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bokettochild · 3 years

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i've kinda always thought that legend would a beekeeper. he just looks like he'd bee one, if that makes sense. don't know, can't explain it

Honey, you can't expect that this wouldn't join Ketto's Cottagecore Collection :)

There are many things that Ravio likes about Hyrule.

Mr. Hero’s bees are not one of them.

Oh, he loves the life that the bees spread, the flowers they tend, he loves dolloping gobs of honey over his bread while Mr. Hero watches with something that is shock, concern and awe all at once. He enjoys the gentle humming that always drifts in through the windows and sets the mood for a busy day, and he likes watching Mr. Hero putter about the hives with that soft little expression on his face, a tune on his lips that the bees seem to echo in their hums.

(He also likes the silly little dances Mr. Hero will break into while he works when he thinks no one is watching).

But what he doesn’t like are the bees themselves.

Mr. Hero, unfortunately, loves them.

“Does it have to be here?” Rupee green eyes peek out from out from under his hood as he stares across the table. It’s one of those rare moments between darting across Hyrule and Lorule where Mr. Hero will stop and stay at the house for a day or two. Not that his housemate really has a choice, Mr. Hero’s leg is busted horridly, and kingdom to save or no, he can hardly limp around the house, much less tromp all over the kingdom.

“She’s fine.” Mr. Hero’s voice is softer than normal, smooth as honey as a soft expression plays over his usually scowling face, watching the bee that crawls over his hand with a fond expression as the tiny thing attends to a droplet of honey from their mid-day meal. Three or four others buzz around the hero’s head, his ears twitching ever so slightly as he tracks their motions. But still, Mr. Hero is as calm as could be as he munches some bread, violet fixed on yellow and black stripes.

Ravio himself is half a buzz away from jumping up from the table and hiding in the bed-room. “They’re bees!”

“Hush!” Mr. Hero’s face twists into a scowl, scolding but harsh. “Don’t be so loud, you’ll scare them.”

“I’ll scare them?” Seriously? Does Mr. Hero have no care for his feelings? “Mr. Hero, I don’t mind if dear come to trim your front yard. I don’t mind if birds fly in through your windows to wake you up. I don’t mind if rabbits help you work in the garden or kangaroos appear in the living room, or even if there’s a bear restocking the woodpile. But bees?” He has to fight not to raise his voice as Mr. Hero stares at him. “Why?”

“They’re harmless. And they’re just helping out.”

“They sting!” Ravio whimpers, drawing his arms close to his chest as a particularly inquisitive insect buzzes over to investigate the green eye patches of his bunny robe.

“Only monsters.” Mr. Hero’s smile is sickly sweet and utterly terrifying, and Ravio finds himself shivering at the sight of the dark clouds that flash through his doppelganger's eyes.

“Yes, well. I’m not exactly Hylian.”

Mr. Hero only snorts at that, but from that point on, Mr. Hero stopped setting out a little dish of honey on the countertop while they ate.

It is annoying that he chose to put it on the porch though.

“What are the little bumbly things?” Tune asks, staring at him with his face twisted up in confusion. “And why is everyone else scared of them?”

Ravio’s head shoots up from his bag, eyes flitting around nervously as he searches for the “bumbly things” in question, only to have the kid point out a whole nest of them perched in a tree not far from their camp, a few soldiers standing about and pointing, their idiot selves likely considering the pros and cons of raiding it.

“Bees.” He clips back, voice strained as he tries to force a smile for the youngster. “They make honey and wax and things.”

Tune frowns, silver-teal eyes flickering in thought. “I’ve never heard of bees before. I don’t think we have them on the great Sea.”

“Don’t have what on the Great Sea, kid?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir questions, and Ravio jumps in surprise when he sees the man leaning over him to look at the sailor.

“Mr. Captain Hero Sir!”

“Ravio.” The leader’s face melts into a lovely smile, bright and honest in a way it isn’t most of the time anymore. “What are you two talking about?”

“Bees.” Wind points again to the nest in the tree, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s face melts into a tired frown that only becomes a scowl as he spies Mask already halfway up the backside of the tree where the soldiers can’t see him.

“Bees.” Comes the tired sigh.

“Mr. Hero keeps bees.” Ravio muses. It’s been forever since he’d seen his dear friend, and it makes him worry. Is Mr. Hero eating enough? Who’s making sure he doesn’t fall asleep on the floor? Who’s keeping the house clean so he can tend the orchard? Is someone there to make sure that there’s food in the house? That trips are made to the market?

Oh heavens! Worry gnaws away in his chest. What if the soldiers have caught Mr. Hero again? What if he’s been hurt and there’s no one there to help him clean and dress the wounds?

The animals that flit over the house like something out of a fairy tale can only do so much, and blood will only scare them away, just as sure as Ravio’s startled squeaks and whimpers would.

“Hey.” A warm hand settles on his shoulder and he finds himself looking up into rich royal eyes as Mr. Captain Hero Sir stares down at him with concern. “You okay?”

“I’m worried.” He murmurs in return, fingers fiddling with the edges of his scarf. “But there’s nothing that can be done about it, not yet.” He tries for a smile, but he knows based off of his friend’s reaction that either it can’t be seen beneath his hood or that it’s not convincing. “Go get Mask, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, before he gets himself stung.”

There’s a sharp cry or three and the angry buzzing of bees and the three of them wince collectively. “Or not.” The tired captain sighs, patting his shoulder gently before darting over to the campfire and grabbing one of the discarded torches.

“What-”

“Smoke calms bees down.” Ravio answers before Tune can finish asking the question. “Mr. Hero uses it when they get really fussy.”

Tune stares at him oddly, but doesn't ask.

That evening, Ravio finds himself with an armload of Mask while the kid sulks and pouts, grumbling and swearing under his breath as the merchant and captain work together to free him from his bee inflicted torture.

“Thank the goddesses you’re not allergic.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir scolds, waving his tweezers in Mask’s face while Ravio tries his hardest to focus on a stinger lodges between the kid’s fingers, fighting winces and whimpers of his own while Mask sits through the scolding and treatment with only the occasional hiss and glare.

“I’ve dealt with bees before.” Their youngest huffs petulantly.

“Wild bees?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir cocks a brow, disbelieving.

“Forest bees.” The kid rolls his eyes.

“Well then you should know by now not to mess with them.” The captain sounds, and acts, so much like a tired father that it makes Ravio smile softly.

How would Mr. Captain Hero Sir deal with Mr. Hero’s snark and sass, he wonders.

How would the captain handle yet another self-sacrificing teenager who really needs an adult, he muses that night, as two sticky pre-teens curl against the captain’s sides, the three wrapped in the man’s scarf while Mr. Captain Hero Sir strokes their blonde heads. Mask is drooling and Tune keeps twitching and snoring loudly, but the man who holds them couldn’t look more at peace.

Bright blue eyes meet his own over the campfire’s flames. “There’s room for one more.”

The snort pushes itself from him before he has a chance to stop it. “Where?”

The man smiles, shifting and pulling Mask into his lap, the kid nestles against his chest, tucking his thumb in his mouth slowly in a motion that has Ravio cooing softly while the captain laughs. “Such a grown up.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir teases softly, knowing full well the target can’t hear him, before patting the ground next to him. “Here.”

Ravio doesn’t say no. Mr. Captain Hero’s arms aren’t as warm and safe and home-like as Mr. Hero’s, but they’re nice, and it’s closer to home than he is on the opposite side of the fire. As he settles down, the captain smiles at him, face cheeky as he motions to the bowl still sitting at his knee. “Honey?”

After that night, he successfully impressed two heroes of courage with how much honey he could eat, and when the light had faded fully, Mr. Captain Hero Sir found himself with three snoring boys I his arms, each full to bursting with sweet golden honey, and each nursing more than a few stings.

When Impa made her rounds, whispering a teasing comment about going soft, the captain only shot her a grin and a playfully rude gesture, making the woman laugh.

“Bees!” Tune- no, Wind- chuckles, pointing out the hives behind the house as if he’s never seen the creatures before.

Captain hero Sir Jr. Winces, pulling away from the field as his father- brother? Snorts out knowing laughter behind them.

“Yeah.” Mr. Hero shrugs. “They help keep the orchard healthy and provide us with honey and wax. We practically need six colonies with how much honey Ravio eats.” The jab is playful but the easy smile on Mr. Hero’s face fades when he sees the uneasy way that all of the others are staring at the hives, Captain Hero Sir Jr. backing away and shaking his head slowly, soft murmurs of ‘no, no, no’ sounding as he and Wind exchange looks.

Mr. Hero crosses his arms. “You’re not all afraid of bees, are you?”

Guilty glances are exchanged between the heroes.

“To be fair,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. raises one hand, looking every inch the over-grown child that he is. “They sting.”

The simple statement has Mr. Hero blinking slowly in disbelief as the others all nod along, murmurs of agreement humming along with the bees as the vet stares in shock. “You’re all scared of bees?” A nervous shuffle spreads through the group, worsening as several of the fuzzy insects in question begin to make their way over. “Unbelievable.” Mr. Hero breathes, throwing his hands up.

“They- they sting.” Ravio reminds him, shivering as several of the creatures in question begin to land on Mr. Hero’s arms and hands, tiny les crawling along as the insects look for their favored snack in the hero’s grasp.

Mr. Hero raises a hand. “Look,” He almost sounds pleading. “Sky, pities sakes, it’s like a hummingbird!”

That seems to work on Mr. Chosen Hero, who peers forwards carefully, but none of the others are convinced.

It’s nervous glances that are thrown around the house by the heroes.

The bees followed Mr. Hero inside and even by his own admission he can’t force them back out without upsetting them, so instead he lets them hover around his ears and crawl over his fingers, an odd little expression on his face as they do so.

Ravio and the heroes give him a wide berth.

“Okay.” Mr. Traveler Hero frowns. “Is Legend being weird, or is that just me?”

“He’s always like this.” Ravio sighs, clutching his scarf in both hands and worrying the fringe he’d sewn onto this one. “You should see the lawnmowers.”

The heroes share a look. “Lawnmowers?”

“Deer.” He replies, an easy smile pulling at previously tensed features. “All sorts of forest animals really. It’s a nice help, but I can’t stand the bees.”

“Ah.”

A giggle breaks their focus, and shocked faces whip around to where Mr. Hero is curled up in his chair, cheeks pink as bees swarm over him, buzzing happily while the vet giggles and chortles softly, muffled complaints sounding from behind his hands. “Ladies, please! I’m-” Another laugh breaks the silence, violet eyes glittering in the fading light of the kitchen as Legend reaches up to gently remove a bee from where it’s crawling over the tip of his ear.

“The vet’s ticklish.” Mr. Rancher breathes, mischief lighting a dangerous fire in his eyes as he watches Legend plead with his insect friends to leave him alone.

“Oh yes!” The mischief is echoed in Mr. Chosen Hero’s crystal blue gaze as he winks. “Very.”

Soft titters and gentle laughs sound and the rest are drawn close as the vet playfully bats away the bees, begging and pleading between laughs as buzzes that could almost be laughter sound.

One of the tiny things settles on Mr. Smithy’s nose, humming lightly as the smithy stares at t in horror before buzzing off again harmlessly.

The next morning at the breakfast table, Mr. Hero makes extra certain to close the window while Ravio sets out fresh tea and biscuits, accompanied by warmed honey.

Mr. Hero isn’t safe however, and Mr. Chosen Hero makes a point of proving how ticklish the vet can be when he gently rubs his fingers over the tips of Mr. Hero’s ears. The honey wand drizzles sweet syrup everywhere as a startled and breathy laugh sounds, his friend batting off a grinning Mr. Cosen Hero and begging for him to stop.

“Sky! Sky please! Oh golly! Dad! Stop!”

When at last the caped hero releases Mr. Hero it’s with a beaming flush over his face while the vet groans against the hardwood table, honey absolutely everywhere.

“Quite buzzy there, honeybee.” Ravio chuckles, grin spreading wider at the half-hearted scowl sent his way.

#bees #ketto writes cottagecore #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu legend #lu wild #lu sky #lu warriors #lu wind #lu time #ravio's funky names for everyone #fluffics

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zackcrazyvalentine · 3 years

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Hiyo! This is gonna be a bit specific so i hope you dont mind haha;;

Would it be alright to request for HC's for Mammon, Beel and Belphie(if you only take one char per request then Mammon's fine!) with a GN! reader, where in the reader is extremely obssessed with bug critters? Like tarantulas, moths, all that jazz and they often have a lotta them in their room

Im a big bug lover myself but it often freaks people out when i show them a beetle i caught but honestly its just pretty funny to me more than anything haha

Sorry for this long ask!! And take care~☆

Oh~ this is an interesting prompt :o

I myself am squeamish with bugs, but very much respect enthusiasts and entomologists!

Without further ado, here’s your request!!

-- -- --

😈💛 Mammon 💰💸

“Yo... think we can sell these to witches for some cash? Y’kow, for their rituals and generally to keep as pets? Think ’bout- OW, HEY!!”

This one I see recoiling back once you show him a bug. Doesn’t matter if it’s trapped in a jar, or held by your hands, he will get surprised if the critter is shoved in his face

Back in the Devildom, if you ever wandered out and somehow caught one of the unique dangerous bugs within, he would freak out and worry about your safety

“WTF [Name], put that down!! Its bite/sting is dangerous and hurts a lot! PUT IT DOWN!” “Relax, Mammon, your panic will distress it and provoke it to attack! I’ve got this.”

However, in the first weeks of your stay with them, he won’t care at all. Remember how he acted all irritated and mad when you were lumped onto him, right? Yeah, that’s it

Things change when Lucifer gave a stern warning, in his own Lucifer way, to keep you safe at all times

“Drop that, you don’t want to anger it” “How many times do I need to tell you to stop with that?! Pesky human..” “Oi, ya dumb mortal! Hands off, no pets allowed!”

Little “I’m not interested” warning will be given, which then morph to “Not worried about you but in reality I very much am” as time goes on and he warms up to you (damn tsundere, this one)

Once he grows fond of you and a friendship is established (and maybe other feelings surface), he will issue the more panic filled warnings

But otherwise, he will admire the little things. The ones with shiny exoskeletons and vibrant colors immediately catch his eye

He will eventually look forward to see what new friends you bring, even more so once you go over to the human world

Just...keep an eye out for his typical Mammon shenanigans of taking stuff to sell. He knows witches who would absolutely love to have some of your critters so, watch out.

You may find him baby talking to a particular bug he’s fond of from time to time (Mammon and the cat audio drama~)

Takes some time for him to stop being squeamish and handle the bugs

Totally the one to look at whichever critter, point at it and go “haha...Lucifer/[any other of his brothers]” (he may have led you to name a scorpion ‘Asmo’)

If he sees accessories or keychains that are bug related, he’ll buy them for you “D-Don’t take it out of context! It just reminded me of [bug] and thought of getting it… totallydidn’tremindmeofyou,no”

Any colorful and/or shiny insects interest him, but I can see him loving centi- and millipedes (and pill bugs too, but those are crustaceans aha)

👿❤️ Beelzebub 🍔🤤

“Ah, I can do that too!” “Beel, don’t! My papers-!!” *cue him buzzing his wings and all documents are blown away*

At the beginning of your friendship? He’d just be like “...cool…” and keep doing whatever he was doing

Not one to flinch away from the bugs (he welcomes them)

Tell him ants or X bug/s are exceptionally strong, and he’ll begin to take interest in your bug keeping shenanigans

He feels for them, the strength of the tiny things. He’s one half of the youngest brothers, and very physically capable, one could say he relates to them (so tiny, but oh so strong = youngest brother, but oh so buff)

His signature animal is a fly, claims he has a special connection to bugs, but this “sense” was previously not explored… until you came to his life~

Out of the three, I think Beel will be the one to get on with the idea faster, even helping you take care of the bugs. Will also go out of his way to catch a particularly eye catching one for you.

“[Name], look! This one was hanging out near me/was on my path when going somewhere, thought of you and caught it” (insert Reader’s heart full of soft feelings for this teddy bear)

He’s the enabler of you keeping dangerous Devildom bugs. He can do the catching if you’re afraid of getting hurt

Just say the word and he’ll help you clean enclosures, feed critters, free them back to nature, anything

Honestly, you may very well wake up a hidden talent and surprise hobby of his

Please, introduce this boy to any and every bug you come across in the human world! Show him pictures and tidbits of information about all of them, but more so the ones you previously told him are so strong

If you introduce him to an ant farm, he will sit down and eat his snacks while observing the colony closely

Not afraid to handle your bugs at all, likes the sensation of their little legs crawling up his arms

Says he doesn’t have favorites, but absolutely does (he sneaks his favs snacks from time to time, it’s so cute) Beetles and ants are in his top 5

Mixed feelings about entomophagy (insect eating)

Congratulations! You now have a bug enthusiast buddy to fan with!

👿💜 Belphegor 🛏️💤

“That one’s fuzzy… Can I pet it, hold it maybe?”

Belphie is pretty chill in general, so I don’t see him making a fuzz whenever a bug is brought up to his face

He may act indifferent to your obsession at first, perhaps Beel’s curiosity rubs off on him eventually

Very curious about your moths and tarantulas, and bees (when you get the chance to introduce him to them)

He’s drawn to the fuzzy fluffy bugs because they look comfortable to pet and hold (and sleep with lol)

Beware: DO NOT wake him up to introduce him to a bug, he WILL be cranky. On the same note, don’t even DARE let a critter crawl on his body while sleeping, won’t hesitate to exterminate the thing

This one… edgy boy… The one to warm up and love your arachnids (technically not insects, but let’s let it slide~ remember you’re talking to a biology nerd here, me)

Introduce him to the deadly insects of your word and he will repay the favor by teaching you about any highly dangerous Devildom bugs he knows about

Butterfly magnet. Let your moths and butterflies free in the room and most likely, they’ll land on him. His calm demeanour seems to attract them

Along with Beel, he will invite yourself to you room to look at the fluttering wings of butterflies “They lull me to sleep”

Perhaps the one that gained a soft spot in his heart is the tarantula. Relates to it in a sense: people are afraid to approach it when it’s actually quite chill (when not provoked)

If you have Madagascar roaches… This was one of the first times you saw him flinch and let out a (very monotone) yelp, the hissing spooked him good

He may buy a blanket with bug patterns on it because it reminds him of you, sleeps with it when missing you

He’s more of taking pictures and sending them to you if cool bugs, spiders, and even snails cross his path. He will text a “Reminds me of you” “Cool bug” “Is this a bug?” along with the pics

Up in the human world: PLEASE catch a jar of fireflies for this boy! His eyes will light up at the amazing little natural light bulbs trapped within

Will want to take some fireflies back to the Devildom bc they remind him of the night sky and its stars

A very chill boy towards your obsession, but will eventually encourage you to keep doing what you love

Thank you for your request~! This was great to think about, if I do say so myself Hope it is to your liking!

You take care as well, anon~ ❤️

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aayilahkaylee · 3 years

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Carbon as a major factor in the origin of life and carbonated water.

Summary: They both think too much and are highly interpretive of their surroundings - objectively, of course. So it is inevitable that they will do the same with their soul mate brands, but things will look really simple on a trip to the zoo, where many carbon-based life forms are gathered, an element that is also part of their trademark formula.

Notes: This is part of the first challenge done on Twitter by @DcstChallenges, with the theme of soulmates. Don't hesitate to join on twitter and participate or support future challenges.

The system of soulmate identification was nothing more than an inefficient diversity of methods with a huge margin of error or at least ambiguity.

Statistics and probability confirmed this, Senku made use of these calculations in trying to understand this phenomenon, ruling out unprovable facts such as the resonance of dreams or thoughts, or slightly questionable ones such as writing on one's own skin and this also appearing on the other person's (how many could be writing on their own skin and inventing that it was their soulmate who had written to them?). Also the countdowns to over a thousand years were also proof of the untruthfulness that came with it.

Rooted to the facts, the mark on Ishigami Senku's right forearm was supposed to be the mark of his soul mate, but to him it was nothing more than the affirmation that he loved science.

At a certain point, he came to think that simply marks like his did not mean that someone was his soulmate, but that they simply had similar enough tastes or interests that they could hit it off. Which would explain why most people who found his markings ended up being a couple.

On his arm was tattooed the formula NaHCO₃, one of the most important compounds in history, to which he gave the meaning of being what proved that his destiny was science.

On the contrary, Asagiri Gen wondered if among his peers there would be someone whose first word they would cross with him would be that compound; would they pronounce it as the formula read, or would they simply say 'sodium bicarbonate'?

Eventually, his peculiar mark of soul mate became just another joke in his extensive repertoire, with the formula actually demonstrating his deep love of soda, with every bottle of cola that fell into his hands being his destiny.

