#y’all I am so pumped I can’t focus

[novelconcepts]

So ready to go absolutely feral for all the women of Usher.

Hair!

Vibes!

GAYS!

Look at how hot they all are, I can’t wait to be emotionally devastated beyond repair AGAIN.

#the fall of the house of usher #fall of the house of usher spoilers #y’all I am so pumped I can’t focus #I mean yes I am also trying to finish a fic over here but like. LOOK AT THEM. #and this is only the BEGINNING

[saintslewis]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐀: 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 🪩

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem oc; Nadia Hamilton

summary: social media posts from the most recent chapter! <3

warnings: twitter environment, cussing

saint’s team radio 🎀: 2 for the price of 1 😝. did not mean to take so long so here’s a little gift 🫶🏽

pic credit: pinterest and ig!

fc: @/unclewaffles_ on ig

plastic off the sofa: chapter 7

renaissance: the masterlist

Twitter!

Instagram!

nadiahamilton

liked by taylorrussell, normani and 3,484,913 others

nadiahamilton versace x dua lipa.

view all comments

pinned!

nadiahamilton guys my back tat looks so delicious

loriharvey YOU’RE JOKING? NADIA

nadiahamilton hello 🤭

user and what if this causes my hospitalisation?

dualipa i was so lucky to see this in person

nadiahamilton thank you for such an amazing show!

versace 💗

lilymhe i fainted a couple of times

arianagrande WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU JUST WAKE UP AND LOOK LIKE THIS

nadiahamilton i don’t, i swear 😭

kehlani can your man fight

haileybieber you look like a dream 🥹

user whatever your affirmations were, hand them over!

sza that ass is SITTING

francisca.cgomes i am begging for one chance

alexandrasaintmleux me too omg

user i don’t think you understand what you’ve done now

nataliatheedon you’re actually unreal WHAT

latto777 it’s actually so unfair that he gets you to himself

iamcardib like it’s actually pissing me off rn

amaraonmars this is insanity. do it again

jackharlow oh you was serious

user white boy, what are you talking abt? 🤨

user probably something at the party

user and dare i ask who took the photos….

user there could only be one selfish man who did this

user not you calling him selfish 😭😭😭

lewishamilton had to take a breather

charlottieee we’ll give you your pump, grandpa

fencer THIS IS SO CRAZY???

nataliatheedon CHARLOTTE YOU CAN’T SAY THAT 😭

lewishamilton hi mrs hamilton

nadiahamilton hi 🤭

user they had to remind y’all REAL QUICK

nadiahamilton

liked by bellahadid, zendaya and 845,246 others

nadiahamilton hello monaco! (can we pls focus on how good he looked)

view all comments

user publicly thirsting over him, aren’t you embarrassed?

user girl that’s her husband…..

carmenmmundt we need to get together like that soon, it was so much fun!

lilymhe i felt like i was in a chick flick

francisca.cgomes not when you tripped and your ice cream fell ‼️

alexandrasaintmleux kika let’s be nice but YES tinkerbell, i need another girl’s day or else i will combust

user YOUR SHIRT??????

nadiahamilton super cute right?

user it’s so iconic!!!!

user nadia liked and favourited an edit of mine, just wanted to flex 🙏

user now why would you expose that girl’s secret like that (share the edit)

nataliatheedon monaco isn’t a real place, hope that helps!

nadiahamilton if i were you, i’d keep quiet 🫵🏽

nataliatheedon 😧

user i have the slightest feeling that you can cook, can you?

nadiahamilton yes?

user since no one is talking about it, yes he looked so good that day Nadia

nadiahamilton THANK YOU LIKE SOMETHING WAS IN THE AIR THAT DAY

f1femmepost

liked by fanpage, fanpage and many others

f1femmepost bumping into nadiahamilton was the highlight of our Monaco Grand Prix weekend! Tell us what your favourite interview moments were!

view comments!

user “is this one of those tiny mics?? I LOVE TINY MICS”

user “i promise you, go up to one of these white people and they will give you a paddock pass. i’ve seen it.”

user “sorry i gotta fix my nose ring hold up”

user “there are days where he sounds incredibly british and it’s just so interesting to hear.” “but he is-” “and that’s what makes it better!”

user “these are my ladies, those drivers couldn’t stand a CHANCE!”

user a dog and its owner walk by: “omg look at it, i wanna squeeze that dog.”

user “i won’t hold you, i’m craving a big ass bowl of pasta rn.”

user *sings in the most angelic voice you’ve ever heard*

user “i’ll never stop being a teacher, it’s so much fun.”

user “if you’ve got extremely blue eyes, do not stare at people, it’s so scary. i’m talking about you, pierre gasly.”

user “omg you’re craving cupcakes? let’s go get them!”

user “you like that bag from gucci? let’s go get it.”

user “i love laying on the floor so much.”

f1femmepost because of all these posts, we love Nadia Hamilton so much! 🫶🏽

saint’s notes 🎀: this took so long yoh, hope you enjoyed!

#☆ ‧₊˚ saint’s media pen #saint writes #renaissance: the series #thank you for 750!!! love you all

[blacklodgemusictx]

Mr. Kitchen: Jesse Daniel Edwards Devilish Alter Ego to Angelic Crooner

(Mr. Kitchen art by Eric Edwards)

I am pushing it.

I really am.

But I dared twice… and was rewarded.  This time?  Chattanooga.  I thought it was further away than Nashville, but when I asked for it, I was told – no, it’s comparable.  It’s fine.  Let’s do it.

Thus, my eighteenth wedding anniversary present prospect was delivered – our anniversary fell on the 14th, and we left for Chattanooga on the 15th of September. 

500 miles on night one.  All in the name of another Jesse Daniel Edwards show.  I didn’t ask a thing about it.  I didn’t need to. 

A hair under another 500 on day two.  The traffic was bizarre.  We ended up in the strangest middle-of-nowhere jam near Murfreesboro (I could be making that up; I have no idea where we actual were but looking on a map, that seems right.)  As we sat stock still for what felt like hours, we were paraded slowly by billboards for the Caverns – a weird reminder of our time spent here back in April.

As soon as a break was available, we took it and exited… behind a parade of people who also ended up at the same gas station: refugees forming an endless queue at the gas pumps and bathrooms.  I even checked as I stood in line: “Y’all from the traffic jam?”  Nods & grimaces.

Back on the road, we reached our hotel in Chattanooga at a reasonable hour.  We laid down and fell unconscious for some indeterminant length.  Awake and refreshed, we start getting ready.  I Instagram Jesse… we are prepared to get in the car and go.  Per the venue’s event, things should have been happening around 9.  Jesse responds: “We are on at midnight.”  “Doug,” I call out hesitantly… “Guess what Jesse says?”  I have no idea what the call is.  If he’ll go, huh… let’s go back to sleep, or what?  Nope.  Let’s go.  We’ll watch the other bands and get something to eat.

While Instagramming Jesse, I nervously ask, “Pretty please, can we just text?” He apologizes.  He thought I already had his phone number.  I laugh out loud later.  The phone number I was so nervous to ask for? (“I won’t bother you, I promise!”)  It was written on every Mr. Kitchen CD Jesse handed out after the show.

An additional curve ball for the night:  we have another show.  Tomorrow night… in Dallas at Salim’s.  We don’t want to chance running into another bizarre, rural traffic jam, so Doug is relentless:  we will leave *tonight* after Jesse plays.

The irony is not lost on me as we navigate to our destination for the evening: The Cherry Street Tavern.  We’ve just come 1000 miles to watch music in a tiny little spot in a town only marginally bigger than where we live – ours a town constantly maligned for the fact that “nothing ever happens.”

The guy at the door thinks we are joking when we say we came from Texas to see Jesse.  He asks where we are from, “Abilene.”  He’s from Port Arthur.  Small world.  He is finally convinced when he looks at my license.  He seems genuinely impressed.

The Cherry Street Taven has food.  I order a hamburger for Doug and a charcuterie board for myself.  It seems to take forever – I’m assuming that’s because most people come to a bar for the alcohol, not the nibbles.  But when my board comes, it’s half the length of the table we’ve camped at and full of tasty things.   

Plop me down, feed me, and promise me music:  recipe for Happy Me.

The first band is good.  Everything is running almost an hour behind so I have no idea which band it is.  A girl singer, but she’s the “tough” kind, not the sweet, high-voiced kind.  So I like her.

We move up for the second band.  I like to be close.  I don’t care that this place is so small; I could have stood anywhere and had the exact same view, but this is me; this is my hang-up:  I need to be close.  It’s Justin and the Cosmics; per the sign outside, they are celebrating an album release.  They are interesting, but I’ve got my earplugs in.  Can’t hear a thing.  It’s all just noise.  I focus on the guitarist and the Gretsch he wields on and off throughout their performance.  I do love a Gretsch.

It's so late.  So late.  We are leaving after Jesse to drive back to Texas.  This stays in the back of my mind.  I worry.  But Doug is a machine.  He likes driving.  I don’t understand why.  I'm not too fond of driving.  My favorite thing is for someone else to pilot me while I nod off to a blissful, neck-cricking sleep only to wake up and be at our destination as if by magic.   I can be rested and full of vigor, drive for about thirty or forty minutes, and then be ready to nod off.  I thought perhaps I was one of those babies taken for car rides to soothe to sleep.  Asked my mom, nope.  She didn’t do it.  I’m just cursed.

There’s Jesse!  And another face I recognize is the drummer from the Nashville show in June, Landon’s brother, Gabe Pigg.  He seems pleased to see us and happily notices my LED handbag – personalized tonight to reflect where I’m at: Jesse’s Violensia album cover interspersed with a gif of a hand shredding on a guitar neck. 

Tiny hearts pop above my head:  Jesse has brought me vinyl.  I already ordered Violensia from Cavity Search so I think he’s just delivering it to me, but my copy comes later.  This is just Jesse being nice and bringing me music.  He also brings me a copy of his American Dreaming.  “Didn’t know if you had this one already,” yep.  I do.  But still – you have brought me a kind offering of music, and this is all it takes to make me joyful.  I sit on my barstool and hug my new vinyl, bouncing up and down gently like a little kid.

I don’t know what Mr. Kitchen is.  I don’t need to know.  Intrigued.  Gabe sets up behind the drums, but the keyboard that’s typically Jesse’s territory is also set up in front of him.  Gabe ends up doing impressive double duty: keyboard with one hand, drumstick with the other.

 Jesse stands behind… a thing… Ok, here I show my musical ignorance.  I guess I will call it a “synthesizer.”  I’m sure that’s wrong, and it has some more specific name, but I’ve searched all the music sites trying to find a picture of something similar, and I got nothing.  It’s about yea big (holds hands out like a fisherman describing the “one that got away”) and doesn’t have as many keys/buttons as a standard synthesizer.  No clue.  He’d played it before at the Galactic shows, but it appears this is going to be his primary station for the night.

They do a brief soundcheck, and the sound guy shakes his head, “That doesn’t even sound like a human voice.”  He seems dumbfounded.  This is antithetical to his job.  But now that I am familiar with Mr. Kitchen, I feel this was exactly what Jesse was going for.

A couple of drunk leftovers from the previous band’s audience sway gently.  Doug says later that was the “least dance-y” music he could imagine… unless you want to dance like you were in Twin Peaks.  BINGO.  Another point in the pros column for why I love Jesse’s music.  The second coming of Freddie Mercury… if he were playing at the Roadhouse, Audrey Horne shoegazing serenely in the background.

Earplugs back firmly in place, Jesse and Gabe take the stage.  They are both wearing identical dark jumpsuits.  Ahhh, Mr. Kitchen is Dire-Straights-Money-for-Nothing Jesse.  I add that to my mental list.  I know about personas.  I knew about Bono’s alts, The Fly and Mr. Macphisto and the Mirrorball Man, of old.  But Jesse is practically a different version of himself at every show.  The enigma grows.  I am fascinated with this person. 

I cannot hear or understand a fucking thing.  Not a bit of it.  I do recognize ONE song, I Don’t Like the Look of That Look – a song from a link to a future album Jesse sent to me months ago, but as a fan, I am also familiar with the act of falling in love with material retroactively.  I already regret that I only recorded a couple of songs from my first exposure to Jesse because, at the time, I didn’t know who he was.  So I recorded every bit of this show.  It worked beautifully because he basically played the entirety of the Mr.Kitchen CD he passed out at the show and I have had that CD on almost constant play for weeks now.

The rest is a wall of noise and heavy distortion.  Mr. Kitchen is Jesse… as the devil, the flip side to the angel crooner presented thus far.  There is a default clear, sincere sweetness to Jesse’s voice.  Mr. Kitchen is the flip side, the alter, just another facet to the gem that is this bizarre, delightful performer. 

One of the drunks tries to interpretively dance into my shot.  Instant flashback to the weirdo who wouldn’t stop jumping in front of my camera (ha ha very funny, I will CUT A BITCH IF YOU MESS UP MY SHOT) back in DC with Salim earlier this year.  I guess this memory shows on my face because he half-heartedly wiggles away without putting up a fight.  Thank goodness. 

The venue is cleared out at this point.  There are people left, but they are packing up merch and moving equipment for the other bands, cleaning up, and getting the bar back in order.  I know this is not ideal for a performer but for me?  It was a transcendent, trance-like show just for us.  A thousand miles worth every foot.  Now that I have had time to sit with the material and consume it all with relish, I appreciate this experience even more. 

At almost 2am, the spell breaks.  The show is over.  I grab 3 home-burned CDs (a random number Jesse handed me, but I found homes for all of them, just like the stack of Violensia boxes I got back in June.  If I love something, I need the people I love to know about it too) and a hug from Jesse.  He wants to get Doug a Redbull or something, but Doug is good.  He’s ready to go.  So away we go.

The drive back to Texas was strange and beautiful and weird – typical for us.

It reminded me of the NoSleep podcast story about people who live, marry, procreate, and die driving their cars.  The driving never ends.  For me it was vignettes.  Small snatches of wakefulness. 

At some point, we apparently wandered into Silent Hill.  Fog.  Eeriness.  A deer.  Just one, though.  In Texas, we play deer roulette, but in – I don’t know – Alabama?  Just one deer.  Lonely by the side of the road.  At five a.m. there was a gas station.  Stale donuts.  But now we know: five a.m. is the exact time to eat stale donuts. In Alabama or wherever we were.

I watch the sun rise pink and orange over the Mississippi River.  Still, we drive.

We make it back to Texas and crash at another hotel.  We need about 12 hours of sleep in maybe 6 hours – the amount of time we have to rest up before the NHD (Nourallah-Harvey-Dezen – Salim’s power trio, supergroup with his friends Billy Harvey and Alex Dezen) show.  I think I managed three or four hours of sleep.   I wake up and quietly Doordash us some Denny’s.  I lay back down after eating a bit.  I doze next to Doug – not really sleep.  Alarm at 6.  We get up and head for Salim’s.

I am so happy to be back.  Galactic is one of my dearest home-away-from-home happy places.  I haven’t been here or seen Salim for three months which is far too long.  I get a Salim-hug and am renewed.  The activities of the last 48 hours are still buzzing around, unprocessed in the back of my head.

I soak up the smiles and the music – I have seen each NHD member separately, but not together.  They joke and play off each other.  Their mutual admiration is obvious.  I love it.  I’ve said before Doug doesn’t attach emotion to music, but that’s ALL it is for me.  I want you to have fun.  I want you to love what you do.  I want to see it; that’s how I absorb the available good feelings.

Another round of hugs, and it’s time to split. 

Final achievement unlocked:  weekend successfully navigated, back home…enough sleep to justify not calling in sick in the morning.  Everything went perfectly. 

(Now just to pen Part II:  NHD Texas minitour that started that next Thursday)

I could do a separate review just of the Mr. Kitchen CD.  It would be difficult until it’s widely available – why review something other people can’t easily lay hands on?  These days it’s all about instant gratification.  Believe me, I know.

I do have to give one acknowledgment though:  there is a song on the collection called “Wolf in a Wool Coat.”

I

Am

Obsessed

It’s steeped in the ethereal, electronic feel of the 80s… which I adore.  Think “Lady in Red” or Patrick Swayze – all leather jacket popped collar and moody sex appeal — breathing, “She’s like the wind…” It is easily one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard.

I hope Mr. Kitchen ends up on Bandcamp or Soundcloud soon because people NEED to hear these songs.

It’s hard being so addicted.  But thank goodness to have a prolific “pusher” like Jesse.  More music will surely be available by the time my aural “arms” start to itch. 

You know what “they” say, though: too much is never enough.

#Jesse Daniel Edwards #Cherry Street Tavern #road trip #concert #live music #mr. kitchen #chattanooga #tennesse #singer #songwriter #Violensia #American Dreaming #vinyl #record #vocal synth #synthesizer #electronic #distortion #journey #Youtube #wolf in a wool coat #cavity search records

[strangelysamantha]

hey, i have a jj maybank request! fem!reader, possible angst!

so basically, y/n is a pogue and gets along with the other pogues (john b, pope, sarah, kiara & cleo) except for jj. y/n is always bright, a total sweetheart and bubbly and jj…hates it.

john b recently opens up a surf board shop on that stranded island that they’re on?? and he leaves y/n and jj alone to polish some boards hoping that they’d get along. jj complains about every little thing y/n does and starts calling her names. she gets really upset and storms out the shop to clear her head. she goes by the water for a swim but a dangerous tide picks her up and jj notices and saves her?? hopefully this makes sense!

the deep end ☆

jj maybank x fem!reader.

warnings: mentions of drowning, jj being an asshole, swearing.

words: 1,674.

summary: jj somehow finds everything you do annoying to the point he criticizes everything you do. john b thinks of a plan that will ensure his two friends will befriend each other. it was working at first, until it wasn’t.

request? yes!

a/n: y’all have such good ideas what the?! thank you for the request! if you enjoyed please like and comment. this is angst with fluff at the end. <3 BTW i am from missouri and have never surfed so i hope i got the polishing of the surfboards correct. :)

my masterlist

——————————————————————————

john b always had a plan, well usually he did. if two of his friends were fighting, he would always find a way to get them to get along. he knew that stranding kiara and sarah on a boat together in the middle of nowhere would force them to fix their friendship. so, with that knowledge, he knew that he could do the same thing with jj and you.

you were always nice to jj, he just seemed to get annoyed with you all the time. you didn’t know what you had done, if you had even done something. he just always felt the need to critique you. it became harder and harder everyday to ignore him.

since washing up on the abandoned island, john b was ecstatic for his brand new start. unsurprisingly to anyone, his first idea for creating a new civilization would be a surf shack. he started building it right away. you would occasionally help, but he was determined to do it on his own so he would always send you away.

“okay! john b what would you like my help with? i can do anything you need. just let me know.” you smile brightly at john b, while he stared at you. “listen, i love you. but, i don’t need your help at the moment. you should talk to everyone else.” you frown at his words, “fine. but you better get me the minute you need assistance.” he nodded. “will do.” and with that, you left joining the others.

jj was talking to cleo before silencing upon your arrival. “hey everyone!” you smile at the group in front of you. “hey! how’s john b?” kiara asked. “i think he is good, he’s actually pretty much done.” you play with the bracelet on your wrist. kiara nods, “that’s great.” pope smiles, “statistically speaking, we can’t ensure that his shack will be entirely safe as he built it all on his own.” you stare at pope. “true… we’ll let’s hope it doesn’t collapse on him.” pope smiled at you, glad you listened to his random fact.

jj groaned. “awe, how sweet pope!! you found a girl who wasn’t disgusted by your weird and useless knowledge.” you gasp in shock, “jj! shut up you are so rude.” jj laughs, “it’s just a joke, why do you always have to be so offended?” you glare at jj. “jj it’s not funny, you’re just a dick.” pope sighs. “it’s okay, don’t worry.” you frown in popes direction. you quietly pull away from the group. you walk to an area of sand, plopping yourself down. that’s when john b approached you.

“hey, remember when i told you i would come get you when i needed help?” john b smiled at you. “yes! do you need my help?” you tilt your head to the side, waiting. he nods. “i need you to wax up some of the boards i made.” you nod. “okay! sure.” he walked you to his shack, helping you set up. you began waxing the board, paying attention to the direction and the amount of wax you were applying. john b waits a minute watching you, before he decides to leave.

after a minute, you see jj approaching the shack with john b who held a smug smile on his lips. you shake your head, confused. “friends.” he looked between you and jj. jj held an unamused look on his face. “as my close friends, you will wax these boards for me. you can’t stop until you guys fix whatever feud is going on between the two of you.” john b stands his ground. jj scoffs, “we don’t have a feud.” you nod your head in agreement. “jj is right, his hatred is definitely one sided... it is not a feud.” you laugh softly seeing jj send a glare your way. “yeah okay. whatever guys. just fix it, and if you even try and leave, i’ll send cleo after both of you.” your eyebrows lift in shock. you mutter a quick okay, returning your attention to the board.

jj stares at you, watching you apply the wax. he couldn’t help but get upset. everything you did just made him annoyed. he grabbed the wax, working on the board right by yours. silence falls over the two of you. it’s not awkward or weird, it actually feels quite normal. until jj interrupted it so he could judge you.

“youre doing it wrong. i mean come on.” you stare at jj, “jj please just focus on your own board.” you shake your head, continuing to polish the surfboard. he glares at you. “whatever. just keep doing what you are doing, and then john b or i will fix it after you.” his attention turned back to his board. you rolled your eyes. “i will, thank you.” he breathes in, inhaling the waxy scent. “you are so annoying you know that?” you ignore jj’s words, focusing on the board. he continues, “i mean everything you do. everything you say, it pisses me off.” you nod slightly. “you done?”

“no, actually i’m not.” you bite your lip, fixating on the wax that is spreading along the smooth surface. jj stops waxing the surfboard. you look up to see he is already staring at you. “you know, you act like you are better than us, i mean why do you hang out with us anyway?” jj waits but continues when he realizes you won’t reply. “you are fake, you are so upbeat and bubbly that it’s annoying. you are a double sided two faced bitch who says anything to get in good graces.” you inhale, looking up at him.

“listen jj. we are stranded on this fucking island. TOGETHER. so either drop it and move on, or just shut the fuck up and stay away from me.” you place your hands on your hips, breathing slightly staggered from anger. “everyone speaks so highly of you saying how great you are; but the only jj i’ve met is a total douche. if you hate me so much then just stay the fuck away from me. if you continue you’ll just be wasting your breath and energy anyway.” jj holds back a laugh at your sudden outburst.

“you really think if i had the choice, i would want to be here? especially with you?” jj asked, you already knowing the answer. you stay silent. “exactly. no one can deal with you for that long anyway.” you roll your eyes.

“whatever jj. you win.” you toss the wax to the side, frowning. you don’t turn back to him, you just ignore him. you start to walk towards the beaches seashore. it was getting slightly hot, so you decided to take a dip into the water.

you were salvaging the few moments of freedom you had, before you got john b’s and cleo’s wrath from leaving the scene before mending the friendship with jj. it was practically impossible. what did jj have against you? you tip toed into the water, getting deeper and deeper. you floated at the top of the water; the coolness feeling great on top of your hot skin.

jj truly had the biggest nerve, your mind was overwhelmingly clogged. you felt seaweed scratch against the bottom of your foot, this caused you to jump, your adrenaline levels rising since you thought it was a fish. you try to remain afloat, but the high tide caused the waves to crash right over you repeatedly, being faster and higher than ever. you went above water trying to shout for help, but your mouth was filled, causing no sound to come out. you thrash against the water, kicking to stay afloat. your throat was burning, your legs tired from kicking, and your lungs filled with liquid.

a pair of hands wrap around your stomach, dragging you out the water. you were placed on the warm sand. “shit.” jj stared at you. your head felt light. jj’s hand began pumping your chest, curses falling from his mouth. “come on, just breathe. please.” you cough, the salt water exiting your lungs, and dropping onto your neck. you gasp for air, opening your eyes to be met with jj’s face. you breathe heavily for a minute.

“jj… thank you.” you sit up, pulling him into a tight hug. your hands wrap around his neck, one of them grabbing his hair. his arms held tightly around your waist. his chest was heaving heavily, shaking slightly. “i hate to be so cliché j, but you genuinely saved my life.” he frowns at you. “i almost lost you.”

jj’s confession confused you. “what?” you say softly, your hand combed through his hair. “look. the reason i’m so mean to you, is because i knew that if i was nice to you, my already intense feelings for you would only amplify.” you frown at him. “you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?” jj nodded. you went to talk, but your friends interrupted the moment.

john b rushed to your side, kiara and pope swiftly behind him. “what happened!! we were watching from over there.” john b pointed in a direction farther away. “one minute you were swimming… the next you we’re gone!?” you wipe your neck, trying to dry it off. “jj saved my life. i almost drowned.” you frown, the group in front of you nodded. “im so glad you are okay.” kiara bent down pulling you into a hug. “i’m glad you are safe now too.” pope joined in on the hug; as well as everyone else.

sarah, kiara, and cleo bend down, reaching for your hands. they help you up, dragging you to your feet. they walk you away from the crowd, bombarding you with questions. “so when you were drowning what did it feel like??” you turn around watching jj, you smile slightly before turning to them. “oh get ready for the amount of details i’m going to give you guys.”

possibly a part two…??? not sure yet :) <3 also!! i’m proofreading this tomorrow since i’m not entirely sure if it has errors or not! ily!!

#jj maybank obx #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader angst #fiction #writing #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank angst #jj maybank imagine #outerbanks fanfics #outer banks imagines #outer banks story #outer banks angst #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank obx fanfic #jj x fem!reader

[asset35-maya]

.When the party’s over.

>REINITIALISING…

>ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE

>WIRELESS CHARGING: 69%

>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: STABLE

>24H FILE RECOVERY: 45%

Nines slowly regained consciousness. He was lying on his side and everything around him was quiet.

>ENVIRONMENTAL SCAN IN PROGRESS…

>THREAT ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

Layers of fabric covered his body and something soft and warm was pressed against his face. Eyes still shut, he nudged it gently with his nose and it emitted a low vibration.

>2% THREAT DETECTED: FELINE SUBJECT

The cat sprang upwards and hopped off the surface that Nines was lying on. It was ostensibly a bed, but Nines didn’t own any furniture apart from a couch and work table. The logical conclusion was that he was not in his own apartment.

>RUN LOCALISATION PROGRAM: Y/N?

>Y

>ERROR: PROGRAM FAILED TO EXECUTE

>ERROR: MEMORY FILE CORRUPTION

Nines had no absolutely recollection of his whereabouts or how he had arrived. He had not been compromised as his system health was stable, so there was probably another reason for being completely disoriented. It was voluntary.

He had gotten the android equivalent of blackout drunk.

It was not the first time and he feared it would not be the last. Such were the hard-partying ways of his friends and colleagues. They were all terrible influences. He loved them dearly, but they were terrible.

At 6PM every Friday, Chen and Miller would start things off rather innocently. “Hey there’s a new brewery downtown.” Or “My bartender cousin just hooked us up with a thirty percent discount!”

From there it wouldn’t take long for the DPD’s resident frat boys Connor and Gavin to gather a steady crowd of officers and check out the venue. If the vibes were good (which they almost always were), Sixty would get wind of things. Then the rest of the frat house would descend and total chaos would reign until the break of dawn.

SWAT Unit 32 was famous for its particularly destructive brand of revelry. Skinny dipping in private swimming pools, scaling skyscraper rooftops and causing media scandals were all par for the course. The day after Captain Allen’s birthday, the DPD crew spent the entirety of their bonuses to repair the collapsed ceiling of the Eden Club.

Nines couldn’t remember how he exactly he was coopted into the madness. Probably peer pressure. Connor insisted that he try thirium alcohol. Sixty said that he would regret being a loser and not joining them. Gavin had just held out a hand and double-winked. That did the trick.

One night blended into another and soon Nines had worked up quite a reputation of his own. He was the Casanova of the homicide department. The handsome devil… the hunter… the sex god. People would actually come by his desk and congratulate him on Monday morning.

Nines hated it but he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same thing over and over. Perhaps it was the appreciative clap on the shoulder from Gavin the morning after Sixty posted photos of a high-end Traci model giving Nines his very first lap dance.

Life at the DPD was the epitome of work hard, play hard. It seemed like one big party but deep down Nines knew they were all just slaves to their compulsions. He wondered whether it was because they needed to celebrate every demon they vanquished or whether they needed to wipe the troubling memories of doing so.

In Nines case, there were definitely things he needed to kill within himself. Some were nightmare inducing crime scenes, but some were memories so heart-wrenchingly sweet that he thought he might self-destruct if he were to dwell on them too long. There were things he couldn’t have and things he needed to erase from his brain.

Something touched his face gently.

>PERIPHERAL OBJECT DETECTED: HUMAN HAND

>THREAT ANALYSIS: NON-COMBATIVE

The hair on his forehead was brushed aside and fingers ran over his features. A thumb swept over his bottom lip and caressed his cheek.

Nines couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes and come face to face with his most recent conquest. He lay still, frozen with regret as the hand continued to stroke his face.

The hand travelled down his neck and fell upon his chest. Nines caught it abruptly. It wasn’t even the month-end and his savings were badly depleted. He couldn’t afford round two. He retracted the synth skin down to his wrist and prepared the electronic payment credentials.

Fingers merely intertwined with his.

“Just take your money and go. I’ll tip extra if you delete everything from your hard drive.”

“What the phck are you talking about?”

Nines eyes flew open. Steel blue met storm green.

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP OVERLOAD

“Fuck!”

“Wow that’s flattering.”

Nines pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what had led to this absolute, unmitigated disaster.

“What the hell happened last night?”

Gavin looked affronted.

“You ruined our housewarming for one.”

>MEMORY ARCHIVE SEARCH: housewarming, Gavin

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “G.REED” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:33 18 JULY 2040: Assholes. Party at our new place. Next Friday. From seven till LATE. Bring booze, bring bitches. Nah. Actually, don’t. Our landlord’s a bastard and we already got three noise complaints.

>RESULT: TEXT MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM “CONMAN” IN GROUPCHAT “CLUBBERCOPS”, 15:34 18 JULY 2040: Yeah we should keep this one PG. Bring food if you wanna eat. This mf can’t cook and I don’t care to. See y’all!!

Oh right. Fuck. Gavin’s housewarming. Gavin and Connor’s housewarming. His two closest friends who were somehow even closer to one another. Nines hadn’t realised until it was far too late and there was nothing for him to do but smother the bitterness with his favourite coping mechanisms: android alcohol and paid sex.

The circumstances definitely explained the state he was in, but things still didn’t add up.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did we… did we…”

“No. Nothing happened between us. You were completely shitfaced. I just put you to bed to stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

Nines looked up at the ceiling, struggling to put the pieces together. His system offered him no useful prompts. The fermented thirium had done its job of code corruption extremely well. He looked back down and met the green eyes focused on him with deep concern.

“What did I do?”

“Sixty has videos, but I don’t think you want to see them. God, Nines… why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I’m really sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean to ruin your night… and Connor’s.”

“He’s fine. He and Sixty moved the crew to Hank’s place. Which is what we should have done in the first place… there’s really no point throwing a party in this shoebox and telling people like Tina Chen to be quiet. Honestly if it wasn’t you it would have been her bringing the house down. Good thing they had all of Michigan Drive to tear up. Hank’s neighbours can sleep though a bombing.”

“What did I do?”

Gavin put his hand back on Nines’ face, his expression unintelligible. The human touched him often enough, but never like this. Never so intimately. Nines forced down the twisting sensation in his torso. He couldn’t get his hopes up. This was pity.

Nines braced himself to hear the worst. He prepared for the shredding of all his dignity and the collapse of his falsely extroverted and confident identity.

What came though was a soft press of lips to his forehead.

“It wasn’t pretty and I wish it hadn’t happened like that, but I think it was a long time coming… I’ve never seen you so emotional before. I’m sorry I didn’t notice anything all this while.”

“Gavin, please.”

“I’m going to focus on the positives, because really… there were a LOT of negatives. Oh boy. You… uh…”

“Gavin.”

The detective dipped his head and looked away.

“Phck, I shouldn’t be so embarrassed…

You told me you loved me.”

Nines closed his eyes. That was it. He should quit his job and move to another state. Hell, he should go to Cyberlife and request a factory reset on compassionate grounds.

“I’m so sorry. I… I should leave.”

He made to sit up, but was pushed back into the mattress. Gavin curled into his side.

“Nah. You’re good.”

“What?”

“You threw up on my plants and smashed Connor’s RA9 sculpture, buuuut you’re good.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gavin wrapped his arms around Nines and edged closer until the android was forced to turn on his side and reciprocate.

“What do you think, genius? If a guy like me doesn’t throw a guy like you out of the house after all that… what does it mean?”

“That you have a high tolerance for toxic friendships?”

“It means I want you to stick around, dipshit.”

>SYSTEM ALERT: THIRIUM PUMP RATE FLUCTUATIONS. OVERLOAD IMMINENT.

“You mean you like me?”

“Of course I do! I always have, but it never seemed right to bring it up. We’re actually really good friends. I didn’t think it would be possible when we first met but we have so much in common.”

“Bad habits for sure.”

“Come on, Nines. We’ve had a really great time together. Some of my best memories at the DPD are with you. Don’t ever quote me on it but you’re a phcking amazing partner. Can’t believe you thought I had something going with Connor when it’s always been you.

So yeah, I do like you. And I’m willing to try… I dunno… being with you. Like for real.

Stop drinking like that, though. I know I’m a hypocrite but you really scared me last night. I lost my Dad and I nearly lost Hank to the bottle. You might be this super advanced android, but that liquid courage shit is a death trap, man.”

>SYSTEM ERROR: THIRIUM PUMP AT MAX FLOW RATE. PUMP OVERLOAD. REDUCE PRESSURE IMMEDIATELY!

Nines nodded quickly and blinked away the tears that welled up in his eyes. Gavin grasped the android’s chin and tipped his face down gently. Their eyes fluttered shut simultaneously and their lips met.

>SYSTEM RECOVERY MESSAGE: THIRIUM PUMP FUNCTIONALITY RESTORED

They broke apart after several golden moments and Gavin hugged Nines tightly under the sheets.

“What am I supposed to say to the others? I don’t think I can look any of them in the eye ever again.”

“Are you serious? You got nothing on the insanity that bunch is capable of. Sixty thinks he’s hot shit with his blackmail material, but I got receipts that’ll glue his mouth shut for decades. Anyway, that’s what friends are meant to be like. You have dirt on each other but you’re not meant to use it.

The same applies to us too, by the way. Don’t feel like you gotta be… apologetic about what happened last night. Yeah, you better replace my fancy new plants but I’ll never judge you for what happened. I want you to know that I’ll always be in your corner, Nines.”

Nines hummed thoughtfully and ran a hand though Gavin’s hair, marvelling at the fact that he could now do so whenever he wanted. He didn’t say anything in response, and just settled for cuddling closer to the human.

>>RK900 SYSTEM HEALTH: EXCELLENT

#tw: alcholism #reed900 #happy ending #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #dbh #my writing #my work #long post

[shorkbrian]

Infuriated

Prelude - ok.

Y’all are so horny for Levi Sir and I get it he’s hot lol. I am trying to get to everyone’s asks I promise!!! Also it’s up to you why Levi is mad lol

Prompts - 

Pairing - Levi Ackerman X Reader

Warnings - NSFW, dubcon, noncon, choking, mentions of snuff, emotionally compromised Levi, overstim.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/2f2hbFjim051DVx0o8o4rU?si=5waL376sSRSqjN2j8G0Y8w

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He comes home in a bad mood.

He shuts the door quietly, and it’s clear he’s beyond pissed. Past the point of yelling, of slamming the door and causing you to flinch with the indicator of his foul mood. It’s not you he’s mad at, but it might as well be. He finds himself wanting to break something, but not dishes or glass, just you. 

Wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze till your breath rattles in your chest.

Levi finds you in the living room, standing by the hallway with wide eyes, shrinking against the wall. You thought you could avoid getting his anger taken out on you if he didn’t catch you while you were lounging on the bed. Hoping the man wouldn’t strip you bare and crush your soul like he had so many times before.

He’s so enraged that he can’t even think of the event that provoked him to such a state in the first place.

“Come here.” He stops in his tracks when he sees you, hands flicking to his tie so he can unknot it, loosen it from his neck. It’s not often he gets this angry, warm and burning, filled with emotions that he doesn’t know how to process, doesn’t even really want to.

“Come here.” Levi repeats himself, eyes burning when you still don’t move, as you begin to shake. You’re afraid of him again, good.

You had gotten past that, at least to the point where you could hide your fear of the man. Tamp it down beneath submission and pleasure, because doing what he says meant getting fair treatment.

But you aren’t doing what he says. You’re cowering against the wall, and Levi’s furious. You’re meant to follow his every order, know what he wants you to do before he even has to say, and yet you’re ignoring him as if you had the luxury of making that decision.

His shoes click across the tile as he strides towards you, already unbuckling his pants with sharp movements. When he reaches you, your frightened eyes pleading, the rise and fall of your chest quickening. Levi bets if he checked, your pulse would be fluttering, fast, like a scared little bird.

Your head snaps to the side when his hand connects with it, the sharp sound echoing throughout his home. 

“Take off your pants.” Clothes are a luxury he’s been allowing, but this blatant disobedience when he’s already fuming will result in punishment. 

Trembling hands fly to your pants, and Levi almost wants to laugh at the expression in your face as you turn it back, cheek reddening immediately. You should’ve came when he called you.

He doesn’t bother to take his slacks off all the way, barely pushing them down to his thighs before taking his cock in hand. He’s not even hard, but he needs to fuck something, focus on a different emotion than the fury settled deep in his bones. The satisfaction of how easily you break under his hands, the pleasure of filling you, stretching you past your limit, the way you draw him in like that’s where he belongs, even though it’s obvious you want to be anywhere but with him.

The hand on his cock is too dry, too rough, but that doesn’t matter. Levi’s able to pump himself to hardness as you fumble with your pants, almost falling as you slip them off.

With a quick movement, he’s slamming you hard against the wall, breath punching out of you, head hitting the wall and dazing you.

Levi spits in his hand, takes it between your legs and rubs his saliva where it’s needed. There’s no way you’re wet, no way you’re ready to take him. But if there’s a little blood, there’ll be a little blood. Levi can clean it off your thighs later.

It hurts when he starts pushing inside, the head of his cock breaching your hole far too fast. The crushing realization that he isn’t going to actually prep you is evident across your face, obvious by the panicked little whine that falls from your lips.

“Shut up.” He can’t stop himself from snapping at you, irritated at the noise. 

He’s focused on filling you, the too-tight squeeze around his length and the overwhelming heat of your body where he’s pressed against you. At least you know better than to try and fight him, hands only clutching his shoulders, not trying to push him away, just trying to hold on.

What he would do if you struggled now, Levi doesn’t know. It’s possible he might break something important, push too hard, forget his own strength as he throttles the life out of you.

That reminds him.

The hand not guiding his cock into you rises to your throat, grasps the smooth column tightly, tight enough to feel the ridges of your esophagus, spongey and delicate. If he squeezes a bit harder, Levi wonders if it would collapse, crumbling beneath his fingers like tissue paper.

But your loss would make him inconsolable, so he reigns in his wrathful curiosity, his impulsive side that only sees the sun when he’s furious.

He's fully seated now, pressing deep into your sensitive walls. You’re shaking, trying to hold in your tears, your pitiful noises, your desire to beg him for mercy. There’s no slick feel, other than the slight ease from his saliva, so Levi knows you haven’t torn. 

That eases his mind a bit as he slowly retreats from your hole, intent on making this quicker than it should be. He needs to fuck, hard and fast and maybe just a bit painful. There’s no explainable reason as to why, and Levi isn’t interested in trying to analyze himself at the moment.

So he draws out, pushes back in immediately, doesn’t mind your choked, hiccuped gasp. You’ll adjust soon enough; even as he pushes back in, you’ve started to get wet, and there’s no stink of iron in the air, so it’s your body trying to make this easier for you.

Levi figures it’s good that at least one of you was actually concerned about that.

As the slide becomes easier and easier, his pace picks up accordingly, until he’s swinging his hips in a punishing rhythm. He can’t stop himself from giving a rough press onto your throat, relishing the way your body jerks, already breathless and panicked, now denied air and already missing it.

He’s getting close, which is surprising. Levi thought it might be difficult to reach release, reasoned that he was too focused on the rage filling his veins and weighing him down to lose himself in your body.

But he should’ve know, you always have an effect on him.

Your cunt starts clenching around him, and Levi’s head shoots up from where he’d been watching the steady hammering of his cock into you, glares at your face now.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare.” His tone is clipped, and he’s mad all over again. He doesn’t even know why.

It’s not fair that you’re enjoying this while he’s still simmering, struggling to calm himself. It’s not like he doesn’t want you to find pleasure, but the least you could fucking do is have some decency for once and not cum before he does.

You clench your teeth, grimacing as you try to listen, do your best to obey. He’s trained you well.

But not well enough.

With a pitiful cry, you squeeze tight enough to make Levi groan as he refuses to stop moving his hips. Velvety walls spasm around his length with a vengeance, your nails digging into his shoulders as you lose yourself to the sensation.

Levi’s infuriated.

“You’re not allowed to cum.” He hisses, and your eyes are filled with sorrow, with regret and remorse, with emotions Levi has never bothered to learn the names of.

He slows down, slams into you hard enough that his tip kisses your cervix, makes you lurch in pain that lances through the afterthroes of your orgasm. 

Your throat is abandoned for now, his hand joining his other in painfully clutching your hips, fingers dimpling up your flesh, sinking into the pillowy skin so he can pull you down onto his cock the same moment he thrusts up.

It’s hurting now, your face contorting on each deep thrust. Levi doesn’t care, you were selfish enough to take your pleasure before him, when he so obviously was trying to soothe himself.

He’s starting to get a cramp from how hard and slow he’s driving up into you, but he’s crawling closer and closer, so he ignores the twinge for now.

And then he’s there, bursting from the inside out, uncaring of trying to avoid filling your womb with his seed.

It feels good, good enough to talk him down from the edge of hurting you, of destroying, of raging and bruising and damaging.

Levi’s left panting as he finishes, as his abs clench and unclench while he shoots his sticky finish into your tight hole. You’re still grabbing at his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut at the foreign sensation; Levi usually dons a condom, or at least pulls out. Rarely does he lose himself to do what he just did.

He’s calmer now, feels less like a pacing tiger that's been provoked and prodded until it attacks.

But he finds himself irritated at you, at your audacity.

The man knows he’s being irrational, and that he’s emotional right now, prone to lashing out and striking at anything that dares to defy him. You hadn’t done anything particularly wrong except exist in the same space as a thoroughly pissed-off Levi, and he recognizes that.

But he still wants to see you punished.

So you find yourself on the bed, stripped of your clothes. The only thing you’re wearing is a leather collar, attached to cuffs on your wrists by a thick metal ring. The contraption keeps your hands up by your face, unable to do anything but clench into little fists. It’s almost cute.

Theres a spreader bar cuffed to your ankles, and a vibrator in Levi’s hand. He had cleaned himself as soon as he pulled free of your warmth, not bothering to stop the cum that escaped from the unconscious clench of your hole.

Levi had taken a moment to change out of his work clothes, calm himself further and evaluate everything with a clearer mind. Now dressed in nothing but loose sweats, he felt more at ease, cooler both physically and mentally.

The vibe was flicked on, pressed to your mound at the same time Levi wiggled a finger inside of you, feeling his cum still warmed by your body. It was a weird sensation, but you were wet, and he was focused on the task at hand.

Making eye contact with you, Levi leveled you with a stern look.

“You aren’t allowed to cum.”

Four minutes later, when you crested the edge despite an obvious struggle against it, Levi clenched his jaw, removing the vibe and his finger from rubbing at your walls.

When your eyes opened, Levi met them with a glare.

“You aren’t allowed to cum.”

The vibe was flicked back on, a setting higher this time. Levi shoved two fingers inside of you, and you whimpered in distress. You’d beg if you knew it would sway him, but Levi had forced you enough times for you to know that he followed his own desires.

You were just supposed to lay there and take it.

#yandere #yandere levi #Yandere Levi Ackerman #levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman #ackerman #dark #tw noncon #tw dubcxon #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon

[baya-ni]

The Queer Appeal of Sk8

Recently @mulberrymelancholy reblogged a post of mine with a truly galaxy brain take about how Sk8 “is a show made for queer fans” and generally how sports anime often depicts love and relationships in a way that’s more accessible and relatable to ace/arospec people than other mainstream media does.

Just, *chef’s kiss* fucking brilliant. I urge you to read their post here (note I’m referring to the reblog not the actual post).

And basically, it got me thinking about this concept of Sk8 as a Queer Show, and the kinds of stories and dynamics that tend to attract queer audiences in droves, regardless of whether its queerness is made explicit or hell, whether that queerness was intended.

And that’s what I’ve been pondering: What are the cues, markers, or coding, in Sk8 that set off the community’s collective gaydar?

I obviously can’t speak for the community. So here’s what aspects of the show intrigued me and what, for me, marks Sk8 as a Queer Show beyond the subtextual queer romances: a punk/alternative aesthetic, Found Family, Shadow as a drag persona, and The Hands.

1.) The Punk Aesthetic

All three of the above screenshots are taken from Ep 1, and every single one of them depicts background characters. They’re nameless and ultimately unimportant characters, yet each of them designed so distinctly and so unique from one another, one could mistake each of them for the main character(s) of another story.

Of what little I know about Punk subculture, I do know this: that the ethos of Punk is heavily built around a celebration of individuality and non-conformity. Sk8 seems to have incorporated this ethos into the very fabric its worldbuilding, and the aesthetics and culture upon which it takes inspiration appeals specifically to a queer audience.

I don’t really need to explain why Punk has such deep ties with the queer community. For decades, queer people have found community and acceptance within punk spaces, and punk ideology is something that I think is just ingrained in the queer consciousness as both lived experience and a survival tactic.

Therefore, a show that adopts punk aesthetics is, by association, already paying homage to Queer culture, intentional or not.

Queer fans notice this- like recognizes like.

2.) Found Family

This also needs little explanation.

Too often, queer individuals cannot rely on their “born into” families for support and acceptance. Too often, we are abused, neglected, and abandoned by those who we were taught would “always be there for us.”

And so, a universal experience for queer people has been redefining the meaning of Family, having to build our families from scratch, finding brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers in people with whom we have no blood relation, and forming communities tied together by shared lived experience rather than shared genetics.

And this idea of Found Family is also built into Sk8′s narrative.

Like, for example, the way that Reki promises MIYA that he and Langa will “never disappear from [his] sight,” filling the void that MIYA felt after his friends abandoned him.

