let out a heavy sigh. He tugged at one of his sideburns.
It didn’t matter how much he hated having his picture taken, it didn’t matter how much he hated the flashing lights, the constant clicks, how the photographers followed his every step to capture every second of his life, he needed to get over it.
The tugging turned to pulling. It felt like he was about to rip his hair out.
He’s been dealing with paparazzi for years, yet the fear he feels–this childish fear–has never dwindled. How stupid was that? A grown man too afraid to show himself in front of a couple of cameras. Why can’t he just get over it? Other boxers have been dealing with the exact same thing for just as long, why can’t he be like them?
“I’m sorry.” Bull said again, his voice a brittle whisper.
“What for? Things out of your control?” Tiger said, lifting his feet off the ground and flying towards Bull, who was leaning against the counter, facing away. “That photoshoot was announced at such a short notice, there’s only so much you can do in such little time. You have a life outside of the stadium, people need to understand that.”
“I know.” Bull said. He stayed quiet for a moment. “Ah, look at me, making you worry.” He forced a smile on, “How about cookies to make up for it?”
“Oh, there’s nothing to make up for, but that’d be wonderful.”
Bull went over to his fridge and opened the door, “Is the one from the store okay?”
“Of course.”
Tiger watched Bull turn the oven on and tear open the yellow package.
“I don’t know if I’ve told you this before…” Tiger said as he slowly drifted towards Bull, “...But I have a rather special magic power I keep hidden.”
Bull stopped and turned his head, “Do you now?”
“Not many people know of it, but I’m able to detect when you’re horribly stressed.”
“Is that so?” Bull spoke in that teasing ‘Oh really?’ tone.
“Yes! And when I do detect it, my gem flashes horribly.” Right on cue, his gem started blinking an array of colors, “Oh dear, would you look at that!”
Bull shielded his eyes, a sliver of a smile gracing his face, “Very strange how it has never done that before.” Traces of a familiar liveliness were weaved in his words.
“Well, you see, I have to suppress it because it is one of my most draining of tricks. It takes all of my mental and physical strength to contain it.” He put his hands over his heart, “And don’t get me started on the side effects.” He inched closer to Bull’s face.
“Oooh no. Even more of those?”
“Oh yes.” Tiger said with a smirk, “As soon as I sense the stress, I teleport immediately to the source. Doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m whisked away against my will.”
“Really?”
“And if you ever want a moment of peace from me,” Tiger wiggled his fingers under his chin, “you’ll have to do nothing but relax tomorrow.”
“I am not really seeing a downside to spending more time with you.” Bull raised a brow.
“No! That’s not what you’re supposed to say!” Tiger shot his arms out. Bull’s smile widened.
“You’re supposed to promise you’ll get plenty of rest tomorrow and take it easy!”
“Ah, that too then.”
Tiger pouted as Bull took out a baking tray from one of drawers, along with a sheet of parchment paper.
“Why don’t you prepare the cookies while I go and turn the patio’s lights on? We can sit outside as we wait for the oven to preheat.” Bull said as he walked over to the sliding glass doors.
“Oh! I’d love that!” Tiger wasted no time using his magic to break the cold cookie dough into even pieces and place them in neat rows on the tray. He heard Bull open the door and–
He froze.
He zipped over.
“Wait Bull, hold on! Don’t slam the–!”
Bull gave him an odd look right as he slammed the door shut. A loud ‘THUD’ was heard right behind him, making both of the men jump.
Bull whipped his head around and turned on one of the lanterns.
Sitting right outside the patio was his punching bag.
Tiger cracked the door back open and poked his head through.
“You–” Bull started, but stopped and stroked his chin, “Did you put the punching bag on the roof?”
Tiger stared at the floor, face getting red, “Yes.”
Bull looked up at his roof, “Were you planning on keeping it up there all day?”
“No, I–I sort of… Forgot. About it.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Octave swung his door open and dragged himself inside.
His pain medicine had worn off. He felt sick to his stomach. All he wanted to do now was go to bed.
He held his take out box tightly. The last thing he needed right now was the smell of pancakes creeping into his nose. Just the thought of it made him want to vomit.
He kicked the door shut behind him and trudged over to his kitchen so he could shove the leftovers away and never think about them again.
