#sometimes cold spurts come early but it's been a few years since an early cold season

[espytalks]

you don't realize how important trees are until they're gone.

#espy talks #a month or so ago the landlord had a tree in ou backyard cut down #and ever since then it's gotten very hot in the house in the afternoon #kinda hit all of us today that it's cause the tree was partially shading out house in the afternoon #and since out house faces east we get direct sun on out house all day now #and summer last a LONG time here #it doesn't usually start cooling off until after thanksgiving #we've had hot cristmases before #sometimes cold spurts come early but it's been a few years since an early cold season #i'm sitting here hoping it starts cooling off around halloween but i'm not counting on it #part of me blames global warming cause it probably aint helping #but also florida has on some level always been like this as far as i know #either way. it's hot rn lol

[heliads]

Deserve You

Based on this request: “Bucky imagine where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good at all for him even though he loves you more than anything. one time he comes from a mission to you waiting in his room, doubting again but he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then? :)”

masterlist

You open your eyes gradually, the last remnants of sleep being dragged away by the brightness of dawn. You allow yourself one final moment of lingering silence before sitting up with a yawn. A brief spurt of panic flashes across you when you realize that you’re alone in your bed, but then you hear a quiet noise from the kitchen and your pulse begins to settle once more. Bucky must have already gotten up, there’s no need to worry.

You keep having moments like this, where you turn to find yourself alone and keep thinking that this is it, that he’s finally left you. Then you mentally chide yourself for thinking that way- every single one of the Avengers that you’ve met on your trips to the old Stark Tower keeps talking about how Bucky’s head over heels for you, so why would he ghost you out of nowhere? You always smile for a second, thinking about your boyfriend, and then the doubt creeps back in and you glance around to find him. Every single time, without fail, those lurking remnants of doubt always worm back into your mind, and sometimes it feels like there’s nothing you can do to get rid of them.

The only available option is to find Bucky and put your mind at ease by knowing that he’s still here. So, you slide your legs out of the still-warm blankets, grimacing at the shock of the cold air, and pad over to the kitchen. Sure enough, Bucky is holding a mug of some hot beverage, maybe coffee or tea, and staring out the window at the city below him. He does this, sometimes, just watches the city like he could do it for hours. You have a feeling that he’s studying the city for any last lingering resemblance to the New York he’d grown up in, when the most pressing news was World War II and he didn’t see himself in Siberia for anything more than a ski trip, if he could put together enough pennies to afford it. However, life has a way of throwing you for a loop, and all of Bucky’s plans for the future evaporated as soon as he plummeted from the train all those years ago.

Bucky turns when he hears you approach. “Good morning.” You smile, joining him by the window. “Good morning yourself. Are you up early for an assignment or because of a nightmare?” Bucky frowns. “The latter. Did I wake you? I thought I was quiet.” You shake your head. “No, I was asleep the whole time. I just knew because you have that same look on your face after you have your nightmares.” Bucky laughs quietly. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the spy who knew everything. Sure you don’t want a job at S.H.I.E.L.D.?” 

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not sure that paying attention to my boyfriend really qualifies me for FBI: Avengers Edition, but I’ll keep it in mind.” You head over to the fridge, starting to pull out some items for breakfast. Bucky leaves within a few minutes, mumbling something about an early morning meeting, and you head to work yourself soon after. Your own workplace is no Avengers Tower, just a typical office building, and you slide into your seat just in time to start the day.

The morning itself is fairly uneventful, and you’re just starting to think that it’s going to be another boring day as usual when you head off to your lunch break. As you’re waiting in line to use the microwave, you hear a pair of women talking at a table near you. You had no intention of eavesdropping, but although their voices are fairly loud your attention was hooked from the beginning when you realize they’re talking about Bucky. More specifically, they’re talking about Bucky’s girlfriend, or lack thereof.

Ever since you started dating Bucky, he had been careful to keep you out of the public eye. When you work as an Avenger for long enough, you learn to keep everyone important to you out of focus, out of danger. If a HYDRA agent got word of the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend, you’d be on a train to Siberia with handcuffs and a blindfold within the hour, a ransom request already placed on your head. That’s if they were patient- if not, they would just shoot you to send a message. By making sure nobody heard about you, Bucky could keep you safe.

The downside of this is times like now, when you have to listen to two of your coworkers discussing how strange it is that a man as attractive as James Barnes would still be single. Obviously, you can’t say anything, and you’re not sure that they’d believe you if you tried, but it’s still slightly uncomfortable to hear the conversation swirling around you even as you have to stay silent. 

One of the women clicks her tongue in confusion. “I mean, isn’t it weird, though? He’s a friend of Tony Stark, there’s no doubt he’d have a shortage of girls who’d be willing to go out to a bar or something on a weekend.” The other woman laughs. “I bet that surplus of girls includes you, right?” The first woman grins cheekily. “I wouldn’t say no if he asked, but even I don’t have a chance. I mean, he’s an Avenger, and one of the hottest ones there. No one here could hold a candle to him. He saves lives on a daily basis and what do we do, sit around all the time? The only woman I could see him with is an agent or maybe Black Widow. At least then he’d be dating someone who’s his equal.”

The words feel like shards of ice threading through your heart, and you turn to go back to your desk, hunger suddenly forgotten. As you stare at your work, though, you find you can’t concentrate. You keep hearing what the women had said, that no one in this miserable office could be worthy of dating the famous Avenger Bucky Barnes. They’re right, aren’t they? Bucky was saving lives all the time while you complained and acted so needy. You sigh to yourself, feeling your spirits dampen by the second. Why did Bucky see in you anyway?

Bucky’s shoulders feel like they’ve been carved from stone. He’s been tense for so long that he’s certain he’ll never be able to move again. Today is the day that he has to begin reviewing case files from his time as a Winter Soldier. He’ll have to come face to face with photo and video evidence of all the wrongs he’s done, of all the killings and blood shed by his own damaged hands. He’s been trying to avoid it for a while, but S.H.I.E.L.D. needs his input on all of the past Winter Soldier missions in order to proceed with the ongoing investigations into the last HYDRA strongholds. Bucky has no choice but to confront his past, he knows that, but it doesn’t make his job any easier.

It’s not like he’s alone, though. Natasha is here, because her experience with the Red Room could prove useful with putting together some pieces of the HYDRA-Siberia-Soviet puzzle that’s been plaguing them for some time now. Steve is also here, one door down, looking at his old medical files that detail exactly how some brilliant scientists turned a scrawny kid with a death wish when it came to standing up to bullies into the strongest man of the century. 

Bucky clenches his jaw, and turns back to the manila file folder in his hand. He flips it open, taking out the diagrams and security camera stills and laying them out onto the table before him as he reads. He’s flipping through the rest of the contents of the folder when he pauses, staring at the images awaiting his acknowledgement. Natasha sees him freeze slightly and glances over to see what’s troubling him. Her brow dips in understanding.

Lying before him are photo after photo of death and destruction. Bucky remembers this day now, after it was buried so long under HYDRA mind wipes and his own crippling want to forget. The bodies of the dead line a small street, buildings reduced to rubble. He can see the dead, so many of them. There aren’t just the few military commanders he was sent to exterminate- no, HYDRA wants no witnesses and so Bucky had killed everyone in sight. There are children in pools of blood, their mothers reaching over them as if to shield them from the inevitable bullets coming their way. He tells himself that their deaths were quick, efficient, maybe even painless, but it is not enough. There is no way to justify this amount of bloodshed.

Natasha puts her hand on his shoulder. The gesture, meant to bring comfort, startles him and it takes all of Bucky’s self-control to not flinch. Bucky swallows hard. “I did all of this. I killed every one of them.” Natasha’s voice is low and quiet. “It wasn’t you. You had no choice in any of this.” Bucky laughs, thought it is heavy with horror and breaks in upon itself. “It’s easier to say that, but it was still my hand pulling the trigger.” He leans back against the wall, trying to steady himself.

“How were you and Steve able to convince anyone to trust me? Why did you even want to save me in the first place?” Natasha stares at the photos, taking in the broken bodies of the dead. “Steve knew the real you, the one who’s standing here right now and would never attempt this sort of carnage. I knew what it was like to lose all control and feel like your hands would always be stained with blood. Second chances are more powerful than you might think.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. “I don’t deserve that chance. I don’t deserve any of this.” He closes his eyes for just a second as if by blocking out the world he can block out the memory of the methodical shudder of the rifle in his hands, the recoil as he fired again and again. “I don’t deserve Y/N. She-” Natasha cuts him off smoothly. “Y/N knows what you’ve been through, and she knows that you are not that same man. I’ve spoken with her before, and she knows the full extent of what you did.”

Bucky’s eyes cut back to the photographs. “Then why does she stay?” Natasha’s gaze feels like a leaden weight, unflinching and unyielding. “She stays because she loves you. She stays because she knows that the real Bucky Barnes is a hero, someone who is willing and able to move on from their past. Y/N is one of the most important parts of your life, not because she’s a good kisser but because she’s one of the only people who can see straight through you and know that you’re a good man.” 

Bucky nods. “I don’t need you to tell me twice.” Natasha’s right, though, and even the barest mention of Y/N brings back a wave of good memories to fight against the bad. She’s like an anchor, someone holding him in place even when all of the darkness he’s had to endure threatens to pull him under. It astonishes him sometimes that he still wakes up beside her every morning. She’s so perfect, so wonderful. What does Y/N see in him anyway that would make him so lucky to have her with him?

You’re in a despondent mood for the rest of the day. You slump home, not even bothering to turn on the lights but discarding your coat and bag in the dark of the room. The faint light still shining through the windows is all you’ll need. You stare unthinkingly at the apartment for a while, then head to your bedroom. As you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, you stop with a sigh, leaning your hands against the dresser underneath.

You stare at yourself, at the dark circles under your eyes. Who are you, anyway? Who are you to think that you would ever be good enough for an Avenger? At this point, it’s only a matter of days before he breaks up with you. No wonder he keeps waking up before you- he’s trying to leave without seeing you that often, as a way to lessen the blow of the eventual goodbye.

The problem about gloomy thoughts is that they tend to wrap around you, pulling you away from everything else. You’re so distracted that you don’t hear the front door open, and you don’t notice Bucky enter the apartment until he knocks softly on the wall of your bedroom as he stands in the open door. You turn around with a flash, plastering on a smile, but your reaction is too late and his brow furrows. “Are you alright?”

You try for a smile, reaching out to kiss him in greeting. “Of course I am. How was your day?” Bucky is not to be deterred. “I saw your face, Y/N. You looked really upset. Is everything okay?” Maybe it’s that velvet tone of his, or the concern laced in his eyes, but your few fragile defenses break down. You turn to him, fighting back tears. “Why are you still with me?” Bucky frowns. “What?” You hold your hands up uselessly. “You’re an Avenger and you’re out there saving lives all the time. Why would you ever be interested in some girl from the city? I’m not half the person you are.”

Bucky stares at you for a second, then wraps his arms around you, drawing you close. “Y/N, love, why would you ever think that?” You look away. “Because it’s true. You should be dating some other superhero of a woman who could be your equal.” Bucky’s frown tinges slightly with anger. “Did you hear about this on some news show? I told that one news outlet that if they said a single thing about me I’d shut them down, and I’ll do it-” You cut him off. “It’s not like that. It’s just- You’re an Avenger, Bucky, and you deserve someone equally as brave as you are.”

Bucky guides you gently over to the bed, and the two of you sit down on the edge. He pulls you into his arms. “I don’t want some superhero. I want you. Y/N, I love you because you’re the only one here who sees me for who I really am, not just some soulless Avenger but a faulty person. Honestly, if anything I’m surprised that you’d still stay with me.” Your tears dry up as you stare at him. “What?” A quiet smile spreads across Bucky’s lips. “Every single day, I come home and you make a difficult day a thousand times better. You know me better than I know myself, and even despite everything I’ve done and the monster I’ve been, you still make me feel like a good man again. You’re one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met, Y/N, and you deserve someone equally as good as you are.”

You shake your head slowly. “That’s not the same. Anyone can be nice.” Bucky cups your cheek in his hand. “Nobody else knows that I always get up in the mornings and pace around because of the nightmares. Nobody else knows that I always stare down the alleyways on the walk home because I keep thinking I’ll see Steve in there getting beat up, or help me pick out jackets based on how easy it will be to remove the left sleeve. You’re the only one for me, doll, and I wouldn’t trade you for a heartbeat.”

He reaches into a pocket. “Here, I’ll prove it.” He takes out something silvery, like stamped metal. With a jolt, you realize they’re his dog tags, the ones he had from fighting in World War II all those years ago. He gestures for you to turn around and you do, feeling the weight of the metal around your throat as he fastens them. When you look back at him, he’s smiling. “See? You can’t get rid of me, love. Not in a million years.” 

You smile, running your fingers over the faded lettering. “Won’t you want them? You know, as a memory of your old life?” Bucky shakes his head, a content expression lingering in his eyes. “I don’t need them to remember. I’ve got you, and you’re the only home I’ll ever need.” When he kisses you again, you can feel the dog tags right over your heart, like a promise that he’ll always be with you, no matter what.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier imagines #winter soldier x reader #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #tfatws #tfatws imagines #tfatws x reader #catws #catws imagines

[nvrrmiind]

Not In The Same Way ; Calum Hood

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: smut & swearing -- like always

Summary: the one where y/n doesn't love Calum the way she used to.

(Read more of my work here)

***

It started like most relationships did, with fiery passion and unrealistic standards of happiness. In the beginning there was an overwhelming feeling of love and trust, like they’d known each other in a different life and had somehow found each other again in this one. They’d joked about being soulmates, but as their relationship progressed it would become evident that that wasn’t the case. Not because they didn’t love each other enough, but because they loved each other too much. In fact, they loved each other so much that it prevented them from being happy.

Calum had met her through a friend of a friend, who couldn’t stop talking about the beautiful girl with the killer smile and vibrant personality. Eventually one thing led to another and they met for drinks on a terrace overlooking the city. They seemed perfect for each other, both adventurous, yet laid back, and both aspiring to make a name for themselves. Perfect, however, as the years progressed, was the last thing outsiders would dare to call the pair.

It’s like what everyone says, what is good, must eventually come to an end.

***

“I love you. You know that, right?” He whispered, fingers trailing up and down her naked back.

“Yea, I know that.” She sighed, trying to muster up the strength to give him a smile.

Their bodies were covered in a light layer of sweat, yet she was cold to the touch. Her face lay on the back of her hands as she turned away from him, her chest feeling heavy. She couldn’t muster up the courage to tell him that she loved him anymore, much like how she couldn’t muster up the courage to give him cheesy smiles or squinting eyes that were filled with happiness.

She’d given up responding to his ‘I love yous’. It’s not that she didn’t love him anymore, because she did, but not in the same way she used to. She used to love him with the entirety of her heart and soul; she used to admire everything he did and couldn’t find a single thing wrong about him. But as her infatuation dwindled and real life began to kick her ass, it was getting harder for her to remember all of the things she used to love about him.

“I’m going out.”

“Okay.” She felt him leave a lingering kiss on her shoulder before their bed dipped and he was leaving to the bar yet again.

Two and a half years, she’d sigh. Have I wasted two and a half years of my life on a relationship that is going to amount to nothing? And am I going to continue to allow myself to feel this miserable, and if so, for how long? These questions swirled through her mind constantly for the past couple of months; and to be frank, she wasn’t sure how to answer any of them. She felt stuck between her past and present self, because she didn’t want to leave the man who she lived with and built a life with, but she also wanted to branch off and do different things. She was still so young and full of life, why should she spend it with a man she was no longer in love with.

That was it, she decided. She still loved him, but she wasn’t in love with him.

By the time she’d managed to get out of bed and showered off the lingering smell of him, he was stumbling up the stairs, drunk off his ass; a normal routine of his for the past few weeks. Because while she was ignoring and avoiding her relationship issues, he was feeling all of the blow-back from it. Calum was feeling the space that she was putting between the two of them and how she hadn’t told him she loved him. He could tell that she wasn’t happy and he knew that he was the reason for it, but he wasn’t sure why.

She avoided her problems by shutting down and he avoided his problems by drinking. Maybe they still were a match made in heaven, he thought sarcastically.

“You’re home early.” She remarked, meeting his drunken gaze. He was standing in the doorway, slowly swaying on his feet. It was hard not to notice his puffy lip and the cut above his eyebrow. While she continued to trail her eyes down his frame, she stopped at his busted knuckles.

“They kicked me out.”

“I can see that.” Her eyebrows were furrowed as she approached him, loosely linking her hands with his. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

“I’m sorry.” He hissed as she brushed the alcohol pad over his cut. His hands were bruised, and hurt when he gripped them into fists, but he still gripped her close to him.

“What happened?”

“You want me to be honest?”

“I always want you to be honest with me.” She nodded, her free hand cupping the side of his face, her thumb running across the underside of his eye, his eye-bags evident from the lack of sleep he’d been getting.

“I wanted to fight.” He was sitting on the side of the tub, his body melting into hers.

“You’re a psycho sometimes.”

“Only for you babe.” He winked, flashing a quick smile, something she had missed seeing.

Times like this, when he held her close, and they had their comforting witty banter, she felt like everything was okay again. But nothing would really ever be the same again, not with the two of them. The damage was already done, but neither of them wanted to admit it -- to admit defeat. They stayed like that for what could have been hours, but in reality it was only minutes, until she pulled away to throw away the bloodied tissues.

She could feel his stare, but refused to meet his gaze in the mirror. She could see Calum’s eyebrows furrowed in sadness and confusion, like they had been for the last few dreary months.

“I love you.” He spoke quietly.

“Me too.” She whispered, feeling her chest tightening each time she refused to acknowledge both his love and the love she had for him.

So, she did the only thing that she could think of to ease the tightening in her chest and the hopelessness in his; she made her way to him and cupped his face gingerly and brought his lips to hers. It was sloppy and laced with desire, everything they both needed at the moment. While they both knew that sex wouldn’t solve anything, they couldn’t help themselves.

Calum’s hands gripped the hem of her t-shirt, or rather his, and pushed it quickly up her body, before he tossed it across the bathroom. He left wet kisses up her stomach and between the valley of her breasts, his hands grabbing at her perfect ass. She hastily worked at his jeans, pulling him up by his belt loops, before she yanked them down his legs.

It didn’t take long before her knees and forearms were pressed against the cool tile floor and he was filling her up like he’d done hundreds of times before. She felt so warm and snug wrapped around him, like he was meant to be inside of her, pounding in and out of her with pure lust. He loved looking at her from this angle, with her ass in the air and back arching in pleasure. Small pants left her mouth as her eyes rolled back with every rough thrust he gave her. The sound of skin snapping against skin filled the room and her sweet whimpers mixed with his breathless moans.

“Harder,” She gasped, her body shaking with pleasure. “Please, Cal, give it to me harder.”

His hips slammed into hers with fervor, sliding in and out of her slick folds with ease. She could feel her orgasm in the pit of her stomach, waiting desperately to be taken to the edge, so she could release around him.

“Come for me, baby.” He whispered into her ear, nipping at her neck. “Come all over my cock.” He continued, suckling on her neck, making sure to leave a mark. He needed to, to remind her that she was still his, despite all the recent flaws of their relationship.

“Fuck, Cal, I’m gonna--” She whimpered, hot pants lingering past her dry lips.

“That’s it.” He groaned, feeling her clench around him, her legs spasming as her orgasm flooding her senses. He fucked her through her high, before he was a garbling mess behind her. Spurts of his hot white come filling her up.

He stayed inside of her, holding his come inside of her in desperation. Desperate, that if he pulled out of her that she would walk out of the door at the very next moment. As much as he tried to drink away his problems, nothing could fix the pain he was going through. Calum felt like there was a hole in his chest, like part of him was missing. He felt empty and sad and angry; and all of this was because of the fucked out girl in front of him, who was still coming down from her high. But she couldn’t have been the only problem, he knew that he played a part as well, but he didn’t know where he went wrong or how he could fix it.

When he finally pulled out of her, his come dripped from her weeping hole and down her thighs. He marveled at the sight, but it didn’t last long, before he was in his head again, thinking about how the only time he felt close to her now was when they were having sex. Inevitably, he knew, that they would end up fighting sooner or later since nothing seemed to be going right for them.

He wondered if they’d reach the point of no return.

***

Tears slipped down her cheeks with ease and stained her tear-ridden hands. She was tired, so tired. Tired of having to deal with this tightening feeling in her chest from her mixed and muddled emotions. She couldn’t keep living like this -- feeling like she was confined and trapped inside of her own mind and body. She paced around their kitchen in nothing but an old t-shirt, her sock clad feet scuffing against the smooth hardwood. There was a glass of whiskey that she’d slowly been drinking, set on the island, it was her second glass -- maybe third -- not that it mattered.

Calum was passed out upstairs, having come home after he helped close out the bar. The clock above the stove brightly shined 3:12am, and she couldn’t quite figure out why she was awake or why she decided that drinking whiskey would fix her. She was turning into him, she thought dryly. Her mascara was making her lashes clump together and was drastically smeared below her eyes like she was going through a life crisis in some generic movie. Tissues were littered across the counter, full of her sorrows; she’d gone through half a box of tissue already and wondered how much more she’d go through before she’d be able to stop pouring her heart out over a glass, or rather bottle, of whiskey.

She scrolled through her phone for the past twenty-five minutes, looking at pictures of the two of them together. Seeing how the both of them looked so happy, so in love. Pictures from years ago flooded her screen, of them at some lousy bar -- his arm hanging lazily over her shoulder, holding her tight. Pictures at the beach, of her holding him in the water with cheesy smiles on their faces. Pictures of them cuddled up next to each other by the fire, photos that their friends had taken of him. There were pictures of them after one of his shows, where you could see the light sheen of sweat layered across his body, where she still held him close even though she secretly hated his sticky post-concert skin.

There were the more intimate photos of them, and silly ones, and romantic ones -- and paparazzi photos that she’d saved to her phone from Twitter. The longer she stared at the photos the tighter her chest felt yet she still couldn’t look away from them. Her eyes continued to fill to the brim with tears that spilled from her eyes and continued to leave streaks down her cheeks. Why couldn’t she look away? She nearly let out a sob, reaching for her tissue box once again. Her phone hit the counter with a soft thud and she threw back the last of her whiskey before refilling it for the third -- maybe fourth -- time.

Sniffle, sigh, sip. That was her new mantra and as she looked at the clock above the stove the numbers shined brightly at her, 3:54am.

“What are you still doing up?” Calum’s groggy voice shook her from her thoughts.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She murmured, downing the last of her whiskey.

“Why don’t you come back to bed.” He spoke softly, matching her tone.

Her back was to him as she leaned over the counter, her glass discarded to her side and large piles of tissues were scattered around her. She wondered if he could feel her sorrow from across the room but he often decided to play the oblivious card whenever he could. Part of her wished that he would sweep her off of her feet and take her upstairs where he’d whisper sweet nothings into her ear until she fell asleep. Another part of her wished that he’d yell at her for being so distant and moody lately or yell at her for not loving him the same way that he loved her.

“Why haven’t you left me yet?” She questioned, turning around to face him, sniffling in the process.

“What do you mean?” His brows furrowed, and although he wanted to act dumb he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“I’ve been a complete and utter asshole to you. I’ve been the shittiest girlfriend imaginable for at least the past month and you’ve stayed by my side like a sad fucking puppy.” She was angry, irrational, sad, and broken -- and she’d take it out on him if she had to.

“Because I know you’re just going through it. You’ll get over it, I know you will.”

“It’s not that simple.” She all but sobbed. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me understand.” He came to her with soft eyes and open arms. “Help me understand what you’ve been going through so you don’t have to go through it alone.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” She fell into his arms, clinging to his shirt, fearing that he might slip through her fingers.

“I’d rather be hurt by knowing what’s going on in that brain of yours than be hurt by you not telling me anything.”

She breathed in his scent with nostalgia, thinking about all the memories they’d made together. She thought about their first date and their first kiss. She thought about the first time they said they loved each other and the last time she actually meant it. She also thought about moving in with him and getting their first dog together. Her memories came flooding back to her in waves, making her clutch onto him tighter. She didn’t want to leave him, but how could she stay with him if she didn’t love him?

“I - I don’t think I love you anymore. Not in the same way I used to, at least.” She cried into his shoulder, mascara staining a shirt he should have thrown away a long time ago. “I want to love you so bad, Calum; I swear! I just, I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll figure this out, y/n, I promise.”

#Calum Hood #calum #hood #5sos #calum hood one shot #calum hood imagine #calum hood x reader #calum hood smut #calum hood fanfic

[hueningshaped]

★ good friend | k.sy

▰ genre: implied spice/nsfw but barely angst AND fluff, the classic

▰ word count: 2476 hhhh

▰ synopsis / request #1: fwb to lovers! soonyoung since this idea has actually been on my mind before the ask came in (also HOORAY ASK :D) hehe

▰ possible warnings :: mentions of sex and vomiting and food

▰ notes: im lame also tmi but ive never had experienced anything romantic in my life so i tell u this - i am not good with romance and im not sure how any of this stuff is supposed to go so ur ever bewildered at what i postulate, u are not alone lmfao. i hope this isn’t too bad and i hope what i write in general isn’t too rough

Most nights offered the same routine and have offered the same routine for the past few months: nights of mottled yet complete love marks ridden upon your very feverish skin, long abandoned clothes of your weekly activities, and sweet and overwhelmed sounds that were evoked from pleasure that lasted hours. However, the fulfillment of satisfaction could no longer be quelled as the filaments of your heart now yearned for something more.

And while Kwon Soonyoung did you no wrong directly, only the knowing that there was nothing more besides sex despite your growing feelings furthered an irreversible damage that rested in your hands alone.

The reality was that you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. It would never be that way. You and he had agreed to it, but now, the guilt and pain blossomed like a bruise in your soul. Your heart always hurt afterwards and beforehand.

Just two days had passed since the last time you allotted another rendezvous with Soonyoung and he had messaged you again. Of course, upon seeing that text, which you received during your lunch at work, you soon lost appetite and utilized the rest of your break to weep into your bag in the restroom.

The meetups with him did you no good as they had frequented and seemingly were no longer just for sex.

Soonyoung learned your body and the things that made your body pleasured and joyous. He’d walk in early to bring you your favorite snacks. Sometimes, he would greet with a kiss on your nose or cheek.

When your limbs were tangled and you were at his mercy, Soonyoung would plant kisses all across the expanse of your neck and chest. On more occasions than you can count, the love marks he’d left have been often uncountable. With each passing meeting, his lips journeyed to your own, swollen and bitten raw by the time you’ve both finished. Sex was more than sex; it became that way before you even understood. He held and touched you in the way one cherished and love someone else.

Soonyoung brought forth so much joy, laughter, albeit cries from pleasure, but you were now unable to continue.

Your friendship with him was something priceless and a treasure. For you to risk that and the one thing that nearly convinced you that you were more than that would be foolish. The shift from simple friends to friends with benefits had only began due to a joke. Nearly a year had passed and you often regret trespassing the fine line of friendship and more than that.

Good friend Soonyoung also wasn’t foolish; he knew you and knew how you could be when you didn’t want to be you at times because you were precious to him. He knew this much.

Pretending his message had never been glossed over twenty three times, you managed to get on with your day, ignoring the dropping of your stomach, the sooner the clock moved closer to the time you were set to return to your apartment, which Soonyoung also knew.

And Good Friend Soonyoung was good, indeed.

SOON(YO)UNG: y/n

SOON(YO)UNG: are you busy tonihgt bc i need you

SOON(YO)UNG: if not i understand but i still wanan be with you

SOON(YO)UNG: i might not be good at this whole technology thing but i hope u do know ur read receotps are on

Soonyoung had a way with words; Not only at times where you needed comfort but also during those when you were at the edge, legitimately clutching to his shoulders for mercy to his wicked moves.

You felt yourself losing more grip and composure of reality as you sped home, having forgotten which days he actually did have practice. Was it everyday? Would he be at your place before you knew it? Were you a good liar? Was this the first time you were so open about postponing your boning? Were you even open about everything?

Contrast to last week, your meetups and reality with Soonyoung were as they had been for the past few months: frequent, intimate as always, but as more time passed, he was nearly inseparable from you.

Soonyoung was more than enough of a single person than you realized. He’d always been by your side for years and the things he did proved that. He always went above and beyond to made sure you felt good, comfortable, confident, and healthy. The kisses he left on your shoulder, bruises from his grip on your waist, aftercare of sweet touches and whispers, dedication of feeding you whatever he thought or tried to cook were just a fragment of what he did for you and of what he meant for you.

Not to mention he knew how to read you so well it hurt. Soonyoung could understand the light of your eyes; the light in his own eyes were effervescent, embers glowing with the lights of places wherever he entered, and they were never cold to you, the best of all.

But he would never be yours and you would never be his.

Luckily, upon your return to your place, you discovered that Soonyoung was not home before you, after silently screaming and double checking each and every possible place any person could have been.

He indeed would be at practice today, hopefully, but painfully wrong, you thought that maybe he would be too exhausted to even think of coming here.

There was the factual prospect of Soonyoung entering as he had his own key; however, his entrances were never outside of your consent or comfort, nor were they all strictly for sex. He was your best friend, who you had mingled with the territorial line that keeps platonic from sexual relationships.

Confronting the boy you had dreadfully fallen for was last on your list; your body told you so. Oh, it had no trouble letting you know of the conflict within your heart, perspiration, and clamminess.

All things came to a heading stop — in the midst of you tidying up your living room to keep your thoughts and stresses at bay — when a knock resonated. A bouquet of flurries within the pit of your stomach sent the broom in your hands over, whipping about the surfaces of the area you were in.

So much for ever trying to take the “not home” excuse. Clumsy hands.

“Y/N, is it okay if I come in?” Even the ginger edge to his voice offered no cloying confection — a sharp intake of breath drew past your raw-bitten lips. He was sweet as always.

Despite the fact he now was present and, on top of that, knew of your fabricated absence or intentional silence, confrontation with Soonyoung was just about inevitable. The flurries in your stomach now equated to the punch of an avalanche with endless swirls that even hijacked the means of your vision.

Could the end of your friendship await on the other side of the door?

“Darling, won’t you open up? Not the door, heh. I... to me... Are you okay?” The final question loosened the ivory pronunciation of your knuckles against the wringing of your shirt’s hem. There was nothing more visceral or internal that surpassed the knowledge of Soonyoung’s proximity and love to you.

How you just wanted the kisses Soonyoung messily left across the edges of your skin, the goosebumps and crimson flushes in his plump lips’ wake to be because of love and not strictly from the other way.

“Soon...” you stammered, a familiar stinging threatening behind your eyes.

“If you don’t want me to come in, then this is it. You don’t have to force yourself,” a somber tone shadowed his words, which left you perplexed but all the more conflicted. Only the thicket of steel and wood separated you, but you could still successfully make out that loving voice of his. “If you want to talk, I’m right here. I’m literally right here — your neighbors keep giving me the side eye, so lovedoll, open the door if you’re ready so we can talk. If not, I’ll understand.”

An answer, even a mustered, broken out noise from the depths of your throat, would have sufficed, except the swirl of your stomach returned full blow, barreling you straight to the toilet.

“I’m sorry I — ” you all but yelped to the front door.

Esophagus stretching and lungs flushing, you knew well what was coming. Words were cut short before the terribly familiar, pungent acid pounded out of your mouth in spurts and nearly imprecisely in the bathroom.

Nausea was your body’s coping mechanism for much stress: just the cherry on top.

Tears peeked at the brims of your eyes. The burn of your throat was just about the peak of your overstimulation. On top of that, you wanted nothing more than to things be right, even if it meant giving Soonyoung up. And oh, how that pain would leave this minor, minor, minor one in the blink of an eye.

A set of footsteps neared you, just as you finally were reaching for something to wipe your mouth off.

“You could’ve just said you were sick, sweet Y/N,” he sighed and you sniffled, continuing your ministrations. Confessing a possible unrequited love here was not ideal, but it would be worth a shot...if you could even speak. “Here I was fearing the worst: imagining a horror film scenario, since, you know, one of the idiots, namely Channie, decided to have a marathon the other — Y/N?”

As you moved to sit back on your sprawled and folded knees, your eyes trained upwards: a position and person you could remember by muscle memory at the least. That silly grin of his slowly dissolved into a concerned clutch of his lips, eyes roaming past that of your own eyes.

Your heart was nearly leaping before the machinations of your head could compute exactly you wanted to say. The silence was shared by your staring contest and your ventilation system that constantly busted up.

No words were said — from you, really. Confessing your love was much harder than it looked.

With the help of Soonyoung, you were eventually put to rest, after an entire system of learned routines that followed familiar episodes of your countless seasons of your friendship.

You let him choose what to watch, which he did not hesitate to execute to his choosing. His warmth was no different, he knew this. Enveloped in his lap, your feet trembled at the same rate as your hidden fingers did.

“Do you want me to make you some herbal tea?” He chimed, flipping through the cast list of whatever show that currently caught his eye. The slant of his eyes desperately deserved a kiss.

“You don’t know how to make tea,” you stated, earning the gaze that weighed tons. He pouted comically. His cheeks still possessed a flush from earlier practice, where you’d seen first hand how he dominated the room and led the others, allowing them to shine with his practice and ministrations.

“Soonyoung, you know I get sick like this. It happens occasionally.” His eyes had trained back to the screen until you let the final word escape your mouth, shocked at the chuckle rattling his voice and shoulders.

Those constellations met your eyes again: a nebulous light that could have had your knees buckling had you been standing.

“Occasionally? You get sick when you’re nervous or angry, which, for that part, is a kinda funny rarity — but I know you, Y/N,” he let your name ripple off his lips, the equivalent of having shared the most fragrant and delicate fruit between your very lips. “Why are you nervous?”

The lump in your throat throbbed, leaving you with something more than a twisted tongue. Good Friend Soonyoung was good indeed.

He leaned down to close the proximity between you more and more, taking a strip of loose hair and curling it around his finger before swooping in like a hawk. His brisk scent enveloped you, of musk and some other herb of a lotion you had purchased for him from a Christmas gift just a few months back. Soonyoung brought the hair to his lips, as your own merely parted at the proximity, quite possibly electrifying the amorous feelings even more so. 

A gasp was all you could muster last until he was nose to nose with you, lips just a hair away. 

“Why do I make you nervous?” He spoke lowly. You could barely meet his eyes. He planted a shallow kiss on the corner of your mouth until warm streams trailed from the corner of your eyes and of course, he cupped your face.

Concern furrowed upon his expression. He was no longer kissing you, and you were no longer poker faced, a sob billowing from the depths of your throat.

“What’s wrong?” And of course, you cried more at that. So much for not letting him know your feelings.

“Y/N,” he implored softly. His arm was perched beside your head where you laid and he now moved back so you could sit up at the slightest, or to at least where you were able to since you were now sobbing.

“I love you, Soonyoung. I love you,” each word left more emphatic with a gasp for air in between. His face dropped and his hand retracted from your chin. You did your best to silence yourself, pursing your lips. “I'm sorry. That-that’s why I've been avoiding you and I know I’m full of crap for making it look like anything else, and I know I’m ruining everything we’ve ever had, but I just couldn't...couldn’t live like this.”

Nearly out of breath from your speech, your eyes fell to his hands, which rested on your blanketed feet. 

“We had a great friendship. I’m—”

“Hey,” Soonyoung called out emphatically, earning eye contact that could have seared your soul. That same hand returned and again, your jaw dropped slightly. “Why did you assume I didn’t love you?”

His velvety mouth curled with a soft smile and his thumb rubbed your past tears into your cheek. 

“I love you, Y/N. You’re just silly enough to convince yourself of the opposite,” with that, a popping kiss planted on your lips. “And this is also why you should talk to me about anything. Remember when we tried a different position and I thought you were crying about how it hurt, but you just felt—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed with a sniffle as he rested his chin on your sternum, grinning, “so, you’re in love with me as I am with you?”

Soonyoung nodded hard enough to jolt a new yearning within you. Needless to say, he would spend the entire night proving it.

#im bad at writing angst wtf #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen hoshi #hoshi imagines #hoshi fluff #hoshi x reader #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung x reader

[gintokisimp]

Daydreaming about Silver isn’t good for your Health. Chapter 1: Do you really need a reason to celebrate?

My first fanfiction I wrote. Post Canon GinTsu story. Does ignore some original story parts. All characters involved are adults. Later chapters are full of smut. 

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Light Angst, PWP

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,010

"Oi old hag, give me more sake" Gintoki shouted, slamming his fist on the counter.

The ochoko in front of him rattled under the force. 

"Why should I? It's not like you're willing to pay for it. Stop drinking and get out!" Otose yelled back at him.

"What are you saying? I have my money right here!" He babbled back at her and waved his hands, but instead of pointing at his wallet, Gintoki pointed at his crotch region. 

Otose clicked her tongue in disgust.

"I even won something at the Pachinko today, that's why I need to celebrate - that's why everyone needs to celebrate with me. Excluding you cause you need to serve me more sake on this special occasion!" He continued.

"Forget it already! You're only here because you think you can invite everyone on the house. I'll kick you out of my apartment tomorrow!" Otose was getting impatient with him.

"Otose-san, please calm down." Shinpachi pleaded, but he couldn't hear Otoses answer. The bar was packed to the brim and the noises made his ears tingle.

"PATSUAN stop talking to that hag. She will rob you. No more talking, more drinking!" Gintoki leaned over to Shinpachi, the scent of the alcohol brushing over his nostrils and he basically screamed in his ear.

What money though? Shinpachi sighed and got up from his chair next to Gintoki. Let them fight, it’s never a serious matter anyways. He left him alone fighting with Otose-san. On the surface, nothing really changed in the last few years. But in reality, a lot has changed. Someone would notice it in the small details: Katsura celebrating alongside the Shinsengumi. Kaguras growth spurt. The slightly different flair of the bar, after it was destroyed a few years ago and the weird forming of couples. Even the gorilla had given up his stalking habbit.

Shinpachi still had no luck though. But he always appeased himself, that Gintoki did neither in his early thirties. So in conclusion, it wasn’t that bad to concentrate on more important things in life before finding the love of your life. There was the Dojo. And of course Otsu-chan. 

Shinpachi nodded with a smile, lost in his thoughts. 

Gintoki really invited everyone. Hasegawa was sitting next to him and enjoyed the "free" drinks while listening to Gintokis and Otoses fighting. It didn't even bother him that Gintoki started bragging about his Pachinko winning streak. He was just happy to be here. It wasn't that much but still more than he ever owned since he got homeless and after all these years, Gintoki started to feel bad for him. Everyone kind of got their lifes sorted, but he was still living on the streets. Usually Gintoki would not care to ask him to get a drink with him, but they are pachinko buddies, so he felt the obligation to invite him. 

Otae and Kyuubei sat at one of the tables and enjoyed their drinks together with Zura and Elisabeth. Toujou sat between them and nodded heavily at everything they said. It was a weird sight, but today was different. It's a celebration after all. What a stupid reason for a celebration. I could have come up with something better. Gintoki thought after the pointless debate with his landlady. He hoped no one would get behind the actual reason. His eyes wandered lazily through the room. 

Hijikata, Sougo and Kondo arrived at the bar a few minutes ago and were already in a heated discussion if they should kick out Hijikata for putting disgusting amounts of mayo in his beer. Gintoki didn’t remember inviting them, it was probably Kagura's doing. Even Gengai had found his way here for a small drink. But instead of enjoying himself, he eagerly worked on an update for Tama who was standing right next to him. 

She was also here.

He had noticed her arrival before she even stepped through the sliding door. He always feels her presence lingering through the back of his head. After all those years of knowing her, he had never felt nervous or anxious around her. In fact, her presence comforted him in a strange way. She was such a good friend. But the last few weeks have been different. It all started with an accidental meeting they had on the streets of Kabuki-chō.

a few weeks prior

It was a sunny day, not too warm, not too cold. Cicadas chirped, the streets were busy, lively conversations echoed through the streets. All in all, the perfect summer day.

After a job well done, Gintoki and Kagura were casually strolling through the alleys of Kabuki-cho, when they came across a Pop Up Shop that sold kinky stuff. Gintoki didn’t bat an eye on it, but Kagura stopped in front of the store windows, since she never saw this special kind of shop out in the open. They were advertising a lot of different things and displayed strap-ons in the store windows. A vast sign in the window read:

Can a man really size up to these?

Try them out now!

Kagura read the sign and glanced over to Gintoki.

"Gin-chan, why are they displaying them in public? Are they trying to make men insecure? Are they making you insecure?" she asked innocently.

Gintoki stopped in his tracks, a vein popped on his forehead. "HUH?" Why are you asking?” He snarled at her, impatient to get home. Why is she asking those kind of things? Stop annoying me.  

“Why are you so snappy, are ya scared that they are bigger than you, huh?” Kagura started to laugh and his face began to burn. 

“Tch, of course not” He mumbled back at her. “Why would I of all men be scared?” Nervously, he clenched his fists. 

“Maybe because you’re a liar.” She retorted. 

“Lying about what?”

She pointed at the sign. Gintoki had already read what was on it and he sighed. 

"Well, it's definitely not right to brag in front of you,but you leave me no choice." His eyes brushed over the selection and finally, he pointed at a model that was roughly 25 centimeters. "I definitely can."

"Nah you're lying. The screwdriver you once had was bigger than your actual thing!" she snickered.

"I'm not lying, shut up!" He was getting very uncomfortable while talking about those things with Kagura. But she was an adult now and it should be normal to talk about this as adults, right? Right?

"Liar!" She screamed.

"Oi, let's go, we need to be at home soon." Gintoki ignored her bickering. He wanted to get home quickly since Bleach had a rerun and he didn’t want to miss it. 

He turned around fast while he started to walk, so he didn’t notice the woman standing behind him. He slammed straight into Tsukuyo. She was just standing there, now close to him. A little too close. Gintoki guessed she just wanted to say hello and overheard their conversation. Oh..

"Tsukuyo.. why.. what are you doing here?" He asked in confusion to meet her here and she stumbled backwards. 

Tsukuyo didn't answer. She was visibly getting nervous and her ears started to glow a bright pink. Kagura turned around with a smile. 

"Tsukki! We were just talking about this weird shop there. I guess they just want to make men insecure!" She explained, happy to meet Tsukuyo again.

"..uh. yeah I guess so." She said with a lowered voice. "We have a lot of those shops in Yoshiwara though."

"But why are you making a face like that then?" Kagura asked.

"Uhm.. what?" The color from her ears slowly spread to her face. 

"Is it because of what Gin-chan said?" 

"Ka.. Kagura!" Gintoki was shocked how blatant she could be sometimes.

“Don’t worry, he’s lying!” 

“Kagura, stop!” Gintoki felt his face burning again. Kagura ignored him and her eyes flicked between his and Tsukuyos face, visibly enjoying their ashamed reactions. A grin plastered her face. 

"Excuse me, I.. I need ta go." Tsukuyo turned around and hurried away from them in a different direction.

"Tsukuyo, wait!" He weakly held out his hand, but she was already gone.

Since then, he always felt nervous thinking about her. And he did think a lot about her in the last days. He doesn't even understand why. It’s not like it was an unusual situation for him, things like that happened a lot in this district and she for sure was used to it as well. But something was... odd.

The truth was, he was just making up an excuse to invite everyone and have her invited as well. They hadn't met since that incident and he felt the strong urge to see her again. While planning this whole thing earlier, he casually asked Kagura if Tsukuyo would also come to the party. Kagura just grinned at him.

"Of course I already invited Tsukki. She's coming just for you!"

Her reaction kind of scared him. He still didn’t figure out why. But right now it didn't really matter, he could not concentrate on that anyways. His mind was a little blurry from the alcohol and drinking was the only solution he knew against his growing nervousness. Without turning around, he felt her walking past him. 

His ears prickled. 

"maa Gin-san, what's wrong? Did you drink too much?" Hasegawa noticed his weird behaviour.

"Urgh, shut up. It’s nothing" Gintoki snarled back.

Tsukuyo elegantly sat down at the end of the bar, as far away as possible. Gintoki noticed Kagura immediately spurting to the bar stool next to her and they started talking. Gintoki lowered his eyes and focused his empty ochoko in front of him. 

"Where is my drink? Didn't I tell you to give me more?" Gintoki shouted more aggressively than he intended to.

"Pay your rent and I'll give you more, that was the answer." 

While picking up their pointless fight again, Gintoki overheard Kagura snickering. Tsukuyo was quiet, but Kagura didn't stop her laughter. He just hoped Kagura wasn't making her uncomfortable.

Ultimately, it was his job to do that.

Shinpachi heard it as well and got worried about what Kagura was on about again. For a few weeks now, she tried to act mysterious. She was planning something, but Shinpachi couldn't figure it out yet. Still standing next to his seat, he decided to interfere and walked over to them. 

"Kagura, what are you doing?" He asked as soon as he reached the two women. 

"Oh Shinpachiiii I'm not doing anything!" She replied, still snickering.

"Sure.” Shinpachi adjusted his glasses thoughtfully. “But it doesn't look like Tsukuyo-san is enjoying your ‘nothing’!" Kagura stopped laughing, but continued to smile. 

"She was teasing me about liking that ass face Sougo over there, so I told her she should just admit that she wants to fuck Gin-chan - "

"Kagura!" Shinpachi yelled, his eyes widened in shock.  

"- and she didn't even deny it yet." Kagura finished her sentence.

"Kagura, you can't say that, that's rude!"

"But Shinpachi, it's the truth! I know it!" Kagura slammed her fist on the bar, emphasizing her words.

"Stop making assumptions about other people's lives, Kagura!" Again, Shinpachi adjusted his glasses, but this time it was rather shaky. 

Tsukuyos mind was blank. What did she say? Why would she bring that up? How could she know what was haunting her dreams for the last months? Or did she just try to make a joke.. yeah, yeah that's probably it.  

Tsukuyo came here with the expectation to have a nice and chill evening with Kagura and Otae. At least that's what Kagura told her on the phone earlier. She arrived at the bar and saw a lot more familiar faces than she anticipated.

And then she saw him.

His broad back facing her, he was fighting his usual arguments with Otose. She involuntarily tensed up, averted her eyes and hurried to get the opposite side of the establishment. She didn't want to meet him. Not after all those embarrassing dreams.

"I just know it, it is obvious! I'm sure everyone knows it!" Kagura's voice broke through her thoughts. 

"I don't understand what you're talking about Kagura, please just leave Tsukuyo alone!" Shinpachi replied desperately. Apparently, they had exchanged a few more words while Tsukuyo was caught in her thoughts. 

"Shinpachi, you can't be serious. You're such a virgin." Kagura snickered.

"Kagura!" Shinpachi's face turned red. Kagura continued to tease the poor boy and Tsukuyo was glad she wasn't the center of attention anymore. 

"He doesn't even know I'm here. Why should he care.." Tsukuyo mumbled to herself, nervously tapping her fingers against her thighs.  

"Tsukki, tell him!" Kagura exclaimed all of a sudden. Tsukuyo froze. 

"Tell him what?" Tsukuyo asked casually. 

She hadn’t listened to Shinpachis and Kagura's conversation anymore.

"Yea, tell him what?"

Asked the voice that makes her skin prickle in excitement. She turned her head around, knowing what, or rather who was behind her and looked directly into mischievous shining crimson eyes. Her heart stumbled.

"Uh.. I .. nothing. I don't even know what they're talkin’ about. Really, ya should mentor ya kids better." She tried to act cool, while choking on her kiseru with closed eyes, coughing in his face. 

"What do you want to tell me? " He continued, unbothered by the smoke.

His words were enough to make her knees weak and Tsukuyo was glad that she wasn't standing. She would be lying on the floor by now, struck by his intense stare. It sent a cold shiver down her spine, and as he slightly tilted his head in a silent question, she could feel her face heating up. 

"Who said we.. we are talking about ya?" She stammered. 

"We were!" Kagura yelled from behind her. 

Please Kagura, shut up, only this one time! She pleaded silently.

"You were? " Gintoki was teasing her, a light smile played around his lips.

Tsukuyo was sure he was drunk, but right now, he didn't even seem tipsy anymore. His eyes were clear as day. It almost seemed like he was prepared for this and he captured her quick glances at his face with his eyes. Was she imagining things or did she catch a glimpse of pure, primal lust in his eyes. She blinked and it was gone. Dead, bored fish eyes stared back at her, almost uninterested. 

He didn't hear what Kagura said, did he? No, that's impossible.  

Tsukuyo could not focus, not with him in front of him, not with him looking at her, waiting for an answer. She tried to look somewhere else and began to stare at his arms. His right arm, biceps flexed, was supporting his weight on the bar counter. Is he doing that on purpose? She didn't realize until recently how muscular he really was, or rather, she didn’t really care about it prior to their.. encounter.

Why would he need to flex his arms while he was just standing. Veins stretched over his muscles, hypnotizing her more and more the longer she stared. She could almost grasp his blood pumping through them, if he would just let her touch him. Tsukuyo imagined her nails scratching along them, his hands sliding up her spine, pulling her hair and bowing her back and -

"And?"

He was still staring at her, waiting for an answer.

shit.

Gladly, Otose interfered before Tsukuyo had the time to make up an answer. 

"You know, Gintoki, I could forget about the rent if you just gave me some damn grandkids." She said thoughtfully, while puffing out the smoke from her cigarettes.

For a second, Tsukuyo really believed that Otose would distract Gintoki from the question. But actually, she made it even worse.

"HUH, what are you saying woman?" Gintoki snorted at Otose.

"I said you should give me grandkids!" Otose replied a little louder. 

"How does this affect me baba?!” Gintokis attention was now directed at the bar owner. However, his body was still facing Tsukuyo and now, while he was getting worked up again, he flexed his supporting arm even more and unwittingly leant closer to her. The closer he got, the more she felt like her head would explode. Tsukuyos ears were as hot as the midsummer weather outside and her heartbeat quickened, racing the blood through her own veins. 

"Tch, don't play stupid, you idiot." 

"Don't call me stupid, there's no one in this bar who could give you your damn grandkids!"

Tsukuyo flinched. Gintoki noticed that and he turned his head back to her. What's wrong with her, is she in pain? He was confused. His arm started to hurt and he shifted it around. He had placed it in an uncomfortable position in an attempt to cover up his nervousness. Of course, it didn’t work. 

Kagura noticed Tsukuyos reaction as well. "Gin-chan you idiot, shut up!" 

"What the hell did I do wrong? " Gintoki now yelled at Kagura.

"Ah whatever, I don’t have the nerves for this." Otose left them fighting and walked over to her paying customers.

"Everything, you're doing everything wrong!" Kagura exclaimed.

“I would be very happy if you could just explain me what the fuck I did do wrong!”

“You’re making her feel bad!”

“Who?” 

“Men are stupid, men are really stupid!” Kagura threw her hands up. 

"Oh you think so? Go tell your loverboy Okita-kun, maybe he cares about your bullshit." Gintoki mocked her. 

"ew he's not my lover, I could never love a punchable face like that." Kagura's face was genuinely disgusted. Gintoki and Kagura turned their heads as they heard Sougo's sadistic laughter from the table. He was smirking with his eyes closed. Glancing over to Kagura.

"Oh I will make you love me." He whispered loud enough for them to hear it.

“You! Shut up or I’ll make you!” Kagura was visibly getting angry, cracked her knuckles and stomped over to their table in an attempt to beat him up.

"No Kagura, stop!" Shinpachi yelled franticaly and followed her.

And with that, facing each other, Gintoki and Tsukuyo were alone.

#銀月 #fanfiction #銀時 #銀魂 #gintsu #gintoki x tsukuyo #tsukuyo #gintoki #sakata gintoki #gintama #gintama couple

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 13

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 13 - Doubt

In the archaeological internship Lin Yan participated in, the Ming Tomb was undoubtedly a very peculiar place. The excavation work lasted three months. Before the excavation started, Lin Yan didn't even get any relevant background information. He asked his professor several times but never got a response. When he was told that would be staying at the tomb for only a week, he thought he was coming to be the team's water boy. Instead, he was unexpectedly sent to the site as soon as the plane touched down and was given one of the most important jobs of cleaning the body found in the main room of the tomb.

It was a medium-sized underground mysterious tomb. Bluestone blocks were built into arches. The apse in the room was about forty meters long. A large black lacquered coffin left slightly ajar rested peacefully on the stone platform. Lin Yan and the rest of the crew held their breath together. When the golden nanmu wood coffin lid was slowly lifted, and the gold, silver, jade and rosy brocade around the corpse were exposed, a soft cheer erupted from the tomb. Everyone couldn't help but celebrate that they found such an magnificent mausoleum that had been left completely untouched by tomb robbers. After a long while, all nonessential personnel evacuated one by one. Lin Yan remembered that the professor was the last one to leave the scene. When he left, he rested his hand heavily on his shoulders, as if he wanted to say something but never ended up getting anything out. In the empty and dark main room of the tomb, only Lin Yan and a few lights, both bright and dim, were left. Sometimes, the miner's lamp was often extinguished inexplicably. He later recalled that the owner of the tomb might have been watching him ever since then.

The corpse in the coffin had rotted into a skeleton, but the hair that remained was soft and shiny. However, when Lin Yan sat alone by the coffin and skimmed through some history books, doubts arose. The identity of the owner of the tomb was like the bronze of this mysterious palace, unrecognizable under the green rust. There was no record, no genealogy, nothing even mentioned in town and county chronologies. The tomb's eternal light placed in front of the coffin had long been dried up, and a two-foot-long black name card behind it was coated with thick old blood. The place where the name should be written was empty, and it turned out to be a non-character memorial tablet.

When the last artifact in the coffin was successfully taken out, Lin Yan was told he could return. It only took them seven days and no one had ever told him about the origin of the tomb that whole time.

The sun was shining on Friday morning, and the roses in the flower bed were rushing to bloom. There was a soft fragrance of something oily like burning opium in the air. Lin Yan parked his car at the school gate and hurried through the small square in front of the building to get to the professor's office. He was in such a rush that he went through the ground fountain in the square. After he took a few steps, bells and drums started playing and spurts of water shot from the jets, the surrounding area immediately turning into a forest of water columns shooting up.

"Shit. . ." He couldn't dodge them and got completely soaked. Lin Yan internally cursed as he rushed forward, wringing out the hem of his shirt. A few school girls had just come out of the main entrance of the building and giggled at the embarrassing scene.

Lin Yan blushed a little.

Shiny drops of water splashed off his hair and a droplet fell into his eye. When he raised his hand to wipe it away, his wrist was caught by someone. The cold fingertips wiped the drop off one of his eyelashes. Lin Yan blinked and stood there silently.

When he walked up the steps, he saw a new large poster on the left side of the automatic door. A gentle-looking middle-aged man with glasses was holding a pen, and his demeanour resembled an unopened folder in a stationery store. There was a large line next to him: Chen XX, a well-known Chinese history professor, is coming to our school to give a lecture. All students are welcome to participate. This will be a great chance to interact with the professor.

The tune played was one typically used by the Propaganda Department, the following rows of small letters are written with the specific time and content of the event. Lin Yan struggled to twist the hem of the wet T-shirt and walked towards the hall, muttering that this was probably the reason that the fountain suddenly turned on. Turning back, he frowned and stood in front of the poster for a minute. He always felt that the man on the poster was a bit familiar, but he couldn't remember who it was. After thinking about it for a while, Lin Yan shook his head and stepped through the hall.

The professor's office was on the fourth floor.

"Professor, are you kidding me? From the preliminary preparations to the end of the tomb excavation, so many people participated in it. How could it be possible that nothing about the tomb owner's origins could be found until now?"

"That tomb was already considered to be average to wealthy for the time period. Even if the owner of the tomb was not of official origin, there is always a record in historical records for wealthy businessmen."

University institutions were never busy on Fridays. Everyone was waiting for the weekend. Lin Yan’s professor was no exception. He was sitting in the office with his legs crossed when the drenched student burst into his office. Behind the table, he held a heavy purple sand teacup in his hand. Because he often went to the West in his early years, his skin was wrinkled by the wind and frost. His midsection was blessed by some middle-aged fat, and the bags under the eyes were hanging loosely behind the glasses.

The professor grew impatient with Lin Yan's aggressive tone, and patted a stack of books on the table: "Isn't that so? You see, I'm more worried about writing a report on the excavation. I've been busy for more than a month and I haven't made any progress."

Lin Yan leaned forward impatiently with his hands on the glass plate of the tabletop: "The mausoleum was left untouched. The body and burial items were intact. Isn't it possible to determine the identity of the tomb owner?"

This student had always been known for his politeness and patience. It was rare for him to be this anxious.

"That's the problem. Comparing the data compiled based on the unearthed cultural relics with the records at the time, I can only say that he's completely unknown." The professor put down the cup and tapped his finger on the cover of the book a few times: "Ming Dynasty history is not my specialty. Tell me, why don't you do some research yourself? The students in our school must be able to research independently. You should make good use of the school library resources."

Lin Yan shook his head disappointedly. Just like the professor said, there was a lot of historical data to go through. He wouldn't make any progress in the next three months. Even three years might not be enough time to go through all the information. By then, he would have run out of ten lives. What's more, he has searched through the relevant history books of the library for the past week and even asked Yin Zhou to search through the database in less legal ways, but the strange thing is that no matter what keywords they use - the age, name, location - he couldn't find any information. It was common sense that, in ancient times, even a talented person would be written about somewhere in the county annals, but this Xiao Yu was like a person from another world. The records passed over him like he had never existed.

The faint scent of book pages and wood was floating in the air, and the light blue shutters broke up the rays of sun leaking in. Lin Yan subconsciously glanced back, as if there should be a companion waiting to respond to his doubts. But Xiao Yu does exist, he thought.

Trying his best to stay calm, Lin Yan lowered his head and lowered his voice: "Teacher, this is really important to me, can you help. . ." While speaking, his gaze was fixed on the table. Under the glass plate were many old photos of the professor when he was young. There was a row of people wearing work clothes and hard hats in the black-and-white pictures. Compared to the middle-aged man with swollen eyes in front of him, there was a strange sense of contradiction in the gray-headed but happy-looking man in the pictures.

Time really did wonders.

The instructor tapped two fingers on the table. He didn't look at Lin Yan when he spoke. His eyes were a little dodged: "Why do you need to know the owner of the tomb? Do you need to write a paper?"

Lin Yan took a deep breath. He had always had a keen insight into people's emotions. When he had been sorting through clues last night, the situation that occurred in the tomb flashed in his mind. He had already had his doubts at the time, but he was so nervous and excited that he didn't think too much of it. For example, ever since he joined the team, everyone had been keeping secrets, and the professor also looked at him with that dodgy look when the excavators all left the tomb. The whole thing seemed to have been arranged long ago, so Lin Yan hadn't cared about interrupting the teacher's off-time and grabbed the phone to set up a meeting time.

"Professor, you should know why; this is a matter of life and death." After hesitating for a moment, Lin Yan frowned and said this sentence with emphasis. He pressed his hands on the table hard and turned away.

When I walked to the door of the office. He paused, one, two. . . Lin Yan counted silently in his heart.

Three.

"Wait." The professor's voice sounded from behind.

"Lin Yan, this project isn't under my control. I just heard that a lot of strange things happened when the tomb was opened. Someone came to me and asked you to go. I didn't agree with it. . . If you really want to know more, you can go ask the coordinator of the excavation yourself." The finger tapped twice on the desk. "His name is Chen, he'll be at our school next Monday for a lecture. There are posters downstairs." After speaking, he took a few volumes from the neatly arranged books and put them back on the table, gesturing that he could leave. "You can get more out of him than me"

"Last question." Lin Yan held the door frame and poked his face in: "Teacher, do you know Xiao Yu?"

"No, I don't." The answer was quick this time: "Who's that?"

Lin Yan sighed and held the railing as he quickly walked downstairs.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi

[lihikainanea]

Ok so tiger takes Bill ice skating (or skiing, or any winter sport) and it's not that he hasn't done it before, but maybe he kinda underplays how bad he is? And they get out on the ice and he's like a baby deer who refuses to let go of the outside wall.

OH MY GAAAAWWWD this giraffe though. Listen, I’ll never get over this image of clumsy Bill. Do we remember the roller skating incident?

Let’s build on that.

As a good Canadian, I’ve played hockey for my entire life. And there is nothing so incredible than a game of pick up hockey late at night at the local park, everyone in toques and mis-matched jerseys, their breath coming out in visible puffs of air. I still have a very Pavlovian response to the sound of blades on ice, the scrape of sticks--it will always sound like home to me. Pick up games would often go until real late, the lights in all the parks would stay on so people would roll up around 9 or 10 at night. No words needed to be spoken, no invitation extended. You just stepped on the ice, and you started to play. You’d figure out what team you were on after. Sometimes a few spectators would show up, people out on walks or those just needing some peace in whatever way, and they’d line the boards and watch. Whenever you were done playing you’d just give a wave and glide off, sit on a bench, take off your skates--and listen, you are not Canadian unless you then loop your skates around the blade of your hockey stick. And you’d walk home like that, with the stick over your shoulder.

Sorry, random interlude of CANADIANAAAAAAA.

But right, okay, listen--maybe to his credit, Bill did play hockey. But if you’ve ever skated before, you'll know that it’s a very unnerving experience to just...glide. It feels like you’re slipping. And Bill is clumsy, but I think he’s really only clumsy because he’s just so...he’s so big. His arms are so long his torso is so long, he’s so gangly and JUST SO LONG but not solid and there’s no way that a dude with his proportions is not clumsy AF. It’s just the rule of nature. His dimensions don’t make any kind of sense and really there’s no reason, physics-wise, of why he should be held upright. It defies the laws of physics, actually.

But maybe he played hockey in his teenage years, you know, before the growth spurt.

His legs were a lot easier to control when they were normal size.

And maybe he hasn’t gotten on skates since, but he thinks it’s a skill that you never truly lose.

So listen, maybe tiger’s over in Sweden near the holidays, in the countryside at the Skarsgard compound. And the lake is so perfectly frozen, the mornings are still so gloriously dark with a million stars in the sky, and tiger pokes him awake one morning.

“No,” he grumbles sleepily, “Too early for coffee.”

And he tries to snuggle her in closer, throw the blanket over her head, and it almost works--they’re both naked under the covers but his chest is so warm and he smells so good and his head scritchies feel so nice. She almost gives in--but then she looks out the window again and god it’s just too perfect. So she kisses his chest lightly, reaches up to trace his features.

“Billy,” she murmurs, “Let’s go skating.”

“Okay,” he yawns--but then he rolls over right on top of her, plunks his face in her neck--and he doesn’t move. Tiger waits, but as she hears his breathing evening out, she scratches lightly at his back.

“Up,” she pats his bottom, “Come on, it’ll be so magical.”

“No.”

“Please, bud?”

“No.”

She kisses his cheek where she can reach, and scratches a good spot above his ear.

“I’ll wear the Merida costume for you tonight,” she purrs into his ear. Bill shuffles, lifting off of her.

“Yeah alright,” he says sitting up, “There’s some skates in the shed.”

So they bundle up in layers upon layers. Bill finds some skates that look like they might fit. He jokes about wrapping tiger up in bubble wrap to avoid injuries, but her winter coat is pretty thick so it’ll provide enough cushion. He puts a few bandaids in his pocket just in case.

And the morning is just magical--still pitch black, the moon out in full force, the sky lit up by stars. There’s no wind but the air is crisp, and tiger laces her skates up and then waddles clumsily to the frozen lake. Natural frozen surfaces are a lot harder to skate on than an artificial rink, and her first few strides are choppy at best. She flails a bit, scrapes the blades clumsily on the ice as she tries to get her legs back under her, and Bill laughs because every few seconds he hears a panicked yelp and sees her arms shoot out to steady herself. He chuckles, every bit cocky, and Bill doesn’t just step onto the ice--no no, he takes a running start from a few yards away and pushes confidently onto the frozen lake.

Only to have every single one of his limbs scatter, and he splatters like Bambi on the ice. He even slides a good few feet, coming to a very ungraceful stop face down right in front of tiger.

“Holy fuck,” she says concerned, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he brushes himself off as his cheeks redden, “Must’ve been a divot in the ice.”

He stands back up on shaky legs--but he’s just barely upright, tense as all hell, when his foot slides and he flails--this time landing solidly on his back.

“Bill?” tiger asks, suppressing a chuckle.

“Yeah, we’re good here,” he says nonchalantly.

But like, not here’s the thing. Those last two falls knocked the wind out of him, and his already shaky legs are now even more shaky because he’s trying to play it cool. So he wobbles onto his knees, plants one skate on the ice, but he puts entirely too much weight on it and it slides out from under him. He nearly ends up in a split.

“Bud I thought you said that you played--”

“I did tiger,” he snaps. She shuts up, watching as he struggles to get back on his feet. 

“Tell you what,” she extends a hand to help pull him up but he pettily smacks it away, “I’ll go do a lap while you get all of this right side up, then let’s have some coffee yeah?”

“Why? this is fun,” he grumbles in sarcasm. She snickers, pushing off to do a wide loop around the frozen lake. It’s beautiful, the cold wind nipping at her face, everything dark and quiet and nothing but the sound of her blades on the ice. It’s only as she rounds back to shore that she sees it, Bill literally crawling on all fours back to the unfrozen ground. She giggles, gliding to a stop beside him as he crawls.

“Merida costume and a blowjob tonight tiger,” he mutters, “Non-negotiable.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #holiday #christmas

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Gallus

Etymology: Rooster

First Described By: Brisson, 1760

Classification: Dinosauromorpha, Dinosauriformes, Dracohors, Dinosauria, Saurischia, Eusaurischia, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoromorpha, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Averaptora, Avialae, Euavialae, Avebrevicauda, Pygostaylia, Ornithothoraces, Euornithes, Ornithuromorpha, Ornithurae, Neornithes, Neognathae, Galloanserae, Pangalliformes, Galliformes, Phasiani, Phasianoidea, Phasianidae, Pavoninae, Gallini

Referred Species: G. aesculapii, G. moldovicus, G. beremendensis, G. tamanensis, G. kudarensis, G. europaeus, G. imereticus, G. meschtscheriensis, G. georgicus, G. varius (Green Junglefowl), G. sonneratii (Grey Junglefowl), G. lafayettii (Sri Lankan Junglefowl), G. gallus (Red Junglefowl and Domesticated Chicken)

Status: Extinct - Extant, Least Concern

Time and Place: Since about 6 million years ago, in the Messinian of the Miocene through today 

In the past, Junglefowl were found throughout Eurasia, especially across Europe. After the last glacial maximum, they were restricted to the Indian subcontinent and Southeast Eurasia, as well as many Pacific islands. Of course, today, domestic chickens are found all over the world. This map below shows the current range of wild Junglefowl in dark blue, and extinct Junglefowl in light blue; please note that domesticated and feral chickens are found everywhere. 

Physical Description: Junglefowl are highly ornamented, beautiful, bulky birds, with the males being decorated in brilliantly iridescent feathers all over their bodies. The females tend to be more dull in color, in order to blend in with the environment; that being said, they can also have beautiful and distinct patches of brighter feathers in certain strategic places, such as the tail. The males also have combs on the tops of their heads, made out of skin and muscle, rather than feathers; they also tend to have bare red faces, and wattles underneath their chins also made of skin and muscle. Their tails tend to have long, curved ribbon feathers, colored with iridescence and usually in a blueish-greenish shade. The tails of the females are shorter and less distinctive. These birds are squat, with short legs and bulky bodies. They also have small heads and short, pointed beaks. In general, junglefowl males can range between 65 and 80 centimeters long; the females tend to be significantly smaller, ranging between 35 and 46 centimeters long. 

Sri Lankan Junglefowl by Schnobby, CC BY-SA 3.0 

Diet: Junglefowl are omnivorous birds, feeding on a wide variety of food such as such as insects, worms, leaves, berries, seeds, fruit, bamboo, grasses, tubers, and even small reptiles. 

Grey Junglefowl by Yathin S. Krishnappa, CC BY-SA 3.0 

Behavior: Junglefowl tend to forage in small groups, but they will also scratch around the ground for food alone, using their feet to release food that might be trapped under the most shallow layer of ground or leaf litter. They peck, very distinctly, at the ground - bobbing their bodies back and forth as they move around, pecking in short spurts to gather the food they look for. They are very opportunistic feeders, switching back and forth between different food sources based on what is more available in a given season. They can even associate, happily, with other birds and even mammals of all things, using the environmental disturbance they cause in order to find food. 

Green Junglefowl by Francesco Veronesi, CC BY-SA 2.0 

Junglefowl make some of the most distinctive calls of any bird, though of course, each language seems to have its own onomatopoeia to describe it. They make very distinctive clucks, cackling, and even cooing sounds depending on the situation. Males do make “cock-a-doodle-do” calls, though they can vary in tone and loudness, as well as the syllables involved, from species to species. These calls are actually advertising calls, made by the males, in order to attract females! The females tend to be quieter than the males, though domesticated female chickens are not quiet animals by a longshot. Junglefowl do not migrate, and tend to stay limited within their preferred habitats (though, of course, domesticated chickens have been bred to deal with a wider variety of climate better than their wild relatives.) 

Red Junglefowl by Harvinder Chandigarh, CC By-SA 4.0 

Junglefowl can breed throughout the year (it’s why they were domesticated), though some populations tend to favor the dry season over the wet season (primarily due to less danger with the daily weather - these guys do hail from the monsoon lands!) As a general rule, junglefowl are polygamous - males will mate with a variety of females throughout the year, with the females doing the bulk of the work in nest construction and child care (which makes sense, since they blend in so well with the environment). Some species - such as the Grey Junglefowl - do show monogamous behavior from time to time, with males sticking with one female for long periods of time. In a classic case of sexual selection, females tend to prefer males with more brilliant combs (rather than focusing on plumage color, though this could be different in non-domesticated species).  The female will lay between 2 and 6 eggs (some species laying more than others) in a depression amongst dense vegetation; the female will incubate the eggs for three weeks before the chicks hatch. The chicks are extremely fluffy and cute when hatching, usually covered in soft brown feathers (though domesticated ones are more yellowish). The chicks are able to fly after one week, and males will become sexually mature sometime between 5 and 8 months. They are not the strongest fliers, usually preferring short bursts of activity rather than sustained flight. 

Domesticated Chicken Chicks by Uberprutser, CC BY-SA 3.0 

Extremely social birds, chickens have a very noticeable pecking order - with individual chickens dominating over others in order to have priority for food and nesting location. This pecking order is disrupted when individuals are removed from a flock; adding new chickens also causes fighting and injury until a new pecking order is established. This family structure was exploited by early humans, in order to become the “top chicken” and domesticate the species. Interestingly enough, chickens do gang up on inexperienced predators - foxes have even been killed in such encounters! Despite stereotypes to the contrary, chickens are extremely intelligent animals - studies have shown they have higher intellectual capabilities than human toddlers - they are self aware, are able to count, and do trick one another into actions (aka, they can lie and manipulate other chickens). What’s more, despite their pecking order fights, they are very affectionate and empathetic birds - prone to cuddling with other flock members, and checking in to make sure the flock is alright. They show very rapid learning ability, and are able to grasp basic number theory only after a few weeks from hatching. In addition to being logical with numbers, they can reason out many other things - including forming teams to play kickball! Bird-brain, indeed! 

Red and Green Junglefowl by Francesco Veronesi, CC BY-SA 2.0 

Ecosystem: Junglefowl primarily live in dense, humid rainforest and wet woodland. They can also be found in savanna, scrub habitat, coastal scrub, mountain forest, and also in human plantations and farmland (as wild species spreading into human-created habitat). They do prefer lower elevations to higher ones, as a general rule. They are fed upon by a wide variety of creatures - larger birds, predatory mammals, and large lizards and crocodilians. Of course, the biggest predator of junglefowl is probably People! Just, statistically speaking. 

Sri Lankan Junglefowl by Steve Garvie, CC BY-SA 2.0 

Other: Junglefowl are, thankfully, not threatened with extinction. In fact, they are extremely common birds throughout their range. Domesticated chickens even regularly go feral (ie, return to wild living despite being descended from fully domesticated populations), spreading into places far from their original range such as Latin America, Hawai’i, and Africa. There are many extinct species of Junglefowl; they used to have a much wider range into Europe, but went extinct during the last Glacial Maximum, when things got too cold for them everywhere but Southeastern Asia. They then thrived in those jungle habitats, before being domesticated by people during the Holocene. 

Domesticated Chicken by Berit, CC BY 2.0 

Chickens were domesticated from the Red Junglefowl sometime around 5,000 years ago in Southeastern Asia. It was probably domesticated multiple times - with hybridization occurring afterwards. It spread throughout the world, reaching Greece by the fifth century BCE, though they were in Egypt potentially one thousand years earlier (or even more!!!). They were domesticated due to their frequent laying schedule - made more so by selective breeding, of course - and easily exploitable family structure. They were domesticated to breed even more frequently, leading to an abundance of adult animals - and the females even lay unfertilized eggs, giving us another source of delicious food. They also have been bred to come in many sizes, shapes, and brilliant colors of plumage. Because of their high empathetic capacity, chickens are amazingly good pets - plus, they’re domesticated, which gives them a leg up over parrots. Docile breeds, such as silkies, are great pets for children, including children with disabilities. Chickens are so fundamental to human society, that aphorisms often feature them - and they serve as symbols on heraldry, their feathers are featured in clothing, and it’s hard to escape notice of chickens wherever we go in the world today. 

Chickens are the most common bird in the entire world, being bred throughout the world and able to live in harsher climates than their original range (due to domestication and specially designed coops); there are probably over 50 billion members of the genus Gallus present on the planet today. They are so common that they are a model organism - in order to understand birds as a whole, scientists do extensive studies on chickens in order to understand avian evolution. The genes and development of chickens are probably better understood than any other living kind of dinosaur. This is of special interest to members of this blog, as chicken genes have been manipulated to give them teeth (though without enamel) and longer tails - much like their non-avian dinosaur ancestors. One study even raised chickens to walk around with plungers stuck to their butts like a bony tail - and showcased how the chickens changed their head-bobbing and walking to match the redistributed weight, which makes a decent hypothesis for how non-avian dinosaurs like Velociraptor and Tyrannosaurus were able to walk (see above)! 

By Scott Reid 

Species Differences: Among the living species, there are distinct differences in the coloration of the males. While the females all tend to be brown and black spotted, with some patches of red on the tails and wings in some species, the males have brilliantly different colors all over. Red Junglefowl - the wild kind - are a mid sized species, and are named accordingly for their coloration. The males tend to have reddish orange heads, with green wings and bellies; their backs and back of their wings are alls reddish, though they have brilliantly green tails. Sri Lankan Junglefowl are also reddish, but instead of having green undersides to their wings and green tails, they have blueish-grey feathers in those locations. The Sri Lankan Junglefowl is also one of the smallest living species. The Grey Junglefowl also has greyish-blue tail and wing feathers, except it has a firey orange underbelly and wing top. It has grey feathers all over its body, and orange and white and black speckles on its neck. It is the largest known species. Finally, the smallest species, the Green Junglefowl, is much more than green - it is almost a rainbow of colored feathers! Its tail is green, as is its neck; but the rump tends to be yellow, the top of the wing red, and the wattle and comb aren’t red - but purple, red, yellow, and even blue! Extinct species tend to blur the line between junglefowl and their close relatives such as Peafowl (see the oldest known species, G. aesculapii, above); but in many ways, they differ mainly by living in Europe and Western Asia, rather than Southeast Asia and India.

~ By Meig Dickson

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#Gallus #Chicken #Dinosaur #Bird #Junglefowl #Birds #Dinosaurs #Birblr #Palaeoblr #Factfile #Terrestrial Tuesday #Pheasant #Galloanseran #Landfowl #Quaternary #Neogene #Eurasia #Australia & Oceania #India & Madagascar #Omnivore #Gallus gallus #Gallus varius #Gallus lafayettii #Gallus sonneratii #Green Junglefowl #Grey Junglefowl #Sri Lankan Junglefowl #Red Junglefowl #Gallus aesculapii #paleontology

[ericsonclan]

A Part of the Family

Summary: The Everetts are getting ready for Christmas and Louis gets to tag along for some holiday fun.

Word Count: 2539

Read on A03:

“New stockings! New stockings!” AJ chanted, bouncing happily in the backseat of Clementine’s car. The boy had been crestfallen when Lee had opened up a box of holiday decorations only to find that water had seeped in and wrecked most of them, their stockings included. But once it had been announced that new stockings would be bought, he immediately brightened up, excited by the opportunity to decorate his own stocking and also the possibility of an even bigger stocking than before.

Clementine and Louis shared a knowing smile as they looked back at the boy and then at each other. Louis had been at the house to help the Everetts with decorating for Christmas when the damaged box was discovered. So after the lights had all been strung round the house and the Christmas tree decorated, he’d tagged along with Clementine and A.J. on their quest to get new stockings.

Pulling into the parking lot, Clementine looked towards their neighborhood Target. “Doesn’t look too busy. I think the cold is keeping people away,”

“That and people are probably procrastinating till the last second when it comes to buying gifts,” Louis noted.

Clementine chuckled at the slight tone of judgment within Louis’ voice. He took his gift giving very seriously. All his gifts had been bought back in November, but additional gifts were constantly being added to the pile as he spotted more “perfect” presents that he simply couldn’t pass up. The boy was lucky he came from money, otherwise he’d bankrupt himself each Christmas.

Hopping out of the car, the trio walked hand in hand, A.J. swinging Louis’ and Clementine’s arms back and forth as he scampered along between them. Once they had cleared a patch of ice, Clementine and Louis lifted their arms and swung A.J. back and forth between them, joining his excited laughter with their own. Stepping through the entrance, they all let out a breath of relief as the warmth hit them.

“There’s a shopping cart!” A.J. cried, running forth excitedly and grabbing the first cart he spotted.

“Remember, goofball, we’re just here for the stockings, not anything else,” Clementine cautioned.

“Well, if we see something really awesome then maybe I could pick it up for you…” Louis offered before pausing when he saw Clementine raise an eyebrow. She’d already given him a talk about the half dozen early Christmas presents he’d given A.J. and how he was setting unrealistic expectations for Christmas day. Giving a sheepish grin, Louis clammed up and settled for holding his girlfriend’s hand while she picked up a red shopping basket with the other.

Going down the Christmas aisles at Target, the trio soon reached an aisle that was completely covered with stockings on one side. There were plenty of different pre-made designs that ranged from snowmen to reindeer to snowflakes, but Clementine strode past of all of them and grabbed four blank red stockings.

“Four?” Louis asked curiously.

“Of course. There’s one for you too,”

Louis blushed happily at that, a flustered smile crossing his face.

A.J.’s eyes bugged out at the news. “Does that mean Louis is spending Christmas morning with us so he gets to open his stocking in the morning too?”

Clementine shook her head. “Sorry, kiddo, but I bet Louis wants to spend Christmas with his own family-” she paused when she caught Louis looking at the floor. “Aren’t you?”

“Well, my dad’s gonna be out of the country Christmas day closing a business deal in Japan and my mom’s celebrating Christmas with her husband and Phil so I just mailed them their gifts ahead of time. I usually crash Marlon’s Christmas since his parents don’t mind but he might actually be spending most of the day with Sophie now that they’re dating. And Violet is going on a road trip with Prisha so…”

“Louis, if you want to spend Christmas morning with us, all you have to do is ask,” Clementine said, a smile crossing her lips. “We would love to have you,”

“Really?” Louis’ eyes widened in excitement. I mean if Lee doesn’t mind-”

“He won’t. If anything, he’ll be just as excited as A.J. is,” Clementine glanced down at her little brother who was practically buzzing with excitement.

“Well then, if everybody wants it… I’d love to spend Christmas with you guys,” Louis’ smile grew at his statement.

“Yeah! Louis is coming for Christmas! This is gonna be the best Christmas ever!” A.J. declared, wrapping his arms round Louis’ waist in a tight hug. Louis affectionally patted A.J.’s afro as Clementine looked on happily. It warmed her heart to see how taken A.J. was with Louis.  A few months into their relationship and it already felt like he was part of the family,”

“Well then,” Louis cleared his throat before nodding towards the basket. “Are we ready to check out?”

“We should probably pick up a few other things first. Glitter glue, puff paint, cotton balls, stuff like that,”

“Then away we go to the craft aisle!” Louis pointed his finger dramatically and began to stride off until he paused and looked back. “Do either of you know where the craft aisle is?”

Clementine rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Follow me, you two,”

 ---

About a half hour later they were back home. Lee, who had been busy in the kitchen while they’d been gone, greeted them at the door with a smile, his red apron dusted with flour as well as his hands. “Welcome back, you three. There’s hot cocoa on the table if you want to set up there,”

“Thanks, Lee. Ooh, is that cookies I smell?” Clementine asked, taking off her coat and setting it on the rack by the door.

“Yup. Sugar cookies – your favorite. Dusted them with red and green sprinkles and everything,”

“COOKIES!” A.J. shouted, booking it toward the kitchen.

“Only two to start out with, son, then we’ll see if you can handle more from there!” Lee called. He turned back to the couple with a smile, shaking his head. “That boy’s got me feeling my age. All I want to do is settle down with my hot coca by the tree but here he is tearing through the house like he hasn’t already been doing that all day,”

“He’ll refocus when we get the stocking supplies out. Louis?” Clementine looked back at her boyfriend who held up the bag of supplies.

“Got em right here,”

“Great. We’ll lay everything out on the kitchen table so we can get started while we snack,”

Bringing the supplies into the kitchen, they all worked together to clear off spots for each person to have their own workstation with space for their hot cocoa and plate of cookies as well. After a few minutes dedicated to eating their winter goodies they opened up the supplies and each person began to strategize on how they would decorate their personal stocking.

“I’m doing Disco Broccoli!” A.J. declared loudly, grabbing the red and green puff paint. “But I’m putting him in a Santa suit!”

“That sounds great, kiddo,” Lee replied with a smile. He had taken the brown paint and was beginning to lay it copiously across his stocking. Clementine eyed his choice of color warily.

“What are you making over there. A yule log?”

“Oh, I guess it sort of looks like that now, huh? No, I’m trying to recreate the crossing of the Delaware. Figure it’d be the perfect choice since it happened on Christmas Day. It may be a bit ambitious considering my skills, but I’m sure I’ll get by,”

Clementine shook her head, smiling. Her father’s love of American history really did make its way into every facet of life. Grabbing another tube of red puff paint, she began to write her name neatly atop the border of her stocking. Looking over, she saw that Louis was watching her closely, a tube of green puff paint in his hands. Slowly and delicately, he began to write his own name upon his stocking just as she had done with hers.

“Glad you could join us, Louis,” Lee commented, smiling over at the young man with approval.

“It’s an honor to be here, sir,” Louis replied, a shy smile on his face.

“Just call me Lee, son. You know that by now,”

Louis nodded quickly, his eyes falling back upon his work. It was clear that being around Lee sometimes still overwhelmed him. Clementine figured it was because he felt he had so much to prove. But in her eyes, he’d already proved himself already and she knew that Lee for the most part felt the same way. Clearing her throat, she decided to announce what had been decided on the shopping outing.

“A.J. and I invited Louis to spend Christmas morning with us,”

Louis’ eyes shot over to Clementine’s and then to her father, clearly nervous. But Lee’s reaction made it immediately clear his fear was unfounded.

“That sounds wonderful. There’s always room for another round the Christmas tree. I guess we’ll be keeping your stocking at our house then, right, Louis?”

“Yes, sir. Lee! Yes, Lee,”

Lee smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure our Christmas will be all the merrier with you there,” His approval seemed to set Louis’ mind at ease. The boy’s shoulders relaxed, and he returned to working on his stocking with a calmer focus than he’d had before.

As time progressed their stockings truly started to take form. Clementine was going for a classic look with a Christmas tree upon her stocking. The tree had always been one of her favorite parts of Christmas: picking it out, setting it up, decorating and basking in the glow of the Christmas lights. There had been many years without that after the death of her parents, but Lee had brought back the joy of welcoming in Christmas in full force. The Everetts always went big with their Christmas tree, getting at least an eight footer and decking it out with so many ornaments it was a wonder the branches didn’t collapse under their weight.

“Wow, Clem, that looks awesome!” A.J. commented, his eyes practically sparkling in admiration. His own stocking was smeared with all sorts of paints and spurts of glitter now, but if you squinted you could make out the concept of Disco Broccoli within the chaos.

“Thanks, goofball. Yours is looking really groovy too,” Clementine grinned when A.J. beamed at that description. Thanks to Disco Broccoli, he’d been calling everything he liked “groovy”. Glancing across the table at Lee’s stocking, Clementine tried to stifle a chuckle but only half succeeded.

Lee raised an eyebrow as he heard the sound, smiling over at his daughter. “What? Are you not impressed with my rendition of Crossing the Delaware thus far?” He held up his stocking so they all could see his work, leading to tittering laughter all around.

“It looks like poos with Christmas hats on!” A.J. chortled at the sight.

“Now I don’t think it’s that bad,” Lee protested, glancing back at his work. Sure you can’t really make out who anyone is considering they’re all stick figures and it sorta looks more like they’re floating on a cloud than paddling through the water, but it’s certainly a unique design,”

“Oh, definitely. The Christmas hats were an inspired design choice,” Louis replied, his smile growing when he saw Lee nod in approval at his comment.

“Thank you! I’m glad somebody enjoys my artistic efforts!”

Clementine looked over to see how Louis’ stocking was comparing to all of theirs and her eyes widened in surprise. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but surely not something so… delicate. Louis’ stocking was covered in a myriad of pale blue music notes of all sorts and scattered among them were falling snowflakes done in white glitter puff paint. Each snowflake had a heart at its center, giving an air of romance to the entire design.

Catching Clementine looking at his work, Louis paused in his careful application of another music note, grabbing a cookie and stuffing it in his mouth instead of coming up with something to say.

“I knew I was dating a musician but not an artist to boot,” Clementine commented, pausing in her own work to nab another cookie.

Louis smiled shyly at the praise before a playful smirk emerged. “Yours is looking impressive too, though may I suggest one addition? Instead of the classic star atop the Christmas tree, what if instead you had…” he paused, grabbing an orange pompom and placing it on the stocking, “a clementine?”

Lee chuckled. “That’s a good one, Louis,”

“Yeah, it’s like Clem’s own special tree!” A.J. stated happily.

Clementine rolled her eyes at the unanimous approval but couldn’t keep a smile from showing. “Alright then. If you all insist,”

“Hooray!” Louis leaned forward and placed a quick kiss upon Clementine’s cheek. “I knew you’d recognize my genius someday!”

That one definitely had Clementine rolling her eyes again. She was glad to see Louis truly unwinding and being himself in front of Lee though. The first few times he’d come over he’d been too nervous to even reach for her hand.

---

A little while longer and the stockings were all complete. After accounting for drying time, Lee shook them free of residual glitter then draped them on the bannister. “Quite the stockings we’ve made for ourselves. I think Santa will be proud when he sees them. He turned round to face the others. “Now that that’s done, should we settle in for a movie night? I was thinking it’d be the perfect opportunity to introduce Louis to Muppet Christmas Carol ,”

“That exists?” Louis asked in surprise. “I love the Muppets! I’m game!” He grinned over at Clementine who nodded in agreement.

“I’ve got nothing else planned for the night. A.J.?” She turned to ask her brother but found that he had already run over to the TV and pulled out the treasured DVD.

“It’s Muppet time!” A.J. bounced with excitement as he clutched the movie to his chest.

Grinning in amusement, the others all settled upon the couch to start the film. Clementine rested her head upon Louis’ shoulder as the lights dimmed. It had been a long day. As much as she loved Muppet Christmas Carol , she might just fall asleep on everyone. She stirred though as she felt Louis gently squeeze her hand. She looked over at her boyfriend, smiling softly.

“Thanks for including me today. And inviting me to Christmas,” he whispered.

“Of course. It’s always fun having you over. And…” Clementine paused, biting her lip as her cheeks lightly flushed, “I’m looking forward to Christmas with you,” Even in the darkness of the room she could see Louis’ large grin at her words. Before he could say anything more though, they were both hushed by Lee.

“No more talking you two – the movie’s starting,” Lee watched Muppet Christmas Carol religiously. There would be no chatting or pausing during the film.

Letting out an almost imperceptible sigh, Clementine nuzzled Louis’ shoulder and closed her eyes. It had been a wonderful winter day; she couldn’t wait for Christmas.

#fanfic #ericson's diner au #clouis #ninja fam #twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg lee #twdg #twdg christmas #ericsonclanchristmaschallenge

[fanfoolishness]

ice cream sundaes (Steven Universe)

(3800 words, PTSD, angst, therapy, Greg POV, a bit of Connverse. Post-the Steven Universe movie, a companion piece to my story Full Disclosure.  See Growing Things for the sequel to both stories.)  

Steven finally begins to talk to Greg, Connie and the Gems about the trauma he’s experienced, but love and support aren’t the only things he needs.  Sometimes you need a little extra help. And that’s okay. ***** Warm summer night, don’t cost nothing…

Greg woke with a start, his dreams slipping away.  For a moment he wasn’t sure what had woken him up, but then he realized it was his phone, buzzing and blinking in the dark of the van, louder than the summer crickets and the sound of waves.

What the-- who would call him this late, or this early?  Fear was thick and sudden in the pit of his stomach.  He reached jerkily for the phone.  

“Hello?”

“Greg?  Greg, please come to the house.  It’s Steven.”

“Pearl?” 

“Greg, please --”  She was crying, he could hear that much, but there were sounds in the background.  Voices hushed and urgent.  Greg lurched through the space in the front seats, clambering into the driver’s seat, swearing when he banged his leg on the gear shift in his panic.

“Pearl, what’s wrong?  Is Steven okay?  Did some Gem thing happen to him --”  But the war’s over.  Nothing’s happened since Spinel attacked last year.  His mind raced with possibilities.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” wept Pearl. The voices in the background rose, fell, blurred together.  Amethyst heard something and when we came out to investigate we found Steven and Connie just crying.  Connie said there wasn’t any fighting, and Steven’s physically all right….  But please, Greg, hurry.”  She paused for a moment, apparently listening to one of the voices.  “He’s asking for you.”

Later Greg wasn’t sure how he made it safely through the streets.  The streets might have been empty but his driving was erratic and much too fast.  Sand spun uselessly under the van’s wheels as he came to a stop.  He remembered to turn off his headlights, but left the driver’s side door wide open as he ran up the stairs to Steven’s place.

Pearl greeted him at the door, wide-eyed.  “Come on,” she said, and together they took the stairs two at a time in the dim lamplight.  Greg took a deep breath, willing himself to stop shaking.

“Hey, kiddo,” he called shakily as he crested the top of the stairs.  “Dad’s here.”  Garnet and Amethyst turned to him, both of them sitting on the edge of Steven’s bed.  Garnet’s visor was off, and Greg could see that she and Amethyst had been crying as well.  Steven and Connie sat beside them, holding onto each other.

Steven looked younger than he had in years, though it wasn’t his height that had changed.  Maybe it was the way he curled into Connie’s arms as if he feared he might lose her; maybe it was the way his pajama shorts looked too big on him, rumpled and half-tied.  Maybe it was the slow, halting way he lifted his head up to look at them.  His eyes were so swollen that Greg wasn’t sure Steven could see.  His chest seared at the sight.  

“Dad,” said Steven, his voice so small Greg could hardly hear him.

“Mr. Universe,” said Connie.  He realized she was in her pajamas too, her hair out of place and shadows under her eyes.  She clung protectively to Steven.  “Steven called me about an hour ago.  He said he needed help.”  She’d faced down Gem monsters and Diamonds without blinking, but Greg could see the fear in her now, plain as anything.  “There’s a lot I don’t think he’s told you.”

Garnet and Amethyst joined Pearl in sitting on the ground beside the bed.  They each reached up and patted Steven on the knee in turn.  Steven nodded numbly to them, then rested his head back on Connie’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“Steven?  What’s wrong?  Talk to me.” He sat down in the empty space next to Steven, reaching out automatically to pat his bare back.  Steven’s skin was clammy with sweat.  “It’s gonna be okay, Schtu-ball.”

Well, maybe he didn’t really know if it was gonna be okay, but he had to do what he could to make it happen.  He leaned down, trying to catch Steven’s eye with his own.  “Hey.”

Steven couldn’t speak.  He stared down at the floor through his puffy eyes and bit his lip, apparently trying to find the words.  He looked so tired.  

The past few weeks Greg thought he had been imagining it, the pinched, weary look on Steven’s face.  He’d chalked it up to a growth spurt, or playing video games all night long, or talking to Connie on the phone when he should be sleeping.  He was forced to admit he’d been completely wrong.  This was beyond tiredness: it was sheer exhaustion, and he could see now that it went to the bone.  Why hadn’t he seen it before?

“It’s okay, Steven.  You know you need to tell them,” Connie whispered.  

“Please, Steven,” said Garnet.  Her hands twisted together, gold and silver bands glinting.  Pearl and Amethyst nodded.  

“Whatever it is, we can handle it,” said Amethyst fervently.

“How can we help if we don’t know what’s wrong?” asked Pearl.

“There’s just so much,” Steven said faintly.  He buried his face in his hands.  “There’s too much, and it’s all too big to think about, and I didn’t -- I didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“You’re not responsible for our feelings, kiddo,” said Greg.  “That’s not on you.”  But he looked at Steven with his face in his hands, and he remembered where he’d seen him do that before, beneath a baleful green sky in the front seat of the van.  Steven’s words rang just as clear as ever.  They’re trying to protect me, but I have to protect them!  

“But everyone needs me. I’m a Diamond, not a little kid,” Steven mumbled.  “I’m supposed to be strong.  I thought I could handle it.  I thought I could pretend it was fine.  But it’s not fine.  I can’t sleep -- I keep remembering -- I’m having these terrible dreams --”

Garnet gently pulled one of his hands away, and he reluctantly lowered the other.  She gazed into his face.  “You’ve done so much, Steven.  Let us do this for you.”

Steven looked back and forth between Greg and Connie and the Gems, looking scared.  Hunted, maybe, was a better word, and Greg fought to keep himself calm, seeing Steven’s half-frantic expression.  He could freak out later.  Steven needed him now.

“You can do this, Steven,” said Greg.

Steven’s mouth thinned into a tight line.  “I don’t know where to start,” he admitted.

“Well, what did you dream tonight?” Connie asked.  She reached up, brushing some of the sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead.  “You could start there.  One step at a time, right?”

Steven considered her words.  “Yeah.  I guess that makes sense.”  He let out a long breath.  “I dreamed about Homeworld.  When we fought with White Diamond. Do… you guys remember?”

The Gems nodded.  “Of course we do, Steven,” said Pearl.  

He shook his head.  “No, you don’t.  Not -- not this part.”  His breathing became faster, erratic.  He trembled under Greg’s hand, and Greg gripped his shoulder tightly.  “Connie’s the only one who… I made her promise….”  

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Steven.  Breathe,” said Greg.  What happened on Homeworld? I knew I shouldn’t have let him go, I knew something happened that he didn’t want to tell me, but I didn’t want to push, I let it go --

“Do you want me to tell them?” Connie asked.  Tears trickled down the end of her nose. 

His face fell back into his hands.  “Please,” he said, the sound muffled.

Connie leaned her head against Steven’s, swallowing.  “Do you guys remember what happened to Blue and Yellow?  When White finally paid attention to them?”

Pearl stared at Amethyst with wide eyes.  Garnet was so focused she had gone utterly still.  “White Diamond took over their gems.”

“Yeah, but… but you told us this part,” said Amethyst in confusion.  “You said White Diamond knocked us out, or brainwashed us, or whatever, but you were able to change her mind.”

Pearl wrapped her arms around herself.  “I always thought it seemed too easy,” she said under her breath.  “I knew White Diamond.  She was always convinced she knew everything. I knew she would never change her mind so easily --”

“Yet she did change her mind,” said Garnet.  “So we believed what Steven had told us: that he spoke with her, and she listened.” 

“Connie,” said Greg.  He was very, very cold.  “What did White Diamond do to him?”

Connie’s face screwed up into a teary grimace.  “She kept calling him Pink.  She wouldn’t listen to him.  She told him he was weak, and that he made everyone else weak, too, and -- she -- she said it was time to stop playing.  Time for Pink to come out.”

“No,” breathed Pearl, horror dawning on her face.  Greg didn’t understand.  What did she mean?

“She pulled his gem out,” Connie sobbed.

The words hung there, awful and final and cruel.  Greg stared at Steven, eyes frantically flashing to his son’s belly where the familiar pink gem shone as bright as ever.  And yet -- and yet --

Garnet was frozen.  For a moment, it was literal, ice shimmering on the floor beneath her crossed legs.  Pearl wailed on Amethyst’s shoulder.  Amethyst looked like she was going to throw up.  And Greg felt a terrible, endless hollow blooming in the pit of his stomach. His eyes burned.

“Steven, I’m so sorry, I should have been there --”  Greg hugged Steven so fiercely his arms ached with the effort.  Steven shivered in his embrace, breathing as hard as if he’d just been running, his face damp against Greg’s neck.  

“I was dying, Dad,” Steven choked.  “I could feel it.  I was so scared...”  He gulped.  “My gem.  It reformed into another me.  It had all my powers, and it fought back against White.  But all I knew was that I wanted to be myself so bad.”  His hands knotted themselves in Greg’s shirt, forming fists.  “Not Mom, not Rose, not Pink Diamond.  Just… me.  I had to be.  Or I was gonna die.” 

“No!” Amethyst cried, slamming a fist into the floor.  “That’s not fair!  How could she do that to you?”  Beside her, Pearl tried to stifle her sobs.

The ice beneath Garnet melted, and she bowed over herself, weeping.  Greg had never seen her like this before, and even with everything else, it scared him.  “Steven -- I’m sorry -- I never saw --”

“Please -- just let me --”  Steven shuddered.  “I felt so sick.  Everything hurt so bad.”  He closed his eyes, deep in memory.  “I tried to get back to me, back together, but I couldn’t even walk.  I just fell.  So I tried to crawl, but I knew I wouldn’t make it.”  His breathing slowed, finally relaxing. “That’s when Connie carried me.”

Greg reached out.  Wordlessly he pulled Connie into the hug, too, and the three of them huddled there, arms around each other.

Steven raised his head.  He tried to laugh a little, the sound strange and foreign when paired with his reddened eyes and blotchy face.  He gave Greg and the Gems a watery smile.  “Connie saved me.  She carried me to myself, and that’s when I knew that I’d always been me. Me and no one else.”  His smile faded.  “You don’t know what that meant to me.”  He stared down at his gem, dark eyes fixed on its pink surface, and he no longer looked young and scared.  Instead, he looked older than Greg had ever seen him.  

“No,” Greg murmured, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I guess I don’t.”

Steven laid a trembling hand on his gem.  “The two of us laughed.  We danced, and we fused, and I was me again.  And I was so happy to be me that I… couldn’t bear to think about the rest.  So after everything, when I realized you guys didn’t remember, I -- I didn’t want to remember either.”

“You asked me not to say anything.  You said you’d tell them yourself.  But you didn’t,” said Connie haltingly.  “That was really hard.  I had bad dreams, Steven. Dreams where I couldn’t get you there in time, and you didn’t make it...  I told my parents they were just about school.”  She wiped at her eyes.  “I know why you didn’t want to tell them.  But it was still horrible.”

“I know.  I’m really sorry.  I shouldn’t have asked you to keep a secret.”  Another watery smile, this one rueful.  “I guess not talking about it didn’t make it any better, anyway.”

A tinny noise was going off in Greg’s ear, a whine that became a buzzing roar.  He tried to remember how to breathe.  He almost died.  He almost died.  I almost lost him.

“Dad?  Are you okay?”

“Greg,” said Garnet firmly.  “None of us knew.  This isn’t your fault.  Don’t --”

“Steven, why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you tell me?” Greg asked before he could stop himself.  “I’m your dad!  I have to know about this stuff!  I know you’re the one with the shield, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect my son!”

“You can’t protect me!  Not from stuff like this!”  

“Maybe if we’d known, maybe if I’d been there --”

“No!” Steven snapped.  His face was a mess of snot and tears, filled with mingled pain and an anger Greg had never seen from him.  He pushed Greg’s arms away, panting.

You messed up, Universe!  “Steven, I’m --”

“I knew this would happen!” Steven burst out, leaping to his feet and whirling to face each of them.  “I knew I’d have to see all of you hurting just because of something that happened to me, and it was bad enough going through it the first time!  Do you think I want to keep thinking about losing my gem?  Or White brainwashing Garnet and Amethyst and Pearl?  What about what I had to do to Bismuth? Or Eyeball trying to kill me when I thought I was going to die in space?  Or Lars actually dying!  Of course I don’t want to remember that stuff!  Of course I don’t want to scare all of you and make you cry!  I knew this was why I shouldn’t say anything --”  He collapsed back onto the bed, laying flat on his back and crying silently, his hands over his eyes.

Greg stared helplessly at Connie and the Gems.  For a moment, they were speechless.

Connie was the first to move.  She laid down on her back beside Steven, cautiously taking his hands in hers.  “You can’t keep burying it, Steven,” she said softly.  “It’s killing you.”

“I know, I just -- I can’t hurt anyone else with this stuff,” he sniffed.  “It makes it even worse.”

Greg reached down and gently brushed away a tear from Steven’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.  Steven looked ashamed, and opened his mouth to speak.  Greg beat him to it. “Don’t apologize, kiddo,” he said firmly.

“But I made you cry.  I yelled at you --”

“Well, I messed up.  So maybe I deserved that.”  Greg sighed.  “Look, Steven… I think I speak for all of us when I say we aren’t perfect.  I think we’re gonna make some mistakes when it comes to trying to help you with this stuff.  I’m sorry for that.  And for everything you’ve been through.”

“We’re sorry, too,” said Garnet, her three eyes thoughtful and sad.  “You’ve come so far as a Gem that sometimes we forget we need to help you be human.”

“We’re still learning how to help humans, after all these years,” said Pearl with a tearful smile.  “And we want to help you.  We love you.”

“We’ll get better at it,” said Amethyst determinedly.  “Think of how much you helped all of us, Steven.  Now it’s our turn.”

Connie sat up, wiping at her face.  “I have an idea, too.  It’s a fully human solution.  It does take a long time, but it’s something that helped me a lot when we were always moving and I didn’t have any friends.”  She looked around at them all.  “Support from family can mean so much, but it’s not always enough.  We all love Steven, and that’s great, but sometimes, it’s best to talk to someone who doesn’t know you at all.”

Steven gazed up at Connie, and Greg studied his face carefully.  Morning sunlight streamed in, bright and brilliant.  It sparkled on the drying tears on his face.  For the first time all night, Steven looked almost calm.  “Yeah?”

And Greg thought, He can do this.  

We can do this.

***

Greg sat in the parking lot of a small strip mall in Ocean Town, the back of his van opened to let in the fall breeze.  His fingers picked idly at his acoustic guitar.  He had a bright little melody going, something that would work nicely with the riffs Steven had come up with last night.  He’d have to see if Pearl wanted to write a bass line for it at their next jam session.  He played it through several times, working out the kinks, and was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Steven walking up to him.

“Hey Dad,” Steven said, jumping into the back of the van and nudging him with a shoulder.  He looked a little worn out, but in a good way.  Nothing like the exhaustion of a few months ago.  “You sounded pretty good there.”

“Aw, you’re too kind to your old man,” said Greg.  He put the guitar away and gave Steven a quick one-armed hug.  “How are you doing, kiddo?  Want to head out now, or would you like a minute?”

Steven mulled it over.  “No, we can get going.  I was just going to meet up with Connie later.  Unless you want to stay and practice more.”

“Stay in Ocean Town?  Are you kidding?” 

Steven chuckled.  “Point taken, Dad.”

They drove in comfortable silence for a few blocks before Steven glanced at him.  “You know, I could drive myself now.  Or take Lion, even.”

They pulled up to a stoplight.  Greg turned to his son, aching with a powerful mix of love and affection, regret and pride.  “I don’t mind driving you, Steven,” he said quietly.  “I mean it.”

Steven let out a sigh, and gave him a small, shy smile as the light turned green.  “I didn’t mean I wanted you to stop.  I -- it’s nice.  Knowing that you don’t mind waiting for me.”