And in the way that JOE becomes a paternal figure for Reki, teaching him ways to improve in skateboarding, and ensuring that Reki doesn’t self isolate when he’s feeling insecure.

And in the whole Ep 6 business with Hiromi acting as babysitter to the Gang.

Hell, even ADAM (derogatory) is associated with this trope. Abused as a child, he finds solace in an underground skateboarding community and culture he helped create- his own found family (or some powertrippy version of it anyway).

Again, queer fans see themselves depicted in the show, but this time in the way that the show gives importance to Found Family relationships between its characters.

3.) Shadow and Drag

This is one that’s more of an association that I personally made. But I was intrigued by the way that Hiromi adopts his SHADOW persona. He wears SHADOW like a mask, and adopts a personality seemingly so opposite to his day-to-day behavior.

Further, the theatricality and general “gender fuckery” of his SHADOW persona, to me, just seemed so similar to a the characteristics of a drag persona (I don’t know a whole lot about drag but enough that I’m drawing superficial similarities).

There’s also this aspect of a “double life” that he, and actually all the other adult characters of the show, have to adopt, which is a way of living that I’m sure a lot of queer viewers see themselves reflected in.

4.) The Hands

Ohhhh the Hands.

One of the things I noticed very early on is the way the show constantly draws our attention to Reki’s hands, which I thought was a little strange for an anime about skating. After all, skating doesn’t really involve the hands, or at least the show doesn’t really draw attention to hands within the context of skating.

I count 3 times so far between Eps 1-9 in which hands are the focus of the frame.

First, when Reki teaches Langa how to fist pump after Langa lands his first ollie, second, when Reki and Langa make their Promise, and finally, when Langa saves Reki from falling off his board.

And you know what they say, twice is a coincidence but thrice is a motif (no one else actually says this I think I’m the only one who says this lol).

I’m not really certain why hands seem to be such a shared fixation among queer people (at least among those I interact with). All I know is that gay people are just fucking obsessed with them.

I have a Theory as to why, and at this point I’d love for other people to chime in and “compare notes” if you will, but I think it basically has to do with repression. And in the same way that queer people have had to redefine the meaning of family, we’ve also had to redefine intimacy.

Being overtly physically affectionate with someone of the same sex, even if they’re your significant other, or often specifically BECAUSE they’re your significant other, can still be dangerous, even now despite the “progression” of society. Queer people know this, this vigilant surveillance of our environment and ourselves, always asking ourselves, “Am I safe enough to be myself?”

Already, Western culture is pretty touch-averse. That is, it’s considered taboo to touch someone unless they’re a family member or a romantic partner. And to touch a person of the same sex in any way that could be misconstrued as romantic (which is most things tbh) is a big no no.

There’s just A Lot to unpack there.

But basically I think that queer people, by necessity, have had to learn to romanticize mundane or unconventional ways of being physically intimate so that we can continue to be romantic with one another without “being caught” so to speak.

Kissing and hugging is too obvious. But a handshake that lingers for just a second too long is much more likely to go unnoticed, braiding someone’s hair can easily be explained away as just lending a helping hand, touching palms to “compare hand sizes” is just good fun.

But for queer people, these brief and seemingly insignificant touches hold greater meaning, because it’s all we are allowed, and all we allow ourselves, to exchange with others.

God, I’ve gone off and rambled again. What’s my point? Basically that the way the show draws attention to Reki’s hands, and specifically how they’re so often framed with Langa’s hands, is one of the major reasons why I clocked Sk8 as a Queer. It’s just something that resonated with me and my own experience of queerness, and I know that I’m not the only one who noticed either.

~

So in conclusion, uhhhh yeah Sk8 the Infinity is just a super gay show, and it’s not even because of the homo-romantic subtext (that at this point is really just Text).

Because what’s important to understand is that Queerness isn’t just about same-sex romance.

Queer Love isn’t just shared between wives/girlfriends, husbands/boyfriends, and all their in-betweens. Queer Love can be two best friends who come out together, queer siblings who rely and support one another, a gay teacher who helps guide one of their questioning students, a queer community pitching in to help a struggling member.

And that all ties with another important thing to consider, that what we refer to as the “queer experience” or “queer culture” isn’t universal. In fact, it wrongly lumps together the unique experiences and struggles of queer BIPOC all under one umbrella that’s primary White and middle class.

So I think what drives a lot of my frustration about labeling a show like Sk8 as Queerbait is this very issue of considering queerness and queer representation within such narrow standards, and mandating that a show must pass a certain threshold of explicit queerness to be considered good representation.

I get that someone might only feel represented by an indisputable canonization of a same-sex couple. That’s fine. But labeling Sk8 as Queerbait for that reason alone ignores the vast array of other queer experiences.

The aspects of Sk8 that resonate most deeply with my own experiences of queerness is in the way that Reki and Langa share intimacy through skating (intricate rituals heyo). For me, them officially getting together ultimately doesn’t matter- I’ll consider Sk8 a Queer show regardless.

Similarly, @mulberrymelancholy​ finds ace/arospec representation in that very absence of an on-screen kiss. A bisexual man might find representation in Reki, not because he enters a canon relationship, but in the depiction of Reki’s coming of age, growing up and navigating adolescent relationships. A non-binary person might feel represented through CHERRY’s androgyny.

That’s the thing, I don’t know how this show will resonate with other members of the queer community, and it’d be wrong to make a judgement on Sk8′s queer representation based on my experiences alone.

That being said, Straight people definitely don’t get to judge Sk8 as Queerbait. Y’all can watch and enjoy the show, we WANT you to enjoy these kinds of shows, and we want you to share these shows and contribute to the normalization and celebration of these kinds of narratives.

But understand that you don’t have a right to tell us whether or not Sk8 has good or bad queer representation.

And even members of the queer community are on thin ice. Your experience of queerness is not universal. Listen to the other members of your community, and respect that what you might find lacking in this show may be the exact representation that someone else needs.

#and scene #i was up till 4am writing this instead of doing my hw #bc i hav Opinions dammit #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 meta #sk8 theory #queerbait

[chalkrevelations]

So, Word of Honor Ep 23, and LISTEN. This is going to be another long one. We are in it, now.

(Clearly, spoilers, so if you’re thinking you might want to start watching and don’t want to know everything up front, scroll away and come back after you watch the ep.)

Look, I’m just gonna talk about this first because I can’t even process anything else, or function, until I get this out of the way: I came for the bl and the pretty boys, but at this point, I have to reiterate what I said after Ep 22, that I am so grateful Zhou Ye got her fingers into Gu Xiang and absolutely refused to let go of this role, through everything. She’s going on my actors-to-follow list, and I’ll also be following scriptwriter Xiao Chu into whatever she writes from now on. A little bit, I’ve come out of Ep 23 thinking, did anything else even happen, other than That Scene with A-Xiang and Wen Kexing? (Oh, yeah, That Other Scene with Wen Kexing and Cao Weining about Gu Xiang.) The show is going to have to work to top That Scene for me. The first time watching, I couldn’t even really focus on how the Gu Xiang/Cao Weining and Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu relationships continue to reflect each other and how everything A-Xiang expresses during this conversation is exactly what Wen Kexing feels/fears about himself but cannot say out loud. All of that was there, and I mentally picked through it and unpacked it some more on a re-watch of the scene, but the first time through, I was too busy being legit distressed about Gu Xiang’s fear and pain and how desperately she wants this new thing and how afraid she is, not only of fucking it up or having it fucked up for her, but of getting it. Last night at dinner I compared this storyline to a kind of reverse Persephone story, where she’s being pulled by her lover OUT of the land of death, but is nevertheless having to leave behind everything and everyone she knows and is familiar with, including her beloved brother/parent figure. And all this after being told for essentially her whole life that what she’s doing is forbidden and unworkable, that the human world and the world of Ghost Valley do not mix. (We just saw Wen Kexing have his own little mental stall over this, just so the show can make sure we don’t forget.) And Gu Xiang is so unprepared for all of this and so terrified by it, despite the fact she wants it so badly, that she literally cannot do anything - this shining, clever, fierce girl who will stab you if you look at her the wrong way because she’s been taught to survive above all else - she can’t do anything other than sit down with her arms wrapped around her knees pulled to her chest so that she’s the smallest target possible, protecting all the tenderest, most vulnerable places, and weep. Y’all, it is killing me even thinking about it. I might have to take a minute.

So, then they come at me with the second hit of the one-two punch, which is the scene between Wen Kexing and Cao Weining, where Wen Kexing talks about how this little girl not only saved him, but he calls her meimei, and at that point, I’m done. I’m just. There’s nothing else I need right now from this show. I realize this is supposed to be a story about Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu, and up until now, my ride-or-die has been Zhou Zishu, but whatever. Fine. I WANT TO LIVE HERE AT LI MANOR FOREVER, SHOW, WHY MUST A-XIANG AND CAO-XIONG GO BACK TO HIS SECT? Listen, I think it is a far, far better idea if Cao Weining marries in to Four Seasons Manor, and Gu Xiang’s paternal figure is the ... lol, I almost just called him the Ghost General ... he is who he is, so frankly, I don’t know why he should be so concerned about following social conventions, like having daughters of the house marry out. (I know you think you’re protecting her, Lao Wen, but YOU ARE BREAKING UP THE FAMILY. I need them to stay with the rest of you forever. I need Zhou Zishu to continue to call A-Xiang a “good girl,” because I suspect that hasn’t happened very often in her life, and she needs more of it.) Then, as a last kick in the ribs, once I’m down, the show has WKX tell A-Xiang that she’s not a wild girl because she’s his girl. Thanks, show, I didn’t need my heart for anything like pumping blood to oxygenate my brain or any of my body parts. It’s OK. I can do without it.

Anyway, going back and looking at multiple story-telling levels of all this, there’s the additional issue that during That Scene, A-Xiang is also a proxy for Wen Kexing, saying things that he can’t. (For emotional and psychological reasons within the show, and for practical reasons because they probably wouldn’t pass censorship.) Maybe some things that he can’t even let himself think, at this point. So every time, from here on out, when Zhou Zishu asks Wen Kexing about his past and Wen Kexing momentarily freezes with that trapped look on his face, we can think back to this conversation with A-Xiang and realize that Wen Kexing is terrified by his relationship with Zhou Zishu, despite how desperately he wants this new thing. He is so afraid of fucking it up, but he’s also so afraid of getting it, and he’s so unprepared for it that he literally cannot do anything - this fierce survivor, this ghost king, who will crawl over corpses and skin a guy alive and kill you if you look at him the wrong way because almost (almost) all he’s known is to survive above all else - he cannot do anything except mentally and emotionally curl up so that he’s the smallest target possible, protecting all the tenderest, most vulnerable places. So thanks, show, for what promises to be a repeated exercise of stabbing me in the heart.

Just a little bit more about these scenes: I also think we’re getting at least one, maybe two other foils in the story-telling, which are more about the Wen Kexing-Gu Xiang relationship. Maybe less supported but nevertheless intriguing, I have to wonder if, when he took on that little girl despite (or maybe because of) still being essentially a child himself, Wen Kexing was trying to re-create - even subconsciously - something of the shixiong-shidi relationship he experienced for that brief time with Zhou Zishu as a child. Yes, she saved him by making him keep his heart, because he had this actual nurturing relationship to at least try to model their relationship on. I also think that we’re maybe supposed to be seeing them as a foil to Xie Wang and his AWFUL yifu, who appears to have taken on a kid and turned him into a murder weapon not in any effort to help him survive, but to use him as a tool in his quest for power. Both Wen Kexing and Zhao Jing have produced Poorly Socialized Murder Babies Who Love Them Very Much, but I think Wen Kexing actually had his kid’s best interests at heart, as he understood them, and tried to do the best he could with the extremely broken tool box he had to hand. Also, he loves her back. All that doesn’t mean she’s not fucked up or necessarily any better prepared for the “human” world than Xie Wang, but it may have made the difference between an amoral murder baby who can learn better and an actual sociopath.

In other comparisons, that first convo of the ep between Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing - when ZZS says that he doesn’t want to see more sins on WKX’s hands - is essentially the same convo that Cao Weining had with Gu Xiang in the previous ep, when he tells her that he wants her to be more careful because he knows she actually will feel bad for killing innocent people. This is the same conversation because these two relationships are the same relationship. (Note, I don’t think they started out like this, or that their beginnings were all that similar. Cao Weining was much more of a pursuer and initiator than Zhou Zishu was, in the beginning. But I think the courses of the two relationships have converged, at this point, with Cao Weining and Zhou Zishu knowing what they want and being all in, while Gu Xiang and Wen Kexing also want it but are too fucking scared of it for practically the same reasons.)

Meanwhile, speaking of Xie Wang - what are you up to Xie’er? Do you want the Water of Lethe so you can drink it and get over your awful yifu? Are you finally at the point that you’re doing some critical thinking about this relationship? Or do you want the Water of Lethe so you can slip it to your awful yifu, so that he’ll forget about his obsessions with power that prevent him from focusing on YOU? You call Beauty Ghost an idiot, but I think you may be empathizing (though not sympathizing) a bit much with the women of the Department of the Unfaithful.

Finally, that brief little moment of Zhou Zishu’s face when Wen Kexing spits out his wine after stealing it from him ... Oh, god. You didn’t realize how bad it tasted, did you? Your sense of taste is going.

#zhou ye #gu xiang #wen kexing #zhou zishu #cao weining #xie wang #word of honor #little and broken #but still good #word of honor episode reax

[stefanmikaleson1864]

Y’all I’m not okay I can’t focus on anything else at the moment it’s the best way to start my week I am literally so pumped right now !!!! ✌🏼🔥🔥🔥💖🔥🥰🥰

#fbi cbs #fbi international #fbi most wanted

[moonlightjeno]

ten things and then some | l.j

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 :: jeno x reader 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞 :: based on the poem from 10 things i hate about you if you haven’t watched it fo yourself a favor and go watch the movie bc it’s a m a z i n g. ty 𝕨𝕔 :: 15.5k this is the longest thing i’ve ever written wow. 𝕒/𝕟 :: y’all jeno fits the concept to this p e r f e c t l y, and no i am not being biased :) and a massive massive thank you to @smoljh​ for helping me and giving me feedback, you’re the sweetest. and ofc to my soulmate girl yk i love you to the moon and back, and i hope you enjoy this piece @mangotexts​ ( truly the best hype woman anyone could ask for ).

everything in bold is part of the poem, from “10 things i hate about you”

I hate the way you talk to me,

Sweetheart. love. angel. The words that spin from his mouth every time you hear him talk to you, made you aggravated. It was a constant stream of words that had begun as a prick of annoyance. Every time, he opened his mouth, looking at you with his dark brown eyes. 

“Earth to y/n” the snapping of fingers disrupts your train of thought, eyes glancing back to the dark-haired boy on the other side of the school grounds, before landing back on your friend. 

“What?” the words slip from your mouth with disinterest, a lack of concern for whatever your friend had been rambling on about for the past five minutes. The small amount of conversation you’d registered was she’d been talking about a party that johnny suh, school alumni, and constant talk around school grounds were throwing as a “welcome to the end of high school”. Though as parties went, you were almost sure that it would encompass school graduates, seniors, and the occasional sophomores and freshmen that would manage to sneak their way in, eyes glittering with excitement as they entered their first high school party. 

“Are you coming?” her words were drawn out as if she’d ask you five times before, she might have, and it was only now that you had finally heard the question. The question slightly baffles you, because everyone in school knew you didn’t go to parties since freshman year. 

“Uh, no. you know what i think of parties, they’re a waste. An excuse for seniors to think they're above everyone else, as they tell off the younger students that they’ve deemed aren’t ‘cool’ or mature enough, while the freshman walks around with some sort of desperate hope in their eyes as if the world will drastically change if they show up at a senior party. Someone should tell them” you say, looking past your friend whose excited smile has dimmed to a small frown, eyes slightly annoyed, something that doesn’t surprise you at this point. It isn’t a secret what you think of parties either, even if you are best friends with the queen of parties herself. You stop yourself before your eyes have a change of drifting to the brown-haired boy with a leather jacket that tends to sit by the foot of the football field, whom you can’t seem to find, probably smoking the thought is bitter and places a scowl on your face before you look back at your friend,  “nothing changes''.

“Just once, one time is all i ask of you” the pleas that come from your friend make you focus on her, her hair is loose ruffled by the light wind that has blown over the course of your conversation. It’s almost enough for you to agree to go to the stupid party, when you see her glance towards mark lee, the boy she’s been crushing on for as long as you’ve known her. It hadn’t surprised you, that she’d fallen for him, when you saw him. The boy who made most girls swoon, but who had somehow managed to beat all the stereotypes of “hot” because mark was also talented, more than you’d like to admit when it came to music, he’d helped you a couple of times when you’d been stuck on a composition, always a smile on his face. so when she glanced towards him, the glittering in her eyes and rose tainted cheeks as mark looked back, flashing a small smile, you couldn’t help but give in. 

“I’m going to regret this,” you say, the words a mix of a grunt and an exasperated sigh, but your friend is almost jumping up and down, giving you a quick hug and promising that you wouldn’t regret it, not at all, you’d have the greatest time before she was turning around a skip in her step. A smile graces your face at your friend’s happiness, and it remains there unfaltering until you hear “hello love”

Brown hair made its way into your view, as jeno’s face presented itself in front of you, a cocky smile grazing his features that made your smile falter and eventually turn into a scowl.

“What” the word isn’t a question, more like a complaint as you try to turn around and head in the opposite direction, away from jeno and his sweet words. But his voice trails behind you only a couple of steps away before he’s next to you leather jacket glaring against the end of the summer sun, and you wonder only for a second how he isn’t passing out from the heat. 

“Oh come on angel, a lil smile wouldn’t kill you” his words are filled with a tone you can only describe as intolerable, making you slightly gag.

“A smile wouldn’t kill me, but i might kill you” you smile at him, a grin adorning your features, “luv” the words that left your mouth are meant to push jeno away and have him leave you alone, but the boy is persistent and though his smirk falters slightly at the glare you give him, the grin is up and running again as he stops in front of you. 

“And then who would you have to glare and fight with luv?” the moment the words leave his mouth he turns away, proud of his line. The dumbass, you think, insults quickly forming in your head and ready to be thrown out towards him but your phone pings, and you thumb it open. The message “see you at the party angel” makes your blood boil slightly, but you can’t hide the way your cheeks slightly turn red and the smile that slowly grazes your face before you make a vulgar gesture to the sweet mouthed boy, and turn away.

As much as you hated to admit, you looked forward to the party only just slightly more than you did five minutes ago, the small nicknames swarming around your head. 

And the way you cut your hair.

The too-loud music and blinding lights that could be heard and seen from multiple blocks away, and you almost stopped in your tracks, ready to turn around and head back home. But a pull from your friend as she squealed in excitement at maybe having a chance with mark managed to keep your feet moving towards the flashing lights. 

Strong alcohol, tequila, or vodka is something you’re hoping they have at the party so that you can attempt to get away from the sex-craved teenagers that are lined up against the walls, pushing against each other. Just walking into the house, and the stench of cigarettes, weed, and sweat floats through the air almost enough to make you gag, as your nose scrunches up at the sight and smell. 

Drinks are set far too far from the entrance of the house, the kitchen seems to be miles away not close enough for your liking until you finally reach it. Johnny, black-haired slicked back, the sunflower tattoo on his forearm a stark contrast to the leather jacket he wears and it makes you smile just slightly at the different personalities the dark-haired boy has.  Yet you can’t deny his loud and extravagant personality as he talks from person to person whether senior or freshman, making drinks, even if some of the spillover the sides, you sit by one of the stools ready to get a mixed drink of whatever the alumni is able to concoct before getting the courage and energy to head back into the party and socialize with people you really have no interest in socializing. 

In the short minute that it takes johnny to get your drink, the lemon drink shot with a strong tequila is set in front of you just as your friend has left you with the only warning being a sharp look, as she smiled to a brown-haired boy that you can only presume to be Mark, by the way, her face flushes, and she takes a swig from the drink in her hand before leaving you, and you yell a sharp “go get em” before gulping down the liquid inside the red solo cup. 

Alcohol you’d forgotten burned down your throat, it’s lingering sharp and bitter taste leaving a tang in your mouth as it traveled down your mouth. You forget that the effect of the drink doesn’t come into effect a little later, where you are jumping up and down on the table, dancing from side to side as the music pumps through your blood and body. You won’t be able to tell that it’s the alcohol that you’d sworn you wouldn’t drink unless surrounded by friends, but most definitely not in a social gathering, that makes you jump from table to table and grab other’s next you as you dance with them. Hair slightly plastered to your face from the sweat, and though you’re dancing your words are slightly fuzzy from the multiple drinks you’d had from random tables you’d pass by.

A sharp tug and pull gets you off the current table and you begin to complain, wanting to continue to let loose to the rhythm of some constant beat song that sounds all too vaguely familiar to your ears, but the arms that are wrapped around you feel oddly warm and comfortable and the protest die slightly on your lips as you turn around to see who’s holding onto you. 

Dark brown hair, almost black frames the boy’s face perfectly and you want to run your fingers through it. Some sense of longing for love and being loved passes through you, and now you’ve realized how drunk you truly are as you push down the emotions of attraction to the boy in front of your face showing only the traces of what would be a smile if he wasn’t so concerned for your safety. 

“y/n?” the boy asks, and you’re still in a light haze of alcohol that buzzes through your skin and blood making everything fuzzy that you can’t quite picture whose face it is in front of you, whose voice that is soft and gentle towards you and sounds so familiar, to which you only manage to nod your head slightly hair falling in front of your eyes as you smile. It’s small, fluttering, and the boy in front of you smiles too, as he repeats your name, and then the words that leave his mouth make him click into place. 

“y/n? Luv? How much have you had?” The word luv, makes you push away from the strong arms that hold you, the classic leather jacket that tends to adorn his body has somehow managed to be wrapped around you, and you realize that you are no longer inside the house with loud music. Instead the music and flashing lights have been replaced by trees and twinkling lights that flash in the dark sky and the distant background of loud music that is too low for your ears to register anything more than a constant drone. Your smile has been replaced by a scowl, and you grunt at the jacket you’re wearing, hating to admit that it’s warm and comforting. You try to speak, the words a slur before you hurl, holding onto your stomach as the content of your lunch and too much alcohol are spilled on the grass floor in front of you. 

The acid from your stomach burns your tongue, a bitter taste seems to linger even as you chug down the water that jeno offers you, a small smile gracing his features. And you blame the alcohol, but you smile back at him, and can’t think that maybe he isn’t as bad as you thought he was. You can’t shake the feeling of his hand wrapped around your waist, another holding up your hair as you hurled, and coughed no mocking grin or satisfactory smirk making their way onto his face. Instead a small smile was present, his dark hair that you finally admitted to yourself, made him look hot, was tousled and messy by the wind and it looked cute. 

You blame the day’s events and the words that were thrown at you at the beginning of the party making you head straight to the intoxicating drinks. You blame the chemicals that are still in your system, as you sit on the grass dragging jeno to sit next to you, hand intertwined with his. The grass that is cool against your touch, making your skin feel less hot, less sticky, and more conscious. You blame the alcohol and everything it changes in your core, for letting you lean your head against jeno’s shoulder, as his arm wraps around your shoulders pulling you in only slightly, scared to scare you away. You most definitely blame the alcohol as the words that fall from your mouth as you hold onto jeno’s calloused hand. 