He didn’t care what junk he was stepping on, he didn’t care that his hips kept running into corners, he didn’t care for the pile of dishes in his sink or the mess on his kitchen table, he just. Wanted. To sleep.
The moment Octave stepped foot in the kitchen, his phone rang.
Octave cussed and threw his box down.
What?
What did Aran want now?!
Octave stomped over to his end table.
This better be good, this better be worth his time.
He snatched his phone and shoved the receiver to his ear, “What? Whaddaya want?!”
“Oh–is this a bad time?” Great Tiger’s voice came through.
The anger in Octave dwindled. He exhaled heavily through his teeth.
“No, jus’ been a long night.” He finally said. He slicked his hair back and sat on the couch. Despite how much his bruises stung, despite how exhausted he was, he kept talking, “How’ve ya been?”
“Fine, I’ve been spending most of today with a friend of mine. You?”
“Yeah.” Octave sunk a bit deeper into the cushions, “Same here.”  
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lonesomedreamer · 2 months
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SNW Liveblog: “Charades”
In which Ethan Peck gets to have some fun, the writers also prove they know nothing about Vulcans, and the last fifteen minutes redeems the whole episode.
What exactly is “sub-impulse speed”?
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God dammit.
The fellowship only lasts for two months? What’s even the point?
I hate to complain about a female character working out on-screen—life in space would definitely necessitate some kind of exercise regime! For everyone!—but at what point in her TOS appearances did Christine Chapel strike these writers as the type of girl who spent a lot of time beating on the Enterprise’s punching bag? Maybe if we hadn’t just seen La’an in this exact same scene two episodes ago…
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This…this outfit is almost mod! Earrings and all! I’m shocked. Give it some color and you’d be onto something.
In fact, all three girls (La’an, Christine, and Ortegas) are wearing black here. Why do SNW the costume designers HATE fun?
“Oh, things are kind of weird between them.” I don’t use this word lightly, but between her being mean to Spock for no reason last week and now casually betraying her friend’s confidence like this with a little smirk (while Christine is visibly uncomfortable): Ortegas is just a bitch.
Do Vulcans consider their emotions to be “suppressed”? And would M’Benga, Vulcan expert or not, really be able to teach the native Vulcan how to better control his emotions (when he’s been learning that his whole life)??? Do they ever think before writing, or…?
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Or: canon only matters when the SNW writers want it to.
“My mother felt this would be best.” A lot of Vulcans on this show throw that verb around awfully lightly. It’s almost like the writers don’t understand Vulcans.
If T’Pring’s mother doesn’t approve, why were they ever engaged in the first place? (I know that this show’s never going to acknowledge that they were betrothed as kids for an arranged marriage. But that’s the canon.)
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Bitch, please.
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A sweet reversal of her sneaking a glance at him in the Turbolift earlier.
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Them.
Spock, please don’t look at your girlfriend when you’re supposed to be steering the shuttle away from the “rupture in space-time”.
Oh, his hair is so much better this way.
Why is everyone calling Uhura “Nyota” all of a sudden? I get that she’s just an ensign, but it’s weird.
This sounds like a casual phone call rather than the first contact between the Federation and an unknown species. Up the professionalism a few notches, Pike.
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He does not.
“Mixed instructions? You don’t mean Spock.” I’m no scientist, but it’s obvious they’re talking about his DNA—keep up, Mr. Starship Captain!
“Uhura, get ‘em back.” Maybe if Pike hadn’t stumbled over his words and had gotten straight to the damn point, this wouldn’t be a problem! Kirk and Picard would both have said, “Excuse me, but the way you ‘fixed’ my science officer was not correct” rather than mumbling and stuttering until the call cut off.
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He is adorable. You can pry human!Ethan!Spock out of my cold, dead hands.
“My fiancee’s mother? She hates me.” My fiancee? She hates me. Fixed that for you!
“I’ve already spoken to T’Pring and to your family.” That is really crossing a line! Kirk—Spock’s undisputed best friend of all time/brother/soulmate/true love (however you see them)—didn’t know about T’Pring or even that the Vulcan ambassador and his wife who were coming aboard were Spock’s parents until he met them on the Enterprise. But Pike is just casually contacting Sarek, Amanda, and T’Pring without consulting Spock first?! It’s not like he’s in a coma! He could easily have waited and let Spock tell his family himself. Accidents happen in Starfleet all the time. It’s a dangerous job.