They didn't think about it often, in fact they even forgot they had such a mark as they were so focused on their respective scientific and psychological/magical matters. So that Saturday, the marks on their arms were not foremost in their brains, instead they found themselves early in the morning preparing to leave for the zoo.

Byakuya found it opportune to distract his busy eleven year old son from incessant curiosity from time to time, offering visits that were stimulating and fun enough that Senku couldn't refuse, though there was no way he would have declined because he appreciated the old man's affectionate intentions... sometimes, when he didn't force him to wear a cap because of the sun.

At the same time, with the pressure of socialisation and the opportunity to experiment with his own charisma, Gen spouted witty remarks and questions to uncover those classmates who invited him on this outing. Exploiting his charisma and his wit to make their company more pleasant, until he was able to get a break after the lion section, offering his companions to set aside a table until they returned with snacks.

Had Senku perhaps taken two seconds longer to heed his periphery, he would have continued the tour with his father to leave and subsequently go for a bite to eat together, but inevitably he noticed the wrist of a young man of about fourteen or fifteen.

NaHCO₃

And he immediately asked Byakuya to pause, sending him to sit down to wait, which the elder somehow interpreted as a coy statement that Senku was hungry, so like a good tutor he retreated to get food.

Senku adjusted the straps of his backpack and positioned himself in front of the jet-haired boy, who was arranging a pair of pretentious sunglasses. He thought of a few probing questions, certain that the young man in front of him was also a science buff (What else could that mark mean?).

But Gen won the speak, slightly taken aback. "Are you lost?" he asked at the boy's sudden appearance.

So Senku dismissed all the questions he had thought of, remembering where they were and convinced that Gen was there for academic reasons.

"Elephant gestation lasts about twenty-two months and during elephant pregnancy the calf grows to a hundred or a hundred and fifty kilograms." he said.

‘Huh?!’

Senku counted thirty seconds, in which his determination showed in the way his brow tightened with each passing second. Gen remained expressionless despite the discomfort, inwardly contorting his face in stupefaction ‘What the hell is this...?!’

"Hah~," he regained his composure immediately and smiled. "as interesting as elephants being afraid of bees." replied, assuming this was one of those kids who liked fun facts... until realised he was looking for something more technical. "It's because bees can get into the mucous membranes and delicate parts of the elephant like the trunk, mouth or eyes and sting them. Of course, they can't pierce their skin, but you should know that.

This time it took ten seconds, which made the major sweat, until Senku smiled slyly.

"Not bad." the younger acknowledged.

Immediately, feeling a great deal of encouragement to exchange his extensive knowledge with Gen, he surmised that perhaps such chemical reactions, like the one he was feeling, were the explanation for why people who could not see colours got it when they met the person they matched with. Or how eye colour could change when they met, nothing more than physiological reactions related to hormones and perhaps genetic compatibility.

Interest was also piqued in Gen, who was trying to explain why Senku had taken the seat next to him so deliberately. When would he get the chance to meet someone so slightly peculiar again? The intrigue to know how effective his skill would be with this boy was agitating.

"Are you sure you're not lost." Gen echoed, holding his hands out to his sides in an effort to appear receptive. Senku's body language indicated he was being cautious. "Your parents won't be angry that you got separated from them, animals and information plates are so entertaining that they do this all the time."

Senku denied, lifting his face from the horizon to Gen. "You assume I'm coming with my family when the likelihood of me coming for a school trip is seventy-five percent, considering the offer they have for students on weekends." replied quizzically at that miscalculation.

If this kid had information about the elephants' pregnancy, why was Gen surprised that he also knew that accurate figure?

"You're right from a monetary and practical perspective," Gen said, not doubting that Senku was correct. "but, statistically, weekends are used for family and friends." the boy seemed unhappy that Gen didn't give an accurate figure "I think if you came with friends, you would have been lost together, and you don't look angry enough to explain away an argument."

Because of his sullen nature, Senku looked at him incredulously, slightly annoyed by the blatantly accurate analysis. He attributed his discomfort to the lack of numerical data that could have helped him compare and assimilate the diagnosis.

"Go on." Senku demanded.

Gen's hands continued the expressive mimicry, unconsciously showing his mar. "If it was a school trip, your teacher would have already reported you missing, the same applies if you were accompanied by the parents or relatives of your friends; the responsibility for a child who doesn't belong to them would have already mobilised them. I see you're learning a lot, but the absence of an alarmed teacher" Gen glanced around before continuing. "-means that a school trip is not the case."

"Efficient, a ten billion percent efficient." Senku credited.

All it took was a push. "Or could this be a distress call?" Gen moved slightly closer to add privacy. "Are you running away from someone?" he added in a sympathetic, empathetic tone.

Senku closed his eyes, weary of the other's deductions. "Fine, my father couldn't wait for us to go out to get something to eat, I know exactly where he is."

Gen smirked, proud that he had so neatly broken down the boy's suspicious barriers "So you came to me to entertain yourself in the meantime?" he remarked, considering he was apparently the only one who was also alone in waiting and thus became Senku's target. "You don't seem like the kindly type who would come up with an interesting fact just to entertain others without getting something in return." he mentioned intentionally.

If it was not help the younger man required, was looking for something more, an his restless gaze confirmed it.

The small, calloused hand pointed to Gen's forearm. "Your mark, it means sodium bicarbonate." said.

Among the things Gen expected to hear next was not his mark of a soul mate "I'm aware of that." replied. He wasn't aware of was that wearing a short-sleeved shirt in the heat would attract the attention of a stranger that day.

Senku smiled. The older might be different from what expected in terms of methodology and analysis, but that he knew the significance of his tattoo evidently earned him a ten billion points.

Gen for his part recalled the Monster Hunter player who explained the original use of NaHCO₃ for soda, which was the origin of the joke that, looking the boy straight in the eye, he backed away from wanting to change to an allusion to cheating on chemistry exams.

"Do you know what it means?" Senku asked with abrupt energy. Revolutionary inventions and the many uses of NaHCO₃ flashed through his head.

Unexpectedly, that excitement rubbed off on Gen and he replied. "I know what it means. "

Byakuya didn't wonder at first why Senku had decided to leave his arm exposed for the rest of the tour. The heat was reason enough... until he noticed that his son kept staring at the mark when he always downplayed it.

"In the rest area there was a boy who had the same mark as me." Senku revealed, making his father's jaw drop to the floor.

Sure, it had to be something like that, but Byakuya could never have guessed it was that encounter. And it wasn't his fault either, the last time Senku had been dismayed by his mark, it was when he explained to a stranger in Monster Hunter the uses of NaHCO₃, pleading for the component's inclusion in more video games.

As a result, Byakuya dragged Senku back to the zoo in search of his soulmate, admonishing him for being so insensitive and for letting the encounter go unnoticed without remorse. Disgruntled, Senku reaffirmed that all this talk of love and romance was as tedious as it was counterproductive.

Gen was satisfied on the way to the train station, the talk he had with the boy stretching into a mutually stimulating mix of technical commentary on carbon and life on earth, and a smattering of curiosities and humorous observations that he knew would please the youngster. He had been put to a demanding test, in a way that none of his companions could ever have done.

Which was perhaps why he ignored them until one mentioned:

"Asagiri, that boy you were talking to when we arrived, I saw him before we left and on his forearm he had a mark similar to yours." he alluded hesitantly.

The pieces fell into place... and Gen lost his senses once again.

It certainly wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time sodium bicarbonate would bring them together under a new manifestation.

#sengen #senku #gen #dr stone #I'M SO BAD WITH ENGLISH #SORRY IF I WROTE SOMETHING WRONG #soulmates #byakuya

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veiledsilver · 3 years

Note

Top five moments you've felt like the universe was messing with you.

Oh boy everyone get ready this is a long list. In descending order, from mildly funny looking back on it to "oh god oh shit oh fuck":

5. Catfishing: College Edition

In 6th grade, I decided to apply to colleges early to see how they were like. I was scared that if they knew I was too young, they'd arrest me. So I created a gmail account as my persona, a white 12th grader named Emilie Alexander. Emilie was planning to go into nursing, dating a high school linebacker named Kyle Kenderson, and deathly allergic to bee stings. If she even came near a bee, she would die.

This part was of the utmost importance.

See, I was constantly paranoid that one day, the jig would be up- I might forget that my fake last name was Alexander. Or the college dean might come knocking at my door and tear up my home in his mad search for Emilie. If that happened I would fake her tragic death, presumably caused by one big fucking bee.

I secretly collected my information. What nearby states were the prettiest to visit. Which colleges were the safest and most affordable. How often they held courses that I liked. In my emails with colleges I tried to sound as mature and professional as possible.

Then, one day, a college member asked me what high school I was in, so they could check my records.

My blood froze.

It was time to bring out the bee.

In response to their question, I sent an email that was like this:

"Dear Mr. McLaughlin, I was a proud graduate of- ugh! Ah! Kyaaaa! Uwaa! W-w-what's this... huge goddamn bee doing here?! Eek, pardon my foul language! It's just that, as I told you earlier, being stung by a bee would kill me.... and now it's stung me thrice (three times)!!

What do I do?! I can't die... I've always wanted to attend your beautiful college...

But this is... the end...

Mr. McLaughlin...

*looks at you sadly*

Tell... my mother... I loved her...

*dies*"

He never responded, probably because he was rendered speechless, but I never touched that account again.

My private gmail for fun stuff like tumblr still has "Alexander" as a surname, though.

4. Wild and Authentic

Alright. Alright. So. My art teacher in middle school.

Right off the bat, they endeared themselves to the tumblr art kids- they proudly used they/them pronouns, dyed their hair vibrant colors, deeply encouraged OC creation, and was chill with any art style even if it was anime. Mx. Mason was very cool, except for one thing.

We had complete artistic freedom when it came to their assignments, EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.

Drumroll, please.

Take a deep breath if you must.

Ready?

...

Cats had to have extremely distinct whisker pores.

YES, they believed that modern depictions of cats were too streamlined. Too... idealized. As a cat owner themselves, they were convinced that society's vision of cats did not do their feral feline ancestors justice. In making their faces flawlessly smooth-furred, we were stripping the cat of its true nature.

I found this out the hard way, when I was drawing warrior cats fanart for class (it was of Firestar cuddled in the arms of an orange haired anime catgirl who was his reincarnation in my first ever comic series, Warriors Neko Desu! ♡ Heart Academy Dokidoki).

Mx. Mason came over to look at my magnum opus, and I expected them to have their socks knocked off at my artistic talent. They lifted up my drawing for all to see, and I smugly leaned back in my seat.

Only for them to launch into a passionate lecture about how, in neglecting to draw whisker pores on cats, I was DENYING THIS FICTIONAL CAT OF ITS WILD AUTHENTIC SELF.

My friends absolutely lost it when I told them this story, and there was a period of time when all our discord nicknames were wild and authentic too.

As for Firestar and his counterpart Hoshineko Orenji-chan, I never did give them wild authentic whisker holes, but that's to be expected of a kittypet, I guess.

3. Stan Jungkook Or Whatever

A couple years ago, my family and I flew to Seoul, South Korea, to visit our relatives and teach me more about my heritage. It was very nice! I got to visit shrines and festivals and palaces, and I was in awe that this was what my ancestors had once seen in their daily lives.

Then, when we went to the modern side of Korea, I realized just how much I didn't fit in.

It was clear that I didn't know how to act, or how to speak Korean, and I spent my days fumbling around and getting scammed multiple times by salesmen. But I clowned myself the most... during an interactive event with kpop stars.

They had this experimental event where holograms of the boys would sing onstage and dance in place of the actual idols. Before the show began, girls could stand in booths that scanned their appearances, and holograms of THEM could dance onstage with the hologram boys.

I didn't know this.

When Cousin Ae-cha told me to step inside one of the machines, I thought I'd be hilarious and stand backwards, so it would scan the back of me instead of my front. As I walked out, I saw other girls putting on their best makeup, cutest clothes, and most expensive accessories, and I slowly realized that I was in danger.

But the danger didn't come until halfway through the concert, where the boys looked eagerly off-stage and a holy staircase appeared and all the hologram girls descended from heaven. There were cherry blossoms. There were roses. There was me, among the crowd of beautiful airbrushed girls, walking backwards.

I felt the judgemental gazes of twenty girls and their mothers.

Each boy danced with a girl, who got a cute animated moment with special effects, and sang about how they found a dream girl to have a true love romance with. Finally, all the girls vanished except one, and it was me.

One of the boys didn't dance with any girls, and now he was all alone in the rain, feeling dejected that HE did not find his true love girl to have a dream romance with. Then the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I emerged. Still backwards.

He was thrilled and sang about how my face (that he didn't see) stole his heart, and now everyone in the audience was giggling, and he slowly brought me very close to kiss me... but because I was backwards, his nose was cutely nuzzling my hair.

The audience members- at least the adults- were now laughing their asses off. His lips met the back of my head, and together we vanished into the wind.

I'd say I couldn't show my face there ever again, but I never did show my face, so... hm...

2. Horrid Little Temptress

If I wasn't a minor, I'd need a drink before starting this story. Sadly, I cannot drown my sorrows- and neither should you after you hear this, because it's only fair.

Mrs. Appleby was my Spanish teacher in like, 9th grade. Even the wild and authentic art teacher thought she was insane. Appleby forced kids to brew tea for her and yelled at them when they didn't get it right, and I thought she had a chronic squint until I realised she just did that to mock me and my Asian eye-folds. She forced us to watch Dora the Explorer to "absorb knowledge." Everyone fucking hated Mrs. Appleby.

But the worst thing she ever did... was during the school festival.

See, whenever she's angry, she zooms right into kids' faces to scream at them. Her wrinkled flesh would blot out the goddamn sun and all you see are her bloodshot yellow eyeballs so victims just stayed rooted to the spot like cornered animals or something similar. This is important.

Because when she was sampling her own brownies (read: hoarding them so no one else could eat them), one parent foolishly decided to grab one and she thought it was a student and she grabbed his wrist so hard she could've nearly snapped it and... and... zoomed into his face.

Except she underestimated his height and kissed him by accident, but it was more like her mouth was sucking in his face like a vacuum.

His wife was shrieking like an ape. His kid, my classmate, saw his social life flash before his eyes.

In her defense, she did not mouth to mouth with him on purpose and afterwards she cried in the bathroom and when I foolishly followed her in to comfort her, because I am a teacher's pet through and through, she snatched the paper towels I got for her and wailed that she was a-

A-

HORRID LITTLE TEMPTRESS.

If I had decided to not be kind, I never would've heard that string of fucking words. But I did. And I paid for it dearly. The end.

1. Violence IS The Answer, Sometimes

Thomas, my dearly detested.

Back in sixth grade, I used to have a crush on him because he had the surfer boy look with nicely tanned skin and pale blond hair and the clearest aquamarine eyes I've ever seen. He also liked surfing and swimming. He seemed like the perfect little trophy waifu except for one absolute dealbreaker.

He and his parents were extremely conservative and so, when I told him I liked him, his response was basically "haha no you're a [slur] and would probably eat my dog."

I was horrified and ran away to cry. But then, by the next day, I decided I needed to punish him. Thomas walked in before class started and I was waiting for him with these hands. I kicked him so he doubled over, slammed his face into his chair's seat, and quickly clambered on top of him to SIT ON THE BACK OF HIS HEAD. He started shaking and twitching and trying to pry me off, but eventually he went limp and stopped moving.

I thought he fell asleep, but Mohammed, another classmate who was bullied by Thomas, told me that Thomas might never wake up again (not that he was very sad about this. I didn't know until later, but Thomas said slurs at him too).

While I was sitting on the guy, he'd straight up passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Screaming and crying, I told our homeroom teacher that Thomas suddenly fainted, and she was the type of Caucasian that thought all little Asian kids were sweet and innocent, so it didn't even cross her mind that? It might've been me? Who sat on his head when she walked in?

He was sent home early that day. I had to go to a different school next year because Thomas's mom threatened legal action. The only reason I didn't get punished further was because my rich cousins out-Karen'd her and donated a huge amount of money to the school to keep them quiet.

Anyway, I never did anything that insane ever again, because something like that is enough for a lifetime. My cousins made it clear they would never back me up again. I was sure this whole event would be put behind me, too.

But last fall, during my first day of online learning... who did I see in my zoom meeting... BUT THOMAS! I had my mic and camera off, but the moment he saw my name, his face went pale. His soul would've left his body, but then it would've gone to hell, so it wisely decided to stay inside.

Still, out of shame and embarrassment, I never turned my camera on for the rest of the school year.

#asks #there you have it #i feel like I'm confessing my sins to the pope

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rookie-ramsey · 3 years

Note

headcanon: Ethan and mc playing video games in their free time probably VR or something and Ethan would be so cute not knowing what to do and mc teaches him

MC and Ethan playing video games

Note: I know you asked for VR, but I went with Animal Crossing because I couldn’t get that idea out of my head!

Even though MC wouldn’t call herself a hardcore gamer, she does like to play on occasion.

Their busy hospital schedules don’t allow much time for it, but sometimes she likes to play a video game for leisure. That could mean anything from an innocent session of Animal Crossing to a violent heist in Grand Theft Auto.

Ethan, however, doesn’t appreciate video games. He may have played the occasional game in elementary school, but he outgrew them fairly quickly.

They’re at MC’s place the day she decides to make Ethan play.

MC seizes the opportunity to make an old man joke and informs him that one simply does not outgrow video games.

She plugs her Switch into the dock and shoves a controller into Ethan’s hands. She doesn’t give Ethan any explanation as she sits next to him and stares at him expectantly.

Being the whipped boyfriend he is, Ethan relents. MC may like to tease him for being ten years older, but he’s not as clueless as she seems to think he is.

It takes Ethan a while to get used to it, but he grasps the basics of the game fairly quickly.

Not to his surprise, her island is named Edenbrook.

Ethan criticizes the fact that the character has to use a workbench to craft medicine to treat bee stings. MC rolls her eyes and insists that video games don’t have to be realistic to be enjoyable.

He has to admit, it’s actually a bit relaxing. The plan was to just play for a few minutes to satisfy MC’s begging, but he loses track of time and is still messing around with the game even after MC falls asleep on the couch.

That is exactly how her roommates find them when they get home.

Tag List, Part 1@princess-geek / @buzz-bee-buzz / @lapisreviewsstuff / @polishchoicesfan / @msjpuddleduck / @silverlitskies / @paulfwesley / @dr-brianna-casey-valentine / @junehiratas / @choicesstanblog / @trappedinfandoms / @justanotherrookie / @imescullen / @bellcat2010 / @desmaranj / @lion-ess24 / @openheart12 / @mvalentine / @choicesfanaf / @whatchique / @smilex1104 / @elephant9998 / @nooruleman / @caseyvalentineramsey / @kaavyaethanramsey / @xee-na / @edith-eggs1 / @oofchoices / @schnitzelbutterfingers / @tefigranger / @laceandlula / @paisleylovergirl / @simsvetements / @crazy-loca-blog / @somegdchoices / @jlynn12273 / @sanchita012 / @forthebrokenheartedthings / @lilyvalentine / @parkerattano / @drramseysownsme / @misswhit12 / @drethanfreakingramsey / @juneiswriting / @macy-ray85 / @swimmingauthordreamerbonk / @myusualnerdyself / @siaramsey / @takemyopenheart / @lucy-268 / @queencarb / @drakewalker04

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #choices: open heart

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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Note

Janus, Logan. Not to pressure you two, but can we please have a talk with Remus before this meeting to be able to properly explain things so it doesn't end in disaster?

(Words: 1177)

Logan: "Oh yes. That does sound beneficial"

Janus was the one to knock on the door to Remus' apartement. He and his boyfriend had just cuddled in the car for a while to lighten up the stress a litte before coming.

The tiniest little part of the door opened and Remus glanced out. He shone up into a bright smile and swung the door open while exclaiming

"Snakey!! I thought we said we were gonna meet up tomorrow?! Oh well! Wanna see some really cool animal bones?? I was walking in the woo-" He abruptly stopped when he saw Logan "Snakey there's a stinky cryptid behind you"

"Yes, I have a tendency to pick up those"

Remus moved out into the hallway and quickly closed the door to the apartment behind him. For a moment Janus caught a glimpse of Remy laying passed out on the couch. Their friend had made sure to put a blanket over them.

"You better leave. Or I'll release the timely placed piano in the ceiling onto your head" Remus snarled to Logan.

He looked up just to make sure before replying "I- we would simply like to explain the situation because I am suspecting that you have gotten a very wrong idea of what is going on"

"Oh no I know Exactly what's going! What's going is that you're going to leave Remy alone like they've asked!"

Janus reached out to him but Remus crossed his arms and moved away. He pressed his lips tight together and looked away from them both.

"I would gladly leave them alone but only if I know they're safe. I have gotten information, while not directly from them most of the time, that is quite worrying" Logan explained "They have even told me directly that their boyfriend has called them a whore"

Remus shrugged "What? Doesn't Remy go around calling themself a slut jokingly all the time? Don't you think them and their boyfriend know what to call each other?"

"They were changing their clothing to avoid being called it again! So quite obviously they did not like it!"

"Okay??? Cool I guess!?"

Janus sighed "Haven't you noticed how much they apologize about being slower than us? Or needing painkillers? I- Logan said their boyfriend was making them feel like a burden. After hearing Logan explain it too much makes too much sense for something to not be wrong"

"Well maybe they are a burden to him! What's so wrong about pointing stuff like that out!? Isn't it worse to like lie about it! Then it will just end up with frustration building up until they're having a death match or something!" Remus' tone started to turn harsher.

Logan threw his arms out in frustrated confusion "Of course it is wrong to call your partner a burden! With what variables could it not be?"

Janus pinched the bridge of his nose "We're just worried for them"

"No! The only thing you're doing is treating them like they're too goddamn stupid to tell whether they're being hurt or not!"

"It- it's not that-"

"Yes! Yes it is! You're going around assuming stuff without even talking to them first! You're the ones trying to control them over things you've heard about their boyfriend that sounds normal to me! You're being more delusional than me right now! And more of a dick!"

Logan sunk in on himself "Oh I hadn't fully thought about those sorts of consequences. The last thing I would want is to come of as controlling"

"Would you have us just ignore it then? Just have us hope they're not being hurt?" Janus replied sarcastically.

"I want Logan to leave. Leave me as well. I would rather be friends with a knife pointing crab than with someone who would treat me like a stupid child if he thought I was in danger" Remus mumbled out.

"oh..yes....Of course....I'm sorry for coming....." Logan glanced over to his boyfriend before going down the stairs.

Janus was about to leave as well but he heard a soft whine behind him. As soon as he turned around Remus jumped up to embrace him. His arms around his shoulders, his legs around his waist, his head pressed close to his.

His friend didn't weight much but Janus still stumbled against the wall and moved his arms around him to hold him up. Remus looked at him. His eyes were huge puppy eyes and it looked like he was about to bawl.

"That was homrible!!!! I hate fighting!! I don wamt us to not be fmeinds!!!" Remus half cried out while hugging him harder.

"Obviously we're still friends!" He assured while patting him on the back "Who else would I call when I need an annoying little freak to sit around and tell me things"

He shone up into a shaky grin "I-I'm your annoying freak?? Really??"

"Yes. Always"

"I have never been more flattered!!"

Remus stood down on the ground again but he kept his arms around his friend and leaned their foreheads together.

"Y'know every time I like hang out with you my tummy fills with a bunch of poisonous bees that sting me so it tickles and I like it! I don't wanna lose it! They also make my cheeks all hot! From the poison y'know!" His eyes got wide "Oh god do I have a tickle fetish????"

"Yes. I am sad to announce that you do. I have implented it in you" Janus replied druly.

He gasped "Oh you sneaky snakylicious bootylicious bitch and your awful evil plans!"

"That's me!"

"Wanna come in?? We can spook Remy awake! Or draw a mustache on them while they sleep! Or draw a mustache on me!"

"While I am sure you would look very handsome in a mustache I have a stinky cryptid to attend to. I shall see you tomorrow at the amusement park though"

For some reason that comment made the bees sting a bit harder and Remus got all warm inside. He dragged it out as long as possible before moving out of the hug "Yeah!! I'll see you!!!"

Janus waved goodbye before leaving. Logan was already sitting in the car with his head leant against the steering wheel when his boyfriend got there.

He sat down in the passenger seat and moved his hand on his boyfriend's back "Are you feeling okay?"

".....They...Remus and Remy I really did like being around them...as friends....I did not want to lose them" His voice quivered "I simply wanted them to be safe"

Janus pressed a kiss to the top of his head "It's okay dear. Sooner or later we'll get through to them....or if Remy really isn't in danger, which I doubt, I am sure we can still apologize and move past it"

"I hope so"

"C'mon dear, I am sure Patty has started making pasta by now. I can sleep over at your place tonight and we can relax and not think about any of this for a little bit? How about that?"

Logan sighed "That does sound nice"

#i guess this counts as a mini fic #thanks for the ask!#genius move #if remus wasnt like that #sanders sides #(remy has btw 100% spent the past hour drunkenly ranting to remus about how much of a bitch logan is)

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strangemagicked · 3 years

Text

Anon said: what are your favorite fun facts about each of your ocs?

I don’t think you understand how LONG of an answer this is gonna be but ,,,,

o k a y

Note: I have 53 Ocs attached to this blog SO this is going under a readmore lmao (yes this took me three days to answer, shhhhh)

Also, these aren’t all my ‘favorite’ fun facts; they’re just ....normal fun facts because wow i dont have favorites lmao

Alice ( Alice in Wonderland )

She drinks at least two cups of tea day.

Akemi ( Big Hero 6 )

No matter how good she is at computers, she still messes up long division

Alyssa ( Seuss )

She cuts her own hair, but never more than a trim.

Amber ( Trolls )

She has a scar on her feet from a bee sting.

Annella ( J&tcch )

She’s made her own glasses for her to wear in her cat form.

April ( Mia & Me )

Her main pet snake is named Sup

Ares ( Harry Potter )

She has a pencil on her no matter what her outfit or anything

Arlo ( Dt17 )

Has a scar on his left hand on his thumb’s knuckle. Doesn’t know how he got it.

Ash ( Dt17 )

Ash stole one of donald’s shirts and made it into a pillow case

Aspen ( Otgw )

Her outfit in the unknown does not match her outfit outside of it. No I will not explain further.

Aura ( Atla )

Always wears her hair up; but it goes almost to her knees when it is down.

Aurore ( Dt17 )

She normally wears chunky heels.

Ava ( Supernatural )

She has a card that says she is legally allowed to have her crossbow on her at all times. She keeps it in her shoe that way she always has it.

Bai ( Raya )

He has a necklace with Sisu on it; they’re more common than I think raya realized

Beck (Phineas and Ferb)

Has a butterfly clip she keeps in her pocket

Bianca ( Frozen )

She has a higher tolerance for the cold due to being frozen for so long

Bo ( Jwcc )

His spirit guide is a Compy; hence why Arrow took such a liking to him

Crevan ( Hunger Games )

Has a southern accent in modern verses, but lacks an accent in her default verse

Caelan ( Ever After High )

Has a small birthmark that sorta looks like an arrow if you squint.

Candy Hearts ( Mlp )

Is part deer and part pony. She tried to find her birth parents to no avail

Caramel Cosmos ( Mlp )

Instead of snapping to use her chaos powers, she taps her hoof

Caroline ( Strange Magic )

Her wings let off a gentle pink glitter. It’s similar to love potion in looks.

Cheshire ( Fandomless )

They have many tattoos; including all four suits somewhere on their body

Clarke Navada ( Arthur Christmas )

She replaces the mistletoe on her shirt every three days to keep it fresh

Constance ( Poto )

If ya can’t tell, her and Christine look a lot alike. However, they do not act the same at all, except for their passion and drive

Cyra ( Animaniacs )

Is she just a recolor of yakko? Maybe. But she was never meant to be. Her animator was just really tired of designing and under a lot of pressure by that point

Derek ( Fandomless )

His fiancé died and he blames himself :) Also he has a flask with their name on it

Elliot ( Animaniacs )

Really wants to fly. Has a slight fear of heights.

Eros ( Descendents)

They do have some wonderland magic to them, but their charm and ability to get people to do stuff for them is just their natural ability. It’s not magic.

Felix ( Camp Camp )

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. Yes, even in his PJs

Gabby ( Treasure Planet )

Has an older brother & a younger sister. Neither of which realize that she is such a major criminal.

Gisel ( Ladybug )

Has a habit of omitting the truth in order to not lie. She will allow people to draw what should be obvious conclusions from what she says, although the obvious conclusion is never the right conclusion

Hatter ( Fandomless )

Tends to speak in riddles, but honestly, no one knows why. Not even he knows why he does.

Jacklyn ( Tim Burton/horror )

You can see her lungs through her ribs! Because while her skin and muscle has begun to dissipate, her organs have not!

Jordan ( Supernatural )

Always has a cloth tucked into her jeans pocket to use incase she needs it

Katie ( Penn Zero )

Does not have a tail like her father, but does have red eyes like him!

Killian Jr ( Tangled )

The streak of teal in his hair is natural, and he has his father’s freckles too

Kit ( Animaniacs )

Subtitles appear when they speak in a different language than English. ( Even then, sometimes subtitles will appear for that too)

Lore ( Seuss )

She sewed all of her own clothes !

Mica ( Steven Universe )

Has no scars or birthmarks!

Morty ( Rick and Morty Inspired )

Carries a full eyeshadow palette in his backpack

Nobody ( Seuss )

Anything relating to JoJo is my favorite. but also since i doubt anyone is reading this far; Nobody’s birthname was Mollie Noel Joy. Nobody doesn't know this.

Nia ( Supernatural )

She still has her wings, and her grace. Although, she never uses her angelic powers.

Petal ( Httyd )

Her full name is Petronilla !

Rita ( Gravity Falls )

like her father, she keeps a journal. However, hers is less scientific and more personal.

Sahar ( Fandomless )

The first ghost she communicated with was when she was three!

Seine ( Animal Crossing/nitw, Horror )

Keeps the door to their basement locked with two padlocks

Skyler ( Horror )

Keeps three backup chargers on them

Sunny ( Rotg )

She has a faint glow to her that will change tint from red to yellow to orange depending on her feelings

Tj ( Camp Camp )

It’s real candy in their hair that they glued in with a hot glue gun

Valerie ( Dt17 )

Doesn’t know that donald has that thing with his voice until season 2

Walker ( Horror )

His eyes are yellow, and they reflect like cat’s

Wild Princess ( Adventure Time )

If she were to ever be completely rid of the crown, she’d die from radiation poisoning

Willow (trolls)

Lost her sight in her one eye during the escape from the troll tree

Xia (White Snake)

She smokes human essence not actual smoke

#HEY I'M HOME? || MAX ANSWERS;#tw long post

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braindeacl · 3 years

Text

Buzzkill | Eilidh & Vic

SETTING: Vic’s residence. TIMING: A few weeks ago. PARTIES: @natusvincere & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Vic has the angry-online-lady come over to help with her bee problem. But finds she knows the person knocking. WARNINGS: N/A

Getting rid of a phallic-shaped bee nest and it’s accompanying vibrating man in a place like White Crest really should have been simpler than this, but Vic was already annoyed. It could have been a simple exchange between her and the woman from the internet, until she tried to scold her with talks about bees and their moral superiority over the rest of the world, or something like that. As the inevitable knock on the door came that evening, Vic hoped that their exchange would be quick. Give her the nest and a nice glare for good measure, and hope to never hear from her or the bees again. She pulled open her front door, but who she met on the other side was certainly not who she was expecting. “Eilidh?”, she asked, bewildered. An old, regretful hook up- and possibly the most annoying person on the planet. “Why are you here?” She didn’t try to hide her disdain.

It should’ve been a simple exchange. Now it felt more like a rescue. That woman… the woman on the internet had no regard or respect for nature. Thankfully Eilidh had noticed the post and decided to extend a helpful hand, though with how the interaction spiraled, it extended to the bees and the bees alone. Plus she finally would be seeing the hive in person! She only had a faint idea with what she was dealing with—the shape indicating a specific and rare type of bee, despite her initial thoughts of mere coincidence. Coincidence wasn’t entirely off the table, but she eagerly ran straight for the tantalizing conclusion. She gave one loud knock against the door, a big bang on the wooden structure. Door opened, and she planned to keep it short, but definitely not sweet. Until... Until her name was spoken. Her chosen name. The one she rarely gave out. The pits within her boiled over, threatening to erupt from her. Throat prepared to growl, teeth prepared to snap. But then she looked harder. Recognition registered. The prepared growl lept out as a curt laugh. Teeth still considered to snap. “Ah, hell. Vicky! Should’ve known it was you.” A pyrite in the rough. Vic had certainly enchanted her, bundled her up warm. And left her out in the cold when she was done with her. At least the sex had been fun. Perhaps the only truth she knew of the woman. “Wanna give me your phallic hive, huh? This some long-winded way to say you wanna fuck again?”

Vicky. It was all Vic could do to not physically shudder at the ridiculous name. She’d pretended to tolerate it back when she’d gotten to know the other woman, but the ruse had died down pretty quickly when it became obvious that she was not a vampire like Vic had first suspected. She hadn’t needed her anymore after that, so she ghosted her, effectively. She was so glad to be rid of the constant need for affection and sickening smell of dirt that she barely felt guilty for hanging her high and dry. It was business, and Eilidh had no right to feel jaded. “I should have known this was you”, she said after a while, closing her front door with a force that could only convey anger and annoyance to her companion. She ignored her accusation of wanting more, choosing instead to cross her arms and lean back against the side of her house, waiting for Eilidh to show any semblance of decorum. Her father would have told her she looked like a child. She stood up straight almost instantly. “I can think of about 100 things I’d rather do”, she shot back, walking down her front steps and fully expecting the other woman to follow. The path to her shed wasn’t long, though it was surrounded by blooming, in season flowers. Their bright colors never matched Vic’s disposition. “I was rather concerned about someone who was both enamored with the offensive shape of the hive and also more obsessed with bees than their own self respect that I didn’t know who’d show up today”, she said as she walked. It was a total lie- most of her time before Eilidh had arrived had been spent on making herself look presentable- would this strange woman be pleased with how she looked? What a waste of time, now that she knew who’d showed up. She turned around as she led her, her innate curiosity taking over. “What are you even planning on doing with the hive, anyway?” She was not interested in old pleasantries or even apologies. Whether or not Eilidh understood that was not her problem.

Eilidh had spent so long leaving others, never giving them the chance to do the same to her—because they will, they always will—she had almost forgotten how it felt to be on the receiving end. Almost. That old wound sported a new opening, stinging in the spring air. She had to be quicker next time. She had to be the first to go. Like the injured animal she was, she bared her teeth. It almost looked like a smile. “Would say the same. But never knew you well ‘nough to know.” At least some satisfaction was found at the clear revulsion on Vic’s face. It made the almost-smile more genuine. “Oh, hundred! Finally learned new tricks.” She followed behind Vic at a distance, physical mirroring the emotional. It was weird. Finally being here. Flowers in bloom. Dancing under the moonlight, despite the looming frost. Those gentle petals had once adorned the nape of her neck, intertwined in her hair. But now they ignored her. As cold as the air in her lungs. As the woman before her. At the inquiry, Eilidh’s divided attention snapped back to the leading woman. She too was equally beautiful, shimmering under the stars. But so far away. “Gonna relocate them. Find a place where they can thrive. Deep in the woods.” Far away from others, far away from her. So no one would destroy them. People had a habit of doing that to powerful, mysterious things. Things they didn’t understand. Suddenly, there was a sound from behind. Ever curious, she turned her head, and after a beat she realized it to be muffled barking. A true smile twitched on her lips. “Can I say hello to Winnie? That’s the only bitch I wanna see right now.” Truthfully, she had missed that kindred spirit. But bitterness forced her tongue, and her chances were most likely shattered.

Eilidh wasn’t wrong. In their time together, Vic had managed to get a considerable amount of information from her companion, all without revealing much about herself. “That was intentional”, she said through a forced smile. She scoffed, forcing herself not to turn back and face the other woman, despite the urge to defend herself. “You say ‘finally’ like our time together wasn’t enjoyable for you. Did you keep coming back for more because you enjoyed the drive over, then?” They arrived at the hive almost as soon as Eilidh finished sharing her plans for it and Vic locked eyes with her, unable to bring herself to gaze upon it in the company of someone else. Bees could be heard vibrating from inside the nest, and a few buzzed around it as well. “Well...as you can see it’s very phallic”, she said, blinking awkwardly. “I suppose it’s best hidden away in the woods, that way no one has to witness such an atrocity.” Now if Eilidh would just take the hive and go, she’d never have to think about either of them again. Of course she wouldn’t be so lucky. She scoffed at Eilidh’s request, flaring her nostrils in annoyance. Winnie adored everyone and anyone, and she wasn’t afraid to show it, either. Of course Eilidh would want to see her. After a beat of staring at the other woman, she rolled her eyes dramatically, walking a few paces around the side of the house to open her back door. It wasn’t even a moment later that Winnie came bounding outside at lightning speed, panting and slobbering excitedly. She did an energetic lap around the shed before she ran right toward Eilidh, trying to jump up and get a lick at her face in between excited barks. “Winnifred, nej!”, she scolded, worried that her oaf of a canine would knock the other woman down. The last thing she needed was a lawsuit on her hands. Her words seemed to fall on deaf ears, or at least disobedient ones.

“Now, yes.” Eilidh stated plainly. While she could still at least enjoy the view—Was she wearing that dress just for me? Ha!—there was no more substance. At least, that’s what she told herself. But a wondering did linger—who was this woman truly? Did she laugh same as before, fuck same as before? The questioning caused negative emotions to simmer—brought a fog in her mind. But a comment, followed by a screaming thought, brought her back. It's not an atrocity! She wanted to scream, to go on yet another tangent. But they’ve had that whole song and dance before. And she had more than just mere words in her arsenal. A growl took the scream’s place. Feelings effectively summarized by that primal rumble in her throat. “Must be why you’re out here. By yourself.” Before Vic could register what she meant, Eilidh turned to face the hive. It truly was phallic. Much more magnificent than in the pages of that old book. She took a step forward, then another, then one more. Testing her luck. Testing their patience. With one more questioning step—snow giving a satisfying cruuunch—the bees started to stir, awoken from their stupor. Buzzing sounding more like a warning hiss. Her feet came to stop—let her eyes do the work instead. The hive seemed to be fixed on the exterior of the wall, entirely out in the open. There would probably be no need to remove any bits of Vic’s shed in the process of securing the hive. Though, she might—she will—just for the hell of it. The backpack resting on her shoulders slid across her arms, joining the ground with a muffled thud. Searching hands grasped at the needed supplies. But as these items were revealed, basked in moonlight, a familiar jingling entered her ears.

Fingers released, letting the supplies rejoin their brethren for now. Eilidh had more pressing matters to attend to. The swarm gave another eruption of noise as the canine came just a little too close. But it was softer, subdued, perhaps having already grown used to Winnie’s antics. One second, she was lost behind the shed; the other, she was barreling straight for Eilidh. “A bhobain!” Arms opened wide in preparation, and Winnie wiggled herself into that waiting embrace. Then she practically wiggled herself out of it, her excitement unable to be contained by herself or Eilidh’s grasp. All Eilidh could do was laugh—sound like a wind chime in a hurricane. The laughter quickly died, not for lack of amusement, but for Winnie’s tongue encasing her whole mouth. She did not stop these feverish licks and returned the affection with scritches upon the dog’s nape.

Eilidh’s flare for the dramatics seemed, somehow, even more annoying when Vic wasn’t putting on a front to charm her, and she rolled her eyes at the attempted insult, even if her companion could not see. Her looks were never an insecurity for her, at least not for a few centuries now. Funny that she seemed to affect the other woman so much that she felt the need to insult her. Again, she thought about how Eilidh had no reason to feel scorned or hurt. Even if it was essentially fake, they had had a good run, and Vic had treated her right. “I’m out here by myself to avoid running into people like you”, she shot back, though in White Crest, someone like Eilidh was the least of her concerns. Despite her annoyance with the woman, though, there was something fascinating about the way she explored the nest with such care. There was a newfound cautiousness and gentleness there, one Vic wasn’t used to seeing from Eilidh. Something sparked in her, too, when she watched the interaction between her and Winnie. “How’s Tulip?”, she asked, against her better judgement. Eilidh’s dog, who was maybe the pure opposite of Winnie in demeanor, always elicited a sort of soft spot from Vic. “I mean, is she surviving you?”

Good humors returned with each lick placed on her face, all Eilidh did in response to Vic’s retort was a simple laugh. The implied insult fizzled and died upon her ego—though the heat of its death did create some form of pride. Her simple presence—despite how literal the comment—could cause such a brash reaction? Funny! Momentarily distracted by the thought, she hadn’t noticed the shift of weight upon her body, until she was sent tumbling down under Winnie’s excitement. Upper hand secured, Winnie took upon the opportunity with vigor, making sure every inch of Eilidh’s face was marked with her tongue. More of Eilidh’s laughter filled the air in response. White vapors of breath clouded them in fog. Giving them some privacy. It was only broken with the mention of her own canine companion. Hands pressed and pushed into Winnie’s face—squishing those skin rolls into one—until her tongue licked the air in vain. “Thriving, actually. Been doing lots of swimming.” Warm weather drew the dog to water like moth to flame. Warmth that had slipped passed her fingers, same as Vic’s. “Well, had. Before a layer of ice blocked us out. Assholes.”

Winnie laid in wait, now frozen mid-lick in something akin to acceptance. But instead of allowing that tongue to return, Eilidh wiggled out from under her hovering form. As her feet found footing, she finally released that hold upon the dog, who gladly resumed those joyous kisses. Eilidh whispered something in her ear, gave a kiss of her own, then stood. The hive felt her presence once more, buzzing in welcome or threat or both. Those dropped supplies returned to her grasp, out into the crisp air, ready for use. “Time for a neuter.”

Vic wanted to continue to scowl, but Winnie pushing Eilidh down was quite a sight, and despite herself, a smirk came to play on her lips. “Winifred!”, she scolded with barely any gusto. She nodded at the mention of the weather, annoyed that it had taken such a turn, recently. “Winnie rather enjoys the snow. She thinks it’s Christmas in July.” She wondered, briefly, what it might be like for the dogs to get together to have a playdate. As annoying as she was, there was something sweet about watching the way Eilidh interacted with Winnie, as if they had been lifelong friends finally reunited after being torn apart.

She let out a shallow breath as her companion turned her attention to the bees, briefly wondering why the vibrating man never came around when she was outside. Was he afraid of her? He should be. “Will it hurt them?” she asked, eyeing the supplies curiously. “Where in god’s name did you get all those things, anyway? Do you just carry around supplies for bees just in case one of their hives happens to be shaped in a horribly offensive way?”

Eilidh shook her head down to the eagerly waiting dog. “Perhaps Cailleach brought you a gift, eh? Do we got you to blame for all this?” A finger booped playfully on top the canine’s nose. Winnie’s tongue slapped desperately across her own muzzle, trying to return the favor and lick that pressing digit—but reflexes were too slow and all that tongue met was crisp air. Despite Eilidh’s hand clearly returning to her side, that tongue continued a good few seconds before realizing defeat. At the sight, laughter burst out of Eilidh once more. Ripples of that giggle still ricocheted off her throat as attentions focused fully on the task at hand. Well, almost fully. “Won’t hurt ‘em.” Despite the smile that still clung to her lips, drops of aggression bled into her voice. Assuming the worst. Because she didn’t have the best examples to work with—and the better ones were lies. “Don’t be too disappointed.”

The aggression bled out, for the most part, leaving behind her usual humors. “Stole ‘em. Shhhh, don’t tell. Always gotta keep ‘em on hand. These fuckers are sprinkled all over town. Got a second bag for pussy-shaped hives, too. Can’t mix those two up. ‘Less you want ‘nother Clevesdale incident.” In that following beat, unwavering eyes stared at Vic—expressionless. But only for a beat, for soon a lip twitch betrayed her and she sighed an amused breath. But the truth remained on her tongue. The fuck did Vic think, she’d show up empty-handed? Not that Eilidh was particularly above brute forcing some projects—perks of her biology led to lack of need for safety precautions. So, the supplies she hoisted from the bag were for the bees’ sake. Not her own. They found themselves onto her hands, inching closer to the hive. The inhabitants stirred at the action, air taking on a quick heartbeat in their unified song. But frost lulled them back to sleep. Leaving her to her work. “Gonna help? Or just stand there looking pretty?”

Winnie seemed to be satisfied with her greeting, finally leaving Eilidh be in favor of giving Vic a quick, affectionate nudge before she ran off into the yard, darting past trees and zipping through flower beds and jumping into piles of snow, then circling the women quickly before doing it all again. She’d once heard someone refer to this behavior as the ‘zoomies’, though she’d never lower herself to call it such a thing. She didn’t know why she was relieved to know the beasts wouldn’t be hurt. They had, after all, offended her greatly with their hive. But she didn’t have too much time to think of it before Eilidh made her backhanded comment. She narrowed her eyes at the woman, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t be more disappointed than when you showed up on my doorstep, darling”. If she were being honest with herself (an annoying habit she picked up lately) it was a bit of a strange relief to have Eilidh there. Her companion, for all her bite and quirks, wasn’t a threat, and Vic supposed that was good enough for her.

“I never know when you’re being honest”, she responded, ignoring the rather large piece of irony that came with her saying such a thing. She pursed her lips with disdain as Eilidh continued, clearly unappreciative of her choice of words. “Can’t you find another word to describe them? P...ussy is so- crass.” The bemused twitch of her lips let her know that Eilidh thought she was being funny. Vic, for her part, let out another annoyed huff. Again, too, at the idea that she was meant to help. (She ignored the way her heart fluttered at being called pretty, the way it always did when beautiful women took notice). “I had you come so I wouldn’t have to do the work”, she muttered begrudgingly, despite walking closer to Eilidh and the hive. The bees buzzed around her at first, and she instinctively wanted to run away even though she knew they couldn’t hurt her. She looked at Eilidh expectantly, and then down at her bag, not quite knowing what she was meant to do. After looking between them once more, she hoisted it up, holding it out so Eilidh could rummage through. “I think you mentioned on the ‘online’ that you’d remove this for free, but I will be paying you. How much does one usually charge to remove offensively shaped hives?”

“Don’t be such a pussy ‘bout pussy.” The way the word struggled to release from Vic’s mouth—like sap oozing from a tree—sent chuckles freely from her own. Which quickly turned to a scoff at Vic’s protest. “I think ‘least you can manage”—words cut short as her idea came to life without any instruction, her bag brought up an easy arm stretch away—“… that.” Hands returned to the bag once more, confirming she had all she needed, though Eilidh no longer needed to bend as before. As they returned to the icy air, fingers brushed against Vic’s own. Despite the cold, only warmth pricked at her affected palm, up the connected arm. A reaction born of a time lost to a lie, she tried to remind herself. But the mind rarely won against the body, for it was one against all. So, she returned her gaze to the hive. She knew how to feel about that. “Not sure.” In truth, money was not something she put much thought into. The main reason it crossed her mind was to ensure the creatures that have come and gone from her life received satisfactory care. And Vic’s ignorance did present an opportunity to secure much funds for such care. But something else knocked at her mind, pushing out before it could supply an outrageous number value to her labor. “How ‘bout we trade in favors?”

The close proximity of foreign entities (What do they want? What will they do?) and of foreign tools (Will it hurt? Will it kill?) finally jolted the hive out of the winter stupor. A black cloud overcame the hive, phallic-shape lost under the swarm of small bodies. But what started as irregular began to form purpose. The lumps of the cloud elongated and quivered until something familiar was forged. Like looking at a fucked-up a mirror, Eilidh was greeted by the top-half of a humanoid body. Suspended in air, made entirely of bees. “There you are.” The being looked at her. Seemingly. The structure at the top, resembling a head, was tilted down. And the curve facing the shed was more pronounced, like where the skull met the back of the neck. Leaving the front pointed at her. Staring at her. A sea of many returned her gaze, a collective of eyes focused exclusively on her. Trying to meet one pair was fruitless—they weaved in and out of each other, blending into each other. Where one ended and another began was left unclear. But that was intentional. For they were more than just those of their parts. Not one. Not all. But both. And neither. And something new.

“There is a man obsessed with insects in town. Or- he inherited an obsession with insects, from what I’ve summarized. He wanted to come get the hive as well if I’m being honest. I agreed to let you come take it before your rudeness came out.” Vic watched the ground as she spoke, the way the snow glistened against the twilight of the evening made it look like a natural shimmer on the ground. She wondered what color paint it would take to achieve such a color. “I’ll ask him what his going rate is.” She narrowed her eyes at Eilidh, wondering if she was being serious with her implication. “It’s incredibly illegal in the United States to trade services for such favors”, she chided disapprovingly. “You expect me to behave like a depraved criminal?” The thought was appealing, even if she didn’t particularly want to admit it. Her bed had been particularly cold lately, especially since Marley found herself practically hitched. It would be easy with Eilidh, especially if she could find some good-quality earplugs.

Vic wanted to flinch as the bees swarmed, childhood fears of discomfort bubbling to the surface at the thought of being stung by the beasts. But then she blinked as the swarm became more concrete, not quite believing what she saw forming in front of her. “Oh. That’s the naked man”, she said, everything coming into place. “Perhaps this is why it appears he’s vibrating from afar.” She stepped closer to Eilidh and the bee man, realizing now that these bees were less natural than she thought. Phallic loving bees for sure, judging from the shape of the hive and the vibrating man’s apparent appendage. “Maybe he needs to earn your trust before they’ll let you cut it down”, she suggested, her voice a hushed whisper in Eilidh’s ear. “Naked man!”, she was shouting now, even though the bee man was barely two feet away. “You are not safe here. Or- you do not belong. I do not wish to look at your offensive, ugly hive any longer!”

Eilidh blinked. Only once, realization pushed away the confusion and forced out a laugh. Loud and brief—thunderclap of amusement. “For someone who can’t say it. You got pussy on the mind.” Certainly hadn’t been the main path her mind ventured. While Vic’s body had been a topic—and sex did find itself lower down on the list—it had focused more on humiliation than pleasure. Though for some, the two weren’t so exclusive. The latter especially took a run about in her thoughts. Caused a prick of rage, though left an aftertaste of craving. A craving she thought she’d been done with, after the abandonment set in. But anger and lust often paired, at least for her. She eyed the woman up and down, hands unsure if they wanted to slap or caress. “‘Pends. How desperately you want ‘em gone?” Those hands found an answer at Vic’s… attempt to placate the hive. Directed shout caused the amalgamation to flinch in its own special way. Form rippled as if struck by the sound waves. Solidity returned at the insult, though stillness did not. Vibrations shook its entire core—caused a buzzing unlike anything heard before. Before the situation could be worsened, those decisive hands finally found themselves on Vic. And gave her a blunt shove. Right into the snow. “Anyway. Wanna get away from this bitch? To some place nice and warm? Summer’s only a few miles away.” Stillness. Silence. The hive watched her with consideration, head tilting in thought.

Vic knew her face could no longer blush, but she was sure that the moment a laugh bubbled out from Eilidh, her cheeks turned a bright crimson. She didn’t know why she assumed Eilidh had been making such an offer, but hindsight made her utterly embarrassed that she’d said it out loud. “It’s just what I’ve come to expect from you”, she muttered out weakly, her hands traveling to smooth down her hair in an effort to keep themselves busy. “Desperately enough to invite who I thought would be a stranger over to take them”, she answered honestly, wondering if this whole interaction might be over by now if she had just let the insect man grab the hive instead. It certainly would have filled her with much less dread and guilt, that was for sure. Vic let out an equally surprised and offended grunt when she was shoved to the ground, and her hands barely caught herself in time to stop herself from landing face-first in the snow. The nerve of Eilidh pushing her down on her own property! As she picked herself up and brushed herself off, face contorted with a mix of annoyance and offense, she distantly heard what her companion was saying to the dickbees. “Bitch?”, she asked incredulously, clearly offended. “That’s incredibly rude. If you’re going to insult me, at least do it while I’m out of earshot like a decent person”, she huffed. The bees, for their part, seemed calmed by Eilidh’s offer, and their shape began to form less of a man with every passing second, as if their demeanor was calming. Despite all of the offense, Vic couldn’t help but glance again at Eilidh. “I think they’ll like their new mom”, she said dryly. Eilidh seemed to have some sort of special connection with stupid creatures, if her relationship with Winifred was any indication.

Eilidh smirked, eyes refusing to join the ground with the woman she addressed. “Then get outta earshot.” She felt a sudden pull for the amalgamation, at that quip of motherhood. Such a word always putting her in an odd sort of way, whether pleasant or distressed. But it passed just as the sourcing comment. A thought of apology was absent from lips and mind. Her attentions instead fully found themselves on the buzzing entity—though reaction would be mirrored if the two women had been alone. The two eliciting different reactions from the entity: buzzing turned chorus with Vic and trembling turned stilled at Eilidh. Both coursed over each bee unit as the legion’s gaze went back and forth. Overcome by waves of sound and silence. The silence won, revealing the hum of brisk winds in its wake, as the rocking head settled on Eilidh. Only turned to movement again to give a small nod. Almost simultaneously, Eilidh’s hands clapped together. That nod returned on her own head. “Lovely. Let’s get on it, then.” She began her work removing the hive as inhabitants watched with a curiosity. Even assisted when needed. Hands, both of flesh and of bees, worked silently for a minute or two. Until Eilidh broke it. “I’ll message later the payment. This was lots of work, you see.” The hive began releasing its hold on the shed easily, as if all it needed was a simple push. “Gonna need to really consider all the parts.”

Vic crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at Eilidh, sending her a look of scorn and distaste. “You get out of my earshot!” Although there was a feeling, deep and dark and desperate to be ignored, that she didn’t want Eilidh to leave at all. She watched with rapt attention and curiosity as the bees and Eilidh worked together to do their work, her companion seamlessly joining a computer-like system of workers who knew what needed to be done and when. It was so easy for them to join together, even as Vic had only moments ago been thinking how inconvenient and annoying they both were. She let out a huff when the work was done, unsure of what exactly she was feeling. An urge to call Morgan pricked at the back of her neck like a bee sting. “I’ll be waiting, then. Don’t know why everything has to be such a big production.” Eilidh, still in love with the theatrics, could have just told her how much she wanted here and get it over with. But Vic didn’t hate the idea of having to meet up with her again. As she watched her go, Winnie settled at her side, her breaths heavy and rambunctious as she watched with some longing her friend leave. Vic tried to ignore her own feeling of longing, but life was never so simple or kind.

#wickedswriting #buzzkill #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. vic m.

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psycho-slytherin · 4 years

Text

Turtledove

Your love of nature pays off... in an unexpected way.

Request: Could you do fae prince!Jungkook who has stolen you away?

Pairing: Fae Prince!Jungkook x Reader

WC: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, drabble, idk?

A/N I just like bees, ok? Thanks for the request, anonie!

|mlist|

“Let me be your ruler, ruler, you can call me queen bee…” You sing to yourself as you weed your backyard. You’ve got half a dozen lavender bushes waiting to be planted, but first you’ve got to prepare the soil. Just as you’ve finally yanked out a particularly stubborn nettle, you feel a soft tingle on your skin. A bee has apparently made itself comfortable on your wrist.

“Hey, little lady,” you say with a smile. Maybe this is your signal to take a break from the relentless sun. You’ve never been scared of bees. Even as a child, you always seemed to attract insects and animals. Your mom called it magic; you’re of the opinion that good souls can sense each other. “It’s hot today, huh?” You ask the bee, who buzzes contentedly on your hand as you move back into a shady patch beneath the cherry tree. “You’re gonna like the lavender once it’s all grown up, there’ll be plenty of pollen.” It must be your imagination, but it seems like the bee buzzes more happily at your words. “Well, go on,” you say, waving your hand lightly to encourage its flight. “Get back to your queen, honey- ow!”

Almost in slow motion, you watch the bee press its stinger into the flesh of your palm before looking right into your eyes. The world tilts sideways and everything goes black.

Something cold pokes your cheek and you suppress a groan. You feel dirt and leaves beneath your feet, and something softer, wet– moss?

“Mina, you weren’t supposed to kill it,” an airy, male voice says.

“I didn’t mean to,” a girl whines. “I panicked.”

Your head is killing you, and when you at last open your eyes, you blink weakly. “Where…?”

“Ah, good, it’s awake.” And in front of your eyes is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen– his hair is a soft forest green, his skin inhumanly perfect, his nose tilted up just slightly and his ears pointed, as though he’s wearing prosthetics. He’s draped in shimmering green-blue robes that seem to move despite the stillness of the air. “I’m sorry for Mina.”

“Who…?” Normally you’d be scared, but the ethereal man in front of you practically radiates calm; against your instincts, you feel yourself relaxing. “Who are you?”

The man opens his mouth but before he can respond, a blue-haired girl– this must be Mina– claps her hands excitedly. “This is his royal highness, heir to the forest fae kingdom, the Crown Prince Jungkook!”

“Thank you, Mina,” the… prince? Responds bemusedly. “This is Mina, my aide, and the one who brought you here.”

You stand up groggily. “Where’s here?” You’re in a forest, certainly: tall trees with broad leaves create a dappled pattern of sunlight on the soft floor. You don’t hear even the hint of civilization. No cars, no chatter, just the occasional bird call.

“Oh, this is my kingdom. And you, human, are my guest.” He snaps his fingers and it’s like reality melts away. Where there were nests or messy branches suddenly appear small treehouses. What you thought was an animal’s burrow transforms into a beautifully decorated hut built into the earth. The messy rocks and moss beneath your feet rearrange themselves into neat paths leading throughout the forest. And right behind the prince, an enormous redwood tree simply becomes a magnificent palace, complete with arching doorways and large windows, perfect except for its size.

“Wo-woah…” you take a step backwards in wonder, suddenly feeling dizzy. You’re hallucinating, right? An allergic reaction to the bee sting? Or you’ve been kidnapped by a very handsome and definitely psycho magician?

Although… You know it’s irrational, but you can’t help but sense goodness in him. And Mina too.

“Am I dreaming?” You whisper, suddenly realizing that those pointy-ear prosthetics look very real.

“You’re not dreaming.” Prince Jungkook draws closer. He smells like clover and rain and lavender. “Human, all your life you have been good to us. The butterflies and bees for whom you planted flowers, the hummingbirds and squirrels you kept well-fed, and the very earth beneath your feet, which was always left fertile and healthy. I have watched you save my subjects from ill-meaning humans, from injuries, from cold.” He reaches out a hand and lightly touches a finger to your chest, right above your heart. You can feel it beat faster in response. “And for that, I shall reward you with a glimpse into my world. Will you come?”

His eyes are a deep green, and staring into them, you feel like your every sense has been heightened. If you’re dreaming, it’s the most intensely sensory dream you can remember. And if not… “Yes.”

The prince’s eyes flash. “This may hurt a little.”

From his finger on your chest you feel warmth spreading throughout your body. “Ah!” What began as a pleasant warmth morphs into pain; You feel a sharp, searing ache shoot through you. Your ears, eyes, and back especially feel as though they’re burning. “Stop it!”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the pain stops and you collapse onto the moss, which seems bigger now. Your body feels inexplicably light, and when you look back at the prince and Mina, your jaw drops.

“Holy– you have wings!” Tossing your confusion to the side– it’s a dream anyways, it doesn’t have to make sense– you bound over to Mina, who indeed stands before you with beautiful blue and black wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. Prince Jungkook’s wings are silver, almost transparent, and yet so bright they practically glow. “Can I…” you reach forward cautiously. “Can I touch them?”

“Gently,” the prince replies.

“But, your highness–” Mina says, falling silent as you lightly stroke the prince’s wing. They seem to emerge from between his shoulder blades, and though you thought they’d be light and fragile, you can feel a strength in the material. You notice the prince tensing slightly at your touch.

“This is all so beautiful.” You finally take a step back and look beyond the fae in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

The burrows and treehouses have grown in size. The palace that seemed awkwardly small now looms over you, impossibly large. In fact, everything seems much bigger now. You stare at your hands and finally notice that they look tiny in comparison to the humble blade of grass beside you. Nothing’s grown– you and the faeries have shrunken.

“Do you remember some fifteen years ago? You were just a child when you found a turtledove with a broken wing.” Prince Jungkook says with a soft smile.

You do remember the incident– you’d come into the house crying, asking your parents to help you bring it inside.

“You spent days and sleepless nights nursing it back to health. And for years the turtledove would return, wouldn’t it, to say hello?”

“Y-Yes. It always slept in the fig tree outside my window.” The dove stopped visiting four or five years later; you figured it had died.

“That turtledove, lovely human, was me. And this is my kingdom.” He gestures, and the silent forest suddenly bursts into chatter, movement, noise. Hundreds of faeries appear as though they’d been there all along, walking or flying, dressed in all manner of tunics and robes. Most seem to be going about their business, running errands, or doing work. Some stop and stare at you, or greet the prince with a bow. The doors to the redwood palace swing open, and you hear an unfamiliar kind of music fill the air.

“Will you join me?” Prince Jungkook asks, a brilliant smile lighting up his features.

You grin mischievously. “That depends, do I get wings too?”

“Oh, Y/n. Look behind you.”

“What?” You crane your neck and yelp in surprise; In your peripheral vision you can see the edges of black-and-yellow wings, the pattern resembling a cross between a monarch butterfly’s and a bee’s. You focus intently on your back muscles and for a brief moment, you see the tips of your wings flutter.

“Er… your highness, can I keep them?” You ask the prince, hurrying to keep up with him and Mina as they enter the palace. The interior is beautiful, perfectly blending the decor in with the natural color of the wood. Patterns and symbols you don’t recognize are carved into the walls, and well-dressed faeries turn to eye you from around the foyer.

“Call me Jungkook. The wings are yours within the fae world– and you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like, princess.”

Your heart seems to glow. You’re a faery, a real faery! Even if it is just a dream… you never want to wake up.

“Jungkook!” You say his name like it’s a ray of sunshine, laughing at the pure delight flowing through you. The prince stands next to you, his wings catching the light of the lanterns. “Jungkook, thank you. Your world is so wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Jungkook takes your hand and draws it to him, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. “No, thank you. You’re all goodness, princess. Now, let me show you around.”

#fae!jungkook #prince!jungkook #royalty au #jungkook x reader #royal!au #bts #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot #jeongguk oneshot #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook drabble #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #jungkook prince au #fae!bts

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flatfootmonster · 4 years

Text

Running Past Empty

(read on A03 here)

Red seeps into my sweater. I didn’t even have time to use my newly honed anger because whoever ran into me, and spilt whatever this is, is long gone. I can’t even see the cup they must’ve been carrying. Whatever it is, it’s sticky. But it can wait. It has to wait. Voices and horns build to an overwhelming chorus behind me but it’s dampened by a fog that I summoned. I can’t focus on noise right now; I have to cross the road.

“Fuck. Fuck. Are you OK?” One of the voices is a panicked buzz in my ear—and too close. Much too close. I feel sick. “Jesus.” That sound hisses between teeth; steam escaping a kettle that boiled too long.

“I’m fine, I need to go,” my words are thick, stammered through numb lips. Sangwoo was just there. I can catch up with him. He’ll probably scoff over the state of my sweater, say that I’m a baby that needs looking after. I don’t mind when he teases though.

A shackle attaches itself to my arm. “You’ll stay there.” The buzzy-buzzy bee is persistent. I think I hate it.

There’s no time to look at whoever this fuck is that won’t listen, and I won’t reply either. I pull away with so much force his hand might’ve come clean off because his grip is still there as I leave him behind. When did I get so strong? I’m moving now, that’s all that matters. I’m moving fast and it’s OK. The bee follows though, like the memory of the hand, but the fog cuts in front of those sensations. I’m blocking them out because I have somewhere to be.

My feet beat the pavement, each step smooth and measured. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this coordinated before. It’s because of Sangwoo, I’m sure of it. He gave me things; I can shout now, and I can pull away, I can run. He never said it would hurt though. Pain jolts up my legs—a familiar hurt but this time it spreads, it bleeds from bone to vein to nerve ending. When I find him I’ll rest, and catch my breath, too. Lungs shouldn’t be so difficult to inflate. Maybe I need more exercise. That’s probably it. Does he play sports? I should know that.

Skidding to a jittery halt, I take a second to find my bearings. It’s no surprise the buildings that tower over my head are unrecognisable. They choke out the sky with dirty fingers of brick. I get disorientated a lot, you see. Plus, I was running towards the point I last saw him rather than pay attention to this road or that. Yet he seems to slip around the next corner when I think I’m gaining ground, the only thing I catch is a glimpse and even that is on the peripheral—right on the edge of the earth. Can’t he hear me? I’ve been shouting, haven’t I? Maybe this is a game.

“Did you call them?” Someone snaps those words out and they snatch my attention. I turn to find a mother looking down at a child. He’s holding skis. That seems odd but what business is it of mine what a stranger chooses to carry around? He used to carry me around a lot—Sangwoo did—and no one said anything about that. “Did you?” she presses, fear in place of impatience. What is she scared of? The shadows the buildings cast make their faces dark, features as indistinguishable and ruddy as the bricks. I can’t even see which direction their blackened eyes are pointing.

“Yes, yes. I did. I can’t make them get here any faster,” the kid replies but the voice belongs to the bee—it’s still stuck in my ear. When I blink their faces are pressed to mine, breath hot and sickening as their words decompose in their mouths. But there’s still no detail. The expanse where their features should be is pale, cold, and blank—a human-sized dead worm. I don’t want to look at them. My stomach squeals as my heart thuds once against my ribs in protest and they’re back in the shadows, merging with the buildings, voices melting and flowing into the cement that links brick to brick to brick. They are inconsequential—irrelevant to life; dead worms wriggling back into ashy soil.

If I stopped to catch my breath maybe they’d come back into focus, I'd find detail and explanation, and perhaps the buzzing would subside. I could maybe help with whoever it is they need to call—or mediate their disagreement. But I don’t want their faces so close to mine or their breath misting my vision—I have to go. Time is running out. It’s ticking away, it itches beneath my skin.

It’s a narrow alley next, I chose it simply because this way avoids streets and voices and worms and bees. There’s only one voice that I’m looking for—I’m desperate for it because I’m drowning and it’s a diving bell; I need it to get to where I’m going.

A man stands in a cobwebbed archway, phone pressed to his ear while glasses slide down a greasy, porous nose. He mutters, again and again, the same thing, “keep breathing, keep breathing, keep breathing.” His eyes don’t focus, they skitter this way and that like a spider, roaming the scratched wood behind him and the grey concrete beneath him. His face is grey, too, and when his eight-legged eyes find me the greyness spills over him. He’s a statue now and I’m glad because his gaze crept and crawled along my skin, his voice was needle scratching vinyl. A broken record. A broken, tired, useless record. Does he even understand what the fuck he’s saying? I know I don’t. It’s nonsense.

The narrow walls give way to a square but it’s empty, all I can hear is an alarm coming from somewhere—everywhere. It echoes from concrete planes the same way it bounces around the walls of my skull. Ignoring it is as simple and irritating as muting the agony throbbing in my veins. I still don’t recognise where I am. Slowing, the pain embeds itself deeply in bone, my marrow vibrates with every serrated inhale. Razors are in my lungs trying to cut their way out, climbing up my throat; the scores they gouge ooze with frigid sap.

There’s a stand. It was empty before, I’m sure of it, but this won’t be the first time I’m wrong. It’s a cake stand, too far away to make out details past that. There’s a girl, standing with her back to me. Something about her stance is familiar but memories are on the other side of the fog, I can reach them if I want yet I have no desire to. She’s fumbling around in her pockets frantically. Behind the counter, there’s a blank slate of a man and one red round cake sat between them. He holds a bag of white icing in his left hand.

“His name? What’s his name? Isn’t there any ID?”

“I couldn’t find any. There’s nothing,” her voice is the bees' voice as well. Too low to be authentically hers, it’s familiar but not in the same way her stance is. It should be odd, and it is, but I’m used to slipping and sliding around the wet tiled surfaces of reality. I’m used to things not making sense. And I’m used to being solely focussed on one thing so that it didn’t matter how reality is consumed by my abstract senses.

The man sighs, looks down at the cake before addressing it mournfully. “OK sweetheart, it’s going to be OK. Hold on,” he reassures the sticky, red surface beneath his bulbous nose. I suppose it’ll stay unnamed unless they’re going to write sweetheart on the top. Why doesn’t she know the name of the person she’s buying a cake for? And why is the bee still stuck in my fucking head?

My body jump starts, every atom eager to move. I lurch forward, transitioning into an easy run, eating up the ground in long strides. Between the waves of discomfort and crushing loneliness pressing down on my sternum, I feel fluid and capable. My form flows and slips, if I just trust in the magnetism pulling at me I’ll find the sensation of belonging that my atoms are begging for. I’ll slip down the right cracks when I find it; I’ll write the correct letters; I’ll outrun the concrete.

I need to catch up with him. There was something off—for days and days it was off. I did something, or he did, and I can’t unpick it. I don’t know where the stitching went wrong to unthread and rework. If I catch him I can, I’m sure. If he just listens…

I promised, you see. Wait. What did I promise? No—that’s a stupid question; It doesn’t matter if my brain cells can’t recall because my body seems to be making up for that ignorance.

A wall towers above the building in front of me. It doesn’t seem to be a part of its surroundings; there’s no adjoining structure or roof to give it relevance within this rigid environment. It’s a misfit—I can relate. There’s only one thing that marks it useful. Up top, an old advertisement is plastered down with crumbling, infertile glue. Its corners are peeling, weather-worn, dull, and barely discernible. But I can make out a pair of bulbous eyes in a green face—I see a squat animal. There’s my compass. I’ve found my bearings.

An alarm’s going off again. It’s different somehow, in the way one hymn is different from another but when you’re outside the church—when you’re skulking around in the graveyard—it simply sounds like another incessant drone. I cover my ears, it needs to be blocked out. It can’t dictate my route. But it’s loud. I don’t like it, and—just like the composting heat of the stranger’s breath and the stinging, grabbing bee—I don’t want it.

My skin prickles under the scratching hands of ticking minutes and seconds, counted out by a silent omnipotent force, pressing down on my sternum. My surface area needs to be peeled off because it burns. Everything is so fucking distracting. If my lungs were working like normal I’d sigh as all those things dull once more; the fog is back. It looks more like a veil now—cascading and shimmering in its divisive nature.

I round a corner where those spherical eyes were beckoning. This area is flattened. A building was demolished here and all that’s left is gravel, dust, and rocks. The debris forces its way into my mouth and fills my throat; I am the ground—desiccated and ruined. But I’m not sad because this is where I’m supposed to be, it’s how I’m supposed to be. I’m sure of it.

But how do I find belonging?

There’s a new sound, a beeping when my lazy heart thuds against my rib cage. Maybe it’s a timer about to go off, but if it does go off and I don’t find him, then what? I can’t let that happen. He’ll be gone. Gone forever. I’m losing time, running on empty.

My gaze devours the gravelly tarmac and the bare walls, desperate for the merest taste of a clue. It’s just dust, everywhere is dust and nothing—like me. Where do I go? There should be an opening somewhere, maybe on the floor, steps leading down. There’s nothing though. There’s only stillness but I swear I hear him, his voice saying my name, muffled like he’s hiding in this silly game we’re playing without rules. He’s the childish one.

The wall.

In the centre of the ruins, where the frog sits on top, there’s an old bricked up doorway. It’s the only entrance—or exit—and I can’t go back the way I came. I just can’t.

Bum.

There! It’s not a bee. It’s him. And now I know.

Logic slips away, just like that mother and child did, as I run at the wall and throw all my strength at it. The barrier punches right back, sending me flying away from the threshold. The floor hits, if there was any air inside of my body I’d be winded. Hesitation doesn’t weigh my mass down so I scramble to my feet and run towards that same spot. Those nondescript breeze-blocks will give way, they don’t know how strong I am now but I do. I’ll prove it.

My chest bursts again. The beeping stopped—the timer is done. In its place there are footfalls, bouncing from the concrete behind me, voices reverberate and buzz—a stampede of chaos that I’m trying with every last molecule to outrun. I never did understand it and now I don’t have time to learn. I don’t want to understand, not anymore.

“Hold on, sweetheart.”

Bum!

He’s here. He’s waiting for me.

“Stay with us.”

Maybe the statue came to life or the child became solid again, maybe it’s the girl with the cake or the man selling it. Maybe it’s all of them. I don’t want them, I don’t need any single one of them—

This time the explosion makes everything reverberate, the ground shudders beneath my feet as buildings sway in a sickening dance. Brick fingers are pushing into the sky, choking the sun. Cracks appear between the bricks and there’s light there—on the other side. I will do it, they won’t catch me. They can’t catch me.

The light says this is my last chance.

When I collide on the final assault my lungs tear themselves apart under the force of a silent scream. It’s been clawing at my throat, dying to be freed. It sets fire to salted rivulets the razors made before heat surges to a flashpoint. I’m turning inside-out. My burnt skin is splitting, the marrow is lava. The air in my ruined chest is ash.

I’m combusting but no concrete punch lands; the floor doesn’t hit my back;

Four, twenty-eight PM, the fifth of the eighth.

Water sloshes manically, slopping against a surface it found to break the cascade. It’s cold—the water is, and so is the air pouring down my throat. Haggard breaths send ripples across the crystalline surface, it’s the first thing to break through static-filled vision, pale and unblemished skin is the second. Everything is bright—pure.

“Bum?!”

Sight recovering, my gaze devours mint green tiles. I can’t grasp why it feels so desperate; notions and memories of panic and pain are slipping away like sand through my fingers. A squat green shape, two bulbous eyes staring at me from the sink, becomes the focal point as the black and white dots fade. It’s a ceramic frog, two toothbrushes and a half squeezed out tube of toothpaste sticking out from its back. It’s clean and simple, a faint smell of genuine pine lingers underneath the tang of generic shower products. Nothing is out of the ordinary, everything is exactly as it should be, so why does it feel like I’ve been pulled inside-out? Or maybe outside-in.

“Bum! Where are you?”

He’s calling—that’s all that matters. That fact didn’t change in whatever seismic shift occurred. “Sangwoo?” My voice trembles, lips and tongue feeling as unpractised as an infant’s, but it doesn’t hurt to speak. Why would it hurt?

If the water is cool, it’s nothing compared to the tide of relief that pulls me under, leaving my skin tingling and the fine hair on my body upright when he bursts into the bathroom. Why would I be relieved? He’s always here. We’re never far away from each other, people gossip over how inseparable we are.

His face. I can see his face. It’s close to mine as he kneels, breath warm on my pebbled skin but it doesn’t twist my gut. There was something nauseating in that dream.

“I’ve been calling you for… for I don’t know how long. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. It was silly to worry. But I’m sure I checked here…” he stops, bowing until his forehead is pressed to my shoulder and huffs a laugh. He shakes his head, the imbalance of understanding that we’re sharing is echoed in a weak laugh.

And, powerless to the forces that move me, I reach for him—we’re magnets, we can’t be anything else. “I promised,” the sentiment tastes familiar, spawned from the crumb of a memory that slips beyond reason. What did I promise? Worry ebbs away and nerves soften because he feels right: skin clear, hair soft, and his heartbeat is so strong—like it usually is, like the rest of him. But maybe the vehemence in his grip says he understands the words, that somehow, in the hangover of an abstract dreamscape, it made sense to him. If anyone was going to understand the things I say that I don’t even comprehend it would be him. It’s always been him.

“I think maybe it was a bad dream,” he sighs.

“Me too. Maybe we were stuck in a nightmare together.”

He looks up, the troubled tightness in his face melting away and leaving only easy, weather-worn memories in their place. “Like when we were kids?”

Humming, I stroke through his hair. I’ve sat here long enough for my fingertips to wrinkle. The darkness seems vague, another era—another universe entirely. Yet, at the same time, it lingers over my shoulder, hidden only by a veil. The urge to look behind is dwindling, just like any solid dream fragments I could share. What does it matter anyway? “I think I spilt something on myself but—” I stop and frown at the floor. Apart from the small puddles of water, it’s clear. “I don’t know where my clothes are.”

His mirth turns rueful. “Probably kicked them off somewhere that I’ll find later. Cmon, the dryer just stopped, you can put something fresh on.”

I try to sit but my muscles are infantile, too. “Whatever that dream was, it zapped my energy,” I sigh. Even my lungs are exhausted.

He shakes his head, fingers dipping into the tub. “It’s cold. How long have you been sitting here?” he tsks the question to a close. We look after each other, it’s just what we do. “You’re gonna freeze if you stay here any longer—and it’s dangerous to sleep in the bath,” he tuts again as one arm slides around my shoulders, the other beneath my knees.

I’m not given time to disagree but I try anyway. “You don’t have to—“

“Shush. You’ve done this enough times for me—well, for the five minutes you were bigger than me anyway.” He grins down while plucking my mass from the water with casual ease. Contrary to my words, I soften against him. We have different strengths that we lend each other, you see. It’s always been that way. I know that. I remember.

The journey is a quiet ceremony; we migrate from one room to another before I’m eased into a kitchen chair, wrapped in a fluffy, white towel. The clothes are still warm, Sangwoo stays centred and focused as he helps me dress. I’m quite capable of doing it myself, just like I could have walked here on my own two feet, but he’s persistent. There is always a dire plea in his eyes when he silently lends his hands to whatever task needs doing, and it’s fulfilled with a gentle touch and stern focus. It feels like repentance or supplication, and so earnest that I can never fight it.

He’s always been determined, since the day we first met. Gripping tight to my sleeve, Sangwoo wailed until my mum came to investigate and forged an alliance with his mum. The rest is history. He can’t possibly remember that day but that doesn’t stop him from swearing otherwise—says he knew we were soulmates and that it was a matter of life or death to hold on with stubby, sticky fingers. After all this time I’m schooled to the silly, sweet things he says, letting them be without anything more than a grin and a shake of my head. Yet there’s something shiny about that memory. It shimmers in the ancient light of a summer evening and, for whatever reason, I forgot about its existence; slept too long and lost track of identity and time and place. Seeing it there, reflecting true warmth, drapes a comfort blanket over my consciousness; I want to bask in our history.

Those same fingers that gripped my sleeve back then now drag a sock up my calf, but they possess a few decades of knowledge beneath their fingerprints—they are no long stubby or sticky but calm, attentive, and skilled. He smoothes the wool flat and tugs at the seam over my toes to make sure it sits perfectly.

“Do you wanna listen to something?” His movements effortless, Sangwoo turns to the fridge and items are taken out and placed on the countertop: eggs, milk, butter, a bar of chocolate—flour and sugar joins them from the cupboard. I’m transfixed by every last detail and action, every syllable that falls from his lips without it being translated within the confines of my upside-down skull. My body is righting myself and so I’m simply happy to sit here, snug in warm, fresh clothes and absorb. “Maybe the tape you made last week, or—I don’t know. Which one is your favourite today?” There’s a note in his words that proclaims years of experience when it comes to my quickly evolving, and perhaps fickle, favourites. And, of course, there would be.

There’s no radio up here, we’re too far out to get signal, and so when we go to the lake to fish or swim we take the old cassette radio with us. A blank tape will be ready in the cassette slot to record songs as they’re aired. We have a kitchen drawer full of compilations, Sangwoo’s precise scrawl can be found on the case of each to note the date and song list. His methodical ideology doesn’t just stop at me, there’s notebook after notebook of days gone by filling shelves around this small home. Moments are recorded in detail as if to prove our existence in this world; we are here in this universe and this story will be left. It never fails to cast a spell of enchantment over everything.

“Bum?” Feet planted before mine and a crease between his brows, he’s observing me. “You’re spacing out,” he mutters before pressings a palm to my forehead, “but you don’t have a fever. Do you need some fresh air?”

I think he’s right. Air sounds good. I like the air where we live—it tastes freshly baked as opposed to the staleness lingering everywhere else in the world. “OK.” He weighs me up with his measuring gaze when I get to my feet but there’s no reason to worry, strength is restoring itself and even the memory of pain is unintelligible now. “I’m OK.”

“I’ll bring you some tea.” With that, he’s back to whatever it is that’s being conjured, and I’m trusted to get on with my own job—as simple as it is. A kettle full of water is placed on the stove while I retrace the path he made carrying me in his arms.

Just past the bathroom is the front door. I say door but it’s mostly window; two large panels that make up top and bottom of the portal are crystal clear. It’s flanked by massive windows, too, because why wouldn’t it be that way up here? Where a panelled wall is required you have it, but if there’s any chance to capture a living portrait you do just that.

Wood clanks against wood, the door swings shut as I venture out onto the porch. That sensation of experiencing something for the first time settles again, like a dewy web, yet it’s not discomforting. It doesn’t spark curiosity either because I’ve known since we came here that I’ll never get tired of the stretch of cosmos that wraps itself around these stone walls. It stretches this way and that. Green trees that sway in the breeze, dancing to a silent tune, build behind the house, rising to lofty peaks. There’s a handful of hiking routes that wind their way up there. Before me, the pines subside and flow towards the lake. The body of water below glints and shimmers; a mesmerising world of fluid secrets. The amber-blue sky stretches on forever, when the sun sets its understudy arrives and millions of diamonds provide a twilit reverie. Every day is like the first, and at the same time utterly unique. The secrets whispered are always slightly different, the shapes the stars make are always evolving.

This place might not seem much to some, or most for that matter, but it’s everything to me. Eyebrows tend to rise when people know we live together out here, like a couple of hermits, but we’re beyond caring about the thoughts or assumptions they paint. There were times we tried to be apart, building independent lives, but things would spiral into chaos and confusion; bad things ultimately happened. It was never worth the discomfort of trying to squeeze ourselves into empty slots in a puzzle when we never came from the same box in the first place. We found this peace right here, our belonging, and it really doesn’t matter what the world outside thinks.

Besides, we’re not hurting anyone.

“Here.” I didn’t hear the door open and neither do I flinch with his apparition.

My gaze shifts from lush, green leaves to earthy, rich irises. The pleasure found there is fertile enough to coax a smile. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, and why shouldn’t it be? The mug offered is steaming—chamomile by the smell of it, probably with a little too much honey.

“Thank you.” It’s sighed while I inhale the scent and let it wrap around me along with every other element within reach that’s whole and perfect.

“And there’s that smile,” he coos the gentle tease. I’ve always loved the way he teases. His humour is mildly provocative but it soothes instead of stinging, the worst side effect being blushes. It makes up for my quiet demeanour and—if anything—he preens under the laughter that always comes easily from his audience of one. Sometimes my rare sarcasm trips him up, too—it’s served extremely dry. I have to admit a hunger in my gut is fed when his knees buckle under unforeseen hysterics. “You look much better,” he adds, expression mirroring the one he just shone a spotlight on.

“I feel much better.” To prove the point to myself, my toes wiggle within their thick, woollen confines. Everything feels as it should again—better than it should. Energy coils itself deep in muscle and bone, eager to spring into action. Reaching out, I sate that desire. My fingers brush against his cheek while a pinprick of panic plucks at my imagination over what I’ll find. There was no need to worry, there’s nothing other than him. Past the stubble, he’s warm and smooth—soft even. Most wouldn’t attach that adjective to Sangwoo but, then again, no one knows him as I do.

He sighs, his eyes close, his head tilts into my touch. Yes, he is soft.

“I’m glad.” Hand finding mine, Sangwoo’s grip weaves around my fingers until they are entwined with his. There’s a ring he wears, a gift from me. It’s never been removed no matter what graft is demanded. There should be no surprise in seeing it where it belongs. “If you stay out here too long you might catch a cold.” To highlight the gently presented advice, and with an added chuckle, he ruffles my damp hair. “At least get dry first if you want to take a walk.” A light kiss is pressed to my forehead; a full stop for his nurturing thought. I bookmark the moment, recording every last atom vibrating around and within. I’ll return to this page—over and over and over. I just know it. “I have a cake to make,” he adds, taking a step back. A new spark of enticement kindles in his gaze, hoping that he’ll provoke some curiosity—or at the least hunger.

Where I know him well, he matches that—step for step, word for word, breath for breath.

“Cake? What kind of cake?” I can’t hide the eager giddiness in my voice, I wouldn’t attempt to either.

“Chocolate.”

My stomach rumbles on cue. “What’s the occasion?” Honestly, I don’t care, I’m already fantasising about the dessert induced coma I’ll fall into later, regardless of the reasoning behind it. Sangwoo is a magician in many things and baking is one of them.

A casual shrug is offered as a response before words follow. “It just felt like a cake kinda day.” Taking another step backwards, he’s halfway over the threshold. “If you’re around in about twenty minutes there’ll be a bowl and spoon to lick clean.” There’s another grin, full of mischief, and eyebrows that quirk before he disappears back into the warmth of our home.

I’m caught up in the sweetest quandary. My legs long to pace earth and my fingers ache to touch pine, but the cosmos isn’t going anywhere right now… whereas that bowl and spoon might.

His argument is compelling; Sangwoo knows my weaknesses. But we’ve never truly needed anything to persuade ourselves or convince the other. Nothing binds us here aside from free will, shone and reflected back in equal measures. He is me and I am him. We can’t breathe alone.

#killing stalking #fanfic #post canon #yoon bum #sangwoo

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krizaland · 4 years

Note

some of zim with a beekeeper s/o? if not it's cool.

Oooh! How interesting!

I’ll bee honest with you, I’ve always had quite the fear of bees (and just bugs and arachnids in general) but ever since I rediscovered my love for Invader Zim, I’ve actually started to notice how insect-like Irkens are.

Like my dad always said that Zim looked like a bug and tbh the more I watched the show, the more I noticed how insect-like Irkens are.

Like they’re obsessed with sugary snacks and whatnot and seem to all worship the Tallest like a hive/brood Queen.

And in most insect the species that have queens (Like: Bees, Ants, wasps ect.) The Queen is almost always bigger than the rest of the hive/brood.

So the fact that Irkens have a height based society is pretty insect-like.

There’s even a real life species of bee called Texas Sweat Bees that are bright green like Irkens.

Anyway, I could go on forever about Irkens being space insects but this long intro is probably bugging you by now.

So onto the fic!

You and Zim have been dating for over a month now! While Zim was a wonderful boyfriend, there was just one problem:

Zim was terrified of bees.

Even just the mere sound of wings buzzing was enough to send him screaming for the hills.

Of course most people are afraid of bees and just bugs in general.

They’re strange, noisy, and even bite and sting!

However, being raised by beekeepers, you never seemed to mind.

You always loved bugs of all shapes and sizes!

You found their big eyes and antennas just so cute!

Your family’s profession aside, Honey bees were always your favorite animal!

They were so fuzzy and friendly! Not to mention their honey and wax is extremely useful!

Honey can be kept fresh for ages and the uses for beeswax were endless

While you couldn’t blame Zim for his fear of bees, you couldn’t help but feel that Zim believed a bunch of nasty misconceptions about your favorite insect.

And thus, you decided to give Zim a tour of your family’s bee colony!

Zim was understandably apprehensive at first but was quickly convinced by your sad puppy dog eyes.

After getting both yourself and Zim suited up in beekeeping suits, you carefully led him to the colony.

BZZ!

Zim jumped a bit as a bee buzzed past his head.

“It’s ok, they won’t sting you as long as you stay calm.” You explained as you gave Zim’s hand a gentle rub.

“R-Right! I knew that!” Zim lies as he adjusted his hat.

“Now here’s our main colony!” You announced as you gestured to a large white box like container.

“You keep the bees in boxes?” Zim asked as he tilted his head.

“No, No! These are our special beehives! Here I’ll show you.” You laughed as you pulled out a small metal can.

“What’s in the can? Is it repellent?” Zim asked as he gestured to the can.

“What? Oh no. This is just smoke from burning pine needles. We spray this when we open the hive to let the bees know we’re coming to take a look.” You explained as you gave the can a few sprays.

And with that, you carefully removed the lid of the hive and quickly sprayed the inside with a light layer of smoke.

Zim jumped back and braced himself for a swarm of bees to pour out of the hive.

However, the swarm never came.

“Zim, you can look now.”

The sound of your playful laugh, brought Zim back to reality.

“Right! I was just um...admiring the trees.” Zim spluttered as hell carefully reproached the hive.

“Are you ready to meet the hive?” You asked with a playful wink.

Zim nodded slowly but still kept his guard up.

“Alrighty, here they are.” You sang softly as you pulled out a large frame covered with hundreds upon hundreds of bees!

Zim let out a startled squeak but slowly calmed down when he realized the bees weren’t attacking him.

The bees seemed perfectly content crawling around the frame.

“This is only a small part of our hive but it’s the most important one.” You explained as you carefully held up the frame.

“Why is it the most import part?” Zim asked as he kept his distance from the frame.

“Because this frame has the Queen bee herself! You’re gonna need to come a bit closer to see her though.” You explained dramatically.

Zim swallowed hard as he took a small step forward.

“Closer....”

Zim took another small step.

“Closer.....”

Zim took another small step.

“C’mon Zim I won’t let them sting you!” You giggled playfully.

And with that, Zim finally came close enough to the frame.

“Yay! Now do you see that really big bee right there?” You asked as you pointed to a very long and chubby bee.

“Yes.”

“That’s the Queen Bee. She lays over thousands of eggs a day!” You explained as the Queen wandered with the rest of the bees.

“Really? Fascinating...” Zim trailed off but his eyes remained glued to the Queen Bee.

The more he watched the Queen, the more she started to remind him of the Almighty Tallest.

She was very large and was clearly royalty!

Zim begun to wonder if the bees had the same height-based society as Irkens did.

“So the tallest bees are the ones in charge, right?” Zim asked as he continued to watch the Queen.

“Well not exactly. The Queen Bee is really the only one that gets that big. All the other bees are the same height.” You explained as you gestured to the other bees.

“I see...So do bees conquer other...hives?” Zim hummed as he stroked his chin.

“What? No. Well, I mean there are some species of insects who do stuff like that but Honeybees aren’t one of them.” You laughed as you carefully put the frame back into the hive.

“Oh, so what do they do?” Zim asked as he turned his attention back to you.

“What do they do? They do lots of things! They pollinate flowers, make wax and most importantly: they make Honey! Lots and lots of honey!” You explained dramatically.

“Hon-ee? What is this Hon-ee?” Zim’s voice quivered a bit as he spoke.

“You’ve never had honey before?! Honey is a delicious treat made by the bees! Cone on! You have to taste it!” You insisted as you grabbed Zim by the hand and led him to your family’s honey reserves.

You were about to lead Zim inside when-

BZZ!

A bee decided to land on the side of Zim’s head!

Zim was about to scream but you quickly put a finger to your lips.

“Stay calm and still. She doesn’t want to sting you. She’s just saying hi. Just stay calm and she won’t sting.” You whispered.

Sweat poured down Zim’s face as the bee brushed up against his wig.

“This is one strange human.”

A gasp escaped Zim’s throat.

“You didn’t tell me bees could talk!” He whispered as he struggled to remain still.

“Bees don’t talk. I mean they communicate with their antennas but they don’t speak English.” You giggled as you rubbed the back of your head.

“You’re a weird human but I like you!” The bee giggled as she wiggles her antennas.

“So you’re telling me you didn’t just hear that?” Zim whispered.

“Hear what?”

“The bee! You’re telling me you didn’t just hear the bee compliment me?!” Zim hissed as he gestured to the bee crawling on his hat.

“I’m getting thirsty! I’ll see you later!” The bee sang as she flew away.

“I think you’ve been standing in the sun for too long. Come on let’s get you inside.” You giggled as you led Zim inside the honey reserves.

You spent the rest of the day talking all about honey but all Zim could think about was the bee that landed on his head.

Clearly that was no Earth bee! It had to had to have been some kind of alien spy!

After trying (and falling in love with) honey, Zim decided it was time to go home.

When the night fell, Zim scurried back to your family’s bee colony.

“Ok, now to track down that spy-bee- ACK!”

Zim let out a yelp as the same bee from earlier landed on his head.

“You smell like that weird human from earlier.” The bee giggled.

“I am not human, you pathetic spy-bee!” Zim snapped.

“Huh? Are you upset or something? I can’t understand you.” The bee whimpered with a gentle wiggle of her antennas.

Zim was about to respond when he noticed the bee’s antennas wiggling.

“It appears this spy communicates with her antennas...” Zim hummed as he stroked his chin.

And with that, Zim decided to wiggle his own antennas at her.

“I am not human! I am a MIGHTY Irken warrior! Leave my sweet Y/N alone spy!”

“Spy? I’m not a spy! I just work for my queen. Just like you probably work for yours!” The bee explained as she continued to crawl.

“Eh? Zim has no queen!” Zim replied curtly.

“It’s ok, I know you just want to protect your hive. It seems like your queen, Y/N likes to keep things secure.” The bee giggled.

“What? Y/N is not Zim’s queen. Well..um…Y-You need to leave them alone!” Zim demanded.

“Ok, ok. Will do! No need to shout. I can’t really guarantee we won’t cross paths but I’ll do my best to steer clear!”

And with that, the bee flew back to her hive to report back to her queen.

“That’s right! You better run!” Zim cackled as he put his hands on his hips.

“Zim? Is that really you?”

Zim’s laugh screeched to a halt.

No! That couldn’t have been your voice he just heard!

Zim swallowed hard as he slowly turned around.

Sure enough, his worst fear was confirmed:

He had accidentally exposed himself.

“Y-Y/N! I-It’s not what you think! I just…have pink eye in both eyes!” Zim lied as he gestured to his ruby eyes.

You simply stared at Zim in awe.

“Zim, you don’t have to lie to me. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this!” You insisted.

Zim blinked in shock for a moment.

“Promise?”

“I promise” You confirmed as you put a hand on your chest.

“Alright then, I guess you were bound to find out sooner or later….I suppose I owe you an explanation. But you better keep your promise or I will destroy you, got it?” Zim asked as he shot you a glare.

“I got it!”

“Very well…Y/N, I guess it’s plain to see that Zim is not a normal human worm baby. No, I AM A SUPERIOR LIFE-FORM FROM THE PLANET IRK!” Zim sang dramatically as he threw his arms into the air.

“Wow! That’s…so cool!” You squealed as you clapped your hands.

“I can understand if you are scared-Eh?! Did you just say I was..cool?” Zim spluttered as he rubbed his eyes.

“Yes! You’re so pretty! You look like a sweat bee or a Jewel Wasp!” You gushed as you ran up to him.

“Eh? I’ll take that as a compliment…I guess..” Zim muttered as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Oh my god! Now I know why you heard the bee talk to you earlier! Your antennas probably picked up on her antennas!” You explained as you gestured to his antennas.

“Oh, well…That explains a lot,” Zim hummed for a moment, “So do you think I could communicate with other insects?”

“I don’t know? Wanna go find out?” You squeaked.

“Sure!”

And with that, you and Zim spent the rest of the evening seeing what kind of bugs he could talk to!

From that point forth, Zim decided to help you out at the bee colony when no one else was around.

Thanks to his new found talent, you were able to harvest honey without smoking out the bees as well as see how they were doing.

Zim was a little nervous with you knowing he was an alien but after seeing how wide your smile was, he knew you could be trusted.

#invader zim #invader zim x reader #bees #Anonymous

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cherryyharryy · 5 years

Text

Burning Words

Chapter Two: Lunch, Library, and Lady Liberty

WC: 7,400

Previous part

Songs for this chapter

The prickling scratch of my highlighter dragging across a strip of text reminds me of how naïve I really am. I hate the sound, hate how uneven the lime green line sits, jagged over the inked words, with a pool of color where the pen sat at the beginning of the sentence.

It’s raining outside, and rain in New York is not like rain anywhere else. It’s purposeful, like a painting, like it belongs here. The only difference is that nothing changes—not like back home. In Georgia, people would come out afterwards, drive ten miles to the nearest pit and screw their trucks through the mud. Kids would run outside and look for worms and slugs, puddles to jump in. Dogs would dig holes in the softened earth. But here, no one stops. No one bats an eye, not even the people who forget their umbrellas. I wish rain was still life changing.

I sigh, close my notes, and cap my highlighters. “Any ideas for lunch?”

Jessie dips her head back in thought. I see her lashes flutter and her lips pinch, but then she shrugs. “We could order pizza?” She’s sat cross-legged on a patchwork armchair, laptop balanced across her thighs with a pen teetering between her teeth. I have to tip my head over the back of my chair to see her, upside down. “I’ve got a coupon for that place down the street.”

“We always order pizza.”

“We could learn how to cook.”

I click my tongue. “Bingo.”

The far wall of the apartment has a generous sized window. The floor creaks like we’re torturing it every time we move across a room, the bathtub faucet leaks when it’s hot out, and I know more about my neighbors’ lives than I really need to. But the window....it’s like a movie. My chair sits beside it. I try to count raindrops but there are too many.

“Chinese?” I offer.

“You and your egg rolls.”

“They’re the only thing I want when I don’t really wanna eat. I didn’t eat breakfast. And I only had a handful of popcorn for dinner last night.”

I can see a park from here, and in the winter when the trees are bare, a neighboring tennis court. Flowers hang limply from their stems along the sidewalk. A cat scrambles across the road, sporadic, and suddenly I envy the lack of knowledge animals have, lack of responsibilities, sense of time, unspoken contracts. At times I wish I were a depressed cat soaked to the bone, thinking if I move quick enough I’ll escape the rain.

“What?” I miss half of what Jessie asks.

“How’s your class been?”

“Which one?”

Jessie pauses her movements to assert me with a knowing glare. “You know what class. How’s the British babe?”

“Ugh, Harry.”

“Harry,” she tests his name before I continue. A few students have called him by his name, but he’s quick to correct them, surely enjoying his authority.

“He’s most definitely not a babe. A jackass. And he’s been as jackass-y as ever.” I join Jessie when she starts to laugh. “He calls on me every chance he gets. And I swear it’s just to humiliate me.”

“Well at least he’s nice to look at.”

“That means nothing when he’s a jerk.”

“True.” Jessie shrugs. “What about Truman’s...it’s near campus?”

I loll my head back and narrow my gaze. They don’t have egg rolls. “Yeah that’s fine.”

“My treat.”

***

In Hungarian, there are two words for the color red. Piros and vörös, with different times to use them, and should be used accordingly. When I was a kid I got them wrong; called my mom’s hat vörös, and got a slap on the wrist by my grandmother.

I spent that evening hiding in my closet, using the sleeve of my Winnie the Pooh pajamas to soak up the cascade of tears. When my cousin found me, I begged him to explain what I’d done wrong.

“Piros is blood inside the body. Vörös is when it comes out.”

That’s all I was left with. And I never did understand the difference. For years now that night resurfaces in my brain, and I think, I’m older now, I’ll be able to get it.

But now, as I stand on the sidewalk, peering through the window of Jessie’s lunch choice, I’m swarmed with the overbearing realization that age has nothing to do with it.

Harry’s in a striped button down, a sea foam green that reminds me of how different candy felt when I was younger, and high-waisted navy blue pants that couldn’t decide between flaring out or forming to the shape of his legs. I watch him balance plates and glasses, stacking forks and knives, spoons and mugs, soiled napkins and empty Splenda packets. He shovels his tip into his pocket and then disappears out of view while someone else wipes down the table.

“We can go somewhere else.”

“No.” I drag in the humid air, freshly washed, and hold it in my lungs until my head starts to spin. “This is fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. We’ll sit in the back. At Brigette’s table.”

I’m not sure if you can call Truman’s a restaurant. It isn’t fast food, fine dining, or even a bistro. It’s always dark. The chairs are pink and the tablecloths are green. There are flowers everywhere, I thought it was a flower shop and was sadly mistaken when I came in for the first time to buy Jessie a bundle of roses for her birthday. Strumming violins fill any silence between tables. It’s old but new, rooted woods, lamps from the 90’s, curtains from the 80’s, cooks from the 60’s and 70’s.

“Brigette’s not on today, but that table is available if you want it.”

Me and Jessie both blink at the hostess, unintelligible utterances coming out until we give up, give in, and sit ourselves down at the small tea table under the back window.

“I hope the rain doesn’t start again. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

I hum, more preoccupied with trying to find a better distraction than my ripped cuticles.

“He’s up front,” Jessie assures, “I think I saw that guy I dated the summer after freshman year...Mack something or other...busing these tables. I’m sure he’ll wait on us.”

“Whitaker.”

“What?”

“His name was Mack Whitaker.”

“Yeah, him. It’ll be fine.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. I can’t imagine being her.

The place is busy, rightfully so on a bleak Saturday afternoon. The sun pokes through the clouds occasionally, carving streams of golden light across our table, Jessie’s face, and I assume mine as well. She compliments my eyes and I thank her, then proceed to detail a hundred abstract thoughts as to why she must pity me enough to lie. Someone—who isn’t Mack Whitaker—brings us each water and apologizes for the wait. They’re swamped, understaffed, and had barreled through a visit from the health department early this morning.

“Anthony’s pissed again,” Jessie mumbles, pursing her lips when I look up at her. I raise my brows so she’ll continue. “I missed his call the other night. But I was busy, so…” she shakes her head and scoffs a laugh.

“It’s sweet though, that he wants to talk to you everyday.”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs.

“He’ll get over it,” I assure her. “He did the last time.”

“I just hope he’s over it before he comes up here.”

“Good afternoon, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” A girl from my class ends our conversation. She wears the same outfit as Harry. When she smiles I have to blink, her teeth whiter than heat, slightly crooked, and I imagine she overdoes the stinging gel against her gums to make up for it. It works. Her lips and cheeks look as if she’d became too friendly with strawberries; a character face, full and round, structured like magazine models with skin to match. I remember her from the previous year: pretty, even at eight in the morning. Boys like her, professors like her. Head of the Spanish club but I bet she can’t count past diez.

“Two turkey on ciabatta with tomato soup. No mayo on one. Diet Coke aaand…” Jessie raises her brows at me.

“My water is fine, thanks.”

“No mayo,” our server draws out the syllables while jotting down our order. ”Well my name’s Danielle, if you need anything just—” She points her pencil at me and squints, as if that clears my image and her memory. “You look familiar…” She hums to herself, taps the end of the pencil against her lips before her eyes light up. I gulp. “Oh! You’re in my class aren’t you? The early one on Monday and Wednesday!”

I nod. “Yeah, World Lit.”

“Yeah! How are you doing on your book report?”

“Um, good I guess. Haven’t gotten too far into it yet.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty stupid right? I heard it was the TA’s idea. I mean, I haven’t done a book report since high school.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So—oh! Speak of the devil.”

My face feels as though I’m being stung by a thousand bees. Harry sidles up beside Danielle and nods to each of us.

“Afternoon, ladies.” He’s holding a pitcher of ice water and flicks his gaze down to my glass.

I regret how much I drank when he fills it back up to the rim. I scrape my teeth against my tongue before I’m able to say anything. “Thank you.”

He nods, opens his mouth, but Danielle beats him to it.

“We were just discussing our class.”

My veins are filled with wax, dripping at a pace so unoriginal, hardening, crystallizing. I grab my cutlery wrapped in a mauve pink napkin to occupy my hands, twisting and prodding and jabbing.

“Yeah,” she continues when all he does is nod. “So what are we doing on Monday?”

“I have a surprise for you all, something I’ve been working on with Dr. Pierce—”

“Oh!” Danielle interrupts. “What is it?”

Harry raises his brows and laughs. “Well I can’t tell you, now can I? Won’t be a surprise.”

“Ohh, yes you can. We won’t say a word.”

Harry denies her once more. His eyes flicker down to me. “I’m sure you won’t. But you’ll have to wait for class to find out.”

“Oh my God! Your hand!”

I follow Jessie’s voice to see a small pool of blood decorating the table, my napkin having soaked up some, my skin a bit more. Red reflects in the sparkling silver of a fork and spoon, glistening on the blade of a knife I have carelessly sawed against the tip of my ring finger. I didn’t feel anything until I saw the cut, and now it stings.

“We have a first aid kit in the back.” I hear Harry say but I look to Jessie. “Here,” he pulls a handful of napkins from his apron and cups them around my finger. “Is this okay?”

I nod without looking at him. He tells me to come with him, and I oblige, weighing my evils as the entire room is now focused on our table and the girl bleeding out right before their eyes. As I walk with him, I selfishly hope I do lose enough to earn a transfusion, amputate my finger, something, anything, so I can leave. If I get to stay in the hospital, I won’t have to go to class Monday.

“Don’t worry!” Danielle whispers as she passes by us. “He’s great with his hands.”

I see vörös everywhere.

***

It burns. Really burns. But I’m thankful. It’s the only thing keeping me aware that I’m alive, that I can’t hide away, that I need to mark my movements as always. He rinses my finger under an ice cold water bottle he pulled from a tiny fridge below the staff’s sign-in computer. Someone yelled at him—Ralph. His name is on the bottle.

“This is cleaner than whatever comes out of the sink.”

He slips his foot around the leg of a metal chair and drags it over by the sink; the closet door it had held open falls shut. With a nod he tells me to sit. I say nothing, just watch him care for the small wound like my life really is dependent on it.

“Can I have your hand—er—can I see it? Your hand?” He rolls his lips in and clears his throat when I extend my arm to him. His touch is almost nonexistent. I barely feel his fingers splaying my hand flat and wide while he rinses the blood off. He uses a towel tucked into his waistband to dry me off, and then pops open the lid of the first aid kit.

“This is just an antiseptic...don’t think it should burn.” He smooths a small bit of opaque gel over the ridiculously tiny split in my skin. “I think the head and the hand...always an extreme amount of blood. When I was a kid, my sister’s cat scratched me, right under my left eyebrow. It felt like someone poured water down my face. Mum thought I was goin’ to die.” He folds a purple band-aid over my finger, frowning when it’s not smooth so he starts again. “There. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Good. Okay. Um, well I guess I’d better get back.” His hand lingers on the bandage, running his thumb over it one last time, and then he finally pulls away.

“Yeah.” I’m shaky when I stand, and curse myself when I almost trip over the chair when I turn to leave. I pause to speak over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The walk back is long, and I have to fight the urge to look and see what he’s doing. I don’t hear the chair scraping against the floor or Ralph complaining about his water. I’m thankful I threw on my good jeans this morning.

Jessie is bouncing in her seat when I return—the table beside ours. “Is it bad? It was a lot of blood! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It was really small. The cut I mean.” I look down at my bandage like it’s a secret. “Where’s my stuff?”

“They’re replacing it all,” she waves off. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it throbs a little bit—”

“No, not that! I mean him. Did he say anything to you? Was he mean? Because I’ll go back there if you need me to.”

“No—no, sit down, would you.” I hold back a laugh; she doesn’t need the encouragement. “He was nice.”

“Good. I tried to follow you but the manager came out and asked me what happened. We get our meal free, by the way.”

“Well then I guess this was worth it.”

Our food comes quickly, served by the manager herself.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I stir my soup. I can see the reflection of my eyes in the red pool, and I watch myself blink once before rippling my image away. “M’not that hungry.”

Jessie leans over the table and lowers her voice. “What happened?”

“What?”

“With Harry, in the back.”

“No, nothing.” I sigh and slump back into my chair. “I’m just tired. And I have a lot of work to do. That stupid report. And I have a quiz in another class on Tuesday. I’m fine. And he—”

“How are we doing? Is there anything I can get you guys?” Danielle looks prettier each time I see her. I shake my head while Jessie answers, keeping my focus on my untouched food. “Did Harry take care of you?”

It’s a good thing I wasn’t eating or else I would have choked. “Uh, yeah. He did.”

“I knew he would. He’s a sweet one.”

“Mhm.”

How easy it would be, to tell her my name. Tell her that her teeth are too white and her shirt is too tight. I could tell her that Harry’s sister’s cat scratched him when he was a kid and that’s where that tiny little scar above his eye is from. Did you know that Danielle? Or were you too preoccupied with what his hands were doing?

“Alright, well just holler for me if you need anything!”

I ignore her but she doesn’t seem to notice, waltzing off. Harry’s counting menus when she approaches him at the front. I think I hear her call him an angel, but I know I see him smile. I tell Jessie I want to leave. If I’m going to throw up it’s going to be in my bathroom with my best friend holding my hair back.

***

I've had the Arctic Monkeys stuck in my head all morning. Every clink of the spoon against my bowl of cheerios, every step I took rushing to school because I decided to spend my time in the shower crying, every yawn from everyone stumbling into class.

And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky,

Yours, until the rivers all run dry.

It’s five past eight. Dr. Pierce stands towards the corner, pointing at paperwork another professor is showing him. Each time a student cracks the door open they smile and hurry to their desk like they’ve won something. Freshmen. He told us twice that he doesn’t care if we’re late, it’s our grade not his, which I appreciate. My pen taps across my notebook.

And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines,

Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme

In other words, until the end of time

He is late, however. I try to refuse my need to look up at the door each time it opens. I want to dismiss the anxiety of waiting for him.

I'm gonna stay right here by your side,

Do my best to keep you satisfied

Nothin' in the world could drive me away

'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry apologizes, bustling through the door. He did his best to fix the upturned collar of his rose pink button-down, subtly, albeit he fails miserably when a smudge of maroon is revealed. “I uh,” he clears his throat, “had some things to take care of. Got carried away.” He directs his excuse towards our professor, scrambling to pull out today’s materials from his bag.

Dr. Pierce bids the professor goodbye and welcomes Harry, offering him time to gather himself which he does rather quickly. His lips are pressed together until he’s the center of attention, scanning the room as he always does, finalizing on me and I swear his eyes glisten.

“So, uh, today we’ll be—”

“So sorry I’m late.” Danielle hurries through the door and takes her seat at the front.

“Right, um, welcome.” Harry’s gaze is trained on the paper in his hands. His brows furrow and he clears his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, we’re doing something a tad different today. Dr. Pierce and I have been talking, and we decided to break up our usual routine And with your reports due soon, offer you all a little added support. So we’ll be heading to the library where you all can work, ask questions, get mine or Dr. Pierce’s advice—whatever you need to finish the final touches before you hand anything in.”

Most everyone appears pleased with this news, proceeding to sling their bags over their shoulders and get out of their chairs.

“Hold on, hold on,” Dr. Pierce interjects the flow. “You must work on your report and your report only. This isn’t a free-for-all. And I don’t want to hear that you’ve finished it, because I can guarantee that there’s room for improvement from each of you.”

Danielle is the first to make it to the front. She passes Harry on her way to the door and straightens his collar. His face matches the rose colored stain she thumbs over and I think about how if I veer off and go home, no one will notice.

And I'll be yours until two and two is three,

Yours, until the mountains crumble to the sea

In other words, until eternity

Baby, I'm yours

***

Our library is something out of a medieval storybook. Rich, haunted woods and six tier windows where dust sparkles through the light pushing in. You can lose aged pennies against the floor and get lost behind dusty shelves if you want to. There are microfilms, typewriters, and a spirit machine downstairs and two velvet couches on the second floor.

I spent the majority of my first semester here, back when Jessie brought a different boy home every Friday night. I’ve missed the smell, the quiet, the disturbed alteration of reality inside its doors. But when I look around at my class tossing their bags on tables and hollering for Dr. Pierce or Harry’s attention, I’m not sure if I’ll make plans to come back.

Ms. Bortnick, the head librarian, is a stout woman who barely sees over the front desk, but somehow always knows when I’ve come in. When it’s raining, she knows the shake of my umbrella from everyone else’s. And when it’s spring, she knows my sneezes from everyone else’s. She is like a grandmother, only she’d never had kids, so not quite so in that you can’t get away with stuff. She has a bad eye and one good kidney, and sometimes she mixes these two things up, but I gave up on correcting her long ago. That’s how long I’ve been here.

She is Ukrainian and her accent is thick and aged, much like her mind. “Hello nyuszi,” she says before I’m fully inside. It’s bunny in Hungarian. A nickname from my mom, who tells everyone because she thinks it’s cute. Everyone, including the tiny librarian during the campus tour we took forever and a day ago.

“Hi Ms. Bortnick,” I say, lagging, like I’m embarrassed, because I am.

She just waves with a big grandmother-like smile that makes you miss home.

I take a seat at a small table, behind a section of Virginia Woolf. Most of the voices die down, the clicks of keyboards taking their place, and I pull out the research I’ve started for my report. The Tropic of Cancer, slightly tattered and worn, lay open beside my notebook, and my laptop sits adjacent.

“You coming along well?”

Shit. I jump, my ears ringing. “I’m fine.”

Harry nods and paces behind me to look over my shoulder. The air below his body weighs down against my back, so suffocating and harnessing that I’m sure I feel the waves and vibrations his heart emits. I try to swallow but my tongue gets in the way. I should’ve stayed home.

“I actually did an analysis on Henry Miller a couple years ago. If you wanna pick my brain, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Oh uh, thanks.”

His voice is grumbly, like rocks turning over beneath tires. Yet smooth, like washing sand off your body. I’m perplexed for a moment, at how these two things meet together so well, but that’s always the case with people. Like how Ms. Bortnick can’t remember anyone’s actual name, but sews that wound up with a pet name she picks out just for you.

“Yeah, I think I might even have an essay on my laptop. You can look over it if you’d like,” he says.

“Thank you, but I think I’m fine with what I have.”

“Well if you need anything, just let me know.”

I nod. My eyes blink once he steps away, and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and what I am doing. I’m a bit separated from most of the class, at one of the outlying tables apart from the student section where Harry ambles around everyone. Whenever he bends over to look at someone’s work, the muscles beneath his shirt ripple and contract. I can see his shoulder blades from here, and I’m failing to recall a time when the definition of someone’s spine has ever called for my attention.

I shake my head, naïvely expecting that to clear my mind. Google is pulled up on my laptop, but instead of searching for The Tropic of Cancer, I press the keys in Harry’s name.

The first couple links that pop up are social media accounts. I avoid these and move on to the next option, a link going back to our school. It takes me to his name under the directory, nothing more than a profile picture and his credentials.

Harry Styles

Received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature at New York University in 2016. He completed a one year internship at the Ann Rittenberg Literary Agency Inc. in New York in 2017, and in 2018, spent a year abroad in France and Italy studying classic literature surrounding the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. He is currently working on his graduate degree, assisted professional teaching placement, and his thesis on the cultivation of the Renaissance era in regards to English literature.

I read over everything three times. That’s how long it takes me to grasp it all. He’s accomplished more in three years of his life than I have in my entire existence. It’s weird, being in my twenties and already feeding off the desire of wanting to be young again. It’s not fair how some people are prone to achievements and winning, while the rest of us are left to scramble around, years later to piece together a life that offers a sliver of satisfaction.

I close the window and ineptly click on one of his social media accounts, and for some reason my stomach twists. There’s a picture of him on twitter, from this weekend. He’s at Truman’s with his arm around Danielle, a smile on his face, and a caption thanking her for getting him his job. They’re both pretty; perfect for each other really. The only thing I can think of being thankful for in this moment is that I was not included in their picture. No one needs to see that comparison; I provide myself with enough pity to feed an army.

And maybe it’s stupid, but I navigate to Danielle’s account. There’s a weird fraction in the self-loathing lifestyle, like my brain needs a reminder of where I stand in this world. It keeps me in check, I believe. I cannot imagine thinking I look good, only to be reminded that I don’t in fact, look anything close to good. That’s a big fall to take, and I prefer to spend my time at the bottom. I’ve earned my place here.

I zoom in to every picture. Have you ever compared your wrist to someone? Or the space where your neck meets your shoulders? She has a big, red birthmark on her hip, but she makes it look necessary. And I’m sure Harry probably likes it. And I’m sure she’s told him how she’s no longer ashamed of it, and she’s not afraid to wear bikinis because she doesn’t care what people think. And she probably thinks that’s what makes her different and that’s the story she tells, how she overcame insecurity and loves her body now. And she would probably tell me that I just need to learn how to accept my flaws and learn to love them and then I’ll finally be happy like her. But that’s stupid, even stupider then me scrolling through her account to find some awkward picture, maybe one where her nose and lips are less perfect and I can start saving up for surgery too. Because if I looked like her, I’d have no problem being happy. I’d post pictures on the beach, and find a boyfriend, and not feel like a pathetic loser who’s done nothing with her life.

“Are you writing your report on Danielle?”

I lurch with stiff bones, and now I can’t remember if I’ve had this headache all day or if Dr. Pierce’s voice triggered it. Shamefully, I close the browser. “No, I’m sorry.” I hope that’s enough, because it’s all I can afford to give right now. Maybe if he knew I was seconds away from crying he’ll leave me alone.

“Get back to work please.”

Just make it ‘til you get home. You can cry there. Not here. Not here. Not here.

***

I tediously lower my body so that the water pulses right below my chin. My knees are covered, but only if I remain motionless, or the water will break against my skin and then my knee caps will appear suddenly. I inch my feet further across the acrylic until they are hidden once again.

There is a window extending from the floor beside the tub all the way up, over my head so I have a view of the street below as well as the sky, and it’s always quite a contrast. If the street is busy, then the sky is not. But then if the sky has a heavy to-do list, then it’s the road below me that becomes shallow, except when rain is falling in a race to its demise against the concrete.

I suck in a breath that’s full of my shampoo and bodywash and the rose oil I dropped in twenty minutes ago. I can taste it in my lungs, so before it becomes too much, I push against my heels, my knees forming mountains as they break the surface and my head becomes consumed a moment later. The pressure is light, just enough; I’m more aware that I’m living than I did when oxygen was flowing through my lungs. I count to ten and then release the burn as I crash upwards. It’s a bit dramatic and cinema worthy, but there’s no one watching; even the city-goers are too far below me to care that I live here.

“Is my phone in there?”

I drag my eyes open and sure enough, Jessie’s phone sits on the counter. “Come in!”

“Oh thank God, thought I left it at that party.” She picks her clothes from last night off the floor and throws them in the hamper. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“And why’s that?”

I shrug, but she doesn’t see me, now straightening up the mess she made of her toiletries, her back to me while she shoves everything into her drawer.

“Just one of those nights I guess.”

She peaks over her shoulder and hums. “You have a lot of those.” She turns fully, looking at me like she is a mother. I rack my brain for an excuse but I can’t find one. If I did, I would’ve tried it out on myself years ago. “Y’know I’m here to talk. I’m your best friend...that’s part of my job.”

I smile at the water, but turn away when I see my reflection. “I’m fine. Just getting used to the semester.”

She lets the defeat show on her face, and I’m glad I know how to mask mine. “Alright then. Well just text me if you need me. I’m always here for you.” Her voice is soft and patient and I feel guilty for lying to her. “I’m late for cello practice.”

“I’ll be fine. Gonna enjoy my day off.”

“And actually enjoy it! No studying, no flash cards!” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I mean it. Go to the park, eat a pint of ice cream, masturbate, please, anything outside of those notebooks of yours!”

“I’ll add those to the list,” I laugh. “I’m probably just gonna stay home and relax. Watch Uptown Girls or something. Eat cookie dough.”

“And—”

“And masturbate I know.”

She kisses my head and grabs her phone, heading out the door, her voice fading as she leaves. “You can tell me all about it later.”

The tile is cold beneath my feet, and slick with warning as I pull the plug on the drain and take a moment to scan the world outside. The sun is in attendance today, some of its beams make their way into the bathroom and have crawled across the floor all morning. I decide to stand there, on the beams to warm my toes slightly. It’s probably more in my head, the warmth, but I’ll take it either way. The tiles are black and white, a classic checkerboard, and I gave up on choosing a color to step on not long after we moved in.

The mirror is foggy and I work fast to wash my face and brush my teeth, keeping my towel tight around myself until the last possible second, trading it’s warmth for a sweater and jeans. I slip into my shoes. I haven’t read much for leisure, and pick up my copy of Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl from my bookshelf before I leave. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it, but each time never fails to reward me with something I didn’t catch the last time.

***

There’s a park within walking distance from my apartment. I like to go there in the rain sometimes, under my green umbrella, and read literary magazines with a thermos of coffee Jessie made me. I look like the adult that I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone ever notices, which isn’t much different then the expectations I lay out for myself the night before.

Today, however, I am not walking to the park. I am taking a train to the park. The park—Central Park. And it’s not raining and I forgot to bring coffee, but I need today. I need to do something for myself. Something outside my comfort zone. That’s how you become a better person, right?

We don’t have subways back home. There isn’t much of anything back home other than high school football games, car washes, and stray cats that everyone feeds. The first time I rode the train I cried. Jessie told me that it was okay, and that’s why I did it the next time, and the time after that. I’m not going to cry today, though. I am not going to get overwhelmed and worry about when to get on and when to get off and who’s looking at me and how I wouldn’t be able to help anyone if they get mugged or how if I trip and fall on the platform, I’ll start praying for death.

Light flashes at a rhythm I’m unfamiliar with, but I manage to keep my focus on my book. It shakes in my hands but I keep reading. I’m not really reading, in its true form, that is. I’ve marked this book up so much I could use it as confetti, and those are the parts I’m reading. The parts that meant something to me at each stage of my life: I used a green pen at age eleven, red sharpie at fifteen, blue highlighter at twenty, and ripped sticky notes at twenty-three. It’s less of a commitment this way, but when the screeching travels up my spine and I can smell something other than people when I’m back on solid ground, I wipe my cheeks and they’re dry.

When I lie in bed at night and think over the many sins and shortcomings attributed to me, I get so confused by it all that I either laugh or cry: it depends on what sort of mood I am in. Then I fall asleep with a stupid feeling of wishing to be different from what I am or from what I want to be; perhaps to behave differently from the way I want to behave.

I have a plan in place. One that I didn’t feel comfortable telling Jessie even though I know she’d be supportive. That’s the conundrum; having a best friend who loves you so much they want to fix you. She would have tagged along today, asked me how I’m feeling a million times and try to rationalize everything. She’d tell me all the ways I can be happy. But she can’t do that. No one should be allowed to, really. Because if you say can then there also has to be the option of can’t. And if people had the choice to pick what state their mind was in every day, I wouldn’t be strolling around parts of New York I’ve never been in, trying to scrounge up some off-handed version of self-love.

I bought a bath bomb and candles, stopped at a stationary store to pick up pens and notebooks that I don’t need, another Beatles t-shirt and chocolate. A farmer’s market was selling fresh fruit and I bought a tomato and ate the whole thing right there. I don’t care that it’s cheap retail therapy. It’s blocking out school and certain people and my age and my lack of success as an adult. And maybe it’s not working, but it’s New York—there’s distractions everywhere. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today.

***

Liberty Island. That’s where the Statue of Liberty is. I am stupid for thinking Staten Island, but in my defense, that’s where everyone outside of New York thinks it is. When I moved here I wanted to see it. It was going to be this defining moment that solidified me in my new home, this incredible rebirth that validated me leaving my parents. I was going to buy cheap postcards and send them to my mom and I’d say See, I’m here and I’m happy. This was the right choice. I fit in. Please stop crying. At least I didn’t think it was Ellis Island.

I’m on the right ferry heading towards the right island. Soon, I really see her and I start crying. She’s green but she’s not green, and she’s copper but also not really. She’s this woman and that’s fucking cool, except I know had she not been a gift, she would have been a man. There is someone with a microphone talking about her but the wind burns my ears so I pull up google on my phone.

The Babylonian Ishtar, Imperial Rome’s goddess Libertas was Papal Rome’s “Mother of the Harlots and abominations of the earth” and the template for America’s Statue of Liberty.

I paid to visit the pedestal but not the crown. I don’t trust my body to climb twenty stories. I don’t wanna know what I’ll think about that high up. I saved up and bought a reservation and now that I’m here, I wish I’d brought Jessie along. I wish I had more people to choose from to bring along because this isn’t Jessie’s thing. But that was the idea, after all, to keep this day to myself, venture out, mark something off a bucket list I haven’t started yet. Distractions, distractions, distractions.

My bags are heavy and it’s hot, but I manage to read a lot of plaques and stroll around intentionally. I do, at certain moments, feel a sort of liberation with myself. Kind of like the first time you go out driving on your own. It’s scary, and a part of you still wishes your mom was behind the wheel, but that kind of being alone is freedom. It’s not the car or the license, it’s the option to be fully by yourself at any time.

And I can’t help but wonder, compare, really, myself to the woman who I’m wandering around below her dress. She does lonely well. She does it right. All by herself she stands, a beacon, a purified symbol. And this is where I’m at, apparently, scrutinizing my abilities at making loneliness look mature and comparing myself to a statue.

Truly, this is my day.

I take pictures of everything around me and it must be the sea air, because I do contemplate asking this dad of four kids to take one of me. I push that out of my head rather quickly. I switch the filter to black and white and angle my phone to get a photo overlooking the harbor once I’m back outside, but stop right in my tracks, when a familiar face is in the frame.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! What a small world!”

Dozens of names swim around my head, and my courtesy smile eases into a real one once one of them starts flashing, matching this person’s face before I make a fool of myself.

“Devon, hey, s’been a while.”

“I know, God,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “high school feels like a century ago.”

She looks the same, only like a new version. Not exactly older or more mature, but like she stopped experimenting with makeup and her acne finally calmed down. All of her features sit on top of her face, warm, eyes just as piercing as when we were seventeen. She was always cute and that quality has followed her over the years.

“So what are you doing?” she asks and I squint because of the wind, imagining her words rearranging in the breeze into something easier to answer.

“Um, just sightseeing.”

“Well I figured that,” she laughs. “I mean, your life, what’s up?”

I know my face looks resistant. Everyone pulls the same look when your stuck explaining something that is going to automatically lower the standard in which the other person sees you: nearly closed eyes, barred upper teeth while your top lip pulls up in thought, sucking in a short breath before speaking, stiff neck and chest.

“I uh, well I’m still in school,” I nod along and loosen my volume to sound like I’m happy. “And uh, working.”

“Oh are you working on your masters?”

“No just um, maybe one day, but not right now.”

“Okay.” It is that ‘okay’. The you-are-turning-pathetic-right-before-my-eyes Okay. She smiles anyway. “I’m thinking of going back next year to get my doctorate.” She shrugs. “So do you live here, or…”

“Yeah, yeah, I got a scholarship—”

“Oh well that’s good!”

“Uh huh.”

“We’re just visiting. Trying to hit all the hot spots though.”

“We?”

“Me and my fiancé. She’s—” she cranes her neck and points to somewhere behind her, “on a work call at the moment. Y’know it’s beautiful here, I wonder if we could have the wedding right here,” she laughs.

“Yeah that would be something.”

“So, are you seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment.”

She gasps like she’s discovered something and points at the air between us. “Wait, weren’t you dating that guy, the uh, really smart one who graduated early? God, what was his name, Mark or Matt?”

“No that uh, that wasn’t me.”

“I could’ve sworn it was,” she laughs.

“Nope.”

“Aw, bless your heart, well you’ll find someone. The city’s big!”

I am done with this conversation. I force a smile and excuse myself, heading off in the opposite direction so if any tears fall she won’t see, and keep to myself until it’s really cloudy and mist pricks my skin. Not soon enough, we’re boarding the ferry again.

I wave to Lady Liberty and imagine her waving back when we leave. If I squint, it kind of does. Whether she’s saying goodbye or good luck, I don’t know.

***

Dinner is one of those meals that either means everything or nothing. Tonight it means nothing. I walk past Truman’s, slowly. Harry isn’t in there and I stop right outside the plated glass window, now decorated with orange and yellow leaves, and try to figure out if I would’ve gone in had he been there. A band is setting up along the back wall and that’s where I see Danielle. She’s got a tray of drinks that each member takes. When she spins around she’s smiling and she smiles as she walks towards the hostess’ podium and she smiles when she squeezes the hand of some guy that comes up and she smiles when she sees me.

I wave because what else am I supposed to do. If I flip her off, she might strangle me with her extensions, or tell Harry that I was a bitch, or spit in my food the next time I come in. I wait till she’s distracted, and then I leave. I stop at a food truck and stuff my face with a taco. Nothing.

Back down the street, back on the train, back to my apartment.

“I didn’t cry this time.”

Jessie glances up from sliding the bow across the strings, the last note stinging the air. She looks so small next to the instrument.

“On the train. I didn’t cry.”

****************************************************************************************

Next Chapter

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

the one who blooms in the bitter snow (final part)

Oh my god have I dragged this out. Sincerest apologies on how long this happy ending took to get here

--------

Caduceus often talked to things that couldn’t talk back. He talked to his plants, encouraging them through the winter and complimenting them on their leaves and shoots. He talked to the army of mismatched mugs he used in his cafe, admonishing any who spilled things or who strayed from their intended arrangement on the shelves that made sense only to Caduceus. He talked to the clouds in the sky, thanking them for much needed rain. He talked to the insects that visited his cemetery, any worms found on the path that he would gently pick up and promise to see safely back to the soil, any bees that roamed the flowering plants, even any lizards he found sunning themselves in the rockery.

He didn’t say anything wrong with talking to things that could give no reply. It wasn’t as if such a minor detail meant such things couldn’t listen. Often, in fact, he thought it made them much better listeners than anything with a voice box.

However, one thing he hadn’t ever really found himself doing was talking to the dead.

It would have made sense, as much as talking to rotting corpses beneath the ground could ever make sense. Caduceus was surrounded by them every day, after all, a patchwork family of people all united only by the fact that the Blooming Grove had become their final resting place. He tended them, wreathed them in wilderness, watched over their loved ones in his cafe whenever they would come to visit them. Keeping them safe was the calling he’d chosen. But he never spoke to them.

Perhaps he’d just come to the quiet conclusion that the dead were past caring about his words. They’d left the cares of the living world behind them and nattering on to them about it would spoil the reverence they deserved, interrupt the sleep they’d earned.

They were the Wildmother’s now, after all.

But now Caduceus found himself with a pressing need to cross that line he’d set for himself. He needed to talk to one of his residents, whether they replied or not.

And he got the feeling they would want to hear from him just as desperately.

Caduceus had to smile weakly at the surname, however nervous he was.

Tealeaf. How appropriate.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and sat cross legged at the foot of the grave. It had been there long enough for the grass to grow back over the turned earth, as lush and tall as everything that surrounded it but it was still clearly one of the newer ones. The stone wasn’t yet weathered by time, perfectly readable, still cool grey marble that shone faintly in the morning light.

Mollymauk Tealeaf. Beloved husband and father.

No date. That was passing strange. Though maybe seeing the scant handful of decades Molly had been allowed when he should have had so much more time to be a father, time to be a husband, would just be too painful.

The insignia of the Moonweaver was artfully carved below the short epitaph, a sign that was rarely seen in the graveyard. Of course, godly symbols were on nearly every headstone but it was always the more common, more acceptable gods. The All Hammer, the Raven Queen, the Dawnfather; dependable, parental gods that people wanted to guard them through their lives and walk with their loved ones into the next realm.

The Moonweaver was light, love, laughter, frivolity. Did she feel lost in a place like this?

Caduceus cleared his throat, unsure how to start. He had the depressing realisation that even in a conversation with a dead man, he was still on the back foot in terms of social skills.

“I...I’m not sure how you feel about me, Mr Tealeaf,” he eventually sighed, “I don’t think I could blame you for hating me. Resenting me, at least. You know the kind of thoughts I’ve had about Caleb.”

Habit made him pause, though he knew he’d get no reply. So he just sat silently with his guilt for a heartbeat.

“But...I think you’d agree he wasn’t coping well before I met him. I know that must break your heart. Same as it breaks mine.”

The wind picked up a little, a mournful sound through the trees up above.

“I can’t lie and say I don’t have feelings for him. But the last thing I want to do is hurt him more or… or push him into something he isn’t ready for. And… if I thought my loving him would do that, I would have stopped immediately. But something tells me he...he could...I mean we could…” Caduceus spluttered to a stop, giving up with a heavy sigh, “But after last night… I don’t know anymore. Maybe I’m just sitting here talking to the wind, telling myself what I want to hear.”

He felt tears sting his eyes and blinked quickly to try and clear them, “I don’t want to feel wrong for loving someone. He’s yours, Molly, he will always be yours but couldn’t I just… look after him? Until he goes to join you? Just a turn…”

His voice choked off and he had to swallow hard to get the next words out.

“Am I wrong to want that?”

The wind died down and Caduceus was left with next to silence. He felt a tiredness crash over him, so deep and heavy, that for a long moment he felt certain he was just going to curl up on the ground and cry for a little while.

What distracted him was a bird call. It was shrill and sudden, like nothing normally heard in the gardens and Caduceus knew the names of every bird who visited the Blooming Grove throughout the year. He tried to place it but it only rang out the once. There was something almost exotic about it, something unusual. Caduceus thought for a moment, considering all the birds he knew. It was almost like a cockatiel or a parrot or maybe even a peacock.

He frowned. What on earth would a peacock be doing in his graveyard?

He stood up, brushing himself off. He knew he should do a round, just in case someone’s exotic pet bird had escaped and needed to be brought back home.

Anyway, it was clear Mollymauk Tealeaf had nothing to say to him.

Caduceus rarely wore any kind of coat, his fur kept him plenty warm, but the weather had grown so cold recently that he’d dug out the fleece lined, faded, patched coat he kept in reserve for the days when the city froze solid and there was ice on the pavements.

Despite the closed sign on the door, it was warm inside the cafe. Caduceus felt ever so slightly better once the cold leached out of the tips of his ears and the very end of his nose, replaced by the gentle music, the warmth, the scents of caffeine and sugar that he knew so well. It wouldn’t fix things, he knew that, but it gave him the sense that he’d entered somewhere safe.

Sighing softly, Caduceus shrugged out of his coat and made to hang it on the hooks by the door, all of them charmingly mismatched as everything was in here. The hooks that should be empty, seeing as he’d had no customers since the day before yesterday.

But it wasn’t.

Caleb’s scarf was hanging on the furthermost hook, looking sad and bedraggled after being soaked through in yesterday afternoon’s rain and drying out in the air.

It must have been hung up there as Caleb had stripped down, set aside from the rest of his clothes, forgotten in his hurried flight from the cafe.

Caduceus let out a long, tired exhale, trying to accept this new information without bitterness or resentment, without exasperation or anger at something he couldn’t change.

But gods above, it was hard.

He was nowhere near ready to face him again. Since everything that had happened, less than twenty four hours ago, he wasn’t even sure Caleb would want to see him ever again, he certainly didn’t look the type to face up to an awkward situation, more the bolting and hiding like a frightened animal type. And he had no clue what he himself wanted.

All he knew right now was that the thought of Caleb without his scarf, without the thing he clung onto tightly when he couldn’t cling onto the person he’d lost, broke his heart. And he had to fix it.

Above all else, Caduceus was a fixer. Even when it meant risking his own feelings.

“Are we gonna go to the cafe today?”

Caleb looked up from stroking his neck sadly, feeling the horrible, gnawing absence of his scarf, and tried to focus on his son, sat on the carpet with a picture book.

“No, liebling, I don’t think so. It’s...it’s so cold out,” he said awkwardly, tripping over the lie.

Trinket frowned, plucking at the pages of his book, “But we go on Fridays. We go after school.”

His little boy was fiercely attached to patterns and routine, just like Caleb himself.

“I know, Trinket,” Caleb struggled to muster the energy to mollify him, curled up tightly on the sofa, feeling lost and disconnected, “Papa’s just not really feeling it today, okay?”

Trinket paused at that, looking at him with familiar, wide red eyes that would never fail to shake his papa to the core when he saw them. Leaving his picture book behind, he pattered up and hugged Caleb’s leg tightly, the one that was dangling listlessly over the edge of the sofa.

“It’s okay, papa,” he said, voice muffled by Caleb’s pant leg, “Its okay to have a sad day.”

Caleb often thought his son was magic. Not in the way his papa was- not yet- but magic in his own way where he could make the world seem like it wasn’t ending.

Trying not to cry because then the floodgates would open and he’d truly be in trouble, Caleb ruffled those purple curls and smiled shakily, “I love you, Trinket. You know that, right?”

He smiled brightly, “Sure! I know! I’m gonna go play with my legos, papa, okay?”

Caleb nodded fondly, his son had been obsessed with building things and quickly destroying them for a good few weeks now, “Sure. Call me when you’re done and I’ll help you clear them away.”

Happy with that, Trinket scampered off, probably already imagining himself crashing through newly constructed towers like a lavender godzilla. Caleb watched him go, a tender smile on his face until he disappeared from view, when it slid off his face.

He felt like all he did these days was wait for 3pm. Like as soon as he waved goodbye to Trinket at the school gate everything froze and went into stasis, everything straining towards that hour where he could go back and have Trinket by his side again. He knew he adored school, he knew he was safe there.

He knew he was crazy to feel this way.

But it didn’t stop the feelings.

Caleb told himself every morning at a quarter to nine that he shouldn’t be doing this. It was far too much to put onto his young son, it was unhealthy, it was unfair. He deserved a life of his own, Trinket needed him to have it too.

But every time Caleb thought it, he thought it in Caduceus’ voice. And, since he’d messed up so badly yesterday, that was a problem.

He had messed up. He’d messed up more spectacularly than he’d ever messed up before which was really saying something for Caleb. He’d hurt the first person in years who’d made him even begin to think that he could be loved again in that kind of way.

He’d always suspected that Molly was a chance in a million, some high level miracle. Actually finding someone so wonderful, someone who could see some good in him. But then it had actually happened again, when he needed it most.

And both times he’d completely ruined it.

He’d lost Molly. He’d lost Caduceus. He’d lost his scarf which, he knew was silly, but it felt like the first loss all over again. Though maybe it was a fitting sacrifice for what he’d done.

How many precious things could he lose before he was just deemed too careless to live? How long until whatever curse he had infected Trinket?

Caleb could almost feel all the progress he’d made in the last few weeks unravelling like a trailing thread he’d worried far too much falling into nothing. He sat there and rocked gently, trying to take in deep breaths and stay in the room but it was getting increasingly difficult.

Especially when a knock came at the door.

Trinket didn’t hear it, he was behind his bedroom door, singing loudly to himself, a happy little nonsense song he’d clearly just made up to amuse himself. So Caleb forced himself to stand and go to the door, mentally slapping himself, telling himself to get a grip.

All that went out of the window when he opened the door and saw Caduceus.

“You’re...you’re here,” Caleb said dumbly, throat feeling numb like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of ice water.

“I’m here,” Caduceus returned awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot.

There were snowflakes melting in his hair. When had it started to snow?

“I didn’t think…I mean, I didn’t expect you to ever…” the starts of sentences crowded in Caleb’s mouth, none of them accompanied by ends. He didn’t want to sound whiney, he didn’t want to sound like Caduceus was wrong to be mad at him.

“You didn’t think I’d want to see you again?” Caduceus finished it for him, tilting his head to one side.

“Yeah,” Caleb bit his lip, feeling his cheeks burn despite the cold air sweeping into the apartment alongside Cad.

“Of course you did,” the firbolg said quietly, “You’re you.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to that, he just kind of took hold of it like a present he hadn’t been expecting.

“I brought your scarf back,” he produced it from one pocket, carefully folded and clearly having just come through the dryer, back to full fluffiness, “You must have left it yesterday.”

Caleb felt a rush of relief, a compulsion to gather it into his arms and clutch it to his chest, inhale the scent of vanilla and anise that wasn’t there anymore but he could imagine it was.

And then he felt guilty.

Was he going to spend the rest of his life chasing after things he could only half remember rather than seeing what was in front of him?

“Thank you, Caduceus,” he murmured, “I really, really appreciate it.”

That brought a smile from the firbolg, even if it was a little strained at the edges, “Yeah… I guess I also came over because I was hoping we could talk?”

Caleb nodded, thinking anxiously of Trinket but he could explain to him that Caduceus was here for a visit. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been here before, dropping off homemade baked goods or little gifts like the scent bags that had soothed his anxiety so well and helped Trinket with his bad dreams. Trinket had always been happy to see him before, showing him whatever he’d built that day, showing him the art project he’d made at school from the leaves they’d gathered together at the Blooming Grove.

Caduceus was always so soft and gentle with Trinket. He always seemed to know just what to say, to answer his million a minute questions, to soothe him when he stumbled into some uncertainty, to make him giggle so hard he had to sit down. Caduceus was exactly the kind of caregiver Caleb wanted to be. He was exactly who Trinket deserved.

“Can I get you a drink?” Caleb asked as Caduceus sat on the sofa, holding himself a little stiffly like he wasn’t sure where to put his gangly limbs.

“Um…sure?”

Caleb let himself sink into a kind of automation as he got cups, boiled water, found teabags from the collection that had been growing ever since Caduceus had come into his life. But then there were soft billows of scented steam to breathe in and he woke up again, reminding himself to be present. Caduceus deserved better than that. And maybe he did too.

“Here,” he passed one mug to Caduceus, slightly regretting that it was patterned with badly faded cartoon characters but their selection wasn’t great, “I, um, I used the cinnamon tea you gave me yesterday. You were just out in the snow and I don’t want you to get sick.”

The smile was more genuine this time, warmer, like the starting embers of a fire, “Thank you, Caleb. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, sitting down beside him, hands curled around his own cup to stop them shaking. There was a long moment of silence, as they both sat and remembered another evening much like this one. Eventually Caleb opened his mouth but Caduceus got there first, spilling his words out like he couldn’t bear to hold them inside himself any more.

“Caleb, I…if I made you feel pressured yesterday or…or I pushed you into kissing me in any way, I’m so sorry…”

Caleb blinked for a second and then found himself laughing, “And you were so sure I’d be torturing myself…”

Caduceus’ ears flattened and he chuckled uncertainly which Caleb took to be the fur covered individual’s way of blushing, “Well, we can both be as bad as each other.”

“I kissed you, Caduceus,” Caleb shook his head, “It was my choice. And… I know how it ended and I wouldn’t blame you for not trusting me but it really was you I wanted to kiss. I promise.”

“Really?” Caduceus fixed him with dark, wet eyes. The doubt stung a little but of course, he knew he deserved it.

“Really,” he nodded firmly, “You’ve been so good to me, to Trinket. You’ve made one of the hardest times in my life feel… bearable.”

Caduceus only nodded, a crease of concern appearing between his eyes. He simply waited for Caleb to say more.

Caleb looked down into his drink, “I thought time was supposed to heal me, I thought it was supposed to make it easier. But the further away I get from losing him, the more part of me holds on. It’s like I don’t want the pain to go because then… then I really will have nothing left of him.”

“When you’ve felt a certain way for so long, it’s hard to let go of it,” Caduceus said slowly, thoughtfully, “Because then you don’t know what would be left if you took that part of yourself away.”

Caleb nodded, “Exactly. And… and it was the same when I started having feelings for you. That would mean letting go of at least some of my grief and stepping into uncertainty. And the idea terrifies me.”

Caduceus gave a soft sigh, “I would never ask you to abandon your grief, Caleb. It’s important that you always mourn Mollymauk. All I want is for you to have something happy alongside that.”

Caleb felt his lower lip wobbling dangerously, “I want that. I really want that, Cad.”

The words made an old, angry guilt twist inside him but it was a relief as well. And as the seconds went by, as he realised the truth of what he’d just said, the guilt lost its fury. It lost its anger. It shrank a little, the slightest, smallest amount into something that couldn’t be ignored but could at least be carried.

“We can go as slow as you need to, Caleb,” Caduceus’ voice was tender and he leant forward, looking like he was itching to hold him and press him close.

But he didn’t close the gap between them. And he never would, not until he knew Caleb was completely okay. Years could and would pass between them and Caduceus would never lose that respect for him.

So Caleb took the front of his moss green shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. And he would, time and time again.

Though, a hair’s breadth after their lips met there came the sound of a muffled but still loud crash from Trinket’s bedroom, followed by a loud excited whooping from the young boy.

“Oh dear…” Caleb murmured anxiously, eyes on the door. Though whether he meant the crash and the inevitable mess it had led to or the realisation that he would have to explain to Trinket why Caduceus was here and why he was kissing him, he wasn’t sure.

Caduceus seemed to read his mind, those dark eyes always seeing more than what was in front of them, “Caleb, if you’re happy, I’m sure he won’t mind. He’s a smart kid. After all, he’s yours.”

Caleb had to laugh softly at that, blushing a little. It was true, he could compliment his son to the stars and often miss the fact that most of the things he was praising were inherited from him. But the depths of kindness he almost couldn’t fathom, the understanding and gentleness that was going to make him delighted that his papa had found someone new to love, that was all Mollymauk.

And as long as Caleb had Trinket, Molly would never be gone.

#clayleb #modern au #widower caleb #oc baby #fluff #hurt/comfort #please leave a comment!

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