“I like it” the words are a mumble, whispered into the night air, and it causes jeno to turn just slightly his lips almost touching the crown of your head, “like what?” he whispers back, and you can almost swear a small kiss is placed on the crown of your head. 

           “Luv” 

I hate the way you drive my car.

It seems that the stars want you to hate jeno more than you already do, as he half carries you half drags you to your parked car. The moon shines on the car surfaces mixing in with the dull yellow lights from the evenly spaced streetlights. You wished that you could walk straight, but you still stumble a little, your steps not sturdy until jeno has placed his arm around your waist lifting you up, that you manage to walk to the old vintage car that is parked under one of the dimmed out streetlights. 

The sequence of opening the door and you get inside the car occurs in a slight blur, but you find yourself on the passenger seat, head resting against the cool window that makes you jump slightly from the contact. It isn’t until you turn your head as the engine roars to life underneath you that you see jeno by the wheel, adjusting the rear view mirrors to his height and gripping the steering wheel. 

Time seemed to stop as you lay in the grass, head tucked in between jeno’s shoulder and his head. It stopped when the last words that had left your mouth had made jeno’s smile widen and his eyes match the moon that shone brightly above the two of you. The droning music has stopped, flashing lights no longer as constant as they were when you had first dragged jeno into the cool grass. In that position did you two lay for hours, a comfortable understanding and silence settling between the two of you until your breaths became constant and your eyes had begun to droop threatening to close that jeno shook you lightly. The only response he got was a small humm that you were still awake, as he pulled you up and started to make your way to the car. Something that seemed almost impossible as jeno had absolutely no idea where the fuck your car was and you didn’t seem to quite remember in your hald drunken half sober very much about to fall asleep state.

Jeno could have almost jumped from joy when he’d seen your eyes brighten up at the sight of a beat-up old red mustang, and you pointed towards it. The moment he had opened the passenger door you had climbed inside curling up next to the door like a cat, and he couldn’t help but think that you were adorable, even when you snapped at him for taking your keys. It was a different side of you that he’d never seen, and he doubted many people did see. One where you weren’t putting on a sort of facade of hating everything around you, but instead you let your eyes relax holding a sort of brightness and glow jeno hadn’t seen before but now couldn’t stop himself from looking at. Stop, jeno scolded himself as he turned to look at the road, car roaring to life.  

“Nu-uh” you grunted at seeing jeno aggressively change gears, “stop being so aggressive,” you say as you sit up. The smile that adorned jeno’s face turns into a grin, as he continues to aggressively switch gears as he turns the corner, and you regret ever thinking he was kind. 

“My car doesn’t deserve this” you grunt out, and jeno chuckles looking at you from the side, and he loosens his grip slightly on the gear stick. 

“You mean my presence? I’m gonna have to agree, sweetheart” you’re not sure if it’s the light trace of chemicals that still surround your brain, or if you’ve really wanted to do this for a while but you don’t stop your fist as it punches jeno in the arm. 

“The fuck” leaves jeno’s lips, as he rubs his arm where you’d hit him and you do a little dance on your seat, “don’t hurt my car dumbass” is your only answer before you continue to laugh at the face of confusion and mocked hurt that jeno fakes. 

Your laugh rings around the car, and echoes through the street, as the windows at some point where rolled down. The way jeno looks confused makes you laugh harder, and he turns just slightly, his eyes narrow and eyebrows slightly scrunches, and he looks like a confused dog. Alcohol might have made you hit him, but you can’t fathom why you would be laughing at jeno, no not at him but with him as his laugh has joined yours as he drives the car down the street. The ridiculousness of the night catches up with, making you hold onto your stomach as jeno parks into your driveway smile never faltering. 

From the way, both of your eyes shine from joy and amusement one could almost swear that the two of you were friends, almost lovers by the way jeno looked at you. But no one was looking at two in the morning, and no one can be there to tell you that the way you two look at each other is in a new way. No gazes filled with mocked sympathy or non-wanted flirtatious remarks, instead, you two seem to gaze into each other’s eyes for what seems too long if it weren’t that neither of you seemed to mind. 

And because you are still slightly tipsy, and the stars and moon make jeno look like some sort of angel as his hair is illuminated by a white light, that lights up his face making his eyes a warmer brown that they usually are that you think about opening up yourself to him. Maybe he isn’t as bad as you think, maybe just maybe the nicknames he gives you make you feel a flutter because he could be someone to trust. 

Possibilities for the maybes and wants to fill your head, and you don’t realize your eyes have fluttered shut and you are leaning in only slightly a sway towards where jeno is until you feel his hand on your shoulder stopping you, a pitiful gaze grazes his features and you are almost sure you want to go crawl in a hole. Instead, you push him back, opening the car door and slamming it behind you, chin held up as you walk back towards your house, the water in your eyes threatening to spill. But you manage to make it, as you walk into your house, and slam the door behind you the words “maybe not now” replaying in your head, because why the fuck would he actually like you. 

You don’t notice when you go to sleep music blasting from your headphones that you’ve wrapped yourself in the leather jacket that smells slightly of cat and boy, the lingering stench of cigarettes and fire from the jacket given to you by the boy who had managed to hold your heart for only a second. 

 I hate it when you stare. 

              in and out. Your breaths match the classes metronome, a constant beat to keep your breaths even and focused on whatever the teacher is saying, which happens to be the importance of pentatonic scales when composing a new song. He drones on about the way modern pop music isn’t really music and that the same fours chords and rhythmic patterns are used over and over again with a slight variety to them. You would have looked around the class, taking in the beautiful instruments that are set on display around the class, most of them hanging on hooks and nicks that cause the brass instruments to gleam in the classroom light. Admiring the way the guitars were filed neatly, basses next to them and the small ukuleles that the school's “hipsters” would pretend to play every so often at the talent shows. Some of the guitars and ukuleles were decorated by the art classes, the flowers blooming from one end to the other making it impossible to tell the difference between where the original brandished wood begins and ends. It almost seems at times like the flowers in full bloom are consuming the wood, taking away its air and nutrients that then allow the students to play melodica tunes without the professor yelling at them to tune their instruments. You would be admiring the piano that lay at the front of the class where your professor is currently pacing back and forth, his hands waving in grandiose gestures that make you cough an attempt to hide the rising laughter in your throat. The piano that you’d heard most of the students in the class play and almost lull everyone to tears or sleep depending on who it was, as the keys would rise and fall with each stroke. 

Admire. Stare at the instrument you longed to strum and let out the bundle of emotions that were piled up in your stomach, taught and knotted together waiting to be untang;ed by the strum and finger pattern of the acoustic guitar. That’s what you would be doing if you weren’t slightly interested in the way that your professor was taking down and criticizing modern day music which you could only nod your head too, agreeing with most of his points. The rest of your class seemed to be disgusted, their faces shriveling and eyes rolling to the back of their heads. 

“Well yeah, music today doesn’t, well shouldn’t really constitute for “real” music. It shouldn’t be dictated by a constant talk of sex and the drugs, what about the power in music? The way that it is in itself a universal language?” you speak out of turn, your arm coming down slightly aching from having to hold it up for so long with no acknowledgment. The moment you speak you can almost feel the class sigh and grunt, their heads dropping slightly. 

“Now miss y/n” his voice is grainy and unpleasant, but you nod, eyes defiant at whatever critique will come your way even if you just agreed with your professors point of view, “did i ask for your opinion on the universal language and power it has on your feelings” 

“Well no but-”

            “No buts” you want to roll your eyes and flip him off, and decide to do both as you sigh, “not like you’d understand what that is” you mumble loud enough for your the boy at your right to hear you and his mouth falls slightly open, and you roll your eyes flipping him off as he turns around facing the scribbled blackboard.  

You can feel eyes staring at you, analyzing the way you bite onto the top of your pen or how you doodle across the margin of your paper, random notes and lyrics that pop into your head as your professor drones on and on about the theory of music. It’s a pity you think that it’s those eyes that make you want to stand up and hit someone, those eyes that seem to want to dig a whole through your brain are what cause the feeling of uneasiness in your stomach every-time you turn around. 

in and out. The metronome beeps constant again, and you loosen the grip on your pencil. Turning around slowly before locking gaze with jeno, who seems startled, you turned around and looked at him in the first place. Replaced is the mocking grin by a sheepish smile, and you can almost swear there’s a speck of guilt in his brown eyes as he looks at you with a small pleading look until you flip him off, mouthing the words “fuck you” into the air. But he seems to register them as he breaks the contact, eyes darkening and head bowing down just slightly, making a small smile graces your features. 

Tick tick tick - ring. The bell goes off and you can’t seem to get up and out of your seat quick enough, following pursuit of the other students that have already packed and are counting down the seconds until class is over. You’re almost at the door, fingers stretching to reach the handle when you feel a light tap on your shoulder, a brush of your hair to the side, as you swirl around. You bite down the curse that is about to slip through your lips as your professor stands in front of you an amused smile on his face as he tells you that even though you’re an exemplary student you should tone down on the whole “power to the people” role you hold and you have to stop yourself from turning around and walking away. “Uh sure…” you are ready to leave, feet beginning to turn but your professor isn’t done and he holds you back telling you about the inconveniences of being a teacher at this day and age and you wonder what the man had wanted to be if not a teacher but the question and pity are quickly erased when he tells you that you about the end of the year assignment, “a project of sorts” he drawls, one hand stroking the light beard that sticks in odd patchy places around his face. “that will test what you’ve learned this year” you say nothing, waiting for what the punch the goal of the assignment is, “a song based off shakespeare’s sonnets” 

You don’t have time to clap and jump from joy at the assignment and thank your professor before the fire alarm goes off and you are walking towards the football field. You don’t have the time to register the way people are looking at you, the way jeno is staring at you with a goofy smile and hopeful eyes as the intro chords play to i.f.l.y  by bazzi and he gazes towards the crows that has gathered around him, eyes finding yours. 

I hate your big dumb combat boots,

The clunk of boots against the aluminium causes the bleachers to shake slightly, a vibration of clashing echoing through the field as it mixes in with jeno’s voice. The dark haired boy that scares the school away on most days bounces along from one side of the bleachers to the other. 

You can feel the warmth spread to your cheeks, the heat spreading through your body and you shake your head slightly at whatever is going because you truly aren’t quite sure. The only thing you know is that it seems to be the whole school’s eyes are darting from you to jeno, who can’t seem to take his eyes off even as he jumps from one row of bleachers to the next the microphone on his hand a he raps along to the lyrics to the song. Lyrics that sound as familiar as a midnight drive and cooling moonlit fields. 

*

The way he conveys the words and raps is not something you hadn’t heard before, you’d heard him speak his poems to you that late night in the midst of summer heat when you had been in a need of escape from the world that surrounded you. The summer heat had been too much, too suffocating that in a whim you’d driven to the highest point in the city. City skyline had been laid before you, the hues of the city changing as the sun slowly dipped itself over the buildings, and it seemed to want to disappear like you did. Slowly, leaving a mark in the world as it reached past the buildings and water that lay far beyond the city, stretching it’s red flames that would slowly flicker and turn into different hues of pink and purple. It was mesmerizing, a way to get away as the sun went down and the moon shone brighter than the city lights, no amount of light pollution that littered the air enough to you were in your own world. Your mind travelled to that safe and peaceful place that would only come out when you were surrounded by the twinkle of stars that seemed to flicker hope, while the moon remained a constant reminder of the light in the darkness. That is until the crunch of leaves behind you, a sign of the coming autumn disturbed you from your silent peace.

Moonlight shone on black boots, the combat boots seemed to dull the moonlight, taking away all it’s light by absorbing it as it crunched the leaves underneath them and stopped in front of you. Eyes landed on a hooded figure, their black hoodie being slightly too big, as it drooped over their frame, reaching slightly past their hip, where you could see the tears in the boys jeans, and you hated to admit that the outfit wasn’t bad. The boy’s face wasn’t visible from the shadows caused by the moonlight, but it wasn’t that it mattered as you went back to looking at the city below you, waiting for the boy in front of you to sit down next to you. It would have normally bothered you to be disturbed in what you had claimed to be your “spot” but maybe it was the way the boy held his head down, or the way the stars shone and illuminated portions of his face, maybe it was just that there was a mutual understanding between the two people that had seeked comfort in the middle of the night underneath the stars. For whatever the reason, you stayed next to each other not touching, not leaning against each other but there was a sense of comfort by each other’s presence and a mutual knowledge of what each wanted. The silence was one of comfort, a blanket that seemed to surround the field that two of you sat in, and when the boy with the worn out combat boots began to speak, a light melody and rhythm to his words all you could do was nod along and enjoy the melodic and soothing sound of his voice. His words shocked you, reaching somewhere inside of you that seemed to be dormant for a long long time. 

“Summer’s been lonely, time seems wasted and passing.  But when the stars shine, and the sun goes, Summer becomes a lil less lonely Little less wasted Because when i'm with you  Time’s gonna stop” 

You couldn’t help but feel drawn to the warm voice that rapped next to, as he talked about lost time and love that seems to be a long lasting one that makes you feel like you’re gonna burst from everything that you feel for them only for them to leave in a quick second. And though you don’t know the boy next to you, you don't know his story, you don’t know why he decided on this very day much like you too climb to the top of the hill and admire the busy world from afar, you know the melody. The song that follows his heart, it’s something out of a movie you think, the way the two of you met, lost souls finding themselves by watching everything around them fade into the dark. You don’t know each other but you do, you know the way his song goes and it’s an understanding beyond words beyond actions as the two of you sit next to each other, hours passed midnight a boy with combat boots that crunch through leaves and a voice with thoughts that seem to connect to everything around you, and you. A lost soul with music in heart, that sways and calms down in the brightening moon of the night, as you give each other mutual company in a field of moonlit flowers, and blinking concrete. 

*

Jeno has made his way down the bleachers, his cheeks are red and you can’t help but feel amused and honored. Because as much as he annoys you and makes you want to hit something you can’t deny the way your heart flutters when he smiles at you as he is doing right now, steps bringing you closer and closer to you, his warned out combat boots make you laugh because you’d never seen him wear anything else. You can feel the anger fade away from the week, anger at him for embarrassing you, anger for not feeling loved like you wanted to be loved, but there was a sort of bond that was formed when the school's resident bad boy decides to sing a love song to someone he’s hurt and cares for. There’s something vulnerable by the way he looks at you, a light in his eyes and embarrassment and all of a sudden he’s in front of you. Faces only centimeters away, his breaths fanning your face slightly, their heavy and uneven but he’s smiling tune slightly off-key as he sings the last verse. 

“So I guess what i'm saying” the mic is lowered, and the space between the two becomes your own world. No longer are aware of the hundreds of teenagers surrounding you, some of the whistling others video taping. 

“I guess what i'm saying” you hum back, smiles adorning both of your faces, 

“I fucking love you”

And the way you read my mind.

It seemed as if the world had suddenly shifted. No longer where you are grounded on earth, goals set to go to the other side of the world away from your family, instead you feel alleviated. Where the ground used to be now there was air, a lightness to your movements and words that weren’t there before. It isn’t that the world suddenly changed, the clouds didn’t suddenly become more bright, the world didn’t suddenly become a bright ball of colors and sunshine. 

Falling for someone was based upon the little moments spent together. The way the world seemed to feel a little less heavy, a little less lonely when brown eyes would meet yours, greeting you with a lopsided smile. You had read in books that falling was like falling asleep, slowly and then so quickly that you didn’t even notice the way your heart would take skips when hand touched hand, calloused fingers from constant strumming of a guitar, grazing yours. They say it’s supposed to be too fast for you to notice, as if you were in a dream state that you had fallen into and slowly when your heart is shattered or turned over do you wake up from the dream-like state wishing you had stayed in it. In your opinion falling was neither of those, and it was both. 

Falling was being dragged out of an arena, filled with a whole school student body, where laughter trailed behind you as the boy with worn out combat boots took you to the place you first met. It was the way his eyes would light up their dark brown becoming a lighter color, almost matching his honey colored hair when the sun would hit him from behind, when he looked at you while you talked about the project you were working on. Falling seemed to be the way that the first sentences after the boy sang bazzi’s confession song was a banter over why the song was chosen, you two debating which of his songs was better, an ongoing debate whether smile or i.f.l.y was a better show of emotion. The argument lasted the whole car ride, you drove and it hadn’t taken much convincing after you threatened to keep his leather jacket, that you had shoved back at him only previously that morning. It was only a matter of seconds after that conversation, that jeno pride smile on his face opened the passenger's seat to the beat up mustang and let you slightly, well more like lecture him on how to be gentle on the old car. If jeno would have been tested on the way that your hands would flit back and forth, moving from side to side and up and down making grand gestures and soft ones in order to justify and further prove your point, jeno was sure he would ace the test. But if it came to what you were talking about, how he shouldn’t force the car to change gears or how one button should be pressed before the other he would have passed, he loved hearing you talk passionately about anything and as much as he loved to get on your nerves to see you get flustered cheeks growing slightly red, but would have failed on purpose just for you to smack him in the arm. The punch, which he would never admit kinda hurt the first time you’d hit him what seemed like ages ago, but was really only a season ago, had softened and felt now more like a “you’re stupid but i don’t mind it”, it made him smile. Banter that flitted back and forth between the two of you, constant little arguments that weren’t truly arguments but more of a facade at the emotions and hidden feelings that grew between the two of you. 

The coming winter air was sharp against your ungloved hand, making you shake it up and down, which only caused jeno to look at you with a confused look. 

“You know luv” the nickname no longer made your blood boil, and you’d finally admitted to yourself that it made you feel warm, “there are pockets for a reason” he put his own hands in the stitched pockets of his leather jacket for emphasis, and you huffed. 

“And then how would i be able to carry this?” you lifted your hand, the what had been hot chocolate was now cold all thanks to the new barista at the cafe, jungwoo you think his name was. Your fingers that had seeped up all the warmth they could get from the previously steaming cup of hot chocolate were now pink at the ends, the cold biting into them, and you slightly shook from the cold air you hadn’t been ready for these type of temperature when jeno had sent you a message this morning, the contact “soft bad boy” appearing repeatedly in your phone, with the vague instructions to get ready to go out in the span of fifteen minutes, he’s been by your door in fifteen minutes leading you to your car where he opened the driver's seat for you as he headed into the passenger. It had taken you arriving at the snow covered school to realize where jeno was taking you, and when you had realized it was the school protests were coming. Questions such as “jeno? It’s winter break, why the fuck are we in school?” and “fuck it’s cold”, or jeno’s favorite which you were almost sure he would forever tease you about, “my hands weren’t made for this” you’d been talking about the numbing of feeling in your thumbs when you had been holding the chocolate, keys, phone and wallet in your hands because your jeans had been made without proper pockets. Fuck the patriarchy you hat thought. Jeno has heard the whole situation out of context, and has made it his life goal to tease you on and on about your small hands. It was torture. 

“You could ask for help?” his little bow almost made you laugh, but you rolled your eyes pride getting in front of his help

“And hear you brag about how you don’t feel the cold” you sigh, changing the drink from one hand to the next letting the pocket in your hoodie heat up your hand slightly, “no thank you”. The next thing you know though, is jeno’s jacket is placed around your shoulders, their warmth heating up your bones, and his hands are wrapped around yours, “no, i’d just do this” his voice is next to you, breath stirring the hairs at your ears, warmth sweeps through your body, by the contact his skin makes with yours, and for a second you want to turn around and kiss him. You want to know what it’s like to kiss his lips that seem so soft, want to know what it feels like to wrap your arms around his neck while you kiss him, and play with the black strands of hair at the back of his neck. The feeling doesn’t leave as much as you try to push it away, as jeno holds your hands and drags you towards the school gate, and into the music room.

Falling is about the invisible things. Falling is noticing the way he can read your mind like no one else can, falling is making dumb jokes at each other smiles on both of your faces, it is the way you seem to have conversations about what you want from the world at two am and still poke fun at each other in a passing by through school. Falling you think you finally understand, isn’t singing i.f.l.y by bazzi in front of the whole student body because you don’t want someone to be mad at you, no. falling is the way from summer to fall to winter you get to know each other, until your hearts seem to be in-sync with each other, as jeno who fiddles with the rings on his fingers tells you to sit down on a chair in the music room. It is the way he picks up the guitar your breath catches on everytime you see it, the flowers swallowing and making the wood more vibrant than it was, and looks at you in the eyes. Falling is how his hands tremble slightly when he begins to strum the guitar, and his husky voice fills the empty room, as he sings about the way you make him feel less alone, and part of the universe.

But there’s a thing about falling, there’s the way that you can feel your eyes tear up when he finishes a goofy smile plastered on his face, the last g chord ringing throughout the room and into the hallways. When you fall, you can never tell when the bottom hits, you can never be prepared for the way the ground lurches before you, a slap in the face, right as you let go of the moon boy in front of you breaths still a little uneven from the shared kiss, which made a star fall seem small. Once that rock bottom is hit, the world falls back into place and you aren’t held at freefall, when you hear the “click” and whoops and yells from the hallway and you try to ignore the invasion trying to take in the boy in front of you, until your phone dings and then so does his. A new text message from an unknown contact, with a photo image attached,

“Turns out the bad boy took the bet after all, and y/n isn’t as cold hearted as they seem”

I hate you so much it makes me sick;

Crashing, falling and burning. Emotions that seem to curse through you days, a weeks later after the text is sent, the one that follows is worse. 

“Turns out, jeno was being paid all along to make cold-hearted y/n to fall for him. If you don't trust us, ask him” you knew the message was a taunt, a test to see if you would break but you’d plummeted down down down, and the way jeno’s eyes had shuttered and the light was no longer the way gave you the answer you wanted. 

A breaking point is what they call you’ve heard when one can no longer hold in the anger or sadness or any sort of emotion that seems to be too much. The breaking point that causes one to lose control over their actions, or thoughts because things you thought to be true, are flipped on their side, and the worst part is you wanted yourself not fall for the boy with the easy smile that shone like the moon, and sweet words that made your blood boil and melt all at once. 

Sick, that’s how you felt when you pushed him away, leather jacket dropping with a heavy thud onto the wooden floor. A twisting and turning of emotions rammed through you, anger coming out strong as you shoved him away again before walking out of the room, leaving jeno mouth wide open as if he’d wanted to say something, hands clenching and unclenching as if he’d grabbed onto to you or hadn’t let you check your phone it would change the world worked. The light that had shone in his eyes left, it seemed to be squashed out by the water that threatened to escape because it was true, he had been paid. It isn’t something that made him particularly, it wasn’t that he wasn’t intrigued by you, from the night you two first met all those months ago under the moonlight. 

Payment, green paper that would be slipped into his hand by haechan, a fellow senior he barely knew apart from the school’s biggest flirt accompanied by na jaemin, he did wonder at times how they weren’t at each other’s throats most of the time, but substantially he truly didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him the more he got to know you, the more he held your hand and felt the way his heart would swell and at times skip a beat or two, maybe even three if you looked at him with light in your eyes, laughter ringing in his ears from a joke he had said. 