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Spock always seems to be played by men with the best smiles. ♥
Not Spock drinking alcohol and eating meat! He’s going to feel awful about that when his genetic code is “fixed”! (His dietary habits are cultural, not biological—why would he want to change them with or without his Vulcan DNA?)
If this was a TOS episode, Bridge crew would still be working on getting back in touch with the aliens who did this to Spock…but we have to show Spock enjoying some crispy bacon instead.
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Again, I think control is a better choice of words.
“You just need to work on impulse control.” I don’t think taking his Vulcan DNA away would invalidate/negate his years of intensive mental training. He had to work extra hard as a mixed-race child to be a “real” Vulcan, so in theory he should still have access to about emotional control. If not, he should have been stripped of his memories of childhood and whatnot, too.
Spock’s sass is coming out so strongly in this script, which is great, but he should always be sassy! (“Gentlemen, I am in command of this vessel, and we shall continue on our present course…unless it is your intention to declare a mutiny.”)
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I’m sure Christine enjoys seeing a more demonstrative version of the man she loves, BUT I hope they also show that she’s mourning the loss of the true Spock. She’s one of the few who really sees him for what he is—half Vulcan, half human, wholly himself.
To culminate his total lack of respect for Spock’s privacy/boundaries, Pike announces that his mom is on board in the middle of a busy hallway.
This Amanda is a babe (though there’s no way she’s old enough to be Ethan Peck’s mom).
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I love this nod to the classic “Spock wearing a funny hat to hide his ears” trope.
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Could they not get a costume to fit this actress? Not shaming her at all—I’m intimately familiar with the struggle of finding clothes that look flattering with a larger chest! But this ain’t it.
Why is Pike even still here? At this point, Amanda’s business is with her son. Pike can butt out.
“The engagement dinner has been moved several times due to your Starfleet schedule, a fact which they are not understanding about—” A few issues here: a) It seems, well, illogical that a family of Vulcans refuses to understand why Spock’s professional schedule would postpone personal obligations; b) this is the first time we’ve ever heard about this engagement dinner, 15 episodes into the season. That wouldn’t be an issue if (as in TOS) T’Pring had just been introduced—but she’s now been in numerous episodes including the pilot. Yet somehow this has never come up before?
Also, bold of this show to expect me to care that their engagement might get broken when they’ve already faked the audience out about that once and when I know T’Pring’s ultimately going to dump Spock anyway…
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Incompetence.
So T’Pring’s family disapproves of Spock’s career (and we know from previous episodes that T’Pring isn’t thrilled about it, either), but they agree to hold this traditional and (apparently) super-important engagement dinner on the starship where Spock works?
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I don’t think “Spock, you’re human” would be a human mother’s natural first reaction here. Idk. I know Amanda’s been on Vulcan a long time, but we know she’s still very warm, very human, and seeing her son so changed would have to be shocking/upsetting/concerning, right?
“I couldn’t even fool you.” That’s kind of funny.
First of all: Spock can lie with the best of them. Secondly, I don’t think you can learn to be a genuinely good liar in a few hours. Finally (and again): his years of Vulcan discipline/training shouldn’t have been erased (he obviously still has all his memories and knowledge), so he shouldn’t have to lie at all.
Seriously, Spock doesn’t have amnesia! He was raised by Vulcans—he knows how they speak!!!
Okay, but…Spock can’t perform the mind meld, and Amanda would know that. I feel like she should be saying, “My son was in a serious accident and is in no state to socialize” but then someone else—maybe even Sarek—overrules her. That would still leaves plenty of room for drama.
Just contact the aliens for help! I’m begging you! This is Star Trek!!!
“We can’t do it, but we already know who can” Thank God someone on this show can keep up.
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I kind of hate her. :) At least she didn’t make a snarky comment, too.
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I am weak (even if this is the least-flattering Vulcan look I have ever seen on any version of Spock).
T’Pring has some funny lines re: her difficult relationship with her mother, and I guess it’s a nice parallel to Spock’s difficult relationship with Sarek. I can sympathize with her, but I refuse to like her.
There’s no way a conservative Vulcan couple would be satisfied with a human preparing the traditional food for their daughter’s engagement dinner.
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The majority of Vulcans in this show continue to look like a parody.
T’Pring’s dad being a foodie is funny. Him being obviously subservient to his scary bully of a wife is unoriginal and not so funny.