“I want to be there.  Honest,” said Greg in relief.  “Besides, would Lion take you out for ice cream every week?”

Steven giggled.  It was a sound Greg hadn’t realized he’d missed until he started hearing it again, a few weeks ago.  “We both know Lion has terrible taste in ice cream.  Lion Lickers?  Come on.  Pure trash.”

“My point exactly.”  Greg pulled the van into a familiar parking lot.  They headed inside the Oceans of Ice Cream and ordered their usual, settling into their regular booth with a heaping banana split with all the fixings. The ice cream concoction towered before them, balancing precariously in a cheap plastic bowl shaped like a schooner. They clinked their spoons together -- plastic, shaped like octopi -- and dove in.

“Cherry man!”  Steven pushed the cherry on top over to Greg’s side of the sundae, then attacked one of the six flavors of ice cream piled on top of the banana.  He winced for a moment.  “Eurgh.  Brain freeze. Delicious, delicious brain freeze.”

“It’s the price we pay,” said Greg solemnly, fighting back a similar issue of his own.  He had to remember to give the ice cream a moment to warm up next time.  “Eesh.”

Steven took another bite, looking steadily at his spoon. “So I, uh, we had a good session today.”  

“Yeah?” asked Greg, collecting as many walnut bits as he could to mix in with the whipped cream.  He wrangled them expertly with his spoon, listening carefully.

“Yeah,” said Steven, sitting up straighter.  “I got to go through a lot today.  And it wasn’t as hard as it used to be.  It was really helpful.”  He wiped a bit of hot fudge off his cheek.  “Ben’s a really good listener.”

“That’s what he’s there for,” said Greg, looking up from the sundae to smile warmly.  “I’m really glad he’s a good fit.  I know not every counselor was able to go with the flow on the Gem stuff.”

Steven shook his head.  “Yeah, the first one almost passed out when I showed her how to summon my shield as an example.  I’m sure she’s great with most humans… I’m uh, just not always like most humans.”  He took a big bite of fudge ripple.  “But I feel like I can say that there.  Like it’s okay to bring up the stuff that scares me, in a way that’s not… overwhelming?”

“That’s good, Schtu-ball.  How are you feeling when you talk about this stuff with your old man, or the Gems?” Greg asked.  He had his own ideas, based on how things had been going recently, but he wanted to hear Steven say it.  He swallowed banana and mint chocolate chip.

“A lot better.”  The scoop of strawberry ice cream vanished in the space of a few bites.  “There’s still some things that will always be hard, I think.  Stuff about Mom, especially.  I’m working on it.”  He licked his spoon thoughtfully.  Somehow a bit of whipped cream had gotten on his nose.  “But overall, it’s getting better.”  He wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, then grinned. “I think I’m getting better.  Though I still always manage to make a mess with my ice cream.”

Greg blinked back sudden tears, looking at his son.  He saw for a moment a chubby little boy covered in whipped cream, giggling with delight, leaving sticky handprints all over the table.  “Some things never change.  I used to have to bring a whole new change of clothes for you when we went to get ice cream.  You’d even get it in your hair.”  

“I remember that,” Steven laughed.  “Hot fudge is the worst to try and rinse out later.  Whipped cream’s not so bad, though.”  

Greg gazed at Steven.  He was no longer a sticky-handed little boy, but once more a young man sitting tall in the booth across from him, with Greg’s eyes and Rose’s curls, a young man who was stronger and kinder and braver than either of them could have ever hoped.  

Greg set his spoon down in the empty bowl.  “But some things do change.  For the better.”  He reached out and squeezed Steven’s hand.  It wasn’t sticky at all.  

“I’m really proud of you, Steven.”

Steven looked quietly back at him, his eyes shining.  Greg thought he looked braver than ever.  

“Thanks, Dad.”

#steven universe #steven quartz universe #steven universe future #steven universe: the movie #greg universe #connverse #ptsd #steven for therapy 2019 #angst #please take care of the precious boy #fanfoolishness steven universe fic

[everlarkficexchange]

Four Steps to Being Single

Written by: @wingletblackbird​

Betaed by: @butrfac14

Prompt 24: Canon Divergence. Through the years Katniss can’t stop paying attention to Peeta and she’s actually aware of it. When they settle as victors in district 12 or when the time for the victory tour comes (whichever you prefer) she can’t keep herself away from him and the line between friendship and something more becomes blurry until it disappears. [submitted by anonymous]  

Rating: General

Four Steps to Being Single

Step 1: Go For the Impossible

I couldn’t say when it started, noticing Peeta Mellark. Well, I mean, I know when I first noticed him, as in learned his name. It was after he gave me the bread and risked a beating from his mother to do it.

  “Who’s that boy?” I’d asked Madge casually one day. Although I’m not certain I succeeded at casual, since it is not in my nature to inquire about strangers, let alone ones from Town. I tried to cover by saying that I thought my father used to trade with his family.

  “Peeta Mellark,” Madge told me. “He’s my cousin’s best friend. He’s quite nice.”

  And so he was.

  I waited for the other shoe to fall, but it never did. He never in word, gesture, or deed made me feel small. Never, to my knowledge, boasted, bragged about, or mocked my situation to his friends. Never cornered me and asked for favours in return. That was why I first watched him. He sometimes watched me too, and I figured that must’ve been because he was checking up on me, the starving girl he saved. It wounded my pride a bit, and I clung to the resentment like a shield, watching to see if there were anyway to repay him. There really wasn’t, not in scope. Approaching him would probably make things worse if it got back to his mother anyway.

  So I watched him then not because I feared his price, but because nothing should hurt this kind boy. I watched him to see what the smallest acts of courage and kindness could wrought. My life saved, my family saved, and through my mother and sisters’ healing hands, who knows how many lives touched? All because of Peeta Mellark. No, I could never repay him. Even now, he gives me hope. When all I see is cruelty, and death, and hard-heartedness, there existed that one person who not only was kind, but resiliently so, even in the face of personal cost. Yes, I watched Peeta Mellark, but when did it go from hope, and gratitude, and fear to….attraction?

  I don’t know.

  I watched him hanging around with his friends and was glad he had them. Marvelled at his talent as an actor at school plays. Seethed when he was teased for his gifts, for his height. Watched as he excelled in wrestling after his growth spurt. The broadening of his shoulders, and the development of his muscle mass gave me comfort in the fact that he was more able to protect himself now.

  I watched him become so popular, you’d never guess he’d ever noticed a girl like me. But he never stopped being gentle or nice. I knew his schedule, observed in gym class that he always double-knotted his shoes, remembered his shifts at the bakery. I was just keeping tabs on him like I should given the debt owed. Right?

  And if I ever got upset when girls talked about him, it was only because they were vain, self-centered, and shallow. Peeta Mellark was owed more than that. That’s all. I was like his little protector, because I owed him. No other reason. I really never thought otherwise, never gave much thought to it at all. I can never peg when it started, only the moment of realisation.

  It was so simple.

  It was a cold winter’s day; I had come a bit too early to trade at the bakery, so Mr. Mellark had invited me to wait inside for a bit, and taken my coat before giving me my bread. Peeta was on the early rotation that morning, and he’d been the one to package it. He’d been the one to escort me out, and he’d been the one who had courteously and gallantly gotten my father’s coat. He hadn’t just helped me slip it on either. (And I was intimately aware of every movement as his arms went around me, and his fingers brushed my shoulder, just so.) Oh, no. That’s not good enough for Peeta Mellark. Peeta took the time to help me button it up, then to roll up the cuffs on the sleeves that were far too long for my bony arms.

  “It’s fine. I can do it myself.” I’d bit out, never liking to feel vulnerable, being the center of attention, and Peeta made me feel that way, which is why in spite of myself my tone came out harsher then I’d have liked, especially given who I was talking to.

  “It’s alright. I don’t mind.” He’d smiled at me, and it was shy, hesitant, gentle, hopeful, sincere and so blue. My body thrummed like I’d unwittingly placed my hand on the electrified fence. I opened my mouth to make a quick retort about personal space, but my mouth felt dry. I couldn’t focus it, so I bolted out like a crazy person. I was never looking him in the eye again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. Now that I was aware of it, I was aware of it.

  Still, I reasoned, all told, if I must endure this feeling, like all creatures of the wild. Better instead to pine for the boy I can never have, because that way there’s no need for awkward refusals and explanations. No chance of having to deal with it all. I am never getting married, or having kids. As for Peeta Mellark, the popular, golden boy, wrestling champion noticing me? He may as well fall in love with the mud on his boots. Really, I was absolutely safe.

  Step 2: Enforce Boundaries

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.”

  “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

  “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?”

  I look up, but I don’t really know what to say. The depth of feeling I felt when he almost died, every time he almost died, when they separated us, it’s so deep I’m not sure I can see the bottom. It’s like being afraid of heights. I never dreamed he might feel for me what I did for him. Or rather, I dreamed it upon a rare occasion, but never presumed it would ever, ever be reality. Who could have seen this coming? And was it real? My caring for him might have been, but most every way I acted was for the cameras, and now that they’re gone…

  I can’t have kids. I can’t go through that. How much is going to be left when we go home? I don’t know. He can never be more than my friend. He’d move on though. Probably. There are loads of women who’d want Peeta Mellark, victor, many more than would have wanted him before. I would just get in the way.

  I look down at the flowers in my hand. The wild onions which remind me of my life before the Reaping, of Gale. He’d hate me being with any Townie. He barely tolerates Madge, and while I’m not inclined to let Gale dictate my friendships, I’m not in the mood to deal with the fallout either. I wish things would go back to the way they were before, simpler, without the blood of children on my hands, before Peeta and I had ever shared a conversation, when it was safer. And maybe that would be better for him too, a clean break. I don’t know how to say this the right way without crushing him. I’m not good with words at the best of times. Peeta is fidgeting and huffing and clearly expecting an answer.

  “I don’t know. I–we’ll be neighbours. We’ll see each other. I don’t–”

  “It’s fine.” He cuts in abruptly raising his palm towards me in a gesture to stop. “It’s fine. I should’ve seen this coming. It’s fine. I’ll just…stay away. Won’t mess things up for you.”

  “Peeta, wait!” I call out, but he’s marching off to the train, his shoulders are so tense they remind me of rocks. I drop the flowers to the ground and collapse. Mid-sob I realise I don’t want to be caught crying out here, so I head straight to my room and lock it where I lie on the bed. I cry until I sleep. You’re not supposed to feel loss for people who are alive.

  Peeta and I don’t talk again for weeks.

  I miss him. I try to go through the motions of being who I used to be. The girl who hunts in the woods with her friend, Gale. It doesn’t work though, because that Katniss doesn’t know what it feels like to be in the games, to be the prey, to be on the receiving end of Peeta Mellark’s affection. Even when I’m not having nightmares, I dream of him. I hunt. I come home. I see his house, and I worry. I yearn, and it scares me so much I rush back inside and try not to think about it.

  As time goes by, I know this isn’t feasible. There’s the Victory Tour, and mentoring, and Peeta and I will always be neighbours. His words, I’ll stay away, echo through my ears, and I know I have to find the courage to talk to him, because I don’t want that. I never wanted that. I hadn’t told him that. We’re going to have to work together anyway, get along. So I storm across to his front door, and in my determination knock far more harshly than I likely should. I’m scared I’ll lose my nerve.

  “Katniss?” I have clearly woken him up. He’s been sleeping even though it’s almost noon.

  “Did I wake you?” It’s a stupid question given he’s bleary-eyed, and his hair is sticking up every angle, and his shirt is all rumpled, but it’s supposed to be polite, isn’t it? And I’m no good at this stuff.

  “Um, yeah.” His voice sounds hoarse from sleep and he blinks a few times to orient himself. “Why don’t you come in?”

  I nod, and brace myself to enter, preparing for what, I’m not even sure. His house is much like ours, but his colour scheme is different. It’s clear he hasn’t done much with the place. Hasn’t tried to personalise it. He lives here, but it doesn’t look like he considers it home.

  “Is there anything, you’d like to drink? Eat?”

  “No, it’s fine. I just wanted to talk.”

  He sighs, and looks resigned to misery. Frankly I feel a touch annoyed at his melodrama, but I follow him into the living room and sit on the sofa across from him.

  There is an awkward silence. If I ever had a biography written about me, it ought to be called just that. Unless I’m in the woods. Silence is a language in the woods, and I’m a native speaker. Peeta isn’t making it easy either.  He’s leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, watching me intently. I feel pinned. Clearly I am required to start this conversation.

  “I don’t want you to think I want you to stay away from me.” He looks nonplussed. So I clarify, as I grip and ungrip my hands in lieu of biting my nails. I am stiff as a board on this stupid sofa. “You said that at the train stop, that you’d stay away. I don’t want that.”

  “You don’t?” He asks tentatively and his head rises just slightly. I can see hope glow in his eyes, but it’s so fragile a baby’s breath could puff it out.

  “No. I mean, we have to work together, and I–”

  He huffs, interrupting me, and leans back against the sofa, shaking his head. He looks put out.

  “Look, Katniss, if this is about the Tour, or the Games, or the cameras. I won’t let you down, but I’m not…just…” He waves his hands erratically in frustration. “Don’t lie. Don’t say you want me around when you don’t.”

“I’m not!” I shout. I am incensed he would think that of me, and I’ve had more than enough of his self-pity. “I never said that. Why would you think that? Look, I’m not getting married, okay? I’m not having kids. It’s nothing to do with you.” I cross my arms and my legs petulantly. I am mad. He should know it. Idiot. “I decided that years ago, so you can stop acting like a kicked puppy, because it’s really getting annoying.” My tirade slows as I see poor, Peeta’s jaw hanging open. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, but I can only be your neighbour, okay? I’m pretty sure that’s what I said in the first place. It’s nothing personal.”   

  Peeta nods slowly, like he’s absorbing it all. Finally, he apologises.

  “I’m sorry. I…I just thought you were doing what you had to do, and I’m grateful you were looking out for me too, but I didn’t think that meant you wanted to be around me. Why would you? And I thought Gale might be upset. And–”

  “He is. He doesn’t like people from Town, but it’s not like that anyway. I told you. No marriage. No kids. Gale knows how I feel.” I shrug. “Now you do too.” I look away, because I can’t make eye contact with him, and I don’t know what to say. I almost feel like I’m lying. Fortunately, Peeta has never been troubled by such things.

  “Well,” he says wryly after he collects his thoughts, “what’s your favourite colour?”

  We grin.

  Step 3: Maintain Boundaries

Having Peeta’s friendship makes things easier, so much easier. I don’t have to hide from him, or explain things. Mom and Prim understand the flashbacks, and the nightmares, but I don’t want to talk to them. Prim is so young, and with Mom…it’s just hard. I don’t want to add to her burdens. Gale would rather pretend nothing happened, yet somehow still seethes. Peeta though, he was there. He knows me. He goes through it with me. When I jump at loud noises, he quips a one-liner with an empathetic look in his eyes. I am still Katniss, just extra jumpy. He has an entirely different approach to handling nightmares though. He paints. I don’t know how he can stand it. I try to avoid that part of my life entirely the way you jerk your hand off of a hot oven. Peeta feels he has to remember it though.

  “It helps to realise that it’s just a nightmare,” he explains. “When I paint it. I have control over it, distance.”

  “But you still have nightmares.”

  “Yes, but it happened. I don’t know if I want to forget what happened there.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye as we examine his work. “Should Rue be forgotten?”

  Tears fill my eyes, and I want to glare at him, but I can’t. I let him wrap his arms around me, and I press my face against his warm, strong chest, and the tears flow. I do nothing to stop his affection. He rests his cheek against the top of my head.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I just want to find some meaning in it.

  “There isn’t. One man’s power trip. Capitol cruelty.” It’s risky saying it, but I don’t care.

  “I know, but…I survived, and I can’t get past that I am alive, because so many aren’t. Good people. Children like Rue. I need to…acknowledge that. Live somehow in a way that doesn’t dishonour that.” He’s choking up now too, and I hug him tighter. We stay like that for a very long time, until our arms hurt, and it’s hard to stand. Then we sit, and stay wrapped up for even longer. I feel safe.

  It doesn’t entirely stop the nightmares, but sharing with Peeta does decrease their severity and frequency. At least when I wake up, it can be easier. I am up every morning to check on the snare line for Gale, and when I return, I help Peeta with his bread routes. Peeta bakes where I hunt. He takes cat naps while the dough is rising, or the bread is in the oven. True to his desire to make his survival mean something, he delivers the bread to the Community Home, and leaves other loaves in the trash bins in Town where he knows starving Seam children will find him. When he first brought me with him I wanted to lean up and whisper in his ear that I thought he was amazing, that I desired him too. But I don’t. I can’t.

  Instead I tell him he has inspired me. It’s true. I decide my so-called talent will be gardening and botany. It’s just a cover so I can plant berry bushes, and fruit trees, and vegetables inside the fence. Maybe, it’s not much, but I know what a difference even two loaves of bread can make between life and death. I think of Rue in the plants, how she wanted me to win. Peeta’s right. This makes me feel like, somewhere, she’s smiling.

  That’s the only downside to being with Peeta really. He does something seemingly small, and I almost combust. It’s the yearning, the want to run my fingers through his hair, to hold his hands, to caress his jaw, to sit on his lap, to kiss him until I can’t feel my lips. I never do, and it takes more discipline than I expect, since I know he would welcome my attentions. I guess I am the Girl on Fire. I spend a lot of time gazing at him when I know he isn’t looking. When he’s painting is an excellent time. Peeta gets so focused, still, hinting at entire worlds locked away inside him. His hands are gentle, but precise, as he places each stroke of the brush. I pretend to read in the corner, but more often than not, I just watch him, bask in him, the knowledge he is alive, safe, for now.

  Sometimes I fall asleep in that corner, and Peeta will pick me up, carry me to bed, and carefully tuck me in. One time, I groggily grasp his hand and ask him to stay. So he does. He crawls into the bed alongside me and I nuzzle into his chest as he wraps his arms around me and I drift off dreaming of warmth and sunshine.

  It starts a pattern. I join Peeta in his morning catnaps, and I like it so much, I take to dragging blankets down and creating a nest in front of the fireplace during mid-afternoon, when everyone, insomniac or otherwise, gets sleepy. Maybe it’s just an excuse, but I’ll make any I can to spend more time in Peeta’s arms. Sometimes, more often than not, if I wake before him, I run my fingers through his curls, or down his cheek. I kiss his forehead, and eyes, and nose, and cheeks, and sometimes even his lips. He sleeps like a log so he never notices. I doubt he’d mind though, so I keep doing it, because when affection bubbles up inside me, this is the best way I can think of to handle it. That, and fussing over him, or bringing him meat. I’m not good with words, so I just do stuff and hope people understand. Prim used to tease I was like Buttercup bringing in trophies of dead mice for his loved ones. I resent the comparison, probably because it’s accurate. Peeta and I call each other every night, especially when the nightmares are bad. Often I slip over just to be sure he’s still breathing.

  We never have to worry about anyone interrupting us. Sometimes Peeta visits his family in Town. Even more rarely, his father, and occasionally one of his brothers will drop by. They aren’t a close family. Peeta confesses his mother pitched a fit at the idea of living so close to the Everdeens, then said it was too far from the bakery, and didn’t look good, or whatever. The truth is she’s a witch. When Peeta says it’s just as well, they never got on anyway, the woebegone look in his eyes makes me wrap my arms around him, and I do kiss him on the cheek. I rest my head on his shoulder. It’s not right the way they treat him. I don’t understand it. I never even wanted to love anyone, and I couldn’t help myself. Worse still, I feel bad for being so hard on him when he stopped talking to me for awhile, because I can understand now why he leapt to all the wrong conclusions. If your family rejects you, I suppose you come to expect it. It hurts my heart. I want to wrap him up in cotton wool and place him on a really high shelf where nothing will ever wound him again. I feel like a dragoness who hisses and spits at anyone who would dare try to steal her gold hidden deep in a cave, except it is not gold I guard, but my golden boy, the sunshine boy, the boy with the bread. Hiss. My sweet boy. I really am very feral.

  “We can be your family.” I whisper into his ear one day as we are lying together, and it is worth every bit of anxiety I feel to see the lazy grin spread across his face.

  “I’d like that.”

  Mom and Prim are healers at heart. They take Peeta in like he’s a wounded puppy.

  It’s ironically the best summer of my life. I don’t worry about food, or warmth, or winter. I go on picnics. I swim in the lake. I teach Peeta to swim, (which is playing with that fire, but I regret nothing.) I stargaze. I curl up like a cat, and stretch when I get up. The only struggle is Gale. I wish it wasn’t so, because he has been my support for years, but I find I have to hide most of my life from him. He resents me living in Victor’s Village, I think. He despises hearing about Peeta. He won’t talk about the mines, which I don’t suppose I can blame him for, but that only leaves the woods and his family to talk about. Since Hazelle keeps me informed about that, it’s really just the woods. It wouldn’t be an issue, the woods have always been ours, except his bitterness spills out over sometimes. His eyes flash, and his jaw tenses. The air feels sharp and dangerous. I can’t abandon him though, and I cannot even fathom how awful it must feel to be so trapped. I garner the impression he feels cheated out of something. I do what I can to lift his spirits, have him enjoy his one day above ground. We find our new routine, But the last Sunday before the train comes he presses a kiss on me.

  “I had to do that. Just once.” He says before storming away. I don’t know what to make of it. I stand stupefied for awhile, never having really considered that it could be a future with me he feels so cheated of. It would never have happened anyway. I don’t dare tell him that.

  To add insult to injury, I am forced to talk with President Snow.

  Step Four: Throw Your Hands up in Despair

“Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?”

  My eyes widen that he’s even asking me. “Yes!”

  “Sorry, sorry.” He’s quick to reassure me which hurts in so many other ways. “I just…you said he knew how you felt about kids, marriage, so…”

  “He was just being an ass.” I reassure him and rub my hand across his shoulders. We are both sitting on his bed after the travesty that was our encounter with District Eleven. I wrap my arms around him from behind and rest my cheek on his shoulder.

  “Thanks for standing in front of that Peacekeeper. It was really brave.” I can feel the tension drain out of him, and can practically hear his proud smirk. I swear. Men. But if it makes him feel better I don’t complain. Instead, I turn his head to face me and kiss him softly on the lips.

  “To make you even,” I explain with an uncharacteristic wink, and I am gratified to hear Peeta laugh. We go to sleep not long after that. There’s no question that he stays with me.

  It really is remarkable how bad I am at convincing anyone that I am in love with Peeta, especially given that it’s true. I suppose it’s the nature of the camera. It can’t show the little things I do. And I’m not prone to grand gestures in front of audiences. I can’t make it look real. I’m supposed to speak my love, but if I did, it would probably come out all wrong with smatterings of “but Dandelions, and Spring, and sunshine, don’t you see?” But that’s for me not them, and I cannot bring myself to part with it. It makes me too vulnerable to share the story about the bread either. It occurs to me Peeta has a courage, a strength I don’t. He told the truth to Caesar in our Tribute interviews, and he turned his vulnerability into a honed weapon. I am a survivor in my own fashion, but I don’t know how to do that.  

  Kissing Peeta and pretending I don’t want more is a chore too, and only complicates an already sticky matter. Well, when it’s in front of the cameras, I generally don’t want more, but when we sneak off to get caught on them, it’s another matter. It’s hard not to get too into it, and I wonder how in the world I’m supposed to do this for the rest of my life, assuming Snow doesn’t kill us all? How am I supposed to kiss Peeta on camera, and then go home, and keep my hands to myself? Being around Peeta is nothing short of deadly.

  So when we come to the Capitol, reasonably sure we’ve failed, I throw it out-

  “We could get married.”

  Peeta agrees and then leaves as quickly as he can. I make to follow, but Haymitch says I ought to leave him alone. He gives me a stare that proves he thinks I am some kind of surly, heartless creature. Maybe he has a point, because if Peeta wants this to be real…well it’s not like I hate him, but I’ve never clued him in. So I glare back at Haymitch, and I do follow him, because Peeta suffers enough insecurity without him thinking he’s going to marry me and I don’t want him. It’s just that I don’t want to be hurt; I don’t want my kids to hurt.

  Peeta surprises me. He goes into the bathroom when I arrive and turns on all the faucets.

  “I want to talk to you about something.” He speaks as quietly as he can. I know he must be trying to avoid having our conversation overheard, so I join him as he sits down by the bathtub where the shower is rushing. “I know you said you didn’t want marriage and kids, because of the Reaping…but, I guess that’s unavoidable now. So…I just…” He trails off, and looks uncertain. It’s rare Peeta can’t express himself, so I gather this is something that cuts very deep to his heart. I don’t dare interrupt him. “My parents’ marriage was arranged. Lots of marriages in Town are, and they hate each other. I always swore, I’d rather go to the Seam then live my parent’s life–not that I think you’re like my mother!–” he hastens to clarify when he sees the look on my face, “but a loveless marriage by two people who feel they have to do it, and end up resenting each other, and kids who are born for necessity and not love. And…” He shakes his head. A grimace is etched on his face. “We have to get married. There’s no avoiding that, and if they make us have kids, which they eventually will… then…they don’t have to be mine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that this doesn’t have to be a real marriage. If it’s forced, it can’t count. Like, if you fall in love with someone else, you can have his kids. I get you never planned on it, but you should at least get a choice in the who. We can pretend they’re mine for the cameras. But…behind the scenes…”

  “Peeta, that’s insanity.”

  “I’m just saying,” he stresses, raising his voice slightly, and he lifts his hand up and down in emphasis like he’d be slapping a table if we weren’t sitting on cold tile, “it’s a possibility. If you don’t want it to be me then…just say so. You won’t be doing me any favours pretending. I have enough of that in my life. Can you love me, Katniss? Do you?” His voice cracks a little.

  “Peeta–” He doesn’t let me get a word in edgewise. He’s lost in his own fears.

  “But then there’s the fact that it’s practically a guarantee our kids will get Reaped. Heck,” he laughs bitterly, “maybe more than one. I dunno, Katniss, maybe I should just right the imbalance now.” He looks somberly at me. His blues eyes are as dark as I’ve ever seen them. “There’s only meant to be one victor.”

  “No!” I shout and then drop my voice when I remember we’re supposed to be being discreet. “No! Peeta, if I was ever okay with that, I would have let you die in the arena,” I hiss. “How could you even suggest it?” I choke as I feel sobs rise up in my throat. “You don’t even know for sure, they’ll Reap them! And, I mean, it’ll be someone’s kid…and I just…” I’m not even making sense, Peeta’s words have catapulted me down a dark tunnel where little girls are abandoned when their father’s die. I cling to him and shake. Peeta looks guilty, as he wraps me up in his arms.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Then don’t ever, ever suggest that again! Don’t even consider it.” My crying is ugly, and I wipe my nose into his shirt and don’t even care.

  “Alright, I won’t, but you know as well as I do, our kids will have an increased risk of being Reaped. It’s basically guaranteed. I can’t just sit idly by while that happens. What if they Reap all our kids? I just…I know we have to try and subdue the districts or Snow will kill us all, but afterwards, I think we need to try something. We’ll have at least twelve years after our first child is born to  prepare them, but I’d far rather prefer there be no Games at all. We’ll be coming to the Capitol every year now, maybe we can learn more about their weaknesses, scout out the other victors for sentiment in their districts. I don’t know. I just can’t take this lying down Katniss. I can’t. I won’t be someone who does nothing at all when someone tries to hurt their child. I can’t.”

  I pull out of his arms so I can see his face. I run a soothing hand across his forehead where his hair waves; it helps to ground me as well. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so desperate which is really saying a lot. I can understand why this issue devastates him. It devastates me too, albeit from a different childhood trauma. I curl into him again. Any direction I go scares me, but I’d rather hold onto him in the storm. I can’t hold this from him when he so needs to hear it.

  “I agree, but Peeta, it was always you. I decided ages ago I couldn’t marry if only because of the Games, although I’m scared of losing you too. It was always you, okay?”

  “What?” He seems so genuinely confused I don’t know whether to slap him or his mother.

  “I mean, that I knew who you were when you were Reaped, and I’d been watching you for ages too. I mean, marriage wouldn’t be my first choice, but I do….I do love you.” I twist my head up to see him better. There is dawning comprehension on his face as his eyes widen and his cheeks lift.

  “You mean that?”

  “Yes, obviously.” I don’t like that he is dragging this out, so I sit up to kiss him.

  He gets the picture.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #wingletblackbird #prompt 24

[huff-le-and-puff]

OC Interview- Alexa Clark

Interview takes place in beginning of 6th year

---

What’s your Name? ➔ “My full name is Alexa Marie Clark. But most people just call me Alexa.”

Are you single? ➔ She smiles brightly with a glimmer in her eyes. “I can officially say that I am taken.”

Are you happy? ➔  “I have little spurts of happiness every once in a while. But I have been so stressed out making sure that all of my friends are dealing with the trauma of the past year in a healthy manner that I haven’t really made time to make sure that I am dealing with my trauma too.”

Are you angry? ➔ “I am more sad than angry.”

Are your parents still married? ➔ “Yes. They have been happily married for many years. And many more to come.”

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ “I grew up in a muggle town in Ireland. My family owned a small restaurant that the whole town flocked to.”

hair color ➔ “Brown. But I am thinking of dying it... Probably not.”

eye color ➔ “Brown also”

birthday ➔ “I am an August baby. The 26th of August to be precise.”

mood ➔ She shrugs. “I am okay.”

gender ➔ “Female”

summer or winter ➔ “Definitely winter. I love the cold and the snow. It is so beautiful outside when the snow lightly falls. I especially love sitting inside with a nice warm blanket and hot chocolate and just watch the snow fall on the grass until there is no more green left to be seen.”

morning or afternoon ➔ “Afternoon. I am NOT a morning person. Ask Rowan. She can barely wake me up for class every day.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ “Yes... yes I am” she blushes and looks down at her feet.

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “No. Love requires commitment. I believe crush at first sight though.

who ended your last relationship ➔ “I have only been in one actual relationship. Of course, I had fake relationships when I was younger, but those were childhood playtimes. Not the real deal.”

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  “I really hope I have not.”

are you afraid of commitments ➔ “I like to think I am not. I just want to take things slow sometimes.”

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “YES! I always greet my close friends with a hug. I love hugs.”

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ Her eyebrows furrow. “How am I suppose to know if I have a secret admirer if they are secret.”

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ She frowned slightly. “I might have once.”

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ “Love. You can get more out of it in the long run.”

lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Depends on the time of year. I love fresh lemonade in the spring and early summer. But ice tea the rest of the year.”

cats or dogs ➔ “Cats. Duh”

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “Many regular friends. I only have one or two best friends that I can confide in with whatever. But I love to surround myself with many people.”

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Romantic night in, for sure.”

day or night ➔ “Night. There is nothing better than a quiet stroll in the dark with only the moonlight to guide you.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ “Let's just say that I am not a quiet walker...”

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Who hasn’t fallen down or up the stairs once in their lives?”

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ She stares off into space as she begins to remember. “Yes... there was this dolly that I wanted when I was seven.” She shakes her head and comes back to reality. “I have never wanted a doll so badly in my life.”

wanted to disappear ➔ “Not in a bad way. More like, disappear from society for a day or so to mentally charge myself. But never in a permanent way.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ “Smile. you are never fully dressed without a smile. You can really tell a lot by a person’s smile.”

shorter or taller ➔ She looks up and down at her 5′2 sized body that she has had since she was eleven. “My own goal in life was to at least be 5′5. But it looks like that will never happen. So taller.”

intelligence or attraction ➔ “You need to value intelligence more than anything. You have intelligence for your whole life. You only have attraction for a short time.”

hook-up or relationship ➔ “Relationship. Though I am not opposed to hook-ups once or twice when I am outside a relationship.”

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ She avoids eye contact as she looks around the room. “We use to when Jacob was still around. But ever since he left, my mother has been spending all of her time back in America with my extended family and my father does not even believe in magic. So I can never talk to him about anything.”

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ She threw her hand up to her mouth as laughter escaped. “I think after last year, everyone has a somewhat ‘messed up’ life.”

have you ever run away from home ➔ “No. I don’t have the money or even a place to go if I run away.”

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Nope.”

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Why would I be friends with someone that I hate?”

do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Mostly. I have some new friends that I am beginning to get to know so they are not necessarily good friends yet. But I plan to become good friends with them soon if all works out like planned. I am just really lucky to be able to meet so many people and have them like me enough to consistently talk.”

who is your best friend ➔ “Okay, so I have two best friends: Rowan and Ben. They have been by my side from my very first year and I couldn’t be more grateful for them. Although I worry about them sometimes, with Rowan overly studying and Ben trying to find his ‘new self’, we all confide in almost everything together.”

who knows everything about you ➔ “No one could ever know everything about another person. But if there was someone who would know everything about me, it would be Rowan.”

#alexa clark #hphm mc #hphm

[ryuisthereason-blog]

【Translation】Interview Conducted by Munhwa-Ilbo with Actor Ryu Seungryong

Original Text: http://www.munhwa.com/news/view.html?no=2019112901031412053001

▲The happy facial expression of Ryu Seungryong who's making a cabbage pancake. His happiness comes from his family.

Ryu Seungryong: “Although I rose to fame through powerful roles like the strong-flavoured Seasoned Skate, I prefer the subtle acting like the Cabbage Pancake with a delicate flavour.”

■ Actor Ryu Seungryong

He made his screen debut at the age of 34 by playing a minor role and blossomed in his forties with “Miracle in Cell No. 7” and other works.

Because of the joke “He changed after becoming famous” from the junior colleague he suffered from the vicious comments and went through a hard time. No matter how hurtful it was, he’s now resilient to the attacks.

He knows the meaning of the everyday life. He enjoys going to the bathhouse with his two sons, who’re in fifth grade at the elementary school and second grade at the middle school respectively.

He prefers to be called “a born actor” more than “a ten-million actor”.

Make the inner leaves of the yellow cabbage soft by tapping them with a small wooden hammer, coat them with the flour slightly and fry themin a heated pan until they become crispy, then a delicious cabbage pancake is finished. Actor Ryu Seungryong as a chef? It’s somewhat unfamiliar to see him cooking food with all his heart since he often displays a kind of oppressive acting with the intense glitter in his eyes like the laser. He put various dishes on a large wooden table with annual rings full of the traces of time, smiled brightly and said: “Just help yourself!”

On the 22nd, a cool autumn day with the navy blue sky, I met Ryu Seungryong at the workroom of hsoban, a specialty store for dinnerware in Seokundong, Bundang District, Seongnam City, Gyeonggi Province. Standing confidently in a large kitchen equipped with various cooking tools, he’s just like a chef with decades of experience. When asked if he was good at cooking, he answered with a shy expression: “I just cook noodles for my kids at home.” After all he’s an actor. He can pretend to be a chef just by wearing an apron. Actually the food on that day was mainly made by Mrs. Macarons, a social media star with more than 1.2 million followers. She’s the friend of Ryu Seungryong who introduced the pleasures of cooking to him.

“Now I will come here once in a while to learn. The chefs here said that they would like to accept me as a pupil, so I must try my best. When my wife is cooking, I can’t even come near her for she doesn’t want to be disturbed. I should continue to learn the cooking skills until one day I can help my wife.”

During the meal, he chatted with me in a leisurely way and shared his perception in life as an actor and a father. After graduating from Seoul Institute of the Arts with a degree in theatre, he spent a long period of time to perform on stage in Daehangno. At the age of 28, he became one of the stars of Nanta and started to perform this non-verbal show all over the world in the following 5 years. He then quitted the show and began to do various odd jobs like carrying cabbages at the market to make a living. In 2004, he finally made his screen debut as a minor role at the age of 34 in the film Someone Special.

“When I recall this period of time, I think it’s quite necessary for me. Those inevitable ups and downs in life which can’t be foreseen or controlled all became the helpful experience for me now. No matter how hard it was, I’ve never thought about giving up the acting. I was anxious at that time, but I realized that everyone might have his own way to go. Usually the hard work will be rewarded, but things are not always the same when it comes to acting, which needs the coordination of various elements such as the chance and the circumstance.”

When he was stuck with the anxiety in obscurity, his mentor in college gave him the encouragement by saying “Ryu Seungryong is a flower that will blossom late. So just don’t give up”. “Flower blooming late” is really an appropriate description for him.

“Professor Kim Hyokyung has already passed away. But I will always remember what he said to me when I performed onstage. I started in my mid-thirties and blossomed in my early forties. So I think it wasn’t too late for me since I blossomed at a proper time. As an actor I tried to understand the thoughts of the public and to reflect on the attitude and gratitude that an actor should have. This kind of thinking helped me to become more mature.”

His “flower” began to bloom in 2011 and came into full bloom in the next year: the powerful “Jyuushinta” in War of the Arrows (2011); the remarkable “Jang Sungki” in All About My Wife (2012); the dignified “Heo Gyun” in Masquerade (2012) and the heart-warming “Yonggu” in Miracle in Cell No. 7 (2013). He melted all the emotions deep in the heart and overlaid the characters he plays with the compound of these emotions naturally. Then the public finally came to realize his value. He became one of the “ten-million actors” through Masquerade (2012) and has starred by now in four “ten-million films”, the films that have drawn over 10 million viewers each - the other three are Miracle in Cell No. 7 (2013), The Admiral: Roaring Currents (2014) and Extreme Job (2019).

“Choosing a work is actually a trial-and-error process, in which I may also rely on my childishness. But finally I will learn from it. I want to see my life in my works, because the choices of these works also reflect my thoughts at that time. Since I got a lot of support after the box office success, I began to tend towards the experimental work. Now I prefer to play in a film that the audiences want to see instead of choosing a film that suits my taste. But what troubles me is that I really don’t know the interest of the audiences. The worry has nothing to do with the box office success, it’s a process of introspecting as an actor. The so-called ‘ten-million films’ is meaningless for me.”

At the early stage his image was stamped with the powerfulness. Now he has changed himself to a mild man. This change appeared not only in his career, but also in his life.

“Being an actor is a passive occupation that can be compared to the choice of the food. Today I make the cabbage pancake with a delicate flavour. The more you eat it, the more you’ll realize the delicate fragrant taste of it. But in the past I cooked the strong-flavoured food that will easily attract the attention, like the seasoned skate. This ‘intense flavour’ tried to leave its mark on me, since I used to achieve success with the intense glitter in my eyes like the beaming laser. However, now I think that as an actor, I should act as if I’m not acting at all, just like the cabbage pancake (laughter). My life has also softened. When stones collide violently, they’ll break down into pieces. But if you put the stones into the water, they’ll become soft and round. There’re many people around me who care for each other and pursue the happiness together. They’re exactly the water that soften me. My ‘flower’ in career blossomed somewhat late, and I found my way of approaching the happiness also relatively late.”

The source of his energy and happiness is his family.

“I always get the power from my family, and also from my work and my religious belief. It’s so amazing for me to see my two sons who’re now in fifth grade at the elementary school and second grade at the middle school respectively. This amazing feeling is beyond description. Although it’s not worry-free at all to watch them grow up, my love for these two naughty kids continues to spurt. You know, my father’s generation were always busy making money to support the family and send their children to school, which made me get used to the cold father-son relationship. As my life got better, I don’t need to struggle for those things like my father, so I also start to reconsider this kind of relationship. Now I really enjoy going to the bathhouse with my sons. We help each other to wash ourselves. That’s really a happy time.”

He’s well-known as a warm actor who always takes good care of the people around him. But such a warm actor has also been hurt deeply. A few years ago an intimate junior colleague said in an entertainment programme that “He changed after becoming famous”, which brought him into a lot of vicious comments. “The recovery from it makes me stronger. It’s like experiencing the uncomfortable muscle pain when you exercise, but finally you’ll build stronger muscles. That’s what I think. Now I can listen to everything with my humble heart. I’ve come to realize that some problems can be solved after the painful struggle, but some problems just can’t be solved in the same way. I think I’ve already found the solutions to overcome different kinds of problems.”

After finishing the shooting of the Netflix series Kingdom 2 (2020) and the feature film Not the Lips (literal translation), which is also the directorial debut of junior actress Cho Eunji, he’s now shooting the musical film Beautiful Life (literal translation). When asked if he intended to challenge himself by acting in different kinds of works, he just said that the warm works are always attractive.

“These works have something in common in spite of the different genres. They all tell the story about the everyday life. ‘Not the Lips’ shows the various forms of love, and ‘Beautiful Life’ conveys the message about the preciousness of life and the reflection of the dignified death.”

He hopes that the modifier “a born actor” can be prefixed to his name.

“I prefer to be called ‘a born actor’ more than other rhetoric. I want to be ‘a born actor’ and ‘a born father’. Sometimes it may be a little lonely due to the fewer things or the less contact. So I really admire the seniors in this profession who’re still active despite their advanced ages.”

▲Ryu Seungryong set the food on the table and spooned the oyster soup into the bowl.

“Painting, woodwork, travel…detox for acting”

Ryu Seungryong has a wide range of hobbies like travel and painting. He’s also obsessed with woodwork. When asked if it’s the way for him to relieve the stress from acting, he said that it’s the detox process for acting.

“Acting won’t stress me out. Actually, I think it’s more important to vacate your heart than to focus on the so-called ‘pressure from acting’. When I touch the things that connected to the nature like the trees, my heart will become peaceful. All these hobbies are actually full of passion, although it looks as if they don’t need much energy.”

The travel places lie mainly inland and he always travels with his family.

“I like to set off on a journey without a plan, without booking a lodging in advance. But when it comes to the overseas trip, it’s necessary to make a thorough plan. I’ve already written down the places I want to go in the future on a list. I love the natural scenery. I want to travel in New Zealand, I also want to see the aurora in Russia. I’d like to experience the Trans-Siberian Railway. Compared with Iceland, it costs much cheaper in Russia. And the splendid scenery in the American national park Yosemite also attracts me. Travelling alone is meaningless. I always travel with my family.”

He mainly paints the natural scenery in his ink wash painting as well.

“My elder son has a talent for painting. We often do it together. While I enjoy the ink wash painting, he likes to paint the building in the city centre elaborately. We visit the gallery frequently. I can draw my inspiration of acting from the paintings.”

He made the wooden chopping boards by himself and sent them to his friends.

“I put my heart into these gifts. When you polish the wood, the natural colour will come into view. That’s the pleasure of this work. When the wood is polished with the sandpaper and the oil, the time hidden behind it will emerge again. I really enjoy this feeling.”

▲The table full of Chungcheongdo specialties for Ryu Seungryong. Menu: oyster soup, steamed pollack, steamed pork ribs and bean-curd dregs stew.

■ The table full of Chungcheongdo specialties for Ryu Seungryong

Mrs. Macarons prepared some Chungcheongdo specialties for Ryu Seungryong, who comes from Seocheon County, Chungcheong Province. These dishes included the oyster soup, the steamed pollack, the steamed pork ribs and the stew made with bean-curd dregs. Roll the wild small oyster from Seosan in the watery radish kimchi sauce to enjoy the first-class sweet and sour taste of the oyster. Chew the oyster with the shredded pears to feel the fragrance of the oyster in mouth. Ryu Seungryong was full of praise for these delicious dishes. The steamed pollack with the pepper from Cheongyang had a flavour of the hometown. The rustic food seemed to be very suitable for his savory acting.

[junionigiri]

BNHA Rarepair Month 2018 - Day 4 - Early Mornings/Late Nights

for @bnha-rarepair-month

Summary: Yagi Toshinori wakes up to an empty apartment, and comes home to a not-as-empty one. 

Relationship: Yagi Toshinori | All Might / Tsukauchi Naomasa (NaoMight)

Rating: G

Warnings/Notes: One of the OTPs I’m willing to suffer for. Need more content plz. Also pls read Vigilantes if you haven’t already T_T

Links: AO3 | FFNet

Toshinori opens his eyes to an empty room and an empty, unrumpled space next to him.

He gets up slowly--the bones on his back, shoulders, and limbs complain with the simple motion. By the time he’s upright, he’s a little lightheaded. Little pinpricks of light cloud his vision that slowly dissipate.

He’s gone early. The voice in his head is solemn, quiet. Matter-of-fact. Resigned. The left side of his chest stings slightly, but it’s not as bad as it is on bad days.

Carefully, he steps off the bed and walks to the kitchenette in his pajamas. It’s as empty and as unrumpled as the bedroom. He’d clung onto the hope that perhaps he’d collapsed from his shift on the couch, as merciless shifts in work sometimes drive him to do, but it seems that it’s not the case.

The only evidence of life is a coffee mug, with the colors and sigil of All Might--a tacky, cheap thing, but nevertheless his favorite mug--empty, with just the stains of yesterday’s instant coffee inside it.

He sighs. He supposes that leaving him his own dirty dishes to clean when he gets home from work is a little petty given their present arrangement. Between them, it’s Toshinori who suddenly has more time what to do with. It’s time to clean this mug out.

And he does--takes the cold mug in his hands, washes out all stains. Tries not to think about how the last time they’ve seen each other is three days ago, and the last time they’ve seen each other awake is probably a lot longer than that. Tries not to think about how living together isn’t much different from their hero days, where they both struggled with their schedules to sneak out eating in cafes on their days off, which are far and few in between.

It doesn’t take long before the mug is cleaned. Toshinori wipes his thin hands on a towel and makes his way to the couch. He thinks about watching the news--maybe there’s a new crisis, a new danger that he has to confront. He knows that all he does is worry these days and feel sorry about his own body that’s reduced to a skeleton that’s somehow still together… so he’s reluctant to do even just that.

He picks up his phone and reads his messages. There’s one he takes time in reading, sent at one in the morning: Staying the night. I’ll be back by dinnertime later. Please look forward to it, Toshi-kun.

So he wasn't even home in the first place, he thinks to himself a little sadly. An apologetic smiley stares at him at the end of the message. Nevertheless, he smiles back at the message.

He types in a reply: Excellent! Work hard! Don’t forget to eat breakfast and lunch and dinner! Do you me to bring you a bento? Do you need a change of clothing? Please advise Tama-kun against smoking too much, and about Kenji-kun…

Before he knows it, the message already takes up most of his screen. He falters for a bit and asks himself why his message suddenly sounds so motherly, but he does not edit out anything. All of them are his honest concerns, after all.

He adds one last line to his message before he sends it out:

I’ll look forward to having you safe at home, Nao-kun.  

*

It’s been a while since he’s out this late. The faculty spent a lot of time on the promotion board, deliberating each and every student in the Hero, Support, Managerial, and General tracks; adjusting the curriculum for the remaining years; poring over new security measures to keep the students safe; arguing over the form of the incoming entrance exams…

The entrance exam discussion took especially long because of Aizawa-kun’s criticisms. They made so many drastic changes to it to give chances for students who have anything other than physical quirks. Took so much time, too. It isn’t physically taxing, but even the full day of sitting with the faculty has his bones complaining.

By the end of it, he’s consciously trying not to pay heed to the shooting pains at his lower back. He thinks he’s made a good show of masking his discomfort. It’s a fifty-fifty chance that no-one’s noticed it, or they just pretend not to, for his sake.

He bids his fellow teachers goodbye in the next minute, and checks the time. He’ll still be able to make it if he runs, and so he does.

Normally, Makoto’s there to pick him up and bring him home, but today he politely asks her to let him handle this on his own. He runs fast, and for an acceptable distance before his chest complains, but it’s definitely far away from what he’s able to do before. He tries not to think about his losses, again. Young Midoriya’s doing a good job of nurturing One for All. It’s his time, and it’s Toshinori’s time to be quirkless, and normal, and…

Breathless. He’s wheezing by the time he’s made it to the shop, which is minutes away from closing. People glance at him, ask him if he’s all right without recognizing who he is (or was). It’s a struggle not to cough out a fresh spurt of blood. He’s grateful that he’s able to keep it together, and he’s able to ask if his order is ready without any worrisome noises escaping from his mouth.

Finally, he walks the familiar streets home, to their quiet apartment in an unassuming neighborhood. It takes him some time to take the elevator, and by the time he’s outside their door, it’s already 10 PM.

It’s all right, he sighs to himself. No matter how late it is, the apartment’s usually empty when he gets there. He opens the door and smells…

Roses.

He’s a little flustered as he peers through the apartment. In a daze, he kicks off his shoes and takes careful, bashful steps in the living room. He holds the little box of Osaka crabs in front of him and takes in the sight gratefully.

Naomasa’s lying on the couch, eyes closed, arms crossed in front of him, chest rising and falling quietly in a paced rhythm. His signature tan coat’s draped over the back of the couch, leaving him with just a neat pinstriped shirt and dark slacks. The tie around his neck is loosened and relaxed. His face isn’t tense, as it tended to be these days because of the surge of villains in town. He’s able to appreciate how clean and ageless and neat his appearance always seems to be.

He’s warm and safe and all in one piece, in a place to call their own. It’s another blessed day. Toshinori feels himself breathing a little easier as his eyes fall on his peaceful figure.

Two dozens of red roses are on the table, wrapped in blue and red and white. Toshinori bends over to take them and put them in water, when he hears the figure on the couch move slightly.

“Toshi-kun?” The other man breathes in sharply, takes a hand up to rub his bleary dark eyes to wakefulness.

“Nao-kun.” He hears the smile on his own voice as he says the name. “I’m home.”

Naomasa smiles back at him. It only takes the earnest detective a few seconds to be alert and on his feet, but Toshinori also feels the exhaustion looming over him. “Would you look at that? It’s finally my turn to say that you’re home late.”

“I’m sorry.” Despite this, they both have a good laugh out of it. He places his gift on the table next to the roses and sits next to the space that Naomasa makes for him. “You know how it is. Heroes never rest… that includes people other than pros. Like police officers. And teachers.”

The dark-haired man hums in agreement. “It’s our turn to rest though. For once, I think I can spend more than just breakfast with you.”

He knows there’s a risk that this earnest half-promise of his can be easily broken, and for a good reason--villains running amok in the city, treacherous criminals both over and underground, massive casualties, anything can break the little peaceful universe they have in their apartment. He also knows that there’s a risk that one of these days, the unrumpled side of his bed might remain unrumpled permanently, that there’s a chance that there’ll be nobody else in that lonely apartment to drink coffee, watch the news, collapse on the couch after a long day--

Toshinori knows it, having lived that type of life for more than a few decades, so he knows that all he’s able to do is to treasure what he has right here, right now.

Thus, he holds the man sitting next to him close, tries not to laugh or smile too much as he realizes that again, he’s used the rose-scented bath salts he gave to his sister as a present. “I missed you, detective.”

“Me too.” Naomasa holds him close too, and suddenly his chest feels lighter and pain-free.

“Happy anniversary, Toshi.”

#bnha #bnha fic #bnha rarepair month #naomight #all might/tsukauchi #yagi toshinori #tsukauchi naomasa #serious OTP #please

[kurojiri]

I shouldn't have to apologize for just existing

Fandom: Iron Man (Movies) Gen: Tony Stark & Happy Hogan & James Rhodes Summary: It was a shame that the days were starting to blur together while his memories were only getting messier the longer he stayed there. Square Fill: Maze Runner AU A/N: @iron-man-bingo Word Count: 1,122 Or read on ao3

It was always the same.

Waking up in the cold dirt ground, as he huddled within his thin worn blankets for a few minutes to allow his mind to whirl back to life. His skin would be coated with sweat and dirt, and Tony knew he used to live a life that had been vastly cleaner than where he was in now. Metallic too with phantom sounds of machines working under his fingertips. His life before had not been cluttered with other pubescent guys huddling when they needed to stay warm. His memories, though not all correctly placed, had told him enough that he knew that he was not supposed to be there. It felt wrong. Like something had changed, and he was now a prisoner being watched.

He didn’t know how his mind came up with that; only that he had a small gist of it that remained in his dreams, when he had been forced to shut down his body in order to maintain whatever calories he could. He felt pathetic each time he woke up with the faintest whispers of his mother and another man that was not his father. An uncle? A butler?

It didn't matter. But it did. (It did.)

Tony knew his last name. He knew he had brown hair that sometimes curled after he dried his hair after a quick (and always cold) shower when he didn’t want to waste his time heating it up, brown eyes that were sometimes squinting when he tried his best to remember what he used to do before he ended up here. It had something to do with computers, machines of all kinds. He used to live in a clean pricey place.

It had made sense when some people grunted at him; as if they remembered that they should hate the privileges he used to have before they were all summoned to this little spot in hell. Not all of them were mean, but sometimes Tony noticed the glares that wouldn’t ever dim. His own safety net had been created quickly enough with the reintroductions of Rhodey and Happy, who were both somehow buried deep inside his memories from before he had been tasked into answering the maze. They had been friends before, and they were still a part of his own circle now. Those hidden memories had been enough to strike alliances with others that didn’t mind his quirks. Had helped when he knew that his mouth could land him a punch or two.

(He deserved it sometimes. Other times, well, Tony did his best to keep clear. They only had so many bandages and disinfect to waste on petty arguments.)

He got used to it, eventually, but when someone like Tony was imprisoned, he took the challenge of surviving in their new personal hell. The maze had scared him to some extent and with his self-preservation skills it had given him some options on how he wanted to solve their predicament. Unlike some that didn't bother thinking too far ahead. (And those had been the ones that hardly lasted.) But he had also had a knack of being a bit of a gambler when he thought he could crack the maze. It took a few years of getting used to his own growth spurt. Of finding and having enough scraps of metal to build weapons for those that dared to go out there. His skills had landed him some brownie points for the neutral people in their group from the beginning.

But it still hadn’t changed that they were all still stuck there. With Tony always waking up to the same scene and having to psych himself to unwrap from his poor of an excuse of a blanket and quickly get his portion of food before cleaning up to the best of his ability. (He had been clever and silent when it came to his stash of toiletries, he won.)

He missed his memories, his full intact ones. It would have been easier if he could puzzle back everything.

“Tones, what do you think is our chances of succeeding today?” Rhodey had finished cleaning his plate when he noticed Tony getting closer to where his best friends were.

The fire had been still going strong with stragglers eating their portions. The early risers had already been working on their chores and the rest were going into their own paces as the morning started. In the background Happy had laced his shoes and looked at the both of them with a tired smile. It had been a few days since they had buried the guys that didn’t make it back from the last outing. The somber mood had simmered; but like clockwork, they had been replaced soon enough with the new comers. Happy had been in charge of giving them a tour and helping them get used to living with the rest of the group.

It had been slow going. Numb. It felt like clear mind was too much to ask some days when Tony couldn’t help how his eyes wandered back to the grave where their markers were growing.

“Good as any, so longs as nobody breaks from formation.”

Happy snorted without humor. They all knew who Tony was referring to, not that they would explain it further. It wouldn’t be wise to start another fight. Rhodey sighed, but had made the motion to stretch out his body before walking with Happy to help with the newbies. Tony took that as a cue to head to his mini workshop that he had been graciously given after he’d shown his skills. Few other guys had the capacity to follow and understand his directions. He had made sure to use all his resources he’d been given since day one. It went on like that with him checking over his work, answering all questions he could and overall, trying to prep for the time when the maze would open.

One day they would all be free. The maze wouldn’t defeat him and Tony would remember his life from before. But for now, he would make sure he would live to see what was beyond the maze (and of the outside world where the rest of his family was). He would make all the right weapons and protection that they needed. Would fight for having a word during counsel hours. And would work to make sure that there would come a time when waking up cold, and dirty would be a distant blur. Tony would not give up.

Not when Rhodey and Happy were there suffering.

Tony Stark had been put on earth for a reason but it hadn’t been to be caged in and kept prisoner; he knew that much.

#iron man bingo 2019 #Tony Stark #James Rhodey Rhodes #Happy Hogan #bingo fill #maze runner au #alternate universe teens #post apocalypse #fic: 1-5k #gen #Tony & Happy #Tony & Rhodey #Ishtafje: I shouldn't have to apologize for just existing

[fandom-susceptible]

It’s Okay That You’re Not What You Expected

Soon to be cross-posted on AO3, a Loganbucky (Wolverine/Winter Soldier) fanfiction for the LoganBucky Fest 2018 prompt: Established Relationship.

@hellyeahloganbucky

Synopsis: Bucky has a night terror, and Logan doesn’t respond fast enough, but he manages the aftermath with obvious practice. 

Contains canon-typical but not overly graphic violence.

    Logan didn’t sleep anymore.  Not very much, anyway; his healing factor took care of restoring everything that sleep did, so he didn’t really need it except to clear and reset his mind.  He tended to put it off as long as possible, since he … really hated how he usually woke up. His bed at the X-Mansion had gone unused for years now; usually every few months when he wanted to sleep, he left, to stay here, at Avengers Mansion, where there were trained adults who knew how to handle him and who he could blame for stupidity and not simple ignorance if and when he harmed them.

    He wasn’t sleeping tonight.  He’d planned to, but he just couldn’t seem to drift off, even curled up to Bucky’s back, holding the man close with his sharp nose pressed into his neck where his scent was concentrated. Bucky was cuddling his hands and using his arm as a pillow, and he wouldn’t have moved for the world.

    That was, until Bucky’s heart rate started to rise.  It took him a minute to recognize the noise; he didn’t usually take notice of heartbeats, but in the nearly silent room, that and his love’s quickening breath was all he could hear.  Muscles slowly tensed under him and his scent began to shift as adrenaline started pumping from a building night terror.

    Logan pressed his nose harder into his love’s neck and murmured, “Shh.  Bucky. I’m here.  It’s okay, darlin’.  It’s not real.” Sometimes, when he caught the dreams early enough, that was enough.

    Bucky flexed in his arms and the metal of his left hand suddenly clenched hard enough to tear the tendons and cartilage in Logan’s wrist, making him snarl with pain, trying and failing to pull his hand away. “Bucky! James, kid, love, darlin’, I’m here,” He ran through as many names as he could think of, trying to find one that could penetrate the haze. “Bucky, it’s me, it’s Logan, fuck.” He grimaced.

     Bucky threw him out of the bed and was pinning him to the floor the next second, eyes wide and blank and face pulled into a wide grimace of a snarl.  He didn’t speak- he never spoke during terrors like this, just reached for his hunting knife.

    Logan grimaced.  His wrist had already healed, so he had two choices.  Throw Bucky off him and continue the fight until he got in an impact that stunned him until he woke up, or let him ‘kill’ him and snap Bucky out of it by the sight of his not-death.  He wryly thought he was getting too old for this shit as he just went limp and let the knife slash his throat, making a gargled shriek that never quite cut off.  His healing was too quick for a throat wound to kill him.  Well then.  He sort of preferred it when he actually died- it was less painful.  But the spurt of blood was enough to get through to Bucky.

    By the time Logan’s throat had knitted itself back together and he was sitting up, coughing up the remaining blood and spitting it out into the mess, Bucky was back against the bed, head in his hands and knees pulled up. “I’m so sorry.”

    Logan grunted softly and pulled a black towel out of their nightstand nearby to wipe the worst of the blood off him.  Well, there went that shirt . . . he was never gonna get the smell out.  He pulled it off and left it balled up on the towel when he made his way over to Bucky’s side and put a firm hand on his knee. “I’m fine, kid.”

    “Don’t call me that.” Bucky didn’t look up but his grimace was audible. “I hate it when you call me that.”

    “Because it’s what Steve calls you.” Logan guessed, mostly to get him talking.

    “No, because-“ Bucky dropped his hands with a frustrated groan. “Because it reminds me how fucking old you are.”

    Logan rolled his eyes. “Hey.  We’ve been through that.” He bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s and sighed when his lover pulled away. “Bucky.”

    “How did it end up like this?” Bucky whispered, staring at the blood soaked towel. “All I ever really wanted was to live a calm, normal life. Maybe get a job at Stark Industries.  Have a lover to hold me when the nights got cold and the heating was out.  Someone to care for, who’d do the same for me.” He dropped his head again. “How did I end up a hundred years old, still looking thirty, slitting my fiance’s throat in the middle of the night?”

    Logan sighed and gripped him, pulling him closer to cuddle. Bucky fought halfheartedly, but he was a cuddler under all his conditioning and he ended up relaxing when he realized Logan wasn’t letting go.  Despite being a supersoldier, he still wasn’t quite as strong as his mutant lover when it came down to sheer brute strength in close quarters.

    “Bucky.” Logan said after a minute, and Bucky twitched. “I want you to listen close to me, darlin’.  I love you.  It’s okay that you’re not who you thought you’d be.  It’s okay that things didn’t turn out the way you planned.” He ducked his head to nuzzle Bucky’s hair, sighing softly. “Can you honestly tell me you’d have been happier hiding away in Brooklyn, taking stolen moments with someone you can’t tell anyone about, if that, than you are here, with a group of friends and partners who would defend you with every ounce of strength they have if someone threatened you for who you love?”

    Bucky shifted to get more comfortable against him and his flesh hand unclenched to come to rest on one of Logan’s. “And with you.  If that hadn’t happened … I never could’ve stayed with you.” Then he grimaced again. “But god, I don’t deserve to.  I tried to kill you.  I might have killed your wife.”

    “No.” Logan dragged him up to look him in the eye harshly. “Don’t you ever say that again.  Don’t you ever insult my ability to recognize the scent of the man I loved, even masked in blood. I know that man wasn’t you.  He may have trained you, but he was not you.  Never, ever you.” He rested his head on Bucky’s forehead, holding him there as Bucky struggled slightly. “What can I say to help you tonight?” He asked after a moment, letting him go somewhat but keeping him from leaving with a firm hand on his wrist.

    Bucky looked down at their hands and then up at Logan’s face, eyes trailing down his neck. “I don’t know.” He said softly. “I just …” He looked down at his left shoulder and his face twisted.  He reached up and started to unlatch the metal arm.

    Logan let him, until he began to struggle, unable to reach all the locking mechanisms by himself.  Even then, he waited until Bucky was nearly in tears with frustration to quietly lean forward and get the last few catches himself.  The arm was left harmless on the floor and he helped Bucky up by the other hand, pulling him back to the bed.

    There, Logan shifted over him and tilted his head up to bare his throat. “See?  I’m okay.” He bent again to kiss Bucky softly, which Bucky shakily returned after a moment when it sank in. “I’m okay.  You will be, and it’s okay that you aren’t.  I’m gonna be here.”

    Bucky shut his eyes, not really believing it but quiet now. Logan settled with an arm over him, tucked this time against his side with his head tucked to the remains of Bucky’s metal shoulder. “I’m here, darlin’.  I’ll always be here.”

#Loganbucky #Winterwolf #Winter Soldier #Wolverine #wolverine x bucky #Loganbucky Fest 18 #Nightmare trope #my fic #canon-typical violence #PTSD #Night terrors #Flashbacks