The first time he’d been offered the paper, fifty bucks to see if the cold hearted bitch that everyone seemed to fear was capable of giving her heart to someone, he had denied because as much as the world thought of him as a cold hearted human being he truly just didn’t want to be bothered or be torn apart from his music and dance.  The second time haechan offered, he accepted on a whim. There had been a sort of argument in music class, you leading the conversation against something he couldn’t quite remember but he remembered you taking down student after student, a defiant look in your eyes as you gave point after point on what you believed was right. He had accepted, because seeing you standing on top of your chair, passion driving you away from the textbook and to speak clearly voice ringing through the room, made him wonder if it was even possible and if he gave up with what he thought was to be your overly cold demour then at least he's earned some money and the freshman that had walked up to him that morning telling him about the plan they’d set up would work. The plan chenle, a boy who was taller than him, but a freshman nonetheless broke it down in simple steps, it was entertaining to say the least, the way he discussed how he would get his new found jisung to go out with your sister, but that would only be possible if you would date. If he wanted to lie to himself, he would say that he accepted the deal because he wanted to help the kids out, but he was never one to not follow the truth. But now, his hands feel cold and empty, lips still feeling the ghost of yours against his, and he remembers a quote he read not long ago on the story of how the sun died everyday in order to let the moon live at night. 

Jeno is sure that he should be the sun that should die, not because the sun was where the world gravitated towards but because you were the moon. The moon that seemed to hold him together and stand by him even after the lies that are spun about his background at school so when you walk out the door, and he sees the tear’s shining beneath the classroom lights he knows he’s lost. If only you knew that he had stopped taking any sort of money the moment he caught feelings, if you only knew the money that he’d earned had gone to help his fostered cats that hung out by his house every now and then. But even if you did now it didn’t make him any better than Haechan who had sent out the text message, informing the world about the stupidities and decisions he made and had regretted two weeks later when you had scolded him about how to drive your car. 

Sick. From your stomach to your head a loud and never ending thump went on and on like the metronome in the music room all those weeks ago. The headache seemed mocking of your developed feelings for jeno, and you could feel your heart twist into itself, as you went over the events of the last few months. What was real, what was done as an act, you didn;t know but you hated it. You hated the way he made you feel, hated the way one text one yes or luv had led you into this snowball and fall that had hit harder than you’d ever wanted it. You hated him so much, it made you sick. 

It even makes me rhyme.

Melodies follow structured patterns, like the rhythm to a song and the lyrics that accompany it, never missing a beat a simple dun dun dun that tends to lead people into a dance like trance. Yet that was the problem with melodies, it was the way that they held onto certain chords, following the same stroke of keys the same vocal riff or bass slap that would drive you insane but would also drive modern days love songs whether they dealt with the infatuation that was love or the consequences of that love which lead to the inevitable heartbreak all followed the same sort of patterns and lines. 

Rhyming, that’s what you did as you recited the end of the year Shakespeare inspired song. A mixture of words with similar sounding words with the same syllables, like car and stare or hate and fate a juxtaposition between the two. Rhymes where everything you tended to avoid, the stereotypical and overused notes digging into your brain, playing and replaying over and over but you didn’t care anymore, as you recited the scribbled lines on the old piece of notebook paper. Some of the yellow had faded from the drops of tears that had dropped weeks ago, as your mind thought of jeno, his smile no longer the same comfort it held when he drove you out to the beach and led you late at night to admire the stars and watch the sunset. Some of the blue ink bleeding through, making smudges across the paper you were to run in, the doodles that had been scratched and re-drawn only to be scratched and drawn in different shapes the notes written down almost everywhere except in the five bar staff that was supposed to hold the notes. 

The shaky breath you let out helps you calm down as you look out into the pinned up pictures of the bedroom wall and the view that gives out to the dying sun set out in the horizon making space for the ever present and shining moon in the blue now purple and lilac sky. Hands grip at the paper, making it crinkle slightly at the force being used, and you read halfway through the lines you can’t fully get through before tears begin to spring up at your eyes. 

I hate it, i hate the way you’re always right.  I hate it when you lie. 

The words feel raw, and posion, vile seems to rise up at your throat the further you go down, and thought the tears don’t fall heavily they steam. A dashing race down your cheeks and back into the yellow notebook paper, as if they were being recycled. The words on the page breaking you, the emotions a sway of everything they say you aren’t, written by you to the boy who shared his heart and then stole it taking it far far away. Salty water drops onto the paper, until they dry up and then they fall again the next time you read them, and you read them and fix them and read them again rhymes embedded into your brain until the tears no longer fall and the paper is no longer in crinkles. 

I hate it when you make me laugh,

The memory flits back to you when you are met with brown eyes on the first day back from winter break. The air is no longer sharp and threatening to cut into you, but nevertheless you wear your sweater, hoodie slightly up, headphones popped into both ears. You didn't realize the figure in front of you, until you’d bumped into the halfway through a new invented dance move you had decided to create as you bopped and moved to the music that surged through your headphones. The toppling into one another was fast, rushed almost as you collided against each other, a stutter back from both of you before you saw who exactly you had crashed into. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, you should have realized who the boy was from the worn out combat boots that had been dyed black again, and the leather jacket that had a couple of new patches adorning it’s sleeves. 

“Sorry” jeno murmurs, but you don’t hear music still flooding in, and you are too focused on the way his eyes shift from your face to your hoodie, and then back to your face not being able to look straight at you, it causes you to scoff. Of course he was able go behind my back, get paid to play with me, and when he gets caught he can’t even look me in the eye, the thoughts are slightly disappointing but not surprising - boys you had learned tended to follow patterns. It isn’t until jeno shifts his focus entirely from you, brown eyes darkening that you are intrigued by the change emotion, guilt and a sort of plead to apologize is wiped from his face and you soon realize the purple haired boy, who couldn’t help himself from laughing at your situation, calling more students to him that had set jeno off. 

“If it isn’t the schools biggest joke” haechan’s voice is mocking, and you truly don’t know why the rest of the student body is laughing with him, when there isn’t anything humorous, sadly this is what you expect from the school by this point, it happened in ninth grade there was nothing to say it wouldn’t happen again. You think about ignoring his comments, there truly was no use getting involved, haechan just wanted a reaction, that is until he flaunted his money around, the constant taunt of how you had been manipulated thanks to the douchebag in front of you not leaving your mind for a second and you’d had enough. Haechan or his group of friends couldn’t have stopped you even if they tried, as you walked up to him, hood down, the rings on your fingers shining in the morning sun, as you punched him. 

“Bitch!” his voice broke as the word escaped his lips, blood beginning to swell on the side of his face, “i have a photoshoot tomorrow” you punched again in response, this time his lip was cut, and you snickered. 

“Hmmmm” you hummed looking at the boy’s eyes, they held anger and a hint of mist that threatened to escape and not being the schools ‘perfect’ boy, “guess they’ll have to find someone else, you know someone that’s actually, how do i say this in the nicest way possible” placing a hand on your chin you pretend to think about it before a grin spreads on your face, “nevermind there isn’t a nice way because you don’t deserve shit. rot in hell fucker” the last word is almost a yell as you’ve turned around and have walked away from the scene, a shit eating grin on your face, at the look of defeat Haechan held. 

It isn’t the way Haechan looks at you with disgust, no that gives you some sense of pride by taking him on, it’s the way jeno’s eyes are filled with pride and warmth. A plea to hear him out at least just once, and as much as you try to deny it his eyes take you back to hot chocolates on random days, snowball fights late at night and random drives through the city to calm you down, music blasted through the stereo of your old car. Memories of him being next to you, arms around yours holding onto you as if you would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Memories that as much as you wished wouldn’t flood up every time you saw him did and though you kept telling yourself that it was just an act, you can’t help but think that maybe just maybe not all of it was an act. The hope you hold close to your heart, is what leads you to be stuck back in the place that the mess started, stuck inside the music room yet again, jeno hand centimeters away from yours which just gets you to sit far far away from him. 

“So…” he starts, fiddling with the bracelets that adorn his wrists.

“So…you gonna say something or can i go because i have class to attend to” the words come out harsh, as your annoyance slightly rises, mixed in with being emotionally exhausted you really weren’t here to sit around the boy who had played with you. 

“The cafeteira is having french fries today” the second the words leave jeno’s lips he regrets them, because how stupid is he to start an apology by talking about food, when he looks at you he sees you laughing. Laughing so hard that he manages to walk closer to you so that you are only a couple of feet away from each other, but it isn’t a laugh that fills up the room. Your laugh is dry and humourless, empty and broken, it reminds him of the way one laughs when they have nothing to lose and have given up all hope.

“You know” you start, willing the tears to not fall, your voice to not break because just being in the room with him feels like too much, like one wrong step and the glue that has tapped your heart back together might diffuse into thin air, “for a second, a short second i thought you were gonna say something meaningful” the words are like poison, as you spit them out wanting them to strike and hurt the black haired boy with the perfectly chiseled face to hurt as much as you do, as you begin to head out of the room, the tears threatening to spill again. You’re about to reach the door before you hear your name being called, and you wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for the desperation that was laced with his words. If it weren’t for the words that followed your name, “Summer’s been lonely, time seems wasted and passing” the lyrics, the way they roll off his tongue as if he’s heard them a million times catch your breath and make you turn around. 

“Stop” you hold your hand out in emphasis, trying to calm your beating heart down, trying to stop the idea that this boy, the one that held your heart and broke it is the same boy that made you feel at peace in a day of chaos, on a midsummer night. But he tries again to talk, a small smile on the ghost of his lips and you have the urge to laugh and smile at him. 

“Just stop” you almost plead, and jeno takes a deep breath, waiting for you to continue, “stop because dam you have no right to sing that. You had no right, no right at all to make me laugh like no one else that day and day’s after, you had no right”  

Even worse when you make me cry.

Jeno has never been one to convey emotions with words. It was never, his forte as people call it, but in the music room that felt stuffed and almost suffocating he reached for words. Any word that might be sufficient, no, not sufficient, words that would convey his truth. Somehow, some way to get rid of that look of disgust, anger and defeat in your eyes that made his heart ache. He can feel you pull farther and farther away even if you are only a couple of feet away from, a couple of inches until if he held his arm out he could catch your hand in his. There was some part of him that thought the moment you two shared what seemed to be years ago, would help, would stop your eyes from shining every-time a light would hit them, the tears he knew you were holding back, because you weren’t one to cry in front of others threatening to spill.  In response, he could feel his heart ache for longer, his hands clam up, eyes look at yours pleadingly. 

“I know” his voice is defeated, almost as broken as you feel and the way it still manages to pull at your heart makes you look up at him, willing if only for one second, or to prove yourself that you can listen to him. The pause seems to make the room feel slightly more bearable, less stuffy, a little less suffocating, because two words are more than just an acknowledgement at the past but also at the present and the recent fuck ups. You hear more than see jeno take another shaky breath before he opens his mouth, closes it and opens again, a hand squeezing his eyes shut before he begins. 

“I know” the words are repeated again, and you aren’t sure what to make of them but he isn’t done, “i fucked up” you scoff, and jeno has a faint smile, “i know that anything that i say will seriously not make up for anything i did because no one in there right mind would ever accept to what i did. No one who knows you, would ever even consider agreeing to being paid to approach you. No one, because being around you, getting to know you is a gift itself. And yes i did agree at the beginning, it’s a long story” the words become clustered, a mumble and you want to leave again, because they feel like an excuse, 

“A long story, that still ended with you winning right?” the words snap from you before you stop them, and jeno is left wordless for a second before his eyes focus in again, mind running at a million, “yes?”

“No. no, i mean no” the sound that escapes from his lips confuses you, it’s a grunt and a sigh but he looks exhausted, “this isn’t going well”

“You think?” The question is more of a fact but that doesn’t stop jeno’s lips twitching slightly upwards, and you're mirroring his. Banter is good? I guess jeno thinks. 

“What i mean” he starts again for the uptenth time, “is that the moment i saw you smile, the moment i got to know you, not the cold exterior you present the moment you laughed at something stupid i said, because for some odd reason you seem to find my jokes funny when no one else does. The moment you... i saw you, eyes dazed as they looked at the sky i knew that the whole thing was stupid. And i stopped it, i promised i stopped taking money from haechan the second i knew you because you didn’t deserve that. Does that make me any less of a shitty person? No it really doesn’t” he stops for a second, catching his breath and you're trying your best to not let the tears drop to not scream or yell or hit him over and over again, but he makes it so hard. So fucking hard when his voice and eyes seem to convey everything you need to hear, everything you want to hear, but then the word money is said and you remember what he did and you can feel yourself recoil back, but not before a silent tear slips. 

“It doesn’t make me a better person if i had stopped the moment i had accepted the deal because I considered it. But y/n the way I feel about you, the way you manage to center me and be the single thing that keeps me afloat in this hell hole. The way that being next you whether it’s holding your hand that tends to be cold because you hate wearing gloves in winter and rather let them freeze'' another smile, and another tear slips making its way down your cheek, “can make me so happy and completely infatuated to the point i don’t know what to do with myself. It is the way I can feel your body next to mine hours after you’ve gone home from one of our random late night drives, or the way you steal my jacket and then i can feel you with me even when you are in class. It’s the way the stars and moon seemed to align that summer day, when we were both lost and found each other in the same lyrics, the same words and melody that sang to us. So yes, i was so stupid, so dam stupid for ever thinking i could be anything other than a stranger to you, and accepting that. But I can feel the way my heart seems to forget how to beat, anytime you look at me, and you smile, and unlike what the world wants us to believe. You aren’t my sun, or my stars. You are the center of the universe that i stand for, the moon that no matter how much i tried to get away from continues to rise and remain even on the never ending days, because i didn’t mean it all those months ago in the bleachers when i just wanted you to stop being mad at me for being the dumb ass i am, and i will never be the best when it comes to words and emotions luv, but i mean it now. I truly truly am sorry, and -” his voice breaks, and his hands shake, a tear slips from his eyes and you can see it’s reflection by the light. 

“St…” you take a breath, the word not leaving your throat, your breaths are shaky and jeno tries to reach out to you, tries to wipe away the silent flow of tears that continues to stream down your face, “stop”. The word finally manage to leave your lips, harsher than you wanted them too but it stops jeno from grabbing your hand, from taking away the warmth of his hand against your cheek, his eyes that had begun to light up slightly to be shut down again, as if someone had doused water on him. 

“Luv…” the moment the words leave his lips you know you have to leave, because if he does say those words, the ones you know you’ve been dreading to hear because you feel the same way. Because you have fallen and though you have hit rock bottom, and have been smacked back into reality your heart has never stopped reaching towards his. It doesn’t help, when his eyes look at yours with love, and you want to forgive him, you want everything to be okay, and in order for that to happen you can’t break down in front of him. Slowly do you shake your head, arms wrapping around your body as if they could provide some type of warmth, and heat up your bones, give warmth back into your eyes the way they do when you look at jeno. Which is why you don’t look at him, why you turn away leaving his arm outstretched and hanging. You can feel his eyes trail you, as you open the door the noise of the outside world rushing into the room, startling you for a second, but jeno doesn’t seem to hear it. The only thing he can focus on is you leaving, your footstep getting farther away, and his world becoming a little darker, more grey. The last thing he sees is your - well what used to be his - grey hoodie, the marking of sharpie that have been used to doodle on the piece of clothing one late night, flashing before the wooden door closes shut, surrounding him in a lonely silence again. 

I hate it when you’re not around,

The world seems to mock you for falling for lee jeno. The black haired boy seemed to follow you everywhere you went no matter how far away you tried to get away from the memories that plagued you. Days had passed since the world had yet again seemed to shift on its axis, and you had seen jeno less and less, but that didn’t stop your mind from making you remember his laugh anytime you heard a bad joke. 

No longer did brown eyes meet yours right after school ended in the cafe next to school, you weren’t greeted by the easy smile, that turned eyes into moons, or called the obnoxious pet names of angel and luv that used to make you want to punch a wall, only for you to find the words to be missing from your everyday life. Moments when the radio would play the song about summer and hazy love would worm their way into your heart, and it was like he was there. Smiling at you, his hand intertwined with yours as you drove your car to the top of the mountain where you first met, and just when the chorus would hit the two of you would belt out the song at the top of your lungs. It was only when the song ended, the melody fading into the back and replaced by the rapid voices of an ad for some car dealership you really didn’t care for, that you would look to find an empty seat beside you. No boy with a leather jacket, and combat boots that might have been propped up on the dashboard much to your protests, instead the seats were either empty and cold with no presence or soul in them, and the car would suddenly feel small and distant. 

Other times, the pang of not hearing his laughter diffuse into the air, over your clumsy self either tripping over words or almost falling over due to there being a small rock in the sidewalk. The problem wasn’t that you didn’t have friends. Your best friend, the same one that had dragged you into that party all those months ago, would never miss a beat to be with you, to take you out for a random karaoke night or a late night drive on her car. It wasn’t that you didn’t love them, you loved how they would always make time for the small nuisance you would bother them about, even if it was just to tell them about a new meme you’d found but the way their presence would fill only a small space in your heart made it hard. Especially because you would see how happy they were anytime they talked about Mark, the stories of their lazy dates filled your heart with happiness and joy. It had become a habit to prioritize other’s happiness above your own, and soon it became a habit to prioritize getting jeno out of your memories out of the place in your heart he had seemed to crawl into and not leave. 

Memories you come to realize are fleeting, and unpredictable. They are made from what one process to be from the emotions they feel in the current moment that the memory is being stored into your brain. The thing about memories, it’s a thing that they don’t tell you in 12th grade biology class. School or teachers don’t teach you about the different emotions and images that memories bring along with them. The figments that surround every memory you have for the past year seem to somehow always lead back to jeno. He comes when you think about your favorite drink, hot chocolate, and the drink transports you back to jeno bringing you hot chocolate late at night after long after hour practices. His black hair makes a presence, when you think about the essay you had to turn in a week ago, you don’t remember much of the project but your brain, against your conscious will remembers the way jeno’s hair felt through your fingers as you played with his hair one late afternoon. The threads come together slowly, on a random day, in which the sun seems to almost be desperate to stay on the earth’s surface, as it turns the buildings around it into purple hues. It almost seems like it’s gasping for air, and as the purple slowly turns into pink and lastly disappears beyond the horizon it’s last breath taken and long gone you realize something. Like the sun, and the threads that are tied together in order to form memories, in order to form the segments of life that when pieces together form a picture that lets one create the story of a person or a setting, jeno seems to form in front of you. You sit on top of the mountain where you first met, but this time you are alone, the skyline displayed out in front of you. The trees have lost their leaves and some of them even still have some white specks of snow in them, that with one push of wind would make the tremble and shiver, letting go of the white covering. 

Jeno is next to you, his hand only a mere centimeter from yours, but you continue to look at the sky, the buildings that go on for as long as you can see. His memory, the way you rest your head on his shoulder and he listens and listens no judgement ever from his eyes, only support and encouragement to let you choose what will make you happy. A memory that repeats over and over again, but that isn’t your favorite memory from jeno. The last memory that forms in your head, after the roadtrips, to sweet make out sessions that led you two to leave whatever homework you had to work on for another time, or the sweet messages left at your phone that would bring a smile to your face even if he just texted you about the weather, to then get a back hug as he called you angel. 

Your favorite memory was the day you had been on the exact same spot you where now, except jeno had been next to you, breathing a little harder than normal he had just shown you a dance routine he’s been working on for as long as you could remember. His eyes didn’t shine like they usually did, they didn’t take in the light around him, and his face didn’t have traces of a grin that you had grown so used too. Instead he pushed you away, dark roots from his bleached hair he had decided to try out for the month had begun to show and you could see the stress that seemed to suffocate him. This was a different side of jeno, a side you hadn't seen, one that you tried to approach with a joke, only to be quickly shut down. A small argument over school and life had formed, in which you two had gone from being right next to each other to being feet apart, a scowl on your face, the same one that jeno bore. It was this memory that was your favorite because it had been the first time you had truly seen jeno be vulnerable, it had been the first time from the weeks you had gotten to know each other that you felt that the walls on walls he built around himself, the walls you built around yourself had been torn down. There had been no shared kisses, no shared moments in which one hadn’t jokingly filtered with the other until the first droplet fell down jeno’s face. The only reason you had seen it was because the sun, punctual as always, had descended flickers of light reflecting in his face. It was a small action but enough that there was some part that managed to push aside your pride and you approached him, arms wrapping around his waist. The memory makes you remember that it took him a second to wrap his arms around you, but in that moment, it seemed as only for a second in which you could provide some support for the boy in front of you, then he could give you the support you needed. Threads of the memory are vague, movements in which you can’t fully pinpoint what happened in between or later, in which you know that at one point music had begun to make its way up the mountain from one of the daily parties the teens would throw, but you two held onto each other. The song, isn’t one you can seem to recall, but it wasn’t one that people slow dance too, it wasn’t one in which you are supposed to hold onto the boy in front of you arms around his neck, as his eyes looked into yours, smiles grazing both of your features as your foreheads touched, a small kiss placed on your forehead. Moonlight cascading the both of you, pushing away the shadows that surrounded you both. 

It was any memory that you had in which jeno took part, in which you could feel him next to you, that was your favorite. Memories, you remember reading somewhere are your subconscious telling you something, it is the way the body and mind admit what you are too scared to take in for yourself. Memories of jeno next to you, and then not are what make you realize how much you hate not having the black haired boy, with the overly kind personality next to you. 

And the fact you didn’t call.

Days turn into months, as the winter snow leaves the tree’s branches leaving them barren. Only for the spring rain and occasional sun to let the leaves and flowers begin to spring back up again. Teachers are at the point in the year whether they aren’t quite sure if they want to give everyone in the class a pass just so they don’t have to hear the constant complaining on the amount of assignments a student has due by tomorrow, or if they’ll give more work, more assessments as a sort of payback for the hardships they’ve had to endure throughout the year.  

You are in music class, your professor going over the final assessments guidelines one last time before they are presented at the start of class tomorrow. The weight of the written sonnet feels heavy, and though the physical copy of the assignment is types out neatly somewhere in your computer, the original draft that you had begun to draft all those months ago is crumpled up in your jacket pocket, a constant reminder of everything you want and everything that you feel you can’t have. 

If you close your eyes just for a second you can see yourself back in your room, until the space changes and you are no longer in your room but are at the school’s roof. The warm spring breeze tangling your hair, and making the page in front of you flutter. You didn’t need the paper, the lyrics to the musical sonnet that had been shakespeare inspired seemed to be embedded into your brain so that when you weren’t thinking about the thousands of words you still had to write when it came to the labs for biology class, or the analysis of catcher in the rye for english class, the words would replay in your head over and over. The soft melody accompanying them. Humming to the song had become a habit, one that had developed like how one realizes that they bit ethier lip, or thumbs when they are stressed or bored. A habit that once you realize it’s there you can’t help but notice it every time you do it. The notebook paper continues to rustle, and you fold it and place it into the pocket of the black jean jacket, taking a deep breath as you do so. Unlike summer nights and winter afternoons, spring doesn't feel suffocating when the sun is out, because the clouds do a job of covering the sun before it burns your skin. The wind dies down, and you begin to humm to the sonnet, the words so familiar you were almost sure if your memory was to be taken, those words would remain embedded, and make their way back up because they were an acceptance of everything you were and everything you felt. 

The final bell has rang, and you can see the swarm of teenage bodies rush out of the school, some go directly to the bus stop in groups, others head to the grass fields that make up most of the school's building. You don’t think much about where others go, don’t dwell much if they get home safely or if their parents will pick them up. Dwelling too much on thoughts a feeling never helped anybody, it’s a mantra that has been drilled into you and almost every other teenager and young adult in this lifetime as movies and books tell you to focus on the present never on the future and most definitely not in the future. Yet you wonder if these books written by great authors that make you question the world around you, or movies that seem to transcend time if the authors themselves that preach about not dwelling too much on one moment if they themselves spent too much time focusing on the sound of their love’s laughter, or the way their nose would scrunch up a reaction to the world around them anytime they found something amusing. You wonder if the person or memory they were told or did think about so much that it caused them heartache had the ability to make them write the poems you had written. So you try to not dwell on the people, no larger than your thumb as they rush from one side of the campus to another, because if you thought about him, it, for too long the memories would rush back in. Instead you look down, the light vertigo causing you to snap back into some realm of reality. 

 Sitting down on the roof’s edge, legs dangling off the edge you continue to hum and sing to the melody that plays in your heart, confession to yourself, a confession to the dark haired boy that captured your heart. The tears seem to swell up over and over as you reach the bridge, and they stream silently, down your face. They run down landing on your hands, on the ripped jeans and doodle converse. Your mind drifts to the memories connected with the lyrics and the fact that as much as you wanted to not want to hear jeno’s voice especially after you had pushed him away, you couldn’t get rid of the way he knew you. He knew you better than at times you almost thought you knew yourself, it was a nuisance the way your heart would skip beats months after everything went down, how it would still accelerate when you two would make eye contact because he had apologized and you don’t know if it was because you had never felt this way before, or because you two kept meeting underneath the moonlight the same song that seemed to connect the two of in one string of fate that you had forgiven him. But forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting, it didn’t mean that you had wished he’d called and you hate him - or lack thereof to do so - when days passed and the beep boop ba a compilation of random noises jeno would make whenever he was confused, and your ringtone for him didn’t disturb you. 

Your voice breaks slightly as the melody in your head falls, fading into a non-existent background. The sun had begun to fall, but you don’t notice, eyes closed as you take in the world around you. Notes ending, song and the hum of love never confessed, never expressed, stolen by the wind. And that’s the thing about having your eyes closed, oblivious to the world and the people around you, because you don’t hear the opening and closing of the slightly rusted door. You don’t notice the boy with a leather jacket, hair almost covering his eyes that are filled with so much love but confusion by the words that leave your mouth. It’s the thing about the wind, that it takes a message and delivers it to whom it wants you unlike a phone call that is directed at who you choose. The wind is a free spirit, and it doesn’t travel far. To be more exact it travels the short span of a mere seconds, a mere feet to jeno whose mouth has fallen at the sound of your voice so raw and pure. It is the wind that calls him to you, the wind that makes him take slow steps to you. 

Wind, a warm breeze in the coming summer air, love that you don’t realize you have, you need until it’s wrapping its arms around you.

                         But mostly i hate the way i don’t hate you.

The moment you feel arms wrapping around you still. Every bone in your body stops moving, your legs stop swinging and your voice catches in your throat. It isn’t until you spot the small cassette tattoo on the wrist of the arms wrapped around you that you breathe again and push yourself back, a curse escaping your lips. Laughter rings in your ears as jeno holds you up from where you sit, and turns you around so that you face him. You begin to push him away, on instinct from weeks of telling yourself that you wanted nothing to do with the boy in front of you. That the way his eyes dimmed, and lips curved down by the light gesture of pushing him away didn’t affect you. It was a mantra, push him away, don’t get hurt, a mantra produced by a time of hurt and fear for being broken again. Something that you had come to realize though in the past week, the past day, past couple of minutes when someone’s arms had warped around you and you had wished it had been jeno, that the heart and the mind don’t always coincide. 

It is when you look up again, and jeno is already looking at you, hair illuminated by the descending sun, as it casted flames dancing across his features, and lighting up his eyes, that you smile. Some sort of smile that repairs something in jeno, because his eyes seem to be filled with hope again and he opens his mouth ready to speak, ready to tell you everything he wanted to say again, mostly to apologize but when he opens his mouth the words seem to be caught in his throat. Stuck, as if there was some force pulling them back, not letting them escape and reach you. Mouth opens and closes again, and it’s the sound of your voice as you call to him, and say something he can’t quite process, blocked by the noise that doesn’t leave his head that he can finally speak again. 

“June 21” those weren’t supposed to be the words that lef this mouth, and your confused look didn’t give him any confidence to continue whatever the hell he was gonna do, which at this point he truly didn’t know because this was supposed to be an apology but he had already apologized. Jeno decided to do his best, and try again, “that was the day we met. The day you helped me finish composing this beautiful song that helped me get into music school. The day where the second i heard you singing off the words i threw out into the open air hoping for someone to grab onto, you did, and my heart seemed to begin it’s freefall” a small smile graced your features, as you remembered the day, not knowing how much life would change. The small smile is all jeno needed to continue, gaining confidence even as happiness filled every inch of you, tears that you promised you wouldn’t shed in front of him steamed but not from sadness or anger this time. This time they were from a place of loss and happiness to the boy whose eyes conveyed so much more than the words he spoke, whose hand had come up to your cheek wiping away the spare tears that would come down. Ever so gentle and full, always him. 

“It was something I didn't think was possible, you know? Coming to this new school, everyone had come up with their own ideas of who i was, because of stories they had heard, only to find you. Headstrong as ever, always standing by whatever you believe even some like pluto is still a planet” you both laugh, it’s a quick one, more like a chuckle but it’s filled with joy, at the memory. “You who didn’t care what the world thought, only that if you put your mind to it you would get it done. I never meant to fall in love with you, never meant to make you cry because of something that shouldn’t have ever happened, I never meant to get you too hate me the way you probably do” his eyes softened, and he pulled away ever so slightly, “but here I am. And i now i most definitely don’t deserve it but y/n, i can’t deny it because since i first heard your voice that late night i think i fell for you, and it has been a constant free fall from there. So when i say it now, i mean it i fucking love you” the end was more of a ramble, a long list of words that made your heart flip and expand in your chest, making your smile grow and you could see the doubt in his eyes, you could see him retreat back into himself, he completely let you go when you spoke up again, “you want to know what i hate the most?” you didn’t wait for a response before speaking again, grabbing his hands in yours, and you willed him to look at you. 

“I hate the way that I don't hate you” you take a step closer to him, your faces so close the sun casting glows on you both. Two shadows becoming one behind you as the sun set, as one confessed to another the way they felt. “Because i don’t hate you, jeno. In fact it’s the opposite, because hate is not even close, not a tiny bit in resemblance to what i feel you for you,

Not even close, Not even a little bit,  Not even at all.” 

adfghjk and it’s finally done !!! i had so so so much fun writing this piece and seriously hope you guys enjoyed it !! im such a sucker for jeno and this movie in general lol. i struggled w the ending so i hope it came out well :) n e ways,,, please please tell me your thoughts on it, what you liked? what you didn’t like? things i could improve on. much love to you all !!

masterlist

#nct fluff #nct smut #nct angst #nct imagines #luna writes #nct scenerios #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno imagines #lee jeno #nct dream #nct dream scenerios #nct dream imagines #jeno scenerios #jeno x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #fanfic

[capriccio-con-espressione]

Hotspot Pt.1

Genre: Smut 

Word Count: 1331

Warning: Sub!Yangyang, Dom!Reader, Femdom, Degradation, Profanity, Public humiliation, Edging, Orgasm denial, Spanking, Yangyang's lame Earth sandwich joke

A/N: 

1. Yangyang’s name (揚) has the same pronunciation as “lamb/sheep” (羊) in Mandarin, so y’all would see the word-fuck (X) word-play (O) on this often throughout the fic

2. Been planning to re-upload this fic from my old deleted acc but wanted to extend it and make some changes, yet was clueless before, but then I eventually got inspired, so I decided to release it as part one of something bigger, thanks to this anon for providing me with ideas for part two, and thanks to @wildernessuntothemselves​ for forcing (X) suggesting (O) me to collect the XiaoHenYang aka her TMTM trio

3. It’s almost Xiaojun’s birthday yet I posted Yangyang content, I’m sorry my lovely prince. Anyone who’s thirsty for him can read my month-old upload here

   “Goddamn-f-fuck, please!” Yangyang swears in utter desperation as you suddenly withdraw your hand from his cock, denying his first orgasm. He shifts in the chair in an attempt to grab you, but futile since his hands are tied behind it, as he’s kneeling on the seat facing backward with his ass pushed out, while his legs are forced open wide since both his thighs are secured to the armrests of the chair as well, rendering him into a compromising position.

  “Brats like you don’t deserve to cum.” You state icily before thrashing his sensitive rear with the paddle. "You never want to miss a chance to annoy me with all that endless fussing, don't you?"

  "I don't deserve this punishment with just that Earth sandwich joke...ahh stopppp…" 

  "That lame joke is not the point, you brat." You hiss, tugging his hair, as Yangyang's hard-on jolts at the sudden sensation of pain. "Remember how awfully much you snickered about making a sandwich with my pussy around your dick hmm? Giving me that stupid devilish grin whenever you have one for meals? Even shamelessly bragging about it in front of other members to embarrass the hell out of me? You are just a pathetic horny little lamb…"

  "C-c'mon, it's not that b-bad when you actually like my teasing..." Yangyang gasps in between your relentless spanks in arousal, as you can tell that his second orgasm is nearing.

  "Oh? How you like this sandwich with my hand then?" You smirk as you wrap your hand around his cock again, fingers irregular dancing on the tip yet not pumping him.

  "Ahh-L-like it! Just let me cum goddamn it!" Yangyang's whole body tenses up and curls up as he can't handle the teasing anymore.

  "That's not how you ask for things, bad little lamb." You chastise while giving a slap on his angry red cock, earning a yelp from him.

  “...P-please Mistress let me cum…” Yangyang begs, his proud form finally breaking down.

  “Good try, but not quite.” You smirk, before resuming his spanking again.

  “Ahhh Mistress I’ll be a good little lamb for you...now p-please let me cum…” Yangyang’s voice falters at the denial of his second orgasm.

  “That’s my cute little lamb…” You praise as you peck his now teary cheek, before finally granting him release with your hand, as he lets out a loud moan upon climaxing. 

  “Now you know you shouldn’t be bragging about sandwiches too often.” You embrace Yangyang in your arm while soothing his red flesh with the other, calming the sobbing boy down.

  “You should be more kind to me since you already sin too much torturing me…” Yangyang gazes into you as he forms a cheeky pout, the way how he quickly returns to his usual mischievous self surprising you a little.

  "I am already showing you enough kindness by letting you cum without much teasing." You sneer as you wipe the white tendrils off Yangyang’s gradually limping cock and your hand.

  "Without much teasing? Says someone who literally edged me twice, so fucking bossy." Yangyang retorts while letting out a sigh of relief as you untied his hands behind the chair.

  "I am sure you can take much more than that, usually I would edge you for hours until your bratty mouth can't talk back to me anymore." You imply your annoyance for his endless ripostes, since it's always difficult for your boyfriend to just be grateful for his orgasms instead of being cheeky.

  "Nah you are just sadistic as hell. You are just one cruel cougar who loves my suffering too much." Oblivious of your hint for him to behave, your boyfriend still continues his complaints, redressing himself while smirking at you.

  "Cheeky boys deserve to be disciplined with cruelty, and somehow you like it too much, and love to ask for more by being a nuisance, don't you, my little painslut?" You reply slyly, another punishment for this ungrateful boy beginning to form. 

  "Now that your butt cheeks are rosy hot spots…” You say thoughtfully as you rub his ass teasingly. “...I am gonna give you the taste of real embarrassing punishment. Now give me your phone."

  Yangyang reluctantly hands you his phone. "What for?"

  "Unlock it."

  "No!"

  "Just obey me you brat." You hiss while tugging his hair, forcing him to comply with a wince.

  "Don't worry, I am not gonna post something weird on social media." You reassure him while opening up settings on his phone. "But, everyone will know someone has been a slutty hotspot in heat while connecting to wifi…" You triumphantly smirk as you click "Save" after changing his SSID.

  "'Mistress’ Slutty Lil 🐑🐑'? Hell no that's embarrassing!!" He snatches back his phone in an attempt to undo your act of mischief.

  "Do not ever try to change it." You demand sternly, covering his screen with your palm. "If I catch you disobey me, you will get punished even harder. Understand, Mistress’ slutty little lamb?"

  "Alright…" Yangyang sighs and facepalms, already internally freaking out about how his members will react upon seeing this.

  You smirk in delight as you both leave your makeshift playroom, which is a storage room, to catch up on your normal lives. Yangyang returns to his members as you meet up with other staff to participate in a meeting discussing details of upcoming shootings for the next project.

  Yangyang slouches back to his room but gets caught up with Lucas before he can retreat behind the door.

  "Yo bro, care to explain this?" Lucas holds his screen in front of the younger's face, grinning so knowingly that Yangyang has to fight back every urge to punch him in the face.

  "See no evil." He weakly protests, hoping not to embarrass himself even further, and shuts the door in Lucas' face.

  Thinking he has escaped the ordeal, he doesn't realize how bad things can get until he opens up the WayV group chat. Hendery has posted a screenshot of all the WiFi SSIDs his phone detected and circled the obvious questionable one, and all the other members reacted with either stickers with laughing expressions or words like "Our naughty 🐑  has finally got the taste of his medicine!" or "Y/N'S REALLY MAD LMAO", all of their mockings make Yangyang wants to dig a hole and bury himself in it.

  Red with both embarrassment and resentment, he decides to defy you as his devilish side begins to awake. Since he's never the type to listen well to anyone, then why should he this time? Besides, he feels his body begins to heat up with a familiar tingle again as he thinks about all the pain and degrading words that will be inflicted on him after you find out about his rebel, as he brazenly invites more with more provocative and insolent remarks, then eventually feeling himself dissolving into ascending sting and humiliation that turn into euphoric pleasure soon afterwards…

  Licking his lips at the indecent thoughts, he alters the SSID and waits impatiently for your discovery.

  Ten minutes later, he receives a screenshot from you as well as an angered message from you. "'Mistress’ bossy af 👿'? You fucking brat."

  "Just telling the truth 🤷"

  "You are originally getting 20 paddles on your bare ass, now it's 40."

  "Shouldn't you focus on your meeting first?"

  "IDGAF now. Change it to 'Fuck Lil Slutty🐑  Pls😩' in under a minute or you're getting 80."

  80 spanks? Yangyang ponders. Tho being a painslut he is, he still needs to make sure that he can function normally tomorrow to avoid more unwanted attention. Sighing, he decides to give in to you and finally obeys.

  Sliding off nearly every notification from the uproar in his group chat for this even more humiliating SSID, he feels unexpectedly even more exhilarated at your praising messages that concludes with a specific time and place to meet up for the main course of punishment that he both somewhat fears but also craves.

#nct #wayv #nct smut #wayv smut #yangyang #yangyang smut #liu yangyang #sub!nct #sub!wayv #sub!yangyang #sub!nct smut #sub!wayv smut #hotspot #my writings #dom!reader #wayv imagines #nct imagines

[howdoyousleep3]

K, this is probably a difficult question to answer, but how do you write smut so well? I want to do something for the upcoming holidays and every time I write smut it just doesn’t feel right. I’m asking all my favorite writers about their process and I’d love your input.

Hi Lisa love. I’m super super late to answering this phenomenal question, and I hope you’re still interested in my answer, but it’s one I think I need to answer for myself right now. I’ve probably included too much information about my general process but if you’d like me to expand more on smut specifically I can do that for you. 💖

My process always starts with an idea I can’t move away from.

It’s one where thoughts naturally build and not one where I’m like, “hey that’s awesome” and then move away from. This tends to happen when I’m driving to and/or from work. If I think about it for more than a day I write it down in my journal so I don’t forget it. What tends to happen though is I think about one idea and only one idea for a long time. My brain doesn’t like to move past a good idea once it’s in my head so what I end up doing a lot of the time is running with an idea as soon as I come up with it. I stew on it for a few days, get a feel for it, think of more lines of dialogue, think of more plot.

These ideas tend to be focused around a line of dirty talk or a snapshot of a moment in my head and from there I build outward. How did my characters get to that point? What is the setting? Where do they go from there?

Now, lately there are stories I’ve been working on where I do outline them. I have a traveler’s journal that is full of Stucky nonsense and one of the journals is my secret fic I’ve been working to build for a long time now. The other journal is just ideas for other fics or thoughts. If it requires thought and connections I outline it but most of the time I don’t do that.

Once I feel like I’m bursting at the seams with this idea I just…start writing.

If there are parts of ideas that I don’t want to forget I write them down but other than that I am very much a person who writes from start to finish and only in one draft. I absolutely hate jumping around in a story. I did it with NASBB and it was a nightmare for me. I know a lot of people want to roll with certain energies they get and write certain parts but that doesn’t work well for me. I like the build as a writer. I enjoy feeling it right alongside characters, I like the build between them as well as for me reaching the part I’ve been thinking about writing for a while now.

It’s not as fun for me when I write the one part that I’m excited to write and then have to go back and figure out how they got there and write backwards and jump around. I enjoy the flow of writing from start to finish and most of the time I’ve thought about it in my head for a long enough time that I don’t have moments where I stutter and am like, “fuck what was supposed to happen here??”

Things I do when I’m actively writing:

I write in Word bc I hate Google Docs.

Music is huge for me. I tend to listen to Lo-fi Music when I’m writing because words distract me.

Sitting at a desk or in another space that is not my bedroom is best.

Sprints with other writers always help! That’s where you just write for a given amount of time and then share your word count with them once time is up. They’re fun and makes me feel less lonely when I’m writing, ha.

I put my mf phone away.

I stand up and take frequent breaks.

I work on one story at a time and one story only. If I bounce between stories I lose the energy and the focus I need. Too many WIPs has my brain moving in too many different directions and it is no good.

Ask friends for hype. Never be afraid to ask people to hype you up.

When I’m writing smut, I tend to imagine it in my head like a movie. I think the build I’ve let fester within myself for a while helps me get emotions across the way I want them to, more intensely. I think putting myself in others’ shoes tends to help in situations like this, imagining what characters are going through would feel like, inside and out. I think I focus less on the physical act of sexual situations and more on how it feels to people, if that makes sense?

Like, if I’m writing someone giving another person a handjob I focus on writing more how it physically feels rather than the action itself. I won’t focus as much on the grip or the stroke or what the person is doing with their hand but I will focus on how it feels for that person, let the reader figure out what the person’s hand feels like through what the one receiving is experiencing.

I’m not sure if that makes sense. Show don’t tell, I guess.

Something that helped me grow with smut is not being afraid to put things on paper. If you need to blush as you write it out, do it, because that shit is more than likely super hot, ha. Also, if I have a reaction or thought, or I think a character would, even for a millisecond, I include it.

For dialogue or dirty talk, I write it out exactly how it sounds in my head. Y’all are probably so fucking sick and tired of my bitten-off words or my smushed together words, but I write it out exactly as it sounds. Fuck correct sentence structure, fuck grammar—write it out how it sounds exactly.

Once I’m done writing, or when I’m close enough to the end, I share with a few people to get their input. I make sure and tell them what I’m warry about or what I want from them specifically, whether that be hype or grammar or a section. I’ll transfer my work over to a Google Doc and share it with them so they can comment and read through. I’ll also take this time to read it through and give her a good once-over as well. I am someone who, once it is given the green light by others, I want to post and share immediately.

I tend to have a massive burst of writing energy after I post a fic and start reading feedback but I’ve learned that I need to bask in the feedback of a fic before jumping right into another.

But jesus christ writing is hard and it sucks sometimes and I’m learning to be better at certain things. Sometimes the action of writing is so difficult, especially in a fandom that is saturated in that good good content. There are so many ideas floating around and sometimes it is so hard to see so many people just pumping out incredible content and to not feel negatively about yourself. This was something that took me a while to accept and to embrace, to shift my outlook on it and the energy it gives me.

I’ve learned I can’t force it. If I’m not feeling it, I’m not feeling it and I need to channel my energy elsewhere. Sometimes the words flow right out of my fingers and other times I stare at my computer screen for an hour and have barely put together 3 sentences.

This is something I’m really struggling with at the moment. I have a ton of ideas and open docs (that’s probably my issue) and I can’t write the way I tend to be able to. Here I am giving you advice I literally need to take myself. Sometimes it won’t happen, and we need to show ourselves grace, to be nice to ourselves.

I know you said you would be writing something for the holidays and that the holidays have passed, but I hope you were able to do so. Even if you weren’t, I hope you don’t feel super bad about it because the time will come where you’ll be so ready to write again. Maybe starts small. When things don’t come to me I go to my Inbox and see if I can answer a lil’ somethin’ somethin’. Doesn’t have to be this large grandiose idea.

Lub you with all my heart. Thank you for such a good question. 💖

[rina-writes]

"I Can’t Babe...I’m Vegan, Now”

Disclaimer: This is just a joke!! I am definitely not making fun of a plant based lifestyle.  

No summary, because it’s really short.  This is something I think about every time Ethan says he’s vegan. Maybe you guys do too, so I doubt I’m the first to write this. In the last video where Grayson gets him riled up about the Tesla, it made me wonder what he was like before they both became vegan. So, here we go~

Warnings: Not a smut, but very strong references to sex; my childish humor

You realized you went too far when Ethan wasn’t talking to you the next day.  You would say the next morning, but Ethan didn’t get out of bed until 12pm.  Usually, if you were spending the night, Ethan would try to get up with you around 9am so you could fool around and drown out the sound of Grayson’s workout grunts. As Ethan would explain, “If I have to hear him moan every morning, he should hear you screaming my name.”

There was none of that, just a very annoyed Ethan Dolan sitting at the kitchen table glaring at you.  He was eating his favorite breakfast: avocado toast with a glass of almond milk, but he was clearly not enjoying it.  He hadn’t even bothered to clean up.  His hair was still messy, he was wearing a robe haphazardly over his sleep shirt, and his unshaven face was set in a frown.

“You fighting or something?” Grayson asked, coming in from outside, removing a headphone.  “Normally, you two are giggling up a storm.”

“I guess.” You said, swinging your legs off the couch.  You were reading a book while watching Ethan who was sitting to your left.  If you were honest, you weren’t actually reading the book.  It was so hard to focus.  You felt guilty, but you also felt kind of triumphant.  You stood up to look at Grayson, folding your arms.  You were wearing Ethan’s hoodie, hood up, with only your underwear underneath.  The sweatshirt completely covered your lower half, but Ethan knew what was there...or rather what wasn’t there. Usually, this was Ethan’s kryptonite, but he had resisted this too.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Grayson offered. It was not the first time Grayson had helped you mediate issues.  He knew you pretty well, and could help you express your feelings in a way that Ethan could relate. After all, they were mostly the same person.

You almost blurted it out, but Ethan immediately stood up and pointed at you.

“Don’t you dare!” He warned.  Ethan then turned back to Grayson and pointed at him.

“Stay out of my business, Gray.” 

Grayson’s eyes widened and he walked backwards out the door.  “I don’t want ANYTHING to do with this train wreck.”

Grayson’s exit caused the silence between you two to deepen.  You sighed as you walked over to the table.  

“E, baby...” You cooed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.  He didn’t shrug you away so that was a good sign. “I was just kidding.”

“It wasn’t funny.” Ethan said, finally letting his glare soften a bit as he looked at you. “Not only did it kill the mood, but it also was just underhanded.”

He looked like a wounded puppy.  You want to cuddle him, but at the same time you could hide the smile trying to creep it’s way on your face. You tried your hardest.  You didn’t want to make him more upset. 

“Look, babe.” You moved to stand between his legs, your hands still on his shoulders.  He put his hands on your hips and smiled at you softly.  His hands were already slipping beneath the sweatshirt to feel the soft skin of the top of your thighs.

Now that he was coming around, you decided to continue your “apology”.  “I’m open to being vegan, but you know me, I have to be in it a 100% or not at all.” You did your best to hide your laughter. “What you wanted me to do last night definitely wasn’t vegan.”

“It wasn’t a problem before...” Ethan said, defensively. “...in fact you did it first and then---nevermind, you’re clearly still laughing at me.”

Ethan’s hands dropped from around you. He turned back to his breakfast/lunch and tried to stop him. Your first quip was to say, ‘You didn’t force me to be vegan before’, but you knew that wasn’t going to sit well. You were nearing that zone of pissing Ethan off instead of just teasing him. 

“No, baby...” A laugh slipped out as you went to grab his hands and put them back under your sweat shirt at your hips. You tried to hide your smile by letting your teeth dig into your lip. “I am poking fun...I’m sorry.  I’ll make it up to you.”

At your last words, you moved your hands back to him, slipping under his robe to rub his chest over his shirt.  You tried to look your must alluring as you made your promise, “I’ll swallow this time, baby, just for you. I’ll break the plant pledge...”

You lost it and this point you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. Last night you didn’t laugh in your deadpan expression, in between his legs. You looked up at him, his eyes filled with lust, his jaw clenched as he was waiting for release and you just handed him a tissue.  It was his future babies after all, you had said, it couldn’t be vegan.  Ethan was so shocked he actually lost his hard on. 

Last night, as you slept alone while your boyfriend played videogames all night in frustration, it wasn’t funny. You were still horny too.  But now, you couldn’t stop laughing.  It was definitely the “break the plant pledge” that took this over the top.

The only thing worse than you laughing at Ethan was that you weren’t the only one laughing. You could hear Grayson joining in the background.  You hadn’t heard when he came in, but apparently Grayson had heard just enough.  Even without the gory details, Grayson was able to put two and two together.

“OH MY GOD!” Grayson yelled, laughing louder, tears falling from his eyes. “I think I need my inhaler.”

Grayson ran to the drawer in the kitchen that had his back up inhaler and he took a few pumps.  With the lack of constriction in his lungs, Grayson started laughing again making you laugh even louder.

“Oh god,” Ethan moved away from you and covered his face.  “The two dearest people in my life laughing at my expense.  What a f-cking great day.”

“I’m sorry, babe...” You choked out, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“I’m leaving...” Ethan said finally exiting the room.  “Laugh it up guys.  F-cking assholes.”

You and Grayson could barely hear him over your laughter, but you made a mental note to rock his world--even without breaking your promise to him to be vegan. Besides, you were 99.99% sure that you just heard Ethan reluctantly let out a chuckle.

A/N: Once again, obviously this is just for fun. It’s a little gross, but like it’s Tumblr, y’all can handle it :P

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan blurb #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan scenario #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan scenario #dolan twins smut #ethan dolan smut #fic-icbivn #r-writes-fic

[dakotafinely]

October Leafs We Fall

It ain’t deep. Just a small Dixon and Mikey thing I wrote because I LOVE THEM AND I DO WHAT I WANT!!

This takes place in the three weeks in the story. Idk, just wanted to give them some fun. Mikey’s probably ooc but do I care? ABSOLUTELY NOT! ENJOY MY FLUFF CONTENT OR DIE BY IT!!

Dixon walked with Mikey in what they knew was a temporary silence. Watching the last of the leaves fall from trees as the season slowly changed to winter.

“Oh! Look, look!” Mikey hopped, grabbing Dixon by the arm and dragging them. Dixon couldn’t help but let out a tiny laugh as they allowed Mikey to lead. Stopping in front of a large tree.

Showing a leaf pile that was about one fourth its size. Mikey hopped on his heels excitedly, Mikey let go of Dixon. Opting to climb the tree as high as the branches would let him. Dixon raised an eyebrow, confused and curious. Slowly joining him, not climbing nearly as high as the box turtle. An exciting fear beginning to sit in their stomach.

“Uh, Mike’s, what’re we doing?” Dixon asked looking up to the box turtle with a wary smile. The creaking of the branch underneath gave Dixon a thrill as well as horrifying thought of it breaking beneath them. They’d never climbed this high. A small nervous laugh slipped out of them.

“Oh right! I forgot you live in the Hidden City!” Mikey hops down the closest branch to their level. Clearly unafraid of falling from such a height. He lets out a thoughtful hum “You know what? You should probably do this on the ground instead! Since you’ve never done this before,” he rambles looking down at the ground as if measuring the height in his head.

“Do what?” Dixon asked with exasperation, the branch creaking more then they deemed acceptable leaned on the tree trunk as though that would do something “What are we doing?” Dixon asked with both panic and agitation. Desperately trying to push Mikey toward the explanation of what was going on.

“Right! Right!” Mikey snapped from his thoughts to focus. Smiling reassuringly at Dixon “Let’s get off the tree first though,” he couldn’t help but let out an awkward chuckle. Feeling a bit of guilt for dragging Dixon up the tree to begin with.

“No, no! We can do whatever it is on the tree, I just don’t know what it is!”

“Well, if we do it this way we’re gonna jump off the tree.”

“What!?” Dixon yelped, grabbing onto the tree trunk like a life line. Obvious panic at the idea. Mikey held back a laugh at their facial expression. Thinking it’d be rude to laugh in their face at their fear.

“Yeah,” Still, a tiny chuckle slipped it’s way through Mikey’s voice as he spoke “so let’s get down and go that route.”

Mikey helps them down. Explaining along the way for them to run and jump into the pile of leaves.

“Trust me! It’s so much fun!” Mikey exclaimed joyously against Dixon’s skeptical expression. It didn’t last as Dixon glanced at the large pile of leaves. Having an odd urge to jump in it. Whether it was because of Mikey’s words or not was not a thought that crossed their mind.

Dixon let out a tiny huff, giving into the urge. Looking to Mikey “All we gotta do is run and jump?” they ask. To which Mikey nods enthusiastically.

“Right into the leaves!” Mikey chirps, an arms gesturing toward the pile as if to imitate running into them.

The two back up. Dixon taking Mikey’s lead to how far they should be.

“Are you ready?” Mikey asked with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Dixon looks at him warily, but can’t help it. Their grin matching his as they nod.

“Alrighty! One...” Mikey bent down in a runner position. Dixon hesitantly copying him.

“Two...” A giddy and anxious feeling fills Dixon’s stomach. Enticing them even more as they grin with anticipation.

“Three!”

Mikey runs faster then Dixon. But not by much. The two giggling wildly as they run toward the leaves. Jumping into the leaves with a squeal. Dixon watching with wide and happy eyes as the leaves flurry all around them. Falling at a steady pace.

Dixon let’s out a breathless laugh “You were right,” they say as they catch their breath “that was fun,” they lay fully on the grass. Letting some of the leaves cover their face as they close their eyes.

“I know right!” Mikey says still filled with plenty of energy. As though he could do this fifty times over. He leans on the tree trunk though, watch the leaves fall.

“I remember when April showed me and my brothers this for the first time,” he reminisces with a small smile. Making Dixon tense, remembering that they were still talking with they’re targets brother.

“How is... your eldest brother by the way?” Dixon asks as if they don’t know, cracking their eyes open. Regretting it as they see Mikey’s face fall a bit, curling up on himself a bit.

“Still in a coma... the doctors still don’t know whats wrong with him and that thing Todd gave me didn’t work...” He says, Dixon sitting up and scooting to be more comfortable next to him.

“Oh... sorry,”

“Don’t be,” Mikey lets out a little laugh, a tiny smile on his face “not your fault.” he waves his hand dismissively at them.

“What if it was?”

“What?”

“Like, hypothetically,” Dixon back tracks a bit, heart racing as they hadn’t intended to say such a thing aloud “if someone was out there doing this to your brother. What would you do?” Dixon asks, trying not to cringe at their own words.

“Well me and bro’s would do what we always do!” Mikey exclaims enthusiastically “Kick their butts and make them undo what they did to Raph!” he strikes a pose with his arms. Getting pumped at the idea and Dixon tries their best not to physically deflate at the words.

Because of course he would. What did they expect him to do?

“Well, I need to go,” Dixon says standing up and stretching. Mikey quickly hopping up with them.

“See ya next Wednesday!”

“Of course! See ya next Wednesday Dixon!”

The two part ways. Dixon letting out a deflating sigh as they walk. The cabin coming into view not a moment to soon. Dixon trying not to visibly freeze at the sight of Meat-Sweats standing out there. Seemingly awaiting their arrival.

When Mikey told Dixon all the things Meat-Sweats had done. They had done they’re best not to gag. The thought of it still leaving a sour taste in their mouth.

“Where have you been?” Meat-Sweats asked with a hiss in his voice. Ah, Abelard must’ve gone out. Dixon raises an eyebrow at him, trying to keep a cool demeanor.

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because this job should be your top priority, not whatever you’re doing every Wednesday!” Meat-Sweats spit at them. Crossing his arms and glaring at Dixon with a partial look of disgust. Dixon finding it ironic.

“It is!” Though not for the reasons it started with, but Dixon held their tongue with that “I am doing things for this mission!”

“Oh really what is it?”

“None of your business!” Dixon spit in anger, trying to leave the conversation. Meat-Sweats blocking the door to the Cabin.

“It is since I’m paying you for your services,” Meat-Sweats spoke with a slow growl in his tone. Dixon visibly tensed and Meat-Sweats leaned in “and last I checked our little contract said you best tell me everything you know.”

“You know everything I know,” Dixon hissed back, though the words weak coming out. Their throat becoming dry. Meat-Sweats huffed, moving his arm as he backed off the door and Dixon.

“I’ve got my eyes on you child, if you’re hiding something from me I will find out.”

The door slammed behind Dixon as their hands shook. That was to close. Dixon had to be more careful. But for now they praised they luck they received. Going back to the cloudron.

--

Oop! Maybe it was deep! Who would’ve guessed?

(Psst, psst, it was me, I would’ve guessed, this was on purpose, it’s part of chapter 20)

Anyways! Thanks you guys for so much of the love and the support and, most importantly, your patience! I always wanna bring the best for you guys and I hope this kinda delivered!

Stay safe! Live your best life! Hopefully I will be able to actually write chapter 20 and not just tiny snippets of it! Love y’all!!

#rottmnt #rot tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt dread potion #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt oc #rottmnt meatsweats #rise meatsweats #rise oc #rise mikey #rottmnt snippet

[captain-josslett]

Broken Melody - Part Three

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven,

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 4.2k+

Warnings: Feels! I definitely got feels writing this!

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor (Eventual), Alex Danvers x Kelly OlsenIn 

This Part: It’s the Christmas concert!

As always B!D is named.

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated.

Taglist: @thewitchandtheassassin , @natasha-danvers , @life-is-hella-unfair , @finleyfray​, @supergirl-writingz​

Emma Danvers paces back and forth backstage. Her blonde, wavy hair was down with loads of volume. Her long, glittery, white gold dress swishing against the floor as she paced. Emma was slightly worried about the very deep plunging neckline but her stylist managed to find material that matched her skin tone to accomplish the allusion. They understood why Emma didn’t want to show lots of skin, especially as kids were watching. But they believe that if you’ve got it, flaunt it. And Emma definitely had it.

Emma takes a deep breath as she can hear the audience beginning to enter the huge theatre and her nerves start shooting all over the place. The rehearsals have gone the best they could with only five days to practice. But, Emma still worries she could have done more.

“There you are!” Emma turns around and smiles at Karen, the choir leader and director. A grey haired, black woman, who was ready to put Emma in her place if she became a diva. But to her surprise, Emma Danvers is anything but. “Everyone is in the rehearsal room. Do you want to warm up with us?”

“I’d love to!” Emma says eagerly and follows Karen, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How is everyone feeling?”

“Nervous, excited, scared, joyful, wanting to throw up every minute!” Karen laughs loudly and Emma smiles as she hears the choir’s nervous chatter inside the rehearsal room.

“Basically how I’m feeling all in one!” Emma jokes as they stand outside the door.

“Ready?” Karen asks.

“You bet.” Emma nods and Karen opens the door to thunderous applause. Emma goes in after her and joins the cheering and foot stamping. After a few minutes of getting everyone pumped Karen holds up her hands and instantly everyone quietens down. They do fifteen of vocal and physical warm ups and Emma can’t help but feel a bit sad at knowing after the concert she won’t be working with the choir again. Not until her new album at least. Having already planned some songs she could do with the choir.

“Fifteen minutes everyone!” The stage manager calls from the door.

Nerves instantly flood Emma again and she bites the inside of her lip. She watches Karen hold up her hands and the excited chatter dies down.

‘She holds such power and authority!’ Emma thinks admiringly.

“I’m not going to say much. Just that I am very proud of each and every one of you. Your commitment over the past few days has been phenomenal-”

Emma nods and claps her hands lightly around the group. Many make eye contact with her and smile brightly.

“- and all I ask is that you enjoy yourselves out there tonight. Sing your hearts out and let’s show the world what Kingdom Choir can do!”

Everyone applauds and Karen looks to Emma, tilting her head asking if she wants to say something. Emma smiles and nods. Karen lifts her hands again and everyone stands to attention.

“I just wanted to say a huge, big, thank you to all of you. When I was told that the previous act had pulled out, you guys instantly came to my mind and I’m so glad Karen said yes!” Emma reaches out and places a hand on Karen’s shoulder. Who covers Emma’s hand with her own.

“Now, I know some of y’all were a bit sceptical when y’all heard y’all’d be singing with me.” Emma puts on an over the top country twang, causing a few giggles and agreements. She switches back to her normal voice. “But thank you for giving me the chance to show you what I can do. This has truly been a wonderful experience and I’m going to really treasure it as I move into the next part of this journey.” Emma smiles around at the group before continuing.

“The profits from the seats and those paying to view this online have gone way past the expectation. Meaning even more money towards the equipment needed for the children’s hospital and really that is the main reason we are here. To help those in need, to show compassion and to hold out a hand. So, as Karen has said, just sing your hearts out.” The group applaud loudly and stomp their feet, ready to go out onto the stage and give the performance of their lives.

Emma turns and leads the group out. She plays with her hands as she mentally prepares herself to become Emma the singer.

“Here you are!” A sound technician hands Emma her microphone. The curtain was still down and would be raised as the show begins.

“Thanks.” Emma waits by the wings and lets Karen and the choir go past her. She holds out her right hand and everyone high fives her as they get onto the stage.

The announcement comes over the speakers that the show is about to begin. The crowd cheers and Emma takes a deep breath as she steps onto the stage. She looks at the amazing decorations, a huge, decorated Christmas tree stands at the other end of the stage. Fairy lights are everywhere giving the huge stage a cosy and warm feel. She looks at the orchestra and the choir, giving them encouraging smiles. The countdown begins and the crowd joins in. Finally it reaches zero and the curtain slowly rises up.

‘Here we go!’ Emma thinks as ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ starts playing.

-- -- --

Kara can’t help but bounce up and down in excitement as the Superfriends wait for the concert to start. The atmosphere in the theatre is electric and buzzing. They are sitting near the front in the middle of the huge theatre.

“Kara!” Alex whispers to her sister. “Can you please stop bouncing?!”

Kara immediately stops and looks apologetically at the redhead. “Sorry Alex! I’m just so excited!”

“So am I! But you don’t see me bouncing up and down like a jack in the box!” Alex laughs and shakes her head.

“Kara?” Eliza says next to Lena, who is sitting next to Kara. Lena had offered to swap with Eliza so she could sit next to Kara, but Eliza refused. Stating she was happy where she is. Kara whips her head round to her adopted mother. “Have you remembered to put the dampers on?” Eliza says quietly, not wanting to be overhead. Kara nods and shows the light on the frame of her glasses. When it became clear Emma was going to be in a loud band, Eliza and Alex had worked on equipment for Kara to drown out a lot of the noise that would overwhelm her. That’s if Kara remembered to turn them on. At many gigs Alex would have to engage the device when she saw Kara flinching from over exposure.

Eliza smiles at her daughter and goes back to reading the programme. “I still can’t believe Emma managed to sort this out in so little time!” Eliza says to no one in particular. She wasn’t meant to be in National City for another few days but due to Emma performing she decided to change her plans and come a few days early.

Lena looks down at her own programme, the choice of songs showing a wide variety of hymns and modern songs. “Knowing Emma though, she can do anything she puts her mind to.”

“That is true.” Eliza smiles at the CEO. “Thank you for giving Emma this opportunity. She was so excited when she called about it.”

“I’m the one that should be thanking her!” Lena smiles brightly. “I still can’t believe the amount of people outside trying to buy tickets off us!”

“Yea!” Sam agrees next to Ruby, who is sat next to Eliza. “I had one guy offer me $10,000 for Ruby and my ticket!”

“$10,000?” Kara yells with wide eyes.

“Yea! Mom almost took it too!” Ruby grins as Sam playfully nudges her daughter. But before Sam can comment she’s interrupted by a voice over the speakers.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! The concert is about to start-” Kara cheers loudly along with most of the theatre. Lena claps and beams with her.

The twenty second countdown begins and all the Superfriends join in. Lena can practically feel herself vibrating with anticipation. As zero is displayed the curtain slowly ascends and Emma appears. Lena’s breath is immediately stolen as she takes her in. Her eyes roaming over the shiny, white gold ball gown.

“She looks so beautiful!” Kara whispers in Lena’s ear, who nods in agreement.

The song starts and Emma lifts the microphone to her lips.

I don’t want a lot for Christmas.

Whoops and cheers sound from the crowd as Emma’s strong, velvet voice sings out.

Pride fills the Superfriends immediately and Alex can’t help but tear up. Kara reaches down and takes a hold of her hand. They smile at each other and focus on their sister.

As the tempo picks up Emma and the choir start dancing. Everyone in the audience gets onto their feet clapping and dancing along.

Lena is blown away by Emma’s performance. How she seems to include everyone in the audience, from those right at the front to those in the balcony seats looking down.

Cause baby all I want for Christmas is You!

The crowd cheers when Emma hits the high note and continues to improvise with the choir.

-- -- --

All I want for Christmas.

As Emma finishes the last notes of the song the audience roars in applause. Emma bows her head for a moment in acknowledgement. Raising her head she puts the microphone to her lips.

“Thank you!” She says gratefully and the audience still cheers. “Thank you!” Emma can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the love she is receiving. She looks all around the theatre and to those in the ‘god seats’ high above her. “Thank you so much! Please take your seats.”

She walks to the grand piano and takes a sip of her water hidden from view. “Well, that went well.” Emma says into the microphone, causing the audience to laugh. “I must say you are all in fine voice tonight!” A few cheers call out. Emma swears she hears her sisters among them. “But, before we do any more songs, please put your hands together for Kingdom Choir and the wonderful National City orchestra!”

Emma turns to them and applauds. Careful not to whack her microphone. Not wanting to annoy the sound technician.

“Seriously these guys are superheroes. As you know, we haven’t had long to prepare this and the level of commitment and energy these guys have… It’s just been amazing.” Taking another sip of her water she places it back in its hiding spot and walks back to the centre of the stage.

“So, ready for another song?”

“YES!” The audience cheer loudly.

Emma nods at the conductor and the first notes of ‘O Holy Night’ start playing.

-- -- --

Lena is sure she is going to have goosebumps permanently on her skin for the rest of her life. The level of passion and power in Emma’s voice is breathtaking. Throughout the song it feels like a warmth Lena can’t describe fills the theatre. As if heaven had entered and the angels were singing along. Lena’s vision blurs and she blinks in surprise. Tears fall down her cheeks and she wipes them away with her finger. She sees Kara look over at her and they smile softly at each other. Kara wraps an arm around her best friend and they continue watching Emma.

As the song closes the applause is again deafening. Lena stands to her feet immediately, still wiping tears from her face.

“Thank you.” Emma’s voice is barely heard over the roar of the crowd. After a few minutes she motions with her hands for the audience to sit. Finally they do and Emma’s eyes lock with Lena’s for a moment and Lena gives her a tearful smile. Emma returns it, also focusing on her Mom, sisters and friends before looking around the theatre. “How about another fast one?”

-- -- --

The next few songs has everyone dancing on their feet and Emma dances along with them. Not wanting tonight to end.

“Wooo! Now that… That was fun!” Emma breathes out, trying to catch her breath. She laughs as the choir calls out in agreement. “Can you believe we are over halfway in our evening together?!”

“Noooo!!!” Emma laughs as she hears Kara yell loudly.

“But, if I may-” Emma takes another quick sip before putting the water down. “We all know why we are here tonight.” She walks slowly back to the centre of the stage. You could hear a pin drop. The theatre is so quiet as they watch her. “To support the utterly commendable work done at The Luthor Children’s Hospital. Now even though most of us haven’t used the service, and God forbid if you even need to. But, we all know the importance of our health and for our hospitals to have the best equipment and staff to continue serving our city.”

“I’ve gone to the hospital many times to visit the kids. Especially those who used their Make A Wish to meet me.” Emma smiles sadly, always remembering the little faces of joy as she’d enter the room. “And in the hospital, they have a wall, a special, in memoriam wall.” Taking a deep breath Emma swallows the emotion threatening to spill out. The amount of pictures she saw as she took the time to look over them. Such young children, taken far too soon.

“I’m reminded of the cold hard truth, that we don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring. That we lose those we love along the way.” Emma takes another deep breath and looks up at the ceiling above her. Remembering her Dad. The one she remembers before he was taken and changed. The one she grieves. “And yes, Christmas is a joyous time, to celebrate and remember. But, if I may, I’d like to pay tribute to those no longer with us.”

Softly the piano starts playing and Emma pulls herself together to sing the song. On the screen behind her photos of the departed, sent in by the public, is shown.

The fire is burning, the room's all aglow  Outside the December wind blows Away in the distance The carollers sing in the snow.

The audience stays quiet as Emma gently sings.

She can’t help but remember the last Christmas with her Dad. How they played in the snow with her sisters and sat around a roaring fire once they changed out of their wet clothes. The feeling of sitting on her Dad’s lap and have him wrap his big arms around her.

Everybody's laughing The world is celebrating And everyone's so happy Except for me tonight.

Emma uses more of her support to increase the volume in her voice for the chorus. She tries to keep her eyes off the monitors showing the pictures of peoples loved ones.

Because I miss you most at Christmas time And I can't get you, get you off my mind Every other season comes along and I'm all right But then I miss you, most at Christmas time.

She makes it through the next few verses and chorus but feels she’s starting to break near the bridge. Knowing the next set of photos are of Jeremiah and her family. She had asked her Mom and sisters if it would be okay and they readily agreed. But, now Emma isn’t sure if it was the best idea.

In the springtime those memories start to fade with the April rain

A picture of a child Emma on top of Jeremiah’s shoulders is shown when they went on a long hike. A young Alex and Kara are standing either side of Jeremiah, they are all smiling brightly at the camera.

Through the summer days till autumn's leaves are gone

Another photo comes on showing Emma and Jeremiah asleep on the sofa. Emma is resting against her Dad’s chest and he has his arms around her.

I get by without you till the snow begins to fall.

The last picture of Emma and Jeremiah flash up, showing the family's last Christmas together. One where they are all sat around the table having their Christmas meal.

Emma closes her eyes for a moment, remembering that last Christmas so clearly. How she always struggled with Christmases after that. They were never the same.

When she opens her eyes to sing the last chorus tears stream down her face. Her voice cracks but she pushes through.

And then I miss you most at Christmas time And I can't get you, no, no, no, get you off my mind Every other season comes along and I'm all right

Emotion overtake Emma and a sob escapes her lips. She lowers the microphone slightly and drops her head. The orchestra pauses. A few people in the crowd cheer in support of Emma. Who takes a shuddering breath and lifts her head and microphone. Eyes full of tears.

But then I miss you, most at Christmas time.

When the piano finishes the last chords, Karen and a few other choir members race up to Emma and hold her in a group hug. The audience raises the roof in their cheers and there isn’t a dry eye to be seen.

Alex, Kara, Lena and Eliza also get into a group hug. Lena tries not to feel awkward in how she’s imposing on this family moment. But she had no choice when both blonde’s beside her pulled her into it. She keeps her eyes on Emma who is trying to compose herself. She watches as Karen places Emma’s face in her hands and gently wipes the tears away. Obviously saying something encouraging to the blonde who nods and smiles sadly.

Soon Karen and the choir members get back into position and Emma takes a deep breath. “Who's ready for some more dancing?”

The audience cheers and gets to their feet as ‘Underneath The Tree’ begins.

-- -- --

When the final note of the upbeat version of ‘Joy To The World’ finishes Emma curtsies low at the applauding crowd. She can’t quite believe the concert is over as it all feels like a blur now. Confetti shoots into the air and the audience whoop. Emma rises and holds her hand out to the orchestra who keeps playing the upbeat melody. The audience cheers and the conductor bows. Emma next holds her hand out to the light and sound technicians at the back. Finally she holds her hand out to the choir behind her and the rush towards her. Gathering round her and dancing to the beat. They all wave when the curtain starts to descend, cheering and clapping with all their might.

When the curtain stops moving, separating the audience from the stage, Emma takes a deep breath.

“Well done Emma.” Karen pulls her into a tight hug. “That went better then we rehearsed!”

“Always the way!” Emma laughs and Karen nods in agreement. They pull apart but Karen keeps her face near Emma’s ear to talk to her. The choir still cheering and clapping with the orchestra.

“What are your plans? We are thinking of going to a local bar.”

“Ah I have plans with my sisters and friends.”

“No worries, it was a last minute thing anyway.” Karen smiles at her before turning to her group and dances with them.

Emma watches them for a moment before heading to her dressing room. Her whole body is buzzing with adrenaline, which she knows won’t last forever. And when she crashes she wants to be sat on a sofa with a pizza on her lap.

But it takes her a while to get to said dressing room as many people backstage congratulate her. She thanks them and breathes a sigh of relief when she can close the door behind her.

She grabs her phone and smiles at the many messages from the Superfriends. Mainly from Kara who sends a load of different emojis to express how she’s feeling. She sees the message from her Mom saying she will see her tomorrow as she’s heading back to the hotel to rest. Emma sends her a quick response of understanding before opening the Superfriend’s group chat.

Emma: Thanks everyone! I’ll see you at Kara’s soon! Please order the pizza as I’m starving!

Alex: Do you want us to wait for you?

Emma: No you go on ahead. I won’t be long.

Emma quickly changes into her skinny jeans, tank top and red leather jacket, not bothering to take her makeup off yet. She packs her bags and zips the beautiful dress in its cover. Emma places it on the clothes rail outside her dressing room. She passes the rehearsal room and pokes her head in saying bye to Karen and the choir.

Exiting through the stage door into the garage Emma is surprised to see someone stood by the bug. She quickly approaches and smiles when she sees who it is. “Lena?”

The raven haired beauty looks up from her phone and the smile she gives Emma makes the blonde go weak at the knees.

“Hi.” Lena says softly before pulling Emma into a hug. “You… Em… I don’t have any words for how amazing you were tonight.”

“Thanks Lee.” Emma says gently. She pulls back and places a kiss on Lena’s forehead. “Ready to go?” Emma asks as she unlocks the bug. Lena nods and makes her way over to the passenger side.

The drive to Kara’s was quick as most of the traffic from the theatre had already gone. A few fans were still hanging out on the street and cheered as Emma drove past. She waved at them and smiled while still paying attention to the road.

As they enter Kara’s building Emma can feel the adrenaline starting to wear off. “Why does Kara not have an elevator again?” Emma complains to herself as her movements noticeably slows.

Lena pokes her head around the corner having gone on ahead and heard Emma grumble. “Are you okay?”

“Yea, just starting to feel it.” Emma grabs onto either side of the railings and hurls her body up the stairs. Loud footsteps coming from above make her look up. Suddenly Kara and Alex are standing at the top of the flight of stairs. Lena smiles at them and continues past them, walking up to Kara’s floor.

“Need a hand?” Alex smiles down at her sister.

“No. I can-” Emma takes a step but falters. “Please.” Emma sighs out.

Both sisters race down to her and take an arm each.

“If you ever move can you please get a place with an elevator?” Emma breathes out as they walk together up the stairs.

“No promises little one!” Kara sings out and laughs as Emma huffs.

“Anyway, you are young, fit and healthy!” Alex teases, poking Emma in the side, causing the blonde to squeal and slap Alex’s hand away.

“Normally yes, but when you perform for almost two hours sometimes your body decides to do other things.” Emma grumbles.

Eventually they reach the top of the stairs, Alex lets go and heads to the apartment door.

Emma rests her head on Kara’s shoulder as they walk the short distance towards their eldest sister. Alex smiles at them and pushes the door open.

Applause greets Emma as she steps through and she feels her cheeks heating up in a blush. She smiles shyly and accepts the hugs from the Superfriends.

Finally Emma sits down on the sofa next to Lena and Sam. Pizza is laid out on the coffee table and Emma is given the honours of choosing first.

When everyone has chosen and has settled, Kara clears her throat. “As with tradition after one of Emma’s gigs.” Kara starts speaking and Emma stops chewing, frowning at what her sister is about to do. “Alex and I always talk about our favourite parts.” She smiles brightly at her sisters. “So, I will go first. My favourite bit was during ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’ and you added in the ‘Gloria’ part and the organ came in. Literally the hairs on my arms, well, all over my body, stood on end!” All the Superfriends nod. “Oh and when you had members of the choir throw chocolate and candy into the audience during ‘Joy To The World’.”

“Of course you would choose that Kara.” Alex says sat on the floor, rolling her eyes.

“Well, what's yours?” Kara laughs.

Sighing heavily Alex looks down at her pizza.

“Alex?” Emma tilts her head. Knowing what Alex must be thinking.

“My favourite bit was… when you sang for Dad.” Alex swallows and bites her lip. “It hurt but... it was such a wonderful tribute.” Tears fill Alex’s eyes and she looks away embarrassed.

Emma places her plate on the table and quickly makes her way over to her eldest sister. She kneels on the floor and engulfs Alex in a hug. The redhead sighs happily and buries her head into Emma’s neck.

When they pull apart Emma stays sitting beside Alex. She reaches out for her plate and rests her head on Alex’s shoulder as she continues to eat.

“That was one of my favourite moments too.” Sam speaks out. “The way you sang it was next level. I can’t explain it. Like you poured your very soul into it.”

“Thanks Sam.” Emma smiles at the brunette and continues to listen to the Superfriends feedback. Soon they move onto sharing their past Christmas memories. But Emma's eyes start to get more and more heavy and she can’t help but close them as she still leans against her older sister.

Feeling happy and content with how well the concert went she drifts off into a peaceful nap.

(Part Four)

#supergirl #supergirl tv #supergirl imagine #supergirl fanfic #supergirl baby danvers #lena luthor x baby danvers #supergirl fanfiction #alex danvers x baby danvers #kara danvers x baby danvers #lena luthor imagine #alex danvers imagine #kara danvers imagine #b!d #baby danvers

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 25)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 3369

Warnings: angst and language throughout, violence/gore, blood, surgery

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter​​​​​  and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @quailliamyfears, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​​​​​, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong​​​​​ and @arrow-guy​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

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

Almost another month had passed since your first passion filled night with Stephen. Now, you’d been at Kamar-Taj six months. But Stephen was right about seeing Charles, so you did talk to the Ancient one and three times a week, you would visit Charles. In person, you two more than made up. He apologized deeply, explaining that he just missed you so much and worried he was losing you. You said you understood and things seemed to be on the balance with Charles and Stephen for a while. 

Stephen said he was going to the library after dinner and you said you’d be in the bedroom, putting away the clothes you had cleaned the day before. After a while, you decided to join him in the library. 

When you got in there, you didn’t find anyone up front. Instead, Stephen, Mordo, and Wong were speaking angrily. You frowned as you joined them. 

“What you just did takes more than a good memory. You were born for the mystic arts,” Mordo was saying as you walked in.

“And yet, my hands still shake,” Stephen said angrily.

Wong replied, “For now, yes.”

“Not forever?” he clarified.

“We’re not prophets.”

“When do you start telling me what we are?” Stephen demanded. At first, you wanted to reign him in a bit, remind him that he owed these people, but then you realized you slightly wanted to know too.

Wong nodded, seeming to concede. “While heroes like the Avengers protect the world from physical dangers, we sorcerers safeguard it against more mystical threats.”

“The Ancient One is the latest in a long line of Sorcerers Supreme, going back thousands of years to the father of the mystic arts, the mighty Agamotto. The same sorcerer who created the eye you so recklessly borrowed. Agamotto built 3 Sanctums in places of power, where great cities now stand. That door leads to the Hong Kong Sanctum, that door to the New York Sanctum. That one, to the London Sanctum. Together, the Sanctums generate a protective shield around our world.”

“The Sanctums protect the world, and we sorcerers protect the Sanctums,” Mordo said.

Stephen gave Wong a look filled with anger and suspicion. To be honest, you were starting to get worried too. You thought this was just a place to learn mystic arts, to heal. Now, you learned they were some sort of warriors? 

“From what?” he demanded. 

“Other-dimensional beings that threaten our universe.”

“Like Dormammu?” Stephen asked.

“Where did you learn that name?” Mordo asked. 

“I just read it in The Book of Cagliostro. Why?”

“Dormammu dwells in the Dark Dimension, beyond time. He is the cosmic conquerer, the destroyer of worlds. A being of infinite power and endless hunger, on a quest to invade every universe and bring all worlds into his Dark Dimension. And he hungers for Earth most of all.”

“The pages that Kaecilius stole,” Stephen started, the wheels turning in his head.

 “A ritual to contact Dormammu and draw power from the Dark Dimension,” Wong finished.

You shook your head, beyond confused and worried now. He looked at you and started to laugh.

“Uh, um, Okay. I’m out,” Stephen said and you whipped your face to him. 

“Stephen,” you started, a bit of shock and chiding in your tone.

“No, YN, I came here to heal my hands, not fight in some mystical war.” 

Suddenly, a bell began tolling and you looked to Stephen, then Wong. 

“London.” 

The door to London opened and a man was running out of it. He suddenly fell to his kneels with a gurgling sound and a nearly transparent spear in his back. Fear and panic overtook you. You backed up a step, holding onto Stephen’s arm.

“Kaecilius! No!” Wong shouted before a giant burst of light came flying at you all. It blasted both you and Stephen through another door, landing on the ground with debris hitting all over you. 

Stephen and you got your feet as he shouted for Wong and Mordo, but a wall built itself between you and Kamar-Taj, dropping more debris on both of you. You coughed and he led you away from the wall, further into the new building you were in. 

You two stumbled a bit and found yourselves at the bottom of a grand staircase. Stephen started to stumble a bit more, groaning. 

“Stephen, Stephen, wait,” you called after him. 

“One second,” he called back. He opened the door and you ran after him, through the doors. You stepped outside and the two of you looked around. 

“We’re in--”

“New York,” he finished. 

“So portal us back,” he suddenly said, turning to you.” 

“What? I can’t. I don’t have a sling ring. Besides, you’re supposed to be as good as I am, by now.” 

He nodded. “Right. I don’t have mine. Let’s start looking around. Maybe we can find a way back.” 

The two of you began walking around the sanctum, calling out for anyone. The two of you wound up at the end of a hallway that had what appeared to be windows looking into several different environments. Stephen opened the tall glass doors on the window, exposing both of you to a giant gust of wind and sea mist.  He saw the knob on the side of the window and turned it, making it a desert-scape. 

“Well, that’s… handy. Saves on plane ticket costs,” you murmured. 

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

The exploration continued as you walked with Stephen. 

“Did you mean what you said back there? About not continuing?” 

“Yes,” he said adamantly. 

“But--”

“Can we talk about this later, maybe? After we’re sure we aren’t being hunted by a guy who channels the dark universe or whatever.” 

“Alright,” you said before the two of you called out again. You were walking through relics, it almost looked like a museum filled with old artifacts. 

You and Stephen heard a noise making you look down some steps. You walked down them together and came to a banister overlooking more steps. You saw the wall and doors were moving oddly, as if folding in on themselves and then overlapping again. Stephen made a motion for you to stay behind him.   

“Daniel. I see they made you Master of the Sanctum,” Kaecilius said as he walked in with two others. Your heart leapt into your throat at the sound and the sight. So he was hunting you two. That made you think about Wong and Mordo and you began to worry for them. You hoped they were alright, but right now you ahd to focus on possibly keeping you and Stephen alive. 

“Do you know what that means?” the man asked. 

“That you’ll die protecting it.”

The three of them formed their glass looking blades and began fighting him. 

“Stephen, we can’t just stand here. We have to help him,” you urged quietly. 

Just as Daniel fell to his knees, Stephen leapt over the railing and shouted, “Stop!” 

But it was too late. Kaecillius stabbed the man, in the chest. 

You gasped. 

"How long have you been at Kamar-TaJ, Mister…?" he asked, and you felt extremely uncomfortable as his eyes looked dark, as if something was feeding on him. 

"Doctor."

"Just Doctor?"

"It’s Strange," Stephen corrected and you narrowed your eyes, wondering why the hell he was talking with this guy and not just escaping him.

Kaecilius shrugged and said, "Maybe. Who am I to judge?"

He pulled his blade back and stabbed Daniel again in the torso, making him fall on the ground, dead. 

This was the second man you’d seen killed in the course of ten minutes and you weren’t doing well with that. Your adrenaline hadn’t stopped pumping since the first man had fallen.

He then began to come up the stairs as the other two comrades  ran up the other sides of the walls at you two. Stephen tried to conjure a weapon but he was too slow, and the woman came flying in from your right side, kicking you both and knocking you down. 

The other man kicked Stephen, who was still standing. You formed a small whip from the very little you knew of sorcery and wrapped it around the woman’s leg and tugged. Thankfully, she didn’t expect you to do this so it gave you a small advantage that caught her off guard. This gave Stephen enough time to create his own form of a small whip and he snapped it in the man’s face before hitting the woman. 

He leapt over the railing and lassoed a vase and slammed it into the man. Kaecilius made it up the stairs and he launched the blade at Stephen, but he deflected it into the mirror dimension. You kicked Kaecilius in the knee from the side, making him drop down, but he formed a blade and tried to stab you with it. You rolled out of the way before conjuring up  a small shield before you got to your feet, running down the stairs.  

Kaecilius ordered that the woman go after you and while he and the other man went after Stephen. You frowned before turning around to face her. Your anger growing every second. You focused your energy to create a weapon most like a baton, slashing at her. 

She took her blade and cut at you. You jumped back, trying to dodge her blows. You conjured up a shield before pushing it out at her to get her back from you and when you did that, you kicked her hard in the chest. It knocked her back into the wall and you made a run for it, trying to get to Stephen. 

You followed the sounds of thuds and grunts. When you found them, Kaecililius was twisting the hallway as if it were a dryer, and Stephen was the clothing inside, getting banged around like a pinball. You formed a long lasso and snapped it at him, knocking him off his focus. The woman showed up behind you and grabbed your head before swinging you hard into the floor. You saw black, and then blinding pain. You groaned as you rolled over, but at least she stopped focusing on you. But then she focused on Stephen -- that was worse. 

She dove at him as he hung on the wall, but she missed him as he moved out of her way. She fell towards the windows that had the desert-scape on it. She landed ont he floor and stood quickly though. Stephen looked up towards you as he hung from the side of the wall. H esaw you clearly wounded and he focused back on the woman, letting go and knocking her through the windows, but he managed to hold on to the edge of the wall. But as he climbed back into the room and tried to change the access to the location, the other man ran up and began fighting Stephen. 

Kaecilius reset his concentration on you as he saw you getting up. He sent a whip at you, wrapping it around your ankle and pulling. Making you fall backwards and hitting the back of your head. Now the front of your head and the back of your head. 

As he pulled you you tried to fight it, before you formed a blade of your own and cut through the rope. He formed a clear blade again and launched it at you, and since you were only a few feet away, it plunged into your upper leg, pinning you to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you screamed. You’d never felt pain this bad. White hot stabbing pains throbbed through your leg. 

Now that you were incapacitated, he was focused on Stephen, armed with two glass blades he went after Stephen and you tried to get up, but you couldn’t. The blade was pinning you to the floor and you couldn’t grab it or you’d risk slicing your hands wide open. TKaecilius pushed Stephen away from him at one point and he ran towards you. 

“Are you okay?” he asked quickly. 

“No, but go! Go!” you managed to yell and he seemed to listen to you. He held your hand for a split second before looking back to Kaecililus who was turning around to get to him. “Go,” you whispered. He nodded, seeming to fight within himself before he grunted and ran off. He hoped he could lure Kaecilius away from you, and thankfully he was right. 

Kaecilius completely ignored you as he dashed after Stephen but you hated the idea of not being able to help so you tried to think of something to conjure. You heard a crash and some more fighting and tears started to roll down your face.

If anything happened to Stephen you weren’t sure what you’d do. 

More crashing and you were getting more angry and feeling more helpless by the second. Finally, you thought of conjuring a lasso around the blade and you ripped it out. Your medical training knew that wasn’t the best idea, but you didn’t have time for anything else. 

As you got up and limped horribly, nearly crying out every time you moved any muscle, Stephen ran into you. He was bleeding profusely, blood running all over the floor. 

“Oh my god. Stpehen,” you gasped and you tried to hold him up. He was falling towards the ground and you could barely hold yourself up. 

The man was back and you were irritated. Beyond pissed. You let go of Stephen for a moment before turning to conjure a bolt of energy to cast the guy back. The cloak that you didn’t even notice on Stephen flew at the guy and started to slam him into the wall, the floor. 

“Give me your sling ring,” you told Stephen.

“I don’t have it,” he choked out.

But that second, the man lost his sling ring. You quickly picked it up and portaled into the hospital Stephen used to work at -- the one that Christine still worked at. He was shaking horribly and his eyes were shutting in pain. 

“Hang on, just hang on,” you ordered. You helped him through the portal in a janitors closet before pulling him through the doors with all your strength to carry yourself and him. Somehow you were able to block out most of your pain, if it meant helping Stpehen. He looked as if he were dying. 

Once you got through the doors you began yelling. “Dr. Christine Palmer!” you shouted.

“Ma’am? What's wrong are you--”

“Where is Dr. Palmer?” you asked. 

“We need to get you two--”

“Where is she?” you demanded angrily.

“Nurses station!” she responded, backing away. 

“Chrisitine!” you shouted again, hoping she'd hear you. 

Thankfully, she did. 

“Y/N?” she asked, turning to face you and when she saw you trying to drag Stephen with you, her eyes went wide. “Oh my god!” she gasped. She ran over to help you carry him. “What happened?” 

“We need to get me on an operation table now. Just you. Now! I don’t have any time!” Stephen informed her and the two of you got him in the closest OR.

“What the hell happened?” she demanded, looking at you and him. 

“Stabbed. Cardiac tamponade.”

“My god, what are you wearing?” she asked him as she tore his robes open and you leaned on some equipment nearby trying not to bleed out or lose consciousness. “Chest cavity clear,” she announced as she tapped around his rib cage. 

“The blood… is in the pericardial sac,” Stephen informed her. 

A split second later, he lost consciousness.

“Christine!” you urged and she turned around to see why you were upset. You were pulling yourself to the table, your right leg practically falling off of you at this point. “Stephen? Stephen!” you tried , shaking him to see if he’d wake up.

“No, no, no,” she said desperately. 

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked at him. You squeezed your hands together tightly as you looked at him, biting your lip. Fear and anxiety  filled you to the brim. Panic began to set in as your heart raced. 

Christine attached a heart monitor to him quickly and it showed he was at least still alive. She got the needle ready to extract the blood pooling in the sac, and suddenly Stephen’s astral form burst through the air right next to you. 

“Just a little higher. Please be careful with the needle,” he said suddenly. 

She jumped back away from the table and shrieked. "Stephen? Oh lord, oh lord. What am I seeing?" she asked, looking terrified.

"My astral body," he explained.

"Are you dead?" she asked.

"No, Christine, but I am dying," he reminded and your chest restricted.  

"Right. Right," she said as she walked over and repositioned the needle just before Stephen but his two fingers in himself to light up the area to show her where the blood had been pooling. 

She worked on doing the procedure before suddenly Stephen looked up and said, “I’m gonna have to vanish now. Keep me alive, will you?”

“Thank you,” you said as you stood by the table before wincing in pain.

“Are you alright?” she asked, eyeing your leg. Blood had stained your pants and it was pooling on the floor. 

You shook your head, shooting her a look that you needed help.

“Alright. I’ll page for another doctor to come get you--”

“No, I stay here.” 

The light over the table moved and you just glanced at it, realizing what must be happening. Christine tried not to notice is as she addressed you again. 

“You’re going to bleed out, Y/N, if we don't get you fixed up--”

You looked around and walked over to the medicine cabinet and tore out some gauze packets and held them to your wound, applying pressure. 

“There? Happy?” 

“Not really, but I can’t make you do anything.”

“I just… I can’t leave him,” you said. 

She nodded. “Right, I understand.” She seemed to get moved by an unseen force and you frowned at her. “What’s happening?”

“If I had to guess, Stephen is fighting the astral form of the guy who attacked us,” you explained, looking around the room. 

“And can you, uh--”

“Project my astral form? No. Stephen is the one in the real training, I just know a few tricks,” you explained.

One second later, the heart monitor began to ring out the horrifying monotone beep that signified Stephen’s heartbeat had stopped. 

You stood up again and stood beside the bed. Chrisitne ran to get a crash cart and pulled it over, charging the paddles. 

“Clear,” she announced and you made sure to stand back. 

She hit him with the charge and you thought your heart would leap out of your chest at the sight of him coming up off the table. Another table went flying right after she did that and both of you looked its way. 

“Stephen, come on,” she urged and you looked down at him in panic. 

“Stephen?” you choked out. 

Just before you were about to go into hysterics, the monitor began beeping. You and Christine looked at each other and rejoiced. But it was quickly tampered out when Stephen busted through in his astral projection and said, “Up the voltage and hit me again.” 

Christine jumped back from him, gasping.

“What?” you asked of him, wondering if he’d lost his mind.

“Up the voltage, and hit me again.” 

“What? No, you’re heart’s beating.”

“Just do it!” he ordered before stealing away again.

She glanced at you and you firmly agreed and said, “Do what he says.”

You stepped back, she upped the charge, and hit him again with the voltage. You tried not to let the sight cause you too much distress but it was hard. The next second, every lightbulb in the OR started bursting. You put your head down and covered your eyes.  

Stephen finally came to life on the table, making Christine jump. 

"Are you okay?" she asked. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Y/N?" he asked, his eyes immediately going to you. 

"I, uh, I'll be fine as soon as someone can look at my leg," you weakly said before collapsing on the ground next to the table.

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

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