They stole a shuttlecraft and no one even alerts the captain?
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Christine being willing to do anything for Spock: canon in every universe. ♥
I get that they’re in “interdimensional space” and in a state of semi-shock as a result (understandably!), but why can no one communicate effectively in this episode, including Uhura of all people???
Christine’s straight-talk with the aliens is just making me angry that Pike didn’t speak up about their mistake when he was communicating with them earlier.
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She’s stunning.
Spock being protective of/afraid for Christine is precious.
“During the accident, the other being diverted the shields away from himself to protect you.” Even though I’m unsure how that would work (isn’t the shield around the entire shuttlecraft?)—that is SO Spock and so adorable.
“Are you so obtuse that you don’t even see that [you have feelings for Spock]?” It’s always one step forward, three steps back with Ortegas…
The writers were kind enough to grant my wish: Christine acknowledges that a wholly human Spock isn’t really Spock at all. The writing is less than phenomenal, but Jess Bush really sells it anyway, and it alludes nicely to Christine’s heartfelt confession of love in “The Naked Time” about seeing Spock as being greater than the sum of his genetic parts.
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I’m tearing up.
The scene where Spock tells T’Pring’s mother off and praises his own isn’t super believable/in-character, but it’s satisfying!
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Once again: the Vulcans on this show use that word way too much…
They really have wanted T’Pring to always be the victim/wronged party in this relationship ever since the first episode. But why?! She’s going to leave him! In canon, she makes him fight his own best friend to the death to have her when she doesn’t even want him! No matter how they resolve the relationship in this show, it’s all drama I don’t care about!!!
T’Pring’s mother was overtly racist towards Amanda and Spock during the entire dinner; she doesn’t approve of him; and she told him that he deserved to be disowned by Sarek/didn’t deserve to marry T’Pring. She would probably continue behaving that way towards him for the rest of her life. But after he endured all of that for her sake and after she repeatedly warned him not to mess the dinner up, T’Pring expresses neither concern for Spock’s ordeal nor relief that he’s been healed/that the dinner was a success nor gratitude for what he put himself through. She expresses only disappointment that he didn’t confide in her.
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Crying in the club.
There’s a lovely reciprocity to Spock and Christine’s dynamic so far—he kissed her in Season One; this time, she kisses him. He risked his life to save her earlier; then she goes back and risks hers to make him whole again. I know these writers are going to screw it up eventually, so I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.
Overall, this episode was way too long (a full hour!) and was bogged down with a bunch of nonsense in the middle in the name of comedy. Its dialogue in particular was just as poorly-written as most SNW scripts have been (i.e., “you look constipated,” “you messed him up,” numerous crew members mumbling and stuttering in the heat of the moment…these aren’t Starfleet professionals, they’re high schoolers!) BUT there was an extra helping of heart in this episode. Between Amanda Grayson’s tenderness towards her son, Spock’s protectiveness towards Christine, and Christine’s fierce loyalty towards Spock, I almost cried more than once. And since Spock/Christine is THE reason I started watching this show in the first place, it’s nice to finally see some payoff fifteen episodes in!
The Good: Ethan’s face without Vulcan make-up + his gorgeous smile!—a surprise Amanda cameo—Spock and Christine mutually being protective of each other/risking their lives for each other—some funny moments—Jess and Ethan both acting their socks off—really cool visuals during the “interdimensional space” scene—a few excellent costume designs—finally, the big kiss!
The Bad: Childish/unprofessional dialogue throughout—Ortegas being a bitch even to her friends—writing human!Spock like a teenager who forgot everything he knows about being Vulcan (even though his memories are in tact)—Pike’s total incompetence—name-dropping Roger Korby (ugh)
I can’t wait to see how this show is going to disappointment me in the Spockstine department going forward.
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pbandjesse · 3 months
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I am wrestling with emotions. Or my lack of emotions. Because they accepted our offer on the house. There was a little back and forth. But they accepted. And we move forward with an inspection. But I'm not like screaming excited. I am measured. I am thrilled they said they accept the offer, but it is only one part of the process. This is just the first time we have gotten to this part. Next comes the inspection. And then we have more steps. I will not be excited in a real way until we have the keys in our hands. But this is huge. Maybe it'll hit me tomorrow.
Today was an alright day. I think the emotions and everything from signing paperwork and getting excited last night made my sleep very very weird. Very weird dreams about camp. I woke up not feeling great.
This sort of unwell feeling would linger through the afternoon. I had a little headache, I had a lot of pain in my eyes, my body ached, I just felt very unwell. I slept an extra half hour and left later then normal but it was okay. I still beat everyone to work.
When I got to camp I was just not feeling good so I had my breakfast hoping it would fix me but it did not. I would go up to the attic to sew for a little while. And would eventually come back down as Heather and Sarah came in.
I would switch between computer work, to sewing, to knitting. I tried to stay busy.
When I got bored I would take some walks. I went to the lodge to measure a piece of furniture and found the fire marshall there checking all of the fire extinguishers. We had a really interesting conversation about the origin of phrases and how when he was a kid the idea of being send away to camp was scary and viewed as a punishment. But he thinks our camp is beautiful. Very nice old man.
I went and found Joe doing some plumbing work in the musuem. Took the whole sink off the wall. We chatted about buying a house and the stress and excitement of that. And then I went back to the office.
But only for a moment. I would get a mug full of dried corn to try to make friends with the crows on the field. And when that didn't work I went and laid in a bed in the pioneer cabins for a couple minutes.
I had lunch and continued working on my sewing. I went through both spools of thread I had at my desk but I am almost finished sewing all the pieces I had already made and now I get to figure out what I still need to make to finish the piece. Very exciting.
I would spend more time playing with chatgbt to create program ideas I can build on. And then I decided I wanted to start plotting out my temperature blanket for next year. I did a rain blanket earlier this year but that was just until mother's day. For this one I was each month to be a 20x20 square. So making that on my look I had a lot of math to do. 4 rows of 3. So it will be around 60x80. Give or take. I also picked a bunch of really nice colors. I think it's going to be a really interesting one.
The afternoon would drag a bit. But Heather's daughter Sophie brought their dog Timber to camp and they were so cute!! Some kind of Chihuahua/pincher something or other. They apparently love wearing sweaters and has the softest fur.
After everyone left the office to do other tasks, me and Heather had a really nice conversation about camp and some issues I've seen and things we want to see moving forward. I am a pretty positive person, glass half full, most of the time, so I really hope everyone can live up to my expectations and we can have the best summer. And stop comparing it to 2019!!
I continued to work on my knitting until my stomach started hurting and I thought maybe I was hungry. So I said goodbye to Heather and headed to Wawa for a sandwich.
This did not go super well. Firstly something was wrong with the screen and I clicked whole wheat and had to ask the lady to change it and then when I tired to pay on the self checkout I hit cancel when I didn't mean to and get stuck on the help screen with the machine yelling at me and finally someone came and helped but I was feeling very stressed. And while my sandwich was fine the bread was very crumbly and it did not have enough mayo. I was glad I ate but it didn't make me feel as much better as I had hope.
And then I got stuck in so much traffic. With people driving so stupid. But I had good music and the sun was mostly not directly in my eyes. And I got home by 5.
James beat me home again by a few minutes. And we talked about our evening. We thought maybe we would go see lights but decided to wait for Monday when it might not be as crazy. Instead we chilled together on the couch while I finished my knitted square example for the temperature blanket. So I have an idea of scare and what it might look like and how my loom will work. I pulled the extra pegs out to make it the size I need so hopefully I will have no mistakes.
That took a good long while. And I was mentally really tired after that. I really struggle to hold numbers in my head and had to keep asking James to help me. I would get confused when I would start like say row 34. I would say I'm starting 34. And then get half way through and be like wait. This is 35. I finished 34. Or did I? Maybe this is 33. And that happened on every single row. So I would announce when I was starting and the number. And then I would announce I was done and James would tell me the number I just finished. It helped with not having to count over and over. For the real one it will be easier I hope. Because it's just two lines a day (I'm going to do the highs and lows instead of just the highs).
Harold the realtor would call us around 7 and let us know that the seller said no. Unless we didn't get an inspection. And we were like. Hmm that doesn't make us feel great. This is dumb it's off the market, what is a week going to hurt you for us to get an inspection. So after discussing it with Harold and taking his best judgement and advice we asked for a 5 day window for an inspection. And it took almost an hour of waiting. But they came back with a yes!
So now we have next week to get an inspection. Crazy. Absolutely crazy. Cutting it so close to Christmas for serious but like. What a Christmas gift it could be. And I'm trying to be realistic. Something could go wrong. But also it could be fine and great. And we could have the keys in hand by the middle of January. And then me and Jess go to Disney World to celebrate.
I am trying to be normal about everything but also it's so exciting but also never wracking. Dad called and it was exciting to hear them excited but also I'm trying so hard to not get my hopes to up so I don't become so sad. But also the day dreaming is so real.
I would take a shower and try to feel normal. My stomach is all in knots so that is tough. James sent a follow up email to Harold just so we know what we have to do and if we need to make the inspection appointment ourselves and if so if I need to be there. So many unknowns.
Now me and James are in bed. And Sweetp is running around being a baby criminal. And we are laughing about being poisoned by internet culture in very different worlds. And I feel happy and excited and nervous. Send good thoughts.
I am excited to have the day off tomorrow. I hope to clean and sew and wrap some Christmas gifts. I love you all. Goodnight!!
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littleliteraturersj · 11 months
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Chucky Teaches the Wishmaster How to Use a Remote. (HoH:DC excerpt)
-After what felt like an eternity of moments, a drawn-out montage of Djinn pressing the damn buttons all at once and at random, growling and murmuring in his extinct language to no doubt swear and throw obscenities, lighting the both of them in a mirage of different colors of various different menu screens and selections to obstruct the view, he had at last given up on his pride. There were just so many infernal 'buttons'. So many different symbols. Soo maanny different shapes and colorings. How was he to possibly determine what was what from such a large selection?
The remote sat in his dejected grasp. Chancing a glimpse at the doll, he saw that the doll was not even looking at him. Apparently content to watch him fail. He almost considered retrying his hand at working the device, solely out of spite, but this battle could not be won by him alone..
Begrudgingly, he spoke; "You've no longer a need to hold your tongue. I require...Assistance."
"I dunno," Mused Chucky sarcastically. "Looks to me like you've got it all figured out."
"Nothing has been figured out!" He snarled.
"What'd I tell you?"
"I will not cry." He said petulantly. 
Chucky snorted and beckoned him with an open palm; "Gimme."
The remote was not given. It was held away, as if the genie expected the toy to try and take it from him. He said childishly; "I want to know how to work the picture box."
Picture what? Holy.. "And you will know, just give it over. Let me fix all this shit you did," 'This shit' referred to the boxes and options clouding the screen in front of them. "Then I'll teach you how to work the...The picture box." Squinting suspiciously, Djinn handed the remote to him. Chucky shook his head to himself and his fingers naturally aligned into place along the rectangular shape of the device. Djinn, noticing this, fixed the plastic fingers with concentration. In only a matter of moments, and a pressed combination of buttons, the screen was clear. The previous doubt stepped closer to genuine attention.
"Alright. First thing's first," Chucky held the remote control up between them vertically. "This button up at the top in the far corner, here?" His freehand motioned to the distinctly colored button and tapped near it. "This is ON and OFF. You want the tv on? You press it. You want the tv off? You press it. Got it?"
Djinn's eyes honed in on him; "Got it."
"Now these," The hand adjusted to lower towards the lower half of its shape.
"What of the other buttons?" Asked Djinn accusingly. "You skipped so many of them."
"Nevermind those. I'm gonna be straight with you. You ain't gonna need most of these," His fingers gestured specifically in a few places. "The only buttons you're gonna need to know is: ON/OFF. The volume. And the ones to change the channels. That's it."
"Then why are there so many buttons?" His tone of voice and current expression heavily insinuated that the Lakeshore Strangler was lying to him in some way, like he fully expected to have a wool pulled over his eyes at any moment. As if he truly believed that the toy was trying to keep the secret of the buttons all to himself. "It's a lot to explain and if I try and explain it to you in a way you're gonna understand, we're gonna be here all night. And I dunno 'bout you, but I don't wanna do that. I know it ain't easy and bear with me, it's gonna be a wild fuckin' concept, I know, but.."
Djinn stared at him and Chucky nodded almost condescendingly; "You're just gonna have to trust me, okay?"
Replaying what had been said, a visual of the both of them sitting on the couch took over the forefront of his mind. Imagining them arguing and questioning one another until the sun rose...Did not sit well with the djinn.
"Okay."-
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