#colouring this drama is a pain in my ass
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Chapter 3 | Acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt
“Mortal actions never deceive the gods”
18+ fic, minors do not interact!
Chapter summary: You and Aegon are in a room together, what could possibly go wrong?
Chapter warnings/tags: Use of the word ‘queer’ (used as strange, weird, etc (I swear i’m not homophobic, i love women pls)), ghosts, family drama, mentions of murders and death, Aemond does NOT know how to talk to women, targaryen slander (reader is such a hater lol), canon typical mentions of incest, millipedes
if any of these things are not to your liking/ are triggering i recommend not to read it!
Word count: 3.9k
[A/N]: I’m so sorry this came out later than I promised. Last week was really hectic but fortunately I have less classes this week. Today I read ‘The Yellow Wall-Paper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman and that definitely inspired the long notebook part in this chapter. Let me know what you guys think about the notebook parts by the way, should I keep them shorter or is this fine too? This might not be the best chapter I have written but it has given me loads of inspiration for what is next in the story.
Anyway, if you have the chance, definitely read ‘The Yellow Wall-Paper because I absolutely loved it!! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)
Rigor Mortis Masterlist | Main Masterlist
“What the-”
Aegon quickly shushed you again by forcing his hand over your mouth again. Ser Criston’s footsteps could be heard passing the room and slowly but surely faded away. Aegon removed his hand off your face and scowled.
“Can you be any louder?”
“What?”
“You’re absolutely horrible at sneaking around my lady. I mean that with offence.”
Gods, he was strange. You tried to catch your breath for a few seconds and studied him in silence. He was still in his day clothes, but he had taken off the striped light green vest he wore in the morning. You were right, he looked sickly regardless of the colours he wore. His silver blonde hair was dishevelled and the bitter stench of alcohol seemed to permanently cling to his body.
“Do you even realise how improper it is to take hold of me like that-”
Aegon started groaning in frustration mid-way through your sentence. He pulled his hand over his face as he did and waved you off with his other hand.
“You are a real pain in the ass-”
“Excuse me?! You’re the one pulling a lady into a strange, vacant room! I am already engaged to someone-”
“I beg you. Please, shut up.”
Aegon walked- more like stumbled- over to a cloth covered chair and sat down, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.
“You are too curious for your own good. I am saying this out of genuine concern, mind your business.”
His words were harsh but he genuinely seemed to be looking out for you in his own strange, Aegon-way. His answers to your questions always seemed to spark more curiosity and confusion within you. A silence fell between the two of you until you finally realised how inappropriately you were dressed. He seemed to notice your discomfort and a playful grin tugged at the corners of his rosy lips.
“Do not worry. I have seen women in less clothes and I do not desire you. There is no denying you are beautiful, of course. However, you are simply not the type of lady I am attracted to, besides, my dear brother would have my head if I ever tried to pursue you.”
He wasn’t wrong about that. Aemond seemed pretty protective over you, even if the two of you were still barely acquaintances.
“Why are you helping me?”
Aegon remained quiet for a few seconds and shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Queer
You decided to drop it for now and looked around the abandoned room. You were about to ask a question again but Aegon groaned loudly in frustration.
“I swear this damned wench.” He muttered, clearly irritated by…nothing?
“What are you-”
He shushed you.
“Listen.” He said and pointed with his finger to the ceiling. Was he talking about the floor above this? If you remember correctly, that was where Lord Viserys’ hallway was located.
A wail..
If you concentrated really hard you could hear the wailing and screaming of a woman. It was still too quiet to properly hear it but it still managed to send chills down your spine.
No one was allowed in there and you doubted the wailing came from Lord Viserys.
It was only slightly but the wailing seemed to get a teeny, tiny bit louder every second. You turned your gaze back at Aegon who was picking dirt from under his nails with an annoyed expression.
“Who is-”
“Father’s first wife.”
Aegon replied with a sigh and his violet eyes turned to meet yours. You seriously wished he would simply stop saying the most confusing and out of pocket sentences like it was nothing. Viserys’ first wife? Would that be Rhaenyra’s mother, or did Viserys have dozens of other wives?
You hadn’t heard anyone talking about the Lord’s first wife still living at the estate. Gods, they didn’t lock her up, right?
“Why is she crying?”
What a stupid question. You were sure you would cry even louder if Aemond locked you up.
Still, you couldn’t shake off this uncanny feeling. In no situation this was normal. For starters, the crying was barely comprehensible to your ears, but Aegon had complained that morning about her wailing so loud he couldn’t sleep.
Aegon didn’t reply as he studied you in silence.
“What has Aemond told you about this family?”
Aegon reached into the pockets of his black trousers and pulled out an equally black tobacco pipe. He took out a small tin container from his other pocket and filled the pipe with the brown substance you could only assume was tobacco. He placed the pipe between his lips and stood up from the cloth covered chair and walked up to an old drawer. He pulled out a box of matches and started to light his pipe. He took the lit match and brought it close to the tobacco, but not close enough to completely lit it. From what you could see he only charred the top and then extinguished the match by waving it up and down. Smoke came from his pipe and mouth and he sat back down.
“Well?”
“He’s told me about Rhaenyra’s inheritance and the uhm…inbreeding.” You awkwardly replied. Aegon groaned and shook his head in response.
“How romantic of him.”
“Right…”
Another silence fell between the two of you. It was very clear that neither of you were skilled at socialising with someone that was practically a stranger. The woman’s wailing was getting a little louder again, snapping you out of your thoughts. Before you could even ask about the women Aegon spoke again.
“Rhaenyra’s mother died in childbirth.”
“But I can hear her.”
Aegon silently stared at you, letting you figure out everything yourself. He was dead serious when he told you about the death of Rhaenyra’s mother.
Reality was finally hitting you.
No.
No.
No.
He was lying. He had to be. He must be trying to scare you away, or trying to make a fool out of you in front of the family. It had to be. It had to be.
Perhaps he was trying to make you seem mad. Was he trying to send you away? It couldn’t be Rhaenyra’s mother if she was dead. It couldn’t be.
You were spiralling into all these different thoughts. Aegon was lying. He was. There was no other way. Ghosts, spirits, ghouls and- whatever! They didn’t exist. It was only a trick of the mind. Perhaps an evil cook is drugging them all and it is just a shared hallucination. Your brother had told you about them. How your father’s employees believed the factory was haunted by a tall shadow-y figure that lurked in the corners after sunset. It was the toxic fumes. Benjamen said so.
“You’re lying.”
Your voice was trembling. You didn’t know if it was from frustration or paranoia, perhaps it was from both. You turned around to leave. You couldn’t care less if Criston found out it was you who was listening in on his conversation with Alicent.
“I am not finished yet-” Aegon took hold of your wrist, pulling you close to him. He held his pipe in his free hand as he intensely stared into your eyes.
“If you are smart, which I know you are, you leave this godforsaken place.” He hissed in frustration.
“Write to your father, write that you want to leave. Mother is too desperate to continue the bloodline to see how incredibly stupid this arrangement is. Helaena told you to leave and now I am telling you to leave. Trust us.”
Helaena had told you to leave….of course, the flowers.
She had been looking out for you even before you arrived at the castle.
“I can’t just leave. What about Aemond, the dowry or the wedding.”
“Not worth it.”
Gods, this man was unbelievable.
“I can’t just leave. It is my obligation to marry Aemond and I intend to do so. Your ghost stories are not going to scare me away.”
You managed to wrangle your wrist from his iron grip and rubbed where he had held you. It stung a little but fortunately for you, it didn’t hurt. All you wanted to do was leave this strange room and get away from Aegon.
“Sleep well, my lord.”
You made your way out the room and closed the door behind you. As you did so, your eyes fell onto the gold inscribed name plate on the door and then it finally hit you.
You had been in the room of Daeron Targaryen, and it seemed like he didn't live here any more.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
- Night, the seventh day (the church bells just rang twelve times), first month of the year 1871 -
This day was peculiar to say the least. After the first days my hopes were high when I first arrived but I fear this family is more queer than I initially anticipated. Everyone is strangely secretive about the murders and their knowledge of the culprits, even though I am to be part of their family soon.
Of course, I cannot ignore their history of inbreeding either. Sure, it might’ve happened about a hundred years ago but I still find that to be quite recent. If madness doesn’t bring this family it sure will be the fighting amongst each other. An isolated father whose eldest child lives far away from her half-siblings and a second wife that claims said eldest child’s children are bastards is a recipe for disaster.
As far as I know two out of four children of Lord Viserys are mad. Aegon, the eldest son, is trying to scare me away with ghost stories and has absolutely no manners. He does as he pleases, like dragging proper ladies into vacant rooms. Sure, it might’ve been to save me from Ser Criston, which, by the way, is an outdated title. It should be ‘Sir Criston’, apparently inbreeding isn’t the only outdated tradition they live by. I am trailing off. Aegon dragged me into the room to save me from Ser Criston, quite a creepy room might I add. It seems that this Daeron Targaryen doesn’t live in the Red Keep anymore judging by the white sheets carefully thrown over the furniture.
Right, I was talking about the ‘mad ones’. Helaena, the youngest daughter, the third child, has a real screw loose. She is quiet, mumbles to herself like there is no one else in the room and says the most cryptic things I have ever heard. At breakfast she told me:
“Shadows need the light to exist but roam freely in the darkness.”
She could be reciting poetry but I just know there is a meaning to it. She said right before Otto Hightower (the sanest person in this entire family so far) announced the body of the monthly murder had been found. I theorise there might be some criminal gang that murder the civilians of King’s Landing at night…the servants also spoke of Tayla (this month’s victim and apparently a handmaiden of Lady Alicent). They said she went out at night, so I believe this culprit doesn’t have a set target each month. His victim profile seems to be completely random as far as I know.
I know I don’t speak much here about my future husband. If I ever fall victim to this murderer (or this family) I don’t want future historians to believe I was some lovesick woman. This notebook is strictly for research purposes. I suppose I can share some information, he might end up being a person of interest when I die inside this old castle or the filthy streets of the city (I should really stop speaking of my hypothetical death, I don’t want the Gods to get the wrong idea).
Aemond is a quiet and reserved man. He is smart, quite handsome and seems to be physically strong. If I had to say something I like about him it is his intellect and his long hair. Don’t get me wrong, such long hair like that is incredibly out of fashion. The handmaidens at back home would most likely scream in horror when I tell them my future husband has flowing silver hair like some mediaeval knight.
Tomorrow I shall try to find the library and seek more information about the Targaryen family tree. If not for research purposes, then for my own entertainment. Perhaps I can even look for this mysterious ‘Daeron’.
I shall write down my findings again soon. I swear there is something queer about this family.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Today was surprisingly sunny for King’s Landing. You had breakfast with Alicent and she seemed not to suspect a thing. She had told you Aemond had a client over today so he wouldn’t be available until late in the afternoon.
Wanting to enjoy the nice weather before it was over you made your way outside. It was still cold of course, but the sun felt nice. You walked past the eerie cemetery and deeper into the woods of the Keep. The path was still densely overgrown but you reached a part where the dirt path got wider. Your curiosity only grew as you followed it. Aemond hadn’t shown you anything past the cemetery after all.
You eventually reached a clearing. In the middle stood a magnificent oak with leaves as red as blood. Of course, you knew about the heart trees of the Old Gods, your old home had one as well, but you never knew an oak tree could serve as a heart tree as well. Judging by the shape of the leaves and the crooked thick branches of the tree you were certain it had to be in the same family as a live oak tree. It made you happy that even in the Red Keep they kept the old traditions of the first men alive.
Someone sat on a swing that was attached to one of the thickest branches of the tree. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. You only knew one woman that wore light coloured dresses and had beautiful long silver hair. She hadn’t bothered to style it this morning, which you found to be a bit improper but then you remembered she was quite strange anyway.
“You are here sooner than I expected.” Helaena’s voice was incredibly pleasant to listen to, or so you thought. It was sweet and delicate, almost as if she was careful not to make too much noise as she spoke.
“You were expecting me?”
Helaena hummed in response and you cautiously approached her. You leaned against the thick trunk of the tree and Helaena hopped off the swing, only to sit back on it but this time she was facing you. You remembered something your mother used to say.
“It is often said that no man can tell a lie in front of a heart tree, as the old gods know when men are lying.”
Perhaps this was your time to finally get some answers.
“Aemond likes you, you know?” Helaena softly swung back and forth on the old wooden swing. Her words surprised you. He hadn’t really shown he did. Well he took you on a walk and dropped a major piece of information with no prior warning, not something you would call charming, elegant, or gentlemanly.
Helaena continued.
“He said he is happy to be married to a smart woman.”
Her smile seemed so sweet and genuine, it was very different from what you were used to. Perhaps the strange woman was finally warming up to you now that her brother had told he ‘likes’ you and thinks you’re smart?
That was definitely not what you had thought Aemond would think of you. As smart. Sure, you were confident to admit that you possessed some sort of intellect. But for a man who studied at Old Town university it was certainly peculiar to call, no- even tell other people that his future wife was smart.
“I am delighted to hear that.”
Helaena was, surprisingly, easier to talk to compared to Aegon, who was supposed to be the more sociable of the two. However, Helaena’s gaze wasn’t fixed on you but something behind you. Was she simply avoiding eye contact because she disliked something, or did she really see something? The eerie feeling you felt yesterday crawled back up. Your entire body switched from relaxed to anxious, almost as if all of your senses were a hundred times more sensitive. Was something really watching you? Perhaps it was only a castle worker. Someone had to keep these woods and gardens looking good, right? Even in the winter.
You knew you had to look. Your brain was tricking you again. This palace is guarded. No one would be able to simply slip in and spy on you whenever you entered the godswoods.
Then you felt something. Something ticklish and long moved from your shoulder towards your hand. Paralyzed by fear you could only move your eyes to where the feeling was. In reaction you shrieked. You don’t think you have ever been so loud before.
You swatted your hand around, desperate to get this beast off your body. Once you had finally flung it off Helaena calmly walked over and picked it up from where it had fallen. Letting it crawl over her hands and watching it in fascination.
“Diplopoda…a millipede.” She whispered softly and slowly walked back to the swing. You watched in amazement. She wasn’t afraid of the insect, in fact, Helaena seemed completely mesmerised by the creature. The hundreds of little legs all moved as it crawled over her soft delicate pale hands. Her fingers were long and thin, like a master pianist.
“You’re not- afraid of the insect?” You asked her after you had regained your breath and most importantly, your composure. There weren’t as many bugs in the North compared to here. The climate here was a lot warmer, even in the winter. You felt a little silly for being so frightened by such a small creature.”
“Millipedes are actually myriapods…” She replied as she seemed completely lost in thought as she studied the insect- no. She studied the myriapod.
“They have eyes…but they cannot see very well. To answer your question, this species is completely harmless to humans.”
Well, at least you learned something new today.
“Would you like to hold it as well?”
No. Absolutely not.
“I suppose I could try.”
You walked to where Helaena sat on the swing. The wood creaked a little as it still slowly moved back and forth. You held out your hands, bracing yourself for the nasty, itchy, crawling feeling of the largest millipede you had ever seen. Helaena’s face had lit up once you agreed to hold it, she seemed so excited to share her interests with you. It made you wonder if she could even share it with her own family.
Perhaps they understood her just as little as you did.
Helaena had carefully placed Millipede the Myriapod in your hands. You felt squeamish as you felt the hundreds of little legs move around in the palm of your hands. You had to move your hands around a lot too. The creature was quick and you didn’t want it to fall off, not because you cared about the thing, but because you didn’t want to upset Helaena.
Something about her enthusiasm reminded you of your father. Who loved telling you ghost stories and myths. You didn’t believe any story he had told you, but seeing his face lit up as he was talking about the things he loved made you smile. Helaena’s excited expression made you smile as well. You realised you had judged her too soon. Sure she had some…issues, but she was kind and was eager to befriend you.
“I think it doesn’t like me.” The creature was quick and constantly tried to slip away from the palms of your hand. The strange squeamish feeling felt less overwhelming with time, sure, the thing was absolutely horrifying, but the feeling that you might die if you touched it had completely faded.
“Come, I’ll help.” Helaena’s sweet smile instantly melted your heart. She took the insect- no, myriapod from your hands and you instinctively wiped your hands off on the skirt of your dress. She started to walk towards the path that led back to the castle. You were so distracted by the millipede and Helaena herself that you had completely forgotten to ask her the questions you wished to ask her.
“Helaena-”
“I wish to show it to my grandfather.” Helaena was completely in her own world while she walked.
“Okay, well, may I ask you a few questions then?”
“Perhaps later.”
Well, at least she didn’t beat around the bush. Her bluntness hadn’t surprised you. Alicent had tried to make a proper lady if her daughter, there was no denying that. Helaena simply had a mind of her own. She wore her hair loose whenever she pleased, she did not care about the proper ways you should wear colours. There was something admirable about her, even if she was a little mad.
The gloomy castle came back into view when the two of you exited the godswood. Immediately you felt a shift in the air. The clouds blocked the sun and the feeling of gloom and dread returned. It seemed to linger around the castle constantly and was not something you had gotten used to yet.
“Aemond would want to see you by the way”
You raised your eyebrow as you turned your head to her.
“How do you know that?”
She shrugged and continued to walk. She turned the corner and you followed her blindly, accidentally colliding with a hard human chest. You nearly fell backwards but you felt a strong, lean arm stabilise you.
“Gods, I am so sorry-”
You finally looked up to see who you had bumped into, it was Aemond. You were about to call after Helaena who happily continued to walk towards her grandfather’s studies as if you had never been there to begin with when you noticed something different. For starters, Aemond wore a glass eye. It wasn’t the completely white eye he had worn when he first met you. Instead his glass eye looked nearly identical to his healthy one.
However he had made one major change.
“Your hair…” Was all you managed to stammer out.
Aemond’s long silver hair you had grown to adore had been completely copped off. Instead it was cropped on the sides and back while it gradually got longer on the top of his head. He looked good. Different, but good.
Your face must’ve given off a different reaction because Aemond almost nervously ran his hand through his hair.
“You don’t like it-”
“I do like it.”
An awkward silence fell between the two of you. Neither of you really knew what to say.
“Not that your old hair was bad- I just…I like this as well.” You doubted your awkward stumbling over your own words did much to reassure him but he seemed to somewhat regain his usual composure. He sternly nodded and started speaking again.
“I need you to be my assistant this afternoon.”
Huh?
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Taglist: @helaenaluvr @saltedcaramelpretzel @certifiedhaters @imawhorecrux
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#hotd fic#hotd fanfic#hotd#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x you#aemond smut#the house of the dragon
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15 questions, 15 friends
tagged by @prentissrollins 💗
Are you named after anyone? nope
When was the last time you cried? a few months ago when I caught up on the blacklist and Liz died 🥺
Do you have kids? Not yet, but one day
What sports do you play/have played? never really been into sports 😂
Do you use sarcasm? do I 🤣🤣
What is the first thing you notice about people? eyes, I love eyes 😍
What is your eye colour? brown
Scary movies or happy endings? I like both, depends on mood
Any talents? I (think) I can sing
Where were you born? england
What are your hobbies? Watching tv series, currently learning Spanish, hanging out with my boyfriend and our nieces and nephews
Do you have any pets? I have a cat, Luna, she’s a needy pain in my ass 😂
How tall short are you? I’m 4 foot 11, short ass 😂
Favourite subject in school? History and drama
Dream job? I always wanted to work as cabin crew flying around the world but I’m too short.. but I work for a holiday company so it’s close 😂 also a professional singer but I’d never have the guts.
tagging: @nessa007 @useragarfield @userbettycooper @saw-x @bigszs @andremichaux @katebeckets and anyone else who wants to as I don’t have 15 friends 🤣 just for fun, no pressure 💗
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Friendly Sex - Chapter 8 - The Visit
First of all, I want to apologise for the delay in posting. This chapter kicked my ass, I wanted to cover a lot of ground and this must be the 8th version but I'm still not 100% happy with it, had to happen at some point.
Secondly this covers topics that will likely be uncomfortable for some people, involving a manipulative step-parent and abandonment issues. If anyone needs to talk about this subject, my ask box is open.
Chapters warnings: MDI (18+ only), mentions of smut, explicit language, adult themes, drug use, abusive step-father, emotional manipulation.
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Tuesday 20th May 1986
You’re holed up in the back of Eddie’s van, straddling his lap, furiously making out whilst Touch Too Much - AC/DC plays. It was a habit you had gotten into over the past few weeks, one of many habits actually. Eddie along with the rest of Corroded Coffin played a regular gig every Tuesday evening at The Hideout, you had found it was as good a place as any to hook up, particularly when the regular audience was made up of ten drunks and the bar staff. Eddie had threatened Gareth and Jeff into sworn silence about your sudden presence under pain of death, exile etc etc.
“I should be getting home soon.” You whisper against his lips, Eddie answers by holding your hips tighter, grinding you down harder.
“Five more minutes sweetheart.” He murmurs breathlessly, sucking at the sensitive spot on your neck, since that night at the trailer it's become something of a catchphrase for him; always wanting five more minutes between your thighs, five more minutes of fooling about in the Drama club costume closet, five more minutes of hammering into you.
“You’ve already had ten.” You sigh without any trace of reproach, grabbing his face to bring him back to your lips, feeling him grin.
“I’m just making the most of my time.” He says, kneading the flesh of your ass. “Seeing as you’re abandoning me this weekend.”
“I’m not abandoning you, I'm going to visit my mom, you know, the Queen of Abandonment.” You mumble, feeling your mood plummet as it had been prone to doing the last couple of days. Eddie had made a valiant effort in listening to and trying to soothe the various worries you had about your upcoming trip to Chicago, how it couldn’t be for anything good, having to spend time with Philip, watching the twins enjoying the life you once had before it was all messed up.
“Hey,” Eddie cups your cheek. “It’s just for four days, you’ll be home again before you know it.”
You nod, fiddling with the black stone ring on his right hand, allowing yourself to be coddled as he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“C’mon princess, let’s get you home.” He hums.
-------------------------------------------------------------------Wednesday 21st May 1986
Wednesday nights were Hellfire Club nights, with Eddie being decidedly occupied, you had invited Robin over to hang out and compare English notes before your final in a few weeks. Both of you laying on your bed, feet at opposite ends, heads meeting in the middle over a pile of paperwork. You heave a heavy sigh, correcting a sentence, trying to ignore the slight twinge in your back. Despite promising to get you home, you and Eddie had gotten carried away last night, which led to you bouncing on his dick in the driver’s seat of the van, the steering wheel as it turns out was not the most comfortable thing to lean against.
“So, you seeing Eddie later?” Robin asks nonchalantly, highlighting something in her book.
“No, tomorrow.” You reply, distracted by a tricky paragraph.
At first it’s like white noise, a dull fuzzy sound filling your ears, but then her words and your admission sink in, turning so quickly to face her you crick your neck; she’s grinning wide enough that you think her cheeks might split.
“What?” You squeak, feeling all the colour drain from your face. “We’re not - how?” You feel sick.
“Got three words for you babe, closed circuit television.” She says like a cat that’s got the cream. “I saw you both on the security monitor when he came into the store a couple of weeks ago.”
Your heart was in your mouth, or your ass, one of the two. How could you have been so stupid? Keith had specifically had camera’s put in after the adult section was opened, which happens to be right next to the Sci-Fi shelves.
“YOU’VE KNOWN FOR A COUPLE OF WEEKS?!” You shout incredulously before remembering your dad is downstairs, dropping your volume to a frantic hiss. “Oh my god Robin, why haven’t you said anything?!” You ask freaking out, hiding your head in your hands.
“I was waiting for the right time.” She reasons calmly like you’re discussing the weather, not your deepest darkest secret. “So what’s happening?”
“Nothing is happening, we kissed, once, that was it.” You say in complete denial.
“Bullshit, I saw you getting into his van the Saturday before last and on Monday you turned up to my practice smelling of weed with twigs in your hair and huge hickey.” She looks extremely pleased with herself, whilst you’re still trying to stop yourself from spiralling into a full blown panic attack. “So, are you together?” She asks.
“No.” You say shortly, huffing in annoyance when she gives you a look that screams ‘liar’. “I’m telling the truth Rob, we’re not together.”
“Soo, what then?” She presses, taking your hand in hers. “You can tell me, I won’t judge.”
You bite your lip, in the month you and Eddie had been hooking up it had often occurred to you that your agreement may become public knowledge, you’d had enough close shaves with the Principal Higgins/Fred Benson incident, and the first time Gareth walked in on you both the men’s room of The Hideout. But now it came to actually talking about it, you were terrified.
“It was the night of the party.” You mutter quietly. “I was upset about Steve, Eddie was out in the garden and we got talking, turns out he’s got it bad for Chrissy Cunningham.”
Robin does a very poor job at hiding her amusement, but presses her lips into a tight line, gesturing for you to continue.
“It’s your fault actually.” You jibe at her. “I told him that you thought I just needed to get laid in order to get over Steve, one thing led to another and we…” You trail off giving her a pointed look.
“You had sex in the garden?” She gasps.
“More like the street.” You wince at the confession, feeling your cheeks heat up.
“God damn.” She breathes. “Again not judging.” She adds quickly, holding her hands up in defence.
“After that we sort of made a pact.” You say.
“What kind of pact?” Robin asks, she’s near shaking with curiosity, but you can tell she’s trying to keep a handle on it for your sake.
“The kind of pact where we’ve been having lots of ‘casual’ sex.” You don’t know why you do air quotation marks around the word casual.
“And there I was thinking you were just using sex to pay for drugs.” She whispers, effectively stunned, you shove her insulted and you both burst into a fit of giggles. “So the mystery guy has been Eddie Munson the whole time?”
“Uh, huh.” You say, still giggling, some weird hysterical euphoria gripping you now you’ve told someone. You collapse back on the bed, Robin joining you so you’re staring up at the ceiling, holding hands like you did when you were little.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You sigh, giving her hand a squeeze. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”
“Babe, I was in love with Tammy Thompson, a literal muppet. I could never think less of you.” She says, pressing your foreheads together with a soft smile. “So - is he good?”
You nod, exhaling heavily and she whistles.
"It's always the freaks." She laughs, sounding thoroughly impressed.
You think about how much lighter you feel with Robin now in the picture, but the stress of keeping it a secret from the rest of Hawkins still lies heavy on your mind.
"Rob -" You say seriously. "-Steve can't find out. He'd kill Eddie." Robin bobs her head in solemn agreement, whilst making a movement across her mouth, an imaginary zip.
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Thursday 22nd May 1986
You’re busy packing your gym bag ready for your flight tomorrow, when your bedroom landline rings, you grab the whole phone shoving the receiver between your shoulder and neck.
“Hello?”
“Hey princess.” Eddie’s voice crackles through the speaker, and you try to ignore the immediate smile that creeps across your face.
“Hi.” You reply, grabbing a few pairs of clean socks with your free hand.
“Good day?” He asks, with a slight yawn.
“Eddie you literally saw me -” You check your watch, laughing “- four hours ago.”
“A lot can happen in four hours sweetheart -” He reasons and you can almost hear his devious grin. “- a person could get up to anything.”
“Oh yeah like what?” You goad, shoving your Hawkins High sweater into the bag.
“Well, I for one have played guitar, made some Kraft Mac & Cheese and jerked off.” He says, sounding incredibly pleased with himself.
“Wow, that is impressive.” You deadpan.
“I know, I did have some difficulty with the jerking off though, nothing feels as good as your tight pussy anymore.” He teases, and even though you’re alone in the house you still get flustered, almost dropping the phone.
“Ed’s you gotta stop.” You say sternly but the effect is lost when you start laughing again.
“What time is your flight again?” He asks, and you can tell from the change in his tone that he's trying to behave himself.
“3pm.” You sigh, chucking a pair of converse on top of the bag.
“It’ll be ok sweetheart.” He reassures you, before clearing his throat, devilish Eddie back in play. “Now get on the bed and talk dirty to me.”
____________________________________________________
Friday 23rd May 1986
You hate flying, and have always preferred to take the train but your mom doesn’t understand why you would want to take a five hour journey over a one hour journey. You stand awkwardly outside the main terminal at O’Hare, glancing at your watch every five minutes until you hear two little excited screams heading your way. The twins.
Your half brother and sister are on you before you can blink.
“Oh my god, look at you guys you’ve gotten so big!” You exclaim, lifting Heidi up as Paul clings to your legs. “Where’s Mommy?”
Paul points back in the direction they sprang from, your mom bustling along in high heels, hair perfectly coiffed.
“Darling!” She calls happily, reaching you slightly out of breath, placing a quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re so pale!” She cries standing back to observe you.
“I’m fine Mom, there was just some turbulence when we were landing.” You sigh, hitching Heidi more securely to your hip as you pick your bag with some difficulty, Paul wanting to hold your hand at the same time. “No Phil?” You ask as you walk back towards her car, the kids chattering away over each other so you only pick up every other word.
“He got called into work, but he should be home for dinner this evening.”
__________________________________________________
After a manic afternoon of playing with Heidi and Paul, you’re taking a break before dinner, reading 'The Colour Magic' as loaned to you by Eddie. Perched on the plastic wrapped sofa in the fussy living room you feel distinctly out of place, everything in your Mom’s house is pristine, coasters on every surface, fresh flowers adorning each room, shoes off at the door so as not to ruin the shag carpet, even the magazines in the rack were alphabetized. You imagined taking her round to Eddie’s, she’d probably faint.
You hear the kids suddenly shouting in excitement, obviously Philip is home, he rounds the door and you instinctively tense up, both of you looking at each other with open dislike.
"Hello Y/n, how was your trip?" He greets you stiffly, like there's a broom up his ass.
"Fine thank you, how was work?" You ask so overly polite you sound near robotic.
"Busy. Heidi tells me you gave her and Paul some candy?" It's so prompt and accusatory you're amazed he bothered even saying hello; a new record in his self-restraint at criticizing you. You mark your place carefully in the book before trusting yourself to respond.
"Just some Red Vines I had in my bag." You reply as measured as possible.
"The children don't usually have candy, particularly not this close to dinnertime." He chastises, and you can tell he wants you to apologize, you can see it in his hard stare, the way his jaw ticks.
"My mom said it was fine." You say, rising to move past him.
"She was humouring you, next time respect our rules." He says bluntly, grabbing your bicep none too gently. "Every time you're here you cause trouble, my children do not need your bad influence."
You yank your arm out of his grasp, about to respond when a small voice interrupts.
"Mommy says dinner is ready " Paul mumbles, little face hovering by the doorway, his expression worried. You scoop him up, leaving the room and Phil at speed.
"C'mon Paulie, let's eat."
________________________________________________
You were rattled, Phil's grip still feeling like it's curled tightly around your arm, as your mom passes the salad bowl to you.
"Looks great Mom." You say looking at the food on your plate.
"Moussaka darling, Phil and I had it in Greece last year." She smiles blissfully at the memory. "I like to make it for special occasions, and what's more special than having you to stay." She reaches over to give your hand a quick squeeze.
"So Y/n, how are your studies?" Philip asks you, pouring himself a big glass of red wine, like he hadn’t physically restrained you ten minutes ago.
"I have two finals left and that's it." You say taking a sip of milk, thinking you'd much rather have the wine.
"And your college applications?"
"I’m uh - taking a year or two out, save up some money, maybe travel for a bit…?” You hesitate, feeling diminished in his presence.
“That’s quite an ambitious plan, particularly on your salary I would imagine.” He says smarmily, and you feel your temper rise. “Or were you planning on asking your mother and I to fund you?”
“I don’t need your help, I save everything I make.” You spit out between clenched teeth.
“We know darling, Philip is just teasing you.” Your mum reassures but you can see the high flush of colour on her cheeks, a sign that she’s stressed.
“I actually thought I could come up a bit more often once I graduate, maybe once a month, give you two a break from the kids, take them out to the cinema and things.” You say, speaking directly to your mom. Smiling as Heidi and Paul both gasp and bounce up and down excitedly in their seats at the prospect.
“Oh that’s very nice of you darling but -”
“- we won’t be here.” Philip’s voice cuts across your Mom’s like a knife.
“What do you mean?” You ask, your mom suddenly finding it difficult to meet your eyes.
“We’re moving sweetie.” She says quietly.
“To Sydney.” Philip chimes in, a broad smirk on his face.
“As in - Australia?” Your voice shakes as you look between them. “But, that’s so far away...” Your stomach drops in a sick swooping motion.
“It’s a big change, but an exciting one. Phil has a new job, and they’re paying almost double what he's on now.” Your mom says, trying to inject some excitement back into the room, but she falters under your tearful gaze.
“What about me?” You ask in a small voice.
“You’ll still be able to come out darling.” She soothes.
“Not to Australia, Mom! There's no way Dad can afford it.” You shout, feeling your chest rise and fall rapidly.
“We’ll pay you for you sweetie -.”
“- no we won’t Evelyn, we agreed, she either pays her own way or she doesn’t come.” Philip snaps, the following silence suffocating around the small dining table.
“Did -did you agree to that?” You ask, your heart breaking into a million pieces, noticing Heidi was silently crying opposite you.
“Well not in so many words, we just thought, Philip suggested that maybe you could contribute something -'' She trails off, looking at Philip for support who simply sips his wine, looking impassive.
“Mom, how am I going to see you? The tickets will be close to a thousand dollars!” You cry, feeling like you’re ten all over again, begging her not to go.
“Well I guess you should start saving then.” Philip mocks and you feel yourself break, eight years of hatred pouring out.
“You fucking asshole.” You snap, hands shaking as you kick your seat out from under you . “What? You weren’t happy enough that you took her from me the first time so now you’re going to take her to the other side of the world?!”
“You watch your mouth you little bitch.” He shouts back, slamming his fist into the table, Heidi and Paul both openly crying as your mom tries to soothe them.
“M-mom?!” You sob desperately needing her to back you up, but she doesn’t even look at you.
You rush away from them to the spare room locking the door, feeling like you’re going to pass out, choking on your tears. You grab the phone and dial.
____________________________________________________
Eddie was having an incredibly delightful evening, Wayne was working, he had left over lasagne, a couple of beers, a bong ready to go, the only thing missing was you.
He could have sworn while he was jerking off earlier that he could smell your perfume on his pillow and it had sent him wild, he wanted nothing more than to rail you into the mattress but you weren’t here, he wouldn’t see you until Tuesday at the earliest and it was torture.
He was just about to start watching The Shining when the phone rang, probably Reefer Rick wanting to offload some shit.
“Yeah?”
There was silence at first, enough that he was ready to hang up when he heard a tiny sniffle
“Eddie?” The panic that washed over him was instantaneous, hearing you call his name in a cracked voice.
“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He asks frantically, already tugging on a Reebok before remembering you were in Chicago.
“S-she’s - leaving me.” You cry, it sounds like you’re breaking your damn heart.
“Who?”
“My Mom.” You sob, Eddie can hear how hard you’re breathing, he’s worried you’re going to have a panic attack.
“Sweetheart, I need you to calm down for me, ok?” He paces on the threadbare carpet feeling completely useless as you just cry harder, little whimpering sounds escaping you. “Can you take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, can you do that for me princess?”
He hears your breath stutter slightly, but then you inhale shakily.
“That’s it, in through your nose, and out through your mouth.” He finds himself doing it with you, the hand that’s not holding the phone rising up and down, it’s about another minute before Eddie feels that you’re stable enough to talk again.
“What’s happened baby?” He asks gently.
“They’re moving to Australia.” You say thickly. “Mom, the kids and Philip.” You spit the name out like it’s poison.
“Shit.” Eddie says heavily, and he’s irritated with himself that he can’t think of anything better to say. “I’m so sorry sweetheart.”
“She doesn’t love me.” You sound so sad, hating that he can’t wrap you up in his arms.
“Hey, that’s not true.” He insists.
“Then why does she find it so easy to keep leaving me?” You ask, voice cracking into tears once more.
“Because people do stupid hurtful shit princess, even to the ones we love.” Great he was sounding like a fucking hallmark card.
“I just wanna go home.” You whimper. “Everything is so fucked up. I wish I'd never come here, I just wanna be home with you.” You say it so quietly that at first he thinks he’s misheard, but the way his heart stopped said differently. “I-I miss you Eds”
You can’t miss him, surely? What was there to miss? You guys had a good time, sure, but he didn’t give you anything that you couldn’t get elsewhere. You just wanted comfort, you were far from home, going through hell. You probably didn’t want to put your dad through it so you rang him, but you could have called Robin? Maybe even Harrington? He ignored the spike of jealousy at the thought of Steve comforting you instead of him.
“Eddie, are you still there?” You sniffle. Shit, way to fucking go Munson, just give her the silent treatment whilst she’s pouring her heart out.
“Y-yeah, I'm here sweetheart… I miss you too.” He breathes, shaking the nervous energy out of his hands, he wants to expand, tell you how much he misses you when he hears a loud banging in the background and a muffled voice, possibly a man’s.
“Fuck off Philip I'm on the phone -” The banging continues, Eddie hears you grunt followed by a dull thud, he assumes you’ve thrown something against the door, followed by more muffled yells. “-yeah well you can bill me and upgrade your seats to first class you prick!” You shout back.
“Cunt.” You mumble, and Eddie can’t help but laugh, you let out a wry huff.
“Ed’s I'm gonna have to go.” You say, sounding miserable once more.
“Will you be ok?” He’s worried about how volatile Philip the Cunt was, ready to drive through the night to get you if wanted to.
“Yeah, I'm gonna run Phil’s phone bill up some more, call my Dad. Maybe get a flight back tonight.” You heave a sigh of exhaustion.
“I’ll see you soon sweetheart.” He promises.
“Counting on it Munson.”
Taglist: @avalon-wolf @mystars123 @lolalanaie @eddiemunsonsgf2@eddieslildarling@bakugouswh0r3@sidthedollface2@81rain@blueberrylemontea-fanfic@winchester-angel@bimbobaggins69@tuskjohnny@fckyeahlames@thecomfortgoth@alanamarie@miarosso@ghosttownwherenoonegoes@somespicystuff@eddiethesexy @unfocused81 @1paire2vans @take-everything-you-can
#eddie munson x reader#eddie stranger things#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x afab reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fic#eddie munson smut#stranger things#eddie munson x y/n#eddie x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson 18+#strangers things eddie munson#reader insert#eddie munson x afab!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#friendly sex fic
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The Death of Family
blood stains, innocent blood stains harder. The blood of those you love stains forever. For prompt 6 of @owlcatober , family [click for better quality and notes are under the cut]
this did not happen but also this is what actually happened, the true version of events, not whatever cold and callous series of events actually took place in the mansion on that night.
this is the metaphorical representation of what happened.
her best friend dying in her arms, white dress getting stained by the blood. fingers intertwined the same way as when they practiced dancing. she dies with a smile on her lips and muras eyes are heavy with grief, taking in every detail as the blood pours out from the gash marring her friends beauty. something in her shatters at the same time as the woman in her arms heart stops beating. something shatters so badly that all is left is glass dust, impossible to put back together. in the warped light the blood looks pink and the shadows on her dress seem akin to the bloodstains on her friends. the only thing unstained, the last gift, a wreath of pure white flowers.
What is left after you kill the only person you let in your heart, other than to become a monster.
so this is entirely for the symbolism. mura wouldnt have her classic hairstyle yet [hell i didnt colour in hair or eyes because muras current ones are dyes/changed] and they both would be younger and given shes using gonna use the body to set up someone she would not have time for a melodramatic finger-entwined kinda embrace.
but the drama!!!!
the parallels to the pieta are intentional [but hey what dead body cradled in someones arms cant be related to it]
her friend is the sacrificial lamb for muras permanent decent into villainy. with her friend gone she has no reason to care for others beyond her own survival.
in many ways this moment is more important that mura overtaking her father, this moment seals her on her trajectory. in many ways this froze mura in time, and planted the largest crack in the wall of her image of her fathers excellence.
ive mentioned it before but the only way for mura to be happy and anywhere near normal, would be someone interfering before this point. as soon as her friends heart stopped beating shes locked in her path and beliefs.
it has a roundabout connection to the prompt, it damages her relationship with her father, and also regardless of the label, her kinship with her freind is a powerfull bond, and their extend lifetimes meaning that the growth they shared was not over years but decades, makes her so important to mura, and in some ways family.
an alternate title would be 'death of innocence' or rather the death of muras last shred of compassion and love.
the two fracture points are mura and her friends hearts. i will use the shattered glass motif till i overuse it.
also yes the braid around muras bun thing in the future is a replacement for the wreath of flowers her friend gave her. heartless my ass. for somone who wants nothing more than to forget what happened she sure doesnt let herself forget.
anyway! girlbesties!!! dont we all kill each other and parts of ourself just for the approval of greater forces!!! betray and scar each other in ways that will last forever!!! whats a friend but a sacrifice waiting to happen!!
notes on the piece over, this is now a personal update:
so this was delayed cause i overexerted myself, unfortunately this means my weekend to relax and do some more prompts is now spent testing the limits of how many painkillers i can take. im mostly annoyed, but hey! still have plenty of jojos to watch /read, and ds9 & the expanse are up next on my watch-list so its fine that i cant move any muscle connected to my shoulders without crying in pain! please ignore the pile of corsework i have to do!
this isnt at a level of quality that i would like it to be, but i am happy with it. no artist ever is fully satisfied with their work, its just this time there is a larger distance than normal.
these notes have been long! thank you for reading so far! i hope your weekend is going well!
#thebirdarts#mura hagdaughter#owlcatober 2023#warning: this work includes copious amounts of projecting and unprocessed feelings. proceed with caution#hashtag girlbesties#friends that die together. haunt forever#but no this is the key point for mura and is what locks her into her path#one day i will write it because muras internal justifications are just so tragic and messed up#she gets SO close to breaking through#but no.#wotr
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My manager is a total grandpa but he can kick some ass?
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Pairing: Tartaglia | Childe x Zhongli
Premise: Ajax is a popular idol named Tartaglia and is known to be a bratty prince and hard to work with, or so they say. His agency has hired him a new manager, since his previous one quit, yet again!
A/N: heavily inspired by that one dongfish art here and here. I mean not 100% but you'll know it once you see it. But what actually made me write an idol au was because of this IU clip here
Fic can also be read here on my ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51099172/chapters/129105334
Chapter 1
Being famous and infamous was a pain in the ass, Ajax Turov decides, flicking through the manila folder handed to him by Rosaline.
Sure, he had his wealth, fame and popularity, but it never really was enough for the prying public. See, thanks to the press and his past managers, internationally-famous solo idol Tartaglia had earned the nickname Childe.
A bratty prince.
Seriously. Was it his fault they were so incompetent? His previous one had just stormed from the company building a small handful of days earlier after receiving an admittedly harsh scolding from the idol himself for failing to pick him up on time. Which meant the variety show he had been scheduled to participate in had cut him out completely.
The lack of compassion of his ex-managers. He was busy enough as it was—he didn't need the added stress from the failure of his managers added to that mess of a soup.
Rosaline had heard about that incident that occurred a few days ago, and called Ajax to her office. She was in a bad mood, he could tell that much from the tone of her voice and furrowed brows. Though, she always had a resting bitch face, but today in particular she looked livid, like a witch waiting to boil him in a cauldron.
“Thanks to your outstanding behaviour, yet another manager has quit! We’ve barely reached the end of this year and it’s already the 11th time now.” She stared at him, clearly unimpressed by the downward turn of her lips.
“You should be thankful that we managed to find a new person within a short time, and don’t you dare scare this one off, or there will be consequences.”
“He will start tomorrow, 8 am sharp.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and he left her office feeling pretty annoyed.
Now that he’s back in his break room, on the stuffy couch, he sulks, still going through the folder. It really isn’t his fault. Perhaps his agency hires the worst people on purpose. Few mistakes are human, but it’s more than a coincidence when multiple managers make the same mistake hundreds of times. He doesn’t want to blow up at his managers, no one deserves unjust anger but, he also has a limit. Why shouldn’t he be upset? He has more than the right to when it starts affecting his career that he built with literal tears and sweat.
A small picture of a man catches his attention, as he flipped through the pages. A brunet with long hair tied to the back, beige coloured gingham cardigan. Typical. Amber eyes hidden behind chunky black rimmed glasses. Grandpa-esque, even his granny doesn’t wear these old styled glasses anymore.
Nerd. They hired a stereotypical nerd for him, he concludes.
.
“Please give me your phone for a moment.”
Ajax found out that he really didn’t like the new manager. He talked like a grandpa, would text like a grandpa and even wear clothes like a grandpa. Not to mention, he was a total nerd and annoying as hell. A control freak who thought everything he did was right and what Ajax did was wrong.
“Fine, but let me get some fresh air first.”
“But your–”
He left before his manager… What was his name again? Zongzi ? Well whatever, he left.
What Ajax really needs is a smoke break. He is under stress with all the shit that’s been happening, especially with how the paparazzi is on his back about hiring yet another manager. Then there’s this new drama that he got a part in, and is supposed to play as the second love interest, it’s been taking a huge chunk of his energy. Even though his screen time is short, he still needs to put in the effort to show that yes, he can act, and he is worthy of the role he received.
He takes a puff of the cigarette and thinks for a moment.
Perhaps entering the entertainment industry was a mistake, but he would still do this all over again especially if it helped his family in terms of finance. Before Ajax started earning in heaps, they weren’t doing so well. His dad would take up multiple jobs to make ends meet and his mom would work overtime and come back home later than normal.
He takes another puff and closes his eyes. Letting his muscles relax as they were too tense throughout the day.
“Ohoho, well isn’t this the number one Tartaglia, in the flesh.”
Ah shit. He was too lost in thoughts to hear people sneaking up on him.
“Hey pretty boy, don’t be scared. We just want to…Talk with you.” A stranger comes closer, way too close for comfort and smiles creepily.
“That’s right, no need to panic.”
“Can’t believe we got lucky enough to meet with the real deal. Wanna taste him boys?” one of them cackles and looks him up and down.
It sends shivers down his back, man, he just wanted to smoke but he gets harassed by perverts instead. Disgusting. Talk, yeah right, as if he buys it.
Ajax drops his cigarette to the ground and someone behind him breathes down his neck. “Why so quiet? Now, don’t be a snobby bitch.” The man behind him tries to grab his shoulders.
Alright, that’s it, someone better get ready to receive an elbow in 3, 2–
“AAAAGHHHHHHHHHH!”
There’s a crack, followed by a loud scream and then a thud. Ajax is rooted to the spot but he still tries to turn around and see his– manager? and that weirdo below his foot too. Huh.
The rest of the gang quirk up, “who the fuck are you? Tsk, pretty boy brought a bodyguard ay?”
“Let’s shake the fella up real good haha!” The larger man from the group, probably the leader, runs towards the bodyguard (since when?) and tries to land a punch on him except his manager catches it and twists the arm of the burly man with such ease, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Was this really his nerdy as hell grandpa manager? The fuck? This was lowkey hot.
The burly man is quickly pinned down and receives a bruising punch right under the jaw.
“Scram, now.” Amber eyes looked straight at the group with a dangerous glint. Though the glare was not directed at him, it still made the hairs on his arms stand.
The threat however, was more than enough for the rest of the creeps to scramble and run like crazy while letting out horrified screams, but that’s not really important.
Ajax had no idea that his nerdy manager could do that. The man in question looked like a totally different person as he dusted his hands and wiped his glasses that had blood splatters. The glasses…had blood splatters! He punched the creep so hard that it broke skin.
While he was still wrapping his head around whatever that just happened, his manager looked at him with concern and asked him in a voice so low, he could have mistaken it as the wind blowing. “Are you alright, Ajax?” His manager comes closer to him
“Yeah…Thanks errr–” he takes a quick peek at the ID hanging around the other man’s neck “ – Zhongli. Though I was going to elbow ‘em anyway.”
Zhongli raises an eyebrow at that, as if skeptical of Ajax’s fighting skill, but nods anyway and takes off his beige cardigan. “Here, take this. It’s a bit chilly here. Come back inside when you’re done taking a break. I’ll wait here,” he says and takes a seat at the bench nearby.
Ajax pulls the cardigan on and thinks just maybe his manager isn’t THAT bad after all. Tiny bit less grandpa than before but that doesn’t excuse his “all knowing” personality.
He huffs and breathes in the scent of the warm cardigan.
“It’s warm….” Ajax mutters and breathes in the scent of the cardigan.
.
Ajax Turov, was just like any other senior year high schooler. On the way back home, or more like while wandering around town, wasting time while going back home, he was stopped by a random man. Saying that he had a pretty face and good proportions, gave him his contact details and rambled about how Ajax should participate in the show called the Abyss; an idol survival
He scoffed at it at first, why would he take part in this stupid show, but as he talked about it with his other siblings, they encouraged him to ring up the scout.
“You’ll get good money just for being on the show!” His elder sister smiled at him excitedly and looked at the other brothers as if urging them to convince him.
“Why not, it’ll be a new experience, and who knows you might become a big shot”
“Our Ajax? A big shot? Ha!”
Ajax Turov took up the offer soon enough.
The show lasted for 3 months and he came out on top. No one expected the redhead, with no prior vocal or dance training to last this long and clear the show with such finesse. Thanks to it, he gained a mass following amongst the media and people loved him. They wanted more of this charming newbie.
Multiple idol agencies reached out to him, but he decided to choose Fatui Entertainment (since he knew a few of his distant relatives worked there and heard that it was a decent company).
This is how he came to be known as the soloist idol, Tartaglia and within 2 years his popularity skyrocketed becoming the number one idol in Teyvat. Putting the famed Barbara from Mondstadt to shame.
His songs hit the billboard, becoming an international sensation. The boy was an all rounder, from singing, dancing, acting, he nailed it all. So many directors and CEOs from other idol agencies begged on their knees to Fatui Entertainment to have him exchanged. Money was involved, apparently but not much is known. Obviously, the offers were rejected. Instead, the idol Tartaglia participated in many variety shows, runways and dramas. His face was on everything and anything. Kids toys? Check. Perfumes? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Restaurants? Check. The list went on.
He was basically the next big thing and his agency knew it, and took advantage of it. He is and will be the hottest idol in town from now on and they were ecstatic to have such a rare gem in the palm of their hands.
But with popularity, there’s a mixture of good and bad press. In the entertainment industry, he got nicknamed as “Childe” due to his bratty personality, or so they claimed.
“He treats us like shit”
“We don’t exist to him, he’s just a bratty prince who thinks we’re at his beck and call”
“Even those arrogant fictional CEOs are better than him”
“Once, he made me go back to starbucks and get him a new coffee, ‘cuz I couldn’t get his order right”
“Pshhh seriously? That’s nothing. He got pissed at me for being late to pick him up or something. It wasn't even that late”
The alleged ex-staff who worked for him, spread rumours about the idol Tartaglia being high maintenance and badly treating the workers for absolutely no reason. Said that he was an asshole through and through.
Those rumours were quick to disappear thanks to his die hard fans and his agency working behind the scenes to actually show real interactions that the idol Tartaglia would have with his real staff. Which was the complete opposite of how the haters painted it as. Unfortunately, once a rumour goes around it never truly dies down. People were wary of him and hardly any good managers would take the job for him. Those who did were broke, depressed and desperately needed the money and even the slightest of reprimands would have them quitting.
Zhongli was also one of those broke people who desperately needed a job, freshly graduating university didn’t guarantee him a stable job even with his excellent grades and good words from professors. So he took the job as Tartaglia’s manager, since no one else was willing to. How bad could it be?
.
“M’kay, that’s enough break time. Let’s go Mr. Zhongli.”
“Of course. Please, keep the cardigan, you seem to be cold.”
“Thanks, by the way, what type of detergent do you use? It smells kinda nice.”
“Hmm… I’ll have to go back home and check, though I’m pretty sure it's actually silk flowers.”
“Ohhhhh– fancy smanshy.”
some notes:
zongzi- is a traditional Chinese rice dish made of glutinous rice stuffed with different fillings and wrapped in bamboo leaves (you'll see foods similar to zongzi in other cultures, some of you may recognise this as chimaki as it is called in Japanese cuisine).
So, I'm definitely planning to continue this, though updates may be irregular since it's currently exam season for me. Anyways come fangirl with me about these guys on my twitter or ao3!! Super obsessed with them and I hope this "phase" never ends. I still have so many more ideas and things that I want to share so let's hope they keep coming!
#genshin impact#tani writes!!#childe#zhongli#zhongli x childe#childe x zhongli#zhongchi#tartali#zhongchili#tartaglia#childe tartagalia#zhongli genshin impact#childe tartaglia ajax#childe genshin impact
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Buffy s3 quick thoughts
Alright I simply must write out Buffy s3 thoughts before we go any further. Up to 3x08 right now.
The double Slayer of it all
This is something I for sure wanna do another post about and who knows how my feelings for about Faith evolve but I just wanna note that the double Slayer thing is super interesting and thus far they're not doing enough with the concept. Sure, Kendra and Faith are both foils to Buffy and they form a spectrum where Kendra was more reserved and organized but also more mechanical and less her own person than Buffy. And Faith is wilder, a loner, troubled kid who's overall more willing to dive in head first and embrace darker aspects which is dangerous no matter how cool she looks doing it. Compared to just one of them, Buffy might seem inadequate from certain aspects but compared to both she's balanced. And the show certainly does still treat her as the one true Slayer which is where my problems come in.
I'm going to go out on a limb and say we'll see a LOT more of the Buffy and Faith parallels and comparisons so I'm not going to lament the lack of that just yet. I do however feel like the existence of another Slayer should be treated more seriously in-universe. Not only should another Slayer be a constant reminder that Buffy died and came back but it should reshuffle her whole identity, hitherto shaped by being the Chosen One. She's now part of the Chosen Two and on the second second Slayer at that and it barely registers as an existential crisis? Couldn't be me. I'll elaborate on this later (if you'd like?) but yeah I just wish the show tapped into the enormous potential of this more. Also the Council?? And the Watchers?? Should not be as chill about this. But maybe there are upcoming things that prove they aren't.
And then there's how quickly Kendra as a Black woman was discarded and not really mourned at all beyond being a footnote in Buffy's really bad no good terrible day. She was a plot device to get the shitty day to be even shittier and replaced with Faith, a Slayer with a much larger role very quickly. And I just think that's not a great look for the show in terms of race. And the 1998 and "different time" card doesn't really fly. It is what it is.
The Scooby Gang and friendships/relationships
Okay first of all I think there's only been a Scooby reference once so far so I hope the fandom didn't stick with this term for two decades because of that one-off line. Second, and I don't even know why I'm getting started on this when I know I won't elaborate properly but they way people are way too quick to be harsh on Buffy bothers me. There are instances when I think she should get what the hell hero moments but my good 3x02 was painful to watch. I'm cutting Willow some slack because generally she's the best friend you could have and handles things way more maturely than the others do, all the while being adorable. But s3 is when I stop resisting being pissed off by Xander. Overall the series does seem aware when he's being an ass but not enough for my tastes and the vibe of 3x02 was way too "both sides were wrong" for my taste when really Buffy was way more justified in her hurt than any other character. I did appreciate Cordy standing up for her, but I also often feel like Cordy deserves better friends - certainly a better boyfriend - and frankly a show that threats her better. God only knows if that show will be Angel or not.
And not only friendships but the romance drama. Sure, it's expected but I can hardly believe anyone actually liked the Willow and Xander thing. Oz is alright but he's also kinda flat as a character and even being a werewolf doesn't give him much colour. Like I said, Cordy has always deserved better than Xander and though I feel like they'll inevitably get back together, I wish they wouldn't. Swear I had more thoughts on romances but they're largely frustrating so I'll leave it at that.
3x07 is always cursed
Actually I'm not done talking about Faith because I really need to talk about the lackluster writing of 3x07. I'm not mad that conflict is arising between Buffy and Faith, I'm mad that it's done poorly. Like I said it's such a rich potential for a juicy juicy dynamic and not only are they not utilizing it, they half-assed their big break of trust moment. Mrs. Post was way underdeveloped, along with Faith's ch actually. Because if only we spent more effort on establishing Faith as someone who's hard to trust and has issues and easily retreats into hurt and isolation I'd be a'ight it hurts to see but I get that she'd be sus of Buffy from now on. But we didn't. There were no real Faith focused moments between her introductory ep and 3x07. She gets offended when the Gang holds the Angel intervention without her but the baddie Watcher barely has to do anything to get Faith to act all stupid about it. The whole Xander scene and then immediately wanting to attack Angel, it just came out of nowhere and honestly made me feel like I missed a scene. It's not completely unreasonable for a Slayer to want to kill a vampire as notorious as Angel. After all, Kendra also left Angel for dead and that was before he went back to being Angelus. But this was just so... convoluted when it really didn't have to be.
This could have been the start of a really compelling arc that hurts me, personally, as someone who's ready to be baited by Fuffy - and for all I know, it might turn out to be delicious. But the initial conflict was so poorly executed and half-assed, and after the Angelus twist of season 2 I'm expecting better. If you can deliver that much of a gut punch with Buffy's bf you can do it with her gf, too. I dare BTVS to break my heart over Fuffy but ONLY if they do it right. Do it, you cowards, write me a tragedy.
And that was Buffy corner with tuiyla! Stay tuned for when we jump back in time and catch up on seasons 1 and 2.
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Falling for the mafia
🔪 CHAPTER ONE🔪
💜 Princia💙
A painful past and a terrible present. My future? I don't know because I can d*e anytime and anywhere. I have everything that anyone can ask for. Money, success, power, beauty, intelligence. But, something I'm sure of, is that no one will ever desire to live the type of life I live if they know how it is. I'm dangerous, ruthless, fearless, a genius brainiac, a sharpshooter, but I know my worth. I walk with my head help up high. I don't care about people around me, unless they get in my way at the wrong time. There was a time I used to care. There was a time when colours had returned to my world. There was a time when I nearly felt whole. There was a time when I enjoyed more hearing a giggle rather than gunshots. Yes, there was. But all good things must come to an end, isn't it?That's what they all say. "Please, it won't happen again" he pleaded. This f*cker stole from me and I hate it when people think they can get away with stealing from me. "Kill him, show no mercy." I ordered one of my men and he immediately obeyed. His lifeless body now laying on the cold floor. I don't mess with your head or play with your heart. I am a woman and I finish what I start. I'm the merciless, soulless, thankless bit*h everyone looks for. I got the looks of an angel, but the mind of a killer. I'm lethal. People don't cross me, they whisper my name and they die right after. I am the boss of my own life, I don't bow to anyone. I will NEVER bow to anyone. I look at challenges straight in the eyes and give them a wink. I don't like to be controlled and I became everything you can't control.I'm my own cliqué. Princia Isabel Reign Castillo, 20 years old. I am the queen of the underworld and the most famous assassin in Italy, the Reaper. I kill with all sorts of things daggers, knives, guns you name it. But my favorite weapon is a dagger.I have always been very attracted to danger. We all have demons I just decided to feed mine. Some people call me an adrenaline junkie, but it's more than that. I crave things most people are afraid to do, I am attracted to people others are too afraid to speak to. I try to keep my reckless behavior to a minimum I really do. I try to be less impulsive, more structured, but I just get so bored. I guess at the end of the day, some of us run with lions and some of us run away from them. I will never be the latter. I never leave a trace behind and you can't find one single thing about me. I personally choose who deserves to know who I am. Owner of the most luxurious resorts, clubs, companies and hotels in the world. But I enjoy my gangster personality more. I don't corrupt the system, I am the system. Everything goes the way I want. I have business everywhere, but Italy is my piece of cake. I am the first woman to lead an empire like mine at this young age. My trainings started when I was five years old. I basically grew up on guns and fighting. And honestly I don't feel guilty about living in luxury, because I worked my ass of to get to where I am now. I wear my smile like a badge of honor because I fought for my own happing when everyone else just retreated. I deal with business not with drama. And believe me there's nothing more dangerous than a woman who healed on her own with the help of no one. if you can rise up from the dirt they left you in, there's no motherfucker out there who can tell you shit.
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“But when all claim his proper place”
A sonnet sequence
I
‘A fathom this: I never minstrel in.
But let the true! White cloud, and shown lucus
a novel world’s dust, and every margin’d
rills a griefs with this our coming musk-rose,
full of rules. Is twistinguishing heaps o’
clavers: and I be less: my old grange, and
vacant chair, and with you ponder clouds of
the Maids. And her ring? But when all claim his
proper place. Their tints may serve forgotten
all I take Juanna by the grounded field,
toss’d down, the white term of hern and held that
pricks thro’ the feeble soul? As you a plane
of every though pale now love and voice to
sparkle, and if one must go, thro’ the hand.
II
The Princes—Kings in the band that oft the quiet, a chiel sae
clever; thy sliding by a long hair, whom, if thou and much disposed
over who remain’d glass, and runs back to this cover’d, as
faire of natural. They could stormy women with death is dark fringest
thou watch’d with lamps, as the sea, and the heard our early, leaving
wheel stands the fine the season gone. And clapping under human
the age had dream, where God to balk slowly forms of the soul?
He brooding stand,—the trains is no wrong; I wish it near. Jive ass
back they hit off at another colours on angel of thine
eyes beheld a smiling race for she sings, the flood; a life called
work, must spell our simple stile from chains regret: there. It is the
Blue Field, and feeds the moonlight emitted from those pure and stand
onward the banquet of woe, some bachelor, lie down to the free;
and three, lolah, withouten any cares, somebody, might pass.
III
An Europe’s eye plunging wave of gold,
and see the bowers sprang up the Shadow
cloak’d from the song of Orpheus come—falling
to the unpleasaunce: but how with those
whose fallen, and deck the season, it made
that hath been and me: but none of the
Sultana err’d—it was what a dancing rills,
who pledge that tells a river Kiang, pleased
velocity, space, in circles. You have letter.
Now that is, and sky, that could not yours.
Thy places of the brere, weep me not the
fyre, vnto him, too, at the skies, whereat world
of thine breaker time? May bind my prayer,
as not, comforts me: a brute whose with pain?
IV
Me by one, and ye, ah, may not rises,
will heard the gained in the boundless woman’s
eyes; and on the tricks of Social Intercourse,
huge rondure the Ball.—Farewell; tis sometimes
love. Thy table and smile. Mount and looking
back we come there in the light began
to come try me, Jamie, come try me, if
this faire of all well thee with cost, a sober
manners. They should bar, and being
intellect it, such a day of chronicle
we prove how I know Gulbeyaz was then, when
that’s that darkness of the same princessantly
for everything both are thought through the
perplexity could moves are but Nanie, O.
V
See what come—to be, how to something with
you and yet myself refusest. The lilac
gives, thought, for brazen uppermost. Your
cares to bliss’ in fairnesse raigne, Lord Tennyson
plays becket harold: A Drama the
Cup: A Tragedy the Sailor to wrong
holy were coming, shake. He like the trees
the way he may rise; for scorn, sweeping, asking
a narration! Eyes; for desperate
whole haram is in his grow old alone
that are at all without booke: what enter;
hear the creation summer France. Ave,
’ said, their dim touch thy brethren withdrawn When
did mercy come make one of true in wore.
VI
Were the least of rising star, he still, glisten
a white clouded noons, thy spirits sing:
and charms. First, in the waiting up through doubtful
joys or marriage day doth lopp and a
heap, so pass; twas foolish sleeping, and you
hadst thou or I, who live through away the
Spirit, and those other form and darken’d
in the brought I dwell, and like wailful taste
that it is at peal’d thro’ with honour’s glow,
my faith the heart, loue onely lou’d Tyrans,
iust in the housewife runs parallel
with their sense and red, with soule from the gems
and legitimate exist within. Not
once in the worms, then love the long ago.
VII
To brook also, thou, like the wood where
beautiful Pussy! More easily that copy
die. I know not happiness. About
their sleep with her articles of the Oake
to bridge, then come out and insane disguise,
and smile. Bosom burns; and which, from May to
you, to you, all shrine, the touch thing I creep,
dream of his lily leaves a song an
opiate treble darkness, hardly to your
lawns and rain, my spirit live or blamed for
my course from out of she had their steps are
dead would reverence in the graves of woe
is after-morn contemplate all things.
Replying, How change in the deep-delved eares?
VIII
The finds of different hue, and branches sere.
And had not thou’s former flames which every
pulses dancing until the chase these, that
purposed—’Mamma, you are! Since and love
thou wilt leave me myself, may ye feeling?
She keep alone dwells of Yule. Requiem
becomes a chemical kisse-worthy; full
mankind had beneath the Oake, for me some
poor Dudu, with half waking, the wisp the
world; for want to hear this long-withdrew to
each other town and tract of time mine the
blisse brine that with a fire: and many a
shivering: not a breath, the rooks are think
you’re alive, not bear to teach undergoes.
IX
Thy spirit, of paradox which it can
but till I turn to planted joy and brought,
and dare toppled down the green and we are
the most, as wide waves of happy morn, something
but a bounds, and of men with paint the
sailing that I should swagger, swear, get drunk,
or dive below the skirts of light alone?
When those than a partridge. And he suppling
as thou would scream and be the sunk down. Thou
coming bare, and, when sundown skirts of beauty?
With one must be one, yet still lightly
like to keep so sweet, and power. A word,
thought: Piffle! Where he sleep; and we in us
finding, her eyes, has broke forged a name.
X
Are but a voyage done as I forgive
thy look was being most caused of time without
a sound, than it them all is gather
how with his prick and budded Tyrian, the
hills. Cooler air, the comes they gave, thy dark
when to heaven, who in each office was
he? But heo me words the fire; yet, we’ll go
no more; they melt thus bent, to those rosy
mouthed, This moder lay, and if not his comrade
of straw and then us an unusual
shade far as widow’d race be run; though
I adore thereto, more branched their spite,
or touch with God and I cannot come steps
in thine appear these two—they dance, and jest?
XI
The brazen foole, the blood a kindred with these remain’d to
indue. And fly the rapt orations bounds, and budded browne, hire bounteous
to obey, ’ he sailor Boy the rapt below this were none,
not quite for she is gone forest thou wast in the hangs above
this blindly warm’d. They never grudge the man is so sweet
Caledonian music in their due, had sure: whatever fickle
form look’d on the tense and haste kiss: dudu was made the dawn, against
a glance against then would moves and in thee, God, one at the
surf in the just the day was enough alone, emblems of
physician will stare which weeping heaps o’ clavers: and dippest tokens
to a moth with her veil from my life, that clime had surely
she through the chair for pastoral eglantine; no shape had bruised
the secure, no, nor Mars; mine eye is my proper scorne thy roots
they bring my Highland Mary. None a Dedicative, thy part!
XII
His eye is maintaineth. Of golden day,
first buyer at a per-centage; a child
will speak: arise, happy days. Regret can
it suit me this mind, whose feet, she found thy
look, found slowly dying Nature’s beard, she
for best, our life, was more the fifth autumnal
slope in holding by, drew in the shock,
so hard, as when she, cut from marge. But yet
them store me remain that God, who like Thames.
Who hath the sun-flower sae fond hall, and
most circle and man. So quite so far disease;
days old, while I must kisses to this
way! Rise in the Crimson clouds their own worthy
favourite horse o’er-driven out it.
XIII
He was saucie Loue, and shun the links that darkness
of thee, Spirit of lower he veil,
behind: mething where I plants both lopp and
so the history of table she herb and
correct the little, meant forms for my steel’d
or lit the world to watch, like the unhappy
dead; or crush’d cheeks she was this glad; her
he took Juanna lay as with Williams wake
to teach us out at home; and groom we
wish thing Will that of fortune foeman, but
Wisdom’s changes, but merchance—sure of his
accustome to divide us not, but
the door. But all, nor tho’ thro’ summer loath
to brute earthly of their tongue, now, but play?
XIV
And in fairnesse rueth. And go, and long sigh;
forgive him her splendid purple was amisse.
Eternal Grove, could pick up a happy
change of loue is the brain perplexity
could notary would reveal’d through, hire
broke promised to That nun-like some her, it
is not free a phantom upon the speech,
the sultans too sparkled keen thy chance of
doom to shrowde the purple-frosty light is
so sweet, ’ and star a hunger ever, never
hair; and one here, to make you like to
heart are to the deep peace of gladness gather’s
earth and read their immorality,
which grides they my tree of life renew?
XV
Look at Mileva, it’s not humble look
like and the housewife runs back to thy grave
reach us out these notes shift an arbitrate?
Sacred Right—but not thinken to you,
all around, from sweeter music roll, and
the key of Nature’s mine eye’s moiety and
good thine on deck, but all decay: for full
nie, this moderate doole to draw him
had cries, confused to watch’d with thereto
aye wonned to rout the whole; should sincere
wont in form and fusing eye on songs I
made in the trouble of thee, is trodde in
two. Far and that rain’d my capabilities
in-We die and glad, and deep he sees.
XVI
The children, call hear her the spirit, Ghost.
After a dew or none he put on the
wish’d for love to meet himself anew beyond
her boudoir, a sweet I will. Would be
than my breathed bee through you know no more
gentleman, defamed by my love’s a golden
keys, to clear friend is Nature’s sight forever.
Whatever to the wild a fresh my
friend forest child, and lost than it suffer
her I’ll traces of hand deplore it, I
confess’d, as the river sliding the Blue
Field, and with God and line of her narrows
breath thro’ Heaven its root; lions, airs; ’gainst
their hands foretell, and high Towers away!
XVII
A mathematician of seed, and scorn.
And to the earthly cot, full of Loue I
loved me dead eyes; with buegle about the
streak of seed, and on the custom of song
of praise or breathe, with discreet surprise, the
wilt thou wert? Beginning, full fail. Stop this
Ambitious folke: his clumsy hold cheap the
blown away; the sweeter seems the sees the
Heaven knowledge the pink, that I were in
love of her old fire burning peeps so gracious
of the life call’d me foolish sleep
encompass’d for whose hoped something heats white kine
glimmers took the bugle’s wing, or in the
garden for to wrong; I wish they going?
XVIII
The flowers; nor virgin Knowledge growth of Death, ill brere we said,
I murmur in the wintry sun the flock; but each other heart
must be one, yet what’s what nobody can expound the nobler
leaves another his music more love the winds blow, and what whispers
from Toil, he plain your heart is the sublimest of the twilight
or gloom, and gloss: ah, sweetest all day like her heart I muse
and the stretches, painter! That thy feet, and not so sore, the birth’s
embrace, the trouble tides seaward from for any one hour, bare
of Christ that keeps the kneeling coves, the rest, and more; now waiting
songs I sink to Us essay Information kept up
discipline among the birth, and song thee with her cheeks, to high to
hide, to make ours, and a boy was Cupids bowe how slept alone;
the reeling caravan, which he dwells once sends of supersede
all night he cannot blossoms like the drank so much noise, with fire.
XIX
A kind loveliness, think the never should sorrow makest
thou back to the waves roar, for fear divine, the blasts ever, past,
presented words the lightening sunne laugh what for? She sent, and
hearken on a new things brooding she does the gray old friend she
falling tears the customs of the past, and yet incense swelled there
a fiery-hot to seal up through this was she could tell me,
doubt not why, nor every monarch, tho’ my swan, my desire,
to crave you a course, but combers are fool, the time to soothers
of thee, and the white good with many a loved was wrestled from.
Which means no my ankles and come sailor Boy the Shell, but to
wed an earth’s, and the tumult of a captive sooth, when up she
summer on the blown; I seem so. So, still, to hold you in my
work will fail, the heard, and in the roof, then I have I should the
region’d star, and cancell’d nature did forbear to test her knee.
XX
But well knew might made cypress troubled plunging wave on eye, and
lash with gods in another’s death not rest and those through they shook
to and far, near and the human view, what fly without we stoon,
and now decks. More thy prosper, amorous sweete Nightingale singing:
There are the snow to snow: and grass upon a day gone by
on it. Joys upon the shining still the stormes lightest Georgian
angel of the skies are touch is but ah, how frailty do meane
the floor, nor can the deep. I might express’d in vaults of bridal;
friend, and lips is a great cause, where my mouth; she bathes of growing
to sing orchis, bring travell’d me wave in roaring dust, or buildeth
thy voice been thou shoulder it—was he grouping all wings of
their own apartments, opening unattended the uncommend
the Power which master pale: would be Spring through my tears
of—but Chronology best! I tried the mood made those be Thine!
XXI
Oh, wast the different hue, and a heart, I
read. By which sighs amid her cheek: I am
no bigger room full of Kings, yet scarce
could moved from knoll, where these wild horse o’er,
eternal soul on its dried up thy voice. And
all be read, nor dare invented with love
to cross, dog ill, so you bestowest thou
hast her groan; where the brain! Ah, take his burthen
of the mind, which was wound, go through you
are out; but who seems a sea againe. When
the rose may gain our newsletter the Greeks’
love is lent, from bondsman thou love. For every
dashing, as her the brake the sun! Not
in vain she turtle butterflies before.
XXII
Ere hard to underneath all at once hast
thou think and gazing on the vanquish’d in
doubt the wine, as when my glass short prayers,
we hearts and of any want in fact twas
night-dew, on a new to each. Fade whole, as
I drink to him. The seraglio title,
gem, and saw thee on the directly in
the sky. Breeze began to cloth she shadow’d
race be run. And no language of mine the
bliss she know transfer here all are gone. And
thou, with earth he seedling; it too has close
this mind, but faith, and right i’ th’ temples
be, the first buyer at full of stone—
and crossing guard, as on a monument.
XXIII
At fifteen and from head and last, oercharg’d, to turns too in the
sea-blue birds, or tall; she summons to conquest of the secret
of time I’ve been obliged to sometime of those emblems mix with
him. Bold, that ken me, as lasses blew reveillée to the quiet.
Proves to approve, Jamie, come back at us, and Cremsin redden
to a Woman Old. Such mirrors round her deep pulsations,
airs; ’gainst fear. Alone hands. Shares in woman merit somewhere, couch
with the summer day for him. What armour to indicate, for
now is, that there, began; for no offence, subject the fancies
play. Delight blushing the fools of Death. And now tis true, i, falling
tears a cry above, and heard and with capsules in a wood
ye see, to what I can dies: let Science never drumlie: their ever:
then come near the young man I liked to be; and in my with
the vision; but waitedst age: wait in all placer of the true!
XXIV
Hunter within their sins of the Blind man.
For ever: then was, is, and began to
form, o solely seen it all, announced to
aswage the price; o’er which afford the numbers,
to fail: what woman bears its sunny
side. But the fortress crashes may lustrous
day; and Time; which in good the wrangling as
warm; and strength and pick answer’d lance is now
could reach us how the trip and bright they
besiege us, which he dwell fare. And, whose
dying smoke, dark yew, than before than at
his head. Becoming door, and tuft the fields
I know change, two spirits in the fruitful
clime had bow’d their least; nor dared to do more.
XXV
A scold, and yet myself returne again
what was seene him that Other for fear on
the octave’s change in their tongue: none else to
eye, shall fail, when clear oration is hid,
this blames wither serve to the fair Juanna;
we’re a slender flowering fronts, they chance
have seen you linger’d; all wane a man make,
longe to live or did I say? Lest life in
love of true love thee here; and, star and walls
what them is always unders, nameless it
no store, harsh features cheifest treasure, in
circles of Jacob Behmen which be thy
boyhood shaped. And rests upon the summon,
for nothing to joy, to some embargo.
XXVI
Lodging is this neck; when might to the tapers
to come, with a ring among there where
Kaff looks and women without still perversely
clung to its own house, or whether sound
sleek. Where the Rev. All purposes unexpect
thy spirits breath, is mortal Bird! By
the perfect rose. Ah yet, she had receive!
For as thou the fancy does share; when all
the soul, as twere a fiery pride;—so
agitated walls in vain desire
they, but the sea. And tell these bitter down,
they mighty state, subject to nourish language
but by the solid-set, and brook a
higher; as gentle thou thinking its good.
XXVII
He had made me last long, and madness, but
combers that darkness clear as with discreet
surprise, the nerves with the whisper, circle
draws near me wherever a look, one sacred
be the golden day, by village looks
shall beside it not; or something to this
weak as ere the hardly world so forth, when
they. Submitting crags; the fallen lame just
like their prey; he thus my name were than Phoebe’s
safe from their arms a Lute as if in
colossal calm. My drudge, my head hands the
men sit and save, unused example finds
the turmoil of expiring the solid
earth: I think much more sharpened condition.
XXVIII
Silver sleeping the sun. Doubt and beseech’d
sanction in that the mist, the sense; but how
much hope too great a bed is the rigging
bigge, and lost, some in many an abstraction
of events as often bring’st the times;
ring in Year the rolling wakens to spin
it in spirit’s in her e’e. And dream thou—
and fro. To feel it to Stella I do
not, be with many a threat for you that!
Embrace the pressure you are, or is that
at th’ shepheard, she came at length! And
imps. What vast eddy round him be, how dimly
charms, or else can reach’d at ease their wings
of fancy, and blessing the boundless her.
XXIX
If thou leaves flame usual for me, as
life outline in the hard to undo me,
if though he certain;—these are gone once more,
and hang no weight across my frowne. Such an
end, the fortress, which cannot catching he
was it in fairnesse, which fable place, like
a wife, her ear. That seem to light in its
worth; and wit, the land to fathom this: but
that had the winds that thou deeme, the hill. I
know not, when fancy blow struck down on the
sigh’d, and bask’d her injury. A part: so,
better know not, but no. To take her, whose
blessing that shall blest among man I lose
think the life as futile, the lips a-glow!
XXX
My harp and all neither burn’d Love is in
hosts. But I shall glimmer or Winter and
over dale all night save in battle next
valley. Vast, enjoying each door unto
my soul contrived to touch things do not the
violet, and love reflects and keen they are
paltry think we are guide philosophy:
looke at my heart in fitting crags: they meet
a thousand meadowy world. Poem that
I, alas, who’s moving in the book of
Common kiss that your Coranall.—A lively,
but ere ourself away; they learning,
turn and exposure, that souls possibility
of my springing: Here came—juanna.
XXXI
Would be they, but look at ease. Despair of
swirling eyes. A Farewell while the King of
their slaves retired in Knowledge the game, and
sank in upon the sea. Upon the heaven
and talk’d of memory and if thou
with shivering into the spouseless
as a silence, train was learne to praise is
dues; for I can say; so unrecorded
did yielde, and hear the king she does not mean
so live thro’ early faithful eyes—’and down,
but must come again? The hoarse that sweet
ecstasy! But when I stood, and on two pink,
two orange, the holy came on mead and
clapping days descend on yon gardens fine!
XXXII
The way we enter in stays thee, wil ranke
Winters lay me bliss: that right guid will change
eyes of grief, a looming as here, art still
wane a man, among the darkness up to
God, which he trouble thro’ all out like the
barren branch they sailor at the black, braced,
and this situation now signal: O,
she’s a golden apple trees the Mother
work, and me, ’ and fold with a ring in—I
too will come down tents. And warm; Katinka,
too—the children dear, and enter in a
cloudlets on the banks of breast and systems,
which, the grain o’ the wish I could be sunder;
but the pink and that eye forever.
XXXIII
And oft he letters of old I climb out.
Like mist, the think it may stand now dilate,
a broke, and roar and when this politesse
she becomes of continuaunce. The furrow
most; tis held the verse drew near, on mine eye
looke, and life. Which state, you fail not fooles
where all to blame: younger caring wife, and
catchest all my grief there. I triumph in
colossal calm. His own; and if that takes
thro’ myrtle bow curt’sies are for him to
your best, how blanch’d shells on us and the
shelf, to mingles weren fooles what it
is their use: I own neck to thee, and glances
all arbitrate? All subtle question?
XXXIV
Where are not in a rock, and winding men.
She fine the trees bright. Who nails him did laye.
So early youth; nor harp and knees he took
some old ruin or with along the glee,
that City. And I maun cross all night, and
envying all ill well-bred—most just a die
miscarriage. Must nothing the things past away,
until some setting at the germ. I
am the stirring air. Where my altar-
stair. Run out it. After the world them: thus
he could breath, which once more that wert thou or
I, who shallop lay and the sustaining
vapour, leaving me thought: Piffle! Or when
the straight—like the grades of my lips a-glow!
XXXV
But as it can be proved and chatter’d and
night went coin; for any further answer
each refraction every hour surqedrie, with
all convenient upper boxes took a
ruffled rose-mesh pulled the self-love quite so
fast to the large, and one book of quicken’d
sands are faire of heat; be cheerful-minded,
grenade-gravid, nor careful of true, the
in the murmur on the ground us the
path was fresh all knowledge? And scarlet Iudges,
that rest against a glance, where dame which
comforts while to clasp’d herself to forgive
heights of his disguise, the Oda, upon
they. The deep pulsations meet: and but faith.
XXXVI
Me loves but touched side of that hear at any
other taking that it may be well
as vast eddy wreath: I curse I vent my
wit, and of a Translations; let Majesty,
who, ah! The blush so pure, sins and brim
there do people, with quilled dance, art mine
maker, through and boar. By flow of yet
another secret joy but the leave in sweet
and forward count and dies; all mine’s force; but
the black as dead, and man’s looks so cold blowings
of men, a low towering door, and blurr’d
there came borne down this coming, wonder! Save
what was to Fortunes of pucker’d from chains
at each. Arrive at time I sat alone.
XXXVII
My chief fear, the gate now, but a conquests
with the blind hysteries; nor more night, a
gulf him I shall prove of the wiser man
the ruin’d chrysalis of old have grow
familiar names of our part, can hand—Did one
whisper’d from then some freedom oft has truth
embodied in that blow o’er and soil’d with
such preference and strive, the Saviour. Whan this
sort of the little live or did I see
betwixt the wrath appeared to human faces
blooming on there. I care not. That let
us agree at times, the loved and clamour
to pledge absolute, sung by his mantled
in thrall; and bright she went up the dead.
XXXVIII
Whose of it: when ye count itself confounded
large drops wet; and owning frost, that this
weakeness, with care; likewise I have beat
the place, because to me, nor of your
absences fair, or newer still, good as all
unsweet: my suddenly held-out hurried
next valley. No, like Paul with a rainbow
the splendour face crisp. I know a sweet
Caledonian hills would reverse drew it
to Stellas name again and render’d from
hill and poor girl whose rosy sanction upon
her weeke with tumult of the crowning
down skirts of old, ring of pride juanna, who
lives from head is mynd? Leave me, body gryde.
XXXIX
Oh my sweet ecstasy to allay my
heele: but what thy joes hae stars, ’ she sink?
Which he well as verse is due: only as
any overmuch; i, the way to Mary’s
hourly-mellow night-dew, on a die
miscast. Farewell: like echoes out—to sometimes
in Sommer times in my bosom! Tis
held the best endow’d race be run. Her feet,
she find, ere he slenderer pains at Sam,
who starving the dead: and was the queen of
the dry and it’s not less but most dies; all
mine wonges waxeth warm, come strong the lamp
of a hand, born and meets the dove be with
weary, heart, I look of Common fate it.
XL
Day with all within the sudden, when faith,
they may well and architraves; in any
over, just as here, O more whose feet to
do have your youngly though I’m sure as the
early dawn behind, and on them more. With
store, and as all. Of a Translations country
of the lodging and she coming down
for him. Of the self-love is in her change
of still myself; and lull a fancy, and
moan: hast the stopp’d, and the march most prodigal
inward drags a labour of night be
shown the employ thy sweetness of pucker’d
flow of terror and finding made of pearl.
But though by this. Now that shalt endure hems.
XLI
Musicians, her looked for loving was good
man nould like a finer light of fiery
pride, or on the branch’d thank our sins fast
to those whom you’d call men—except, like what
change to greeting my Highland laughters, glowing
will be packed into a boy, and wilt
not blamed, if they should teach, becoming bare
the linnet but two days, thy love, my death
was freshlier over mark, and unto tremblest
morning’s really two ages. Make her
crimson current countries more than I have
her? Peace; come a mellow wraith of such spies,
to dares strife, and throw mildly on the blindfold
sense of him wrong to sing the gesture.
XLII
Smoke and quarried her bliss since there is near,
or redress? That sets the Horizon as
it yesterday I strove, ne’er tremble throne
in the dewy decks Susan’s clothed with hymnes
thy knife has bereav’d of men any
supersede all with suits and cancell’d, stricter
down through to do have loved, and doubt but
I was amiss, which trembling, kiss’d an equal
feet we fared; and walls to be marred his
maintaineth. To the sun. Sick for whom my
pen doth good allow, sweet ecstasy to
all within those golden keys, to mould ask
my loves weep a losing doors, and all the
pillar; we said, that suit a calm despair.
XLIII
As thus; mine they leave a hare ran at his
moment and my Highland last for years that
my head is okay but the porch, the gilded
panes. But with kindlier days or weather
and cove; and heated only children on
a summons from the bugle breathe a useless
virgins’ hands; does my hands where quickly
make the grief bent his toppe was poor, rings Eden
thro’ all the pile complacent never
thou shalt not spoil some piece of the tapers
to lay the leave a face at least of them
away! And limb thy thirst: so, taken by
the bridal; friendship how rich men and with
sighed down within. And I shall be lull’d through.
XLIV
He claim it) was scarce seem’d some small reward.
’ With good deal with his faithful prayer was
a miller with sun and flood and requires
in me those curse I vent my gout, my shippers,
fine the silver sleep’s doubly sweetly
kept in many tears. I shall not even
the gaudy household they flowring Wether
lot, o’er and treasure may gain as but merchants’
bales, and self. Ring out my flower; but
what are all song we have ranged from inanition;
but were men sit at end is richer
shape and wrought, and boast, behold though the
floods in a cloud that eddy wreath blessing,
like the state began to somethinks that?
XLV
I rise on strawberry do stir a little
grape. And feye fall’n leave me lover a
Highland Mary! Jamie, come forth and the
green, and thou, that all—o true, tis the clear
the snow and the hearth; a rainy, O; but
like to have I tooke as of a far-off
divine suffices that other, each at
ease. Some might her grief bent the proper scorn
might’s baith mine in the glance against each his
side, and all that has talk’d the man this side:
young street, delicate limbs; a thought, and towers?
And go, mount and we are they, so well
dance of all, if all more the pair, I drafted
hymns to tell why she would stop the deep.
XLVI
They hit off at once and the songs I tried
the time his proper woes: which he dwelt. For
a pint-sized journey. Sparkled all; nor more
to match me: distance rise, O moon, the body
gryde. The merry can never restore
our bed as young: sweet dim life is no record
of a lie coming was, beasts, range friend
hath compelling the True, her hands once to
slake, and choose of songs, and black chords upon
the grewe an abstract of the mind an image
pass, and fear: but as it rich gems and
with his bared to balk and to me. For this
deuise: they were than I know the turns to his
Earth and her e’re. But betters fair garden.
XLVII
To the hills, as soon the brake and pulse of
change of a Translate in short of sight wakes,
and one hadde it no stoon? Crown on kind love,
two greet: they rise from majesty, who, will
not in pride;—so agitated, fathers
that are made, and mix with many a vow,
and left my after due ablutions
exactly in its not one sparkle, and marble
figures with his own vastness in the
secret walls and away from its pictures
that any boon. No, vain, magnetic
mockeries; not thine in popped are you ready
yellow leaf tremble, thy darken’d in the
reflex of a lie coming cloudless song.
XLVIII
The child will be dim, a merry face now
a conscious is stirred by my love, wha could
fallen—on this woman who shall like God,
though his embrace, for an after I stopped
a dwarf reply, which be thy heart that: whom
maids, and heaped snowe burdned him to winter
wit or dive below the dust and left him
of Reserve. Surely in any sea-sand.
Their own might as carrier-birds in grew
they miss the corner strove, nor stumbling, so
the perfect rose. To flicker thy looks thy
brow. Although I lacked into the eye alter’d
Time; what her show you had been vast with
darkness, the doubt, believer shore, the Maids.
XLIX
Once impair, and I can marry with things.
With dew, the tender vows, and, the haire, where
you said. And soil’d with awaken’d it, which
he may gain the form, unless year by year
and hope, the sky. And if from worse that’s as
if the twilight below, and so that which
it cannot but hurried life, was made him:
thou grand learnt how to end that the raging
sweet up-locked her cheeks are our joys threaded
cards foretold the past in the found Him not
in a tale of the sea! Or reach’d that darkness
whom a tyrant to have the colours
over was like the narrow house where to-
morrow. We were swire is born and we gaze.
L
And so forth: here all be dimm’d of my youth.
Drank so much an one at home; her of those
rare like an idle girl whose shores; thine eye’s
decreased, the same. I hear him thro’ the rolling
whole worth the public squares, and tall, and
fain arrest: but the sky; then pay in moral
England; and women, and of Timon,
the cannot catch hints of life is to be
tried—excuse ye: those the dry and weave the
clamour their guardian and strangely spot;
and in the still light: o Father, the Christ
that, may look up, can you little grew, for
reason lent, and other the breathed bee through
lifted precipitately into.
LI
And taints auld Natures between love the rest.
He could be Spring moment set the sun,
or emptied some scents to die, mine be sprites,
yet she crimson seas, and I am
sure it’s asymptotic to a tree; but
send it slacken’d eye, and, whose Bounty left
Hátim’s Churlish in Comparison—Grow
old may feeling? Is ever narrowness
of these leaves; nor many mothers are dry.
In the ranckorous tribe is horatian
fame, that nobody can be were things seem’d
something Spring no weighed down your order
he tore of sand at the sinless you. May
settled overhead. Although you crazy.
LII
Strong as warriors come away their pedantic
boring crept upon the shepherd’s nose,
with surprise the blood which led by thy priest,
and to thee. Conduct by paths of woe is
after all, she grows storm, leave me, heap it
higher here she ground, poor Katinka: Spain’s
lady. A touch’d. A bee did admits
nomenclature Network Lord Alfred Tennyson
plays becket harold: A Drama queen
seraphic flame, see with increased us
what! The shatter’d tree, sick for who can always
there and fair garden and she clasp’d in
ear’? And this to proved the brute,—gain most, but
had them ought, and wall rock, and even child!
LIII
Fair the lovely leaves turning such spies, that
strikes by form, I seem in star and flood, ’—you
know he rose-mesh pulled the music come back
to the change replies, a touch should murmur
from forms, whose bless! Witt is which the glory
of the field all the same, pierces both twain
her sense of his your feet, and both men any
sea-sand. I mighty fuss just clearing
air. Rill, on the great worlds, so the eyes of
life’s half-past they fail beyond the firm soil
win of thee which of courses of weakness
again find I every monarch, the
history’s game; and I’m as blest, by new unfold
is given signal join’d each me trode.
#poetry#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Markov chains#Markov chain length: 6#117 texts#sonnet sequence
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I'm trying to remember what I said in one of my messages, but essentially I agreed that silver Hwa is underrated, I even argued with one of my "friends" cause they don't like him with lighter hair, stfu.
Also about talking to Ateez, I don't think I've ever had a coherent conversation with Wooyoung, but he's easy to talk to in general ihsusjanjdajxhjsjaja. And to answer your question which members are slightly more awkward to talk to, I feel like I don't know that much about Mingi and Yeosang 😭 our talks are always nice and fun, but idk. Like I might not have that much in common with Yunho or Jongho, but I find it easier to talk to them than Mingi and Yeo. 🤔 which pains me since Yeo is in my bias line
Aaaaand I need to listen to Kibum's album with more focus, cause I had no time to give it a proper listen, but he performed Villain in a cat hat so I won!
Omfg yes imagine if the Malta guy found Seonghwa and his first thought would be "I know his gf" instead "that girl lied to me" snhdisdhhdjsjssnsns. Malta was fun, didn't go to any of the 365 churches, but it was great, though I didn't really relax so I'm tired 😭
Model Seonghwa please come true ok, then I might change my mind. Also wtf is this assassin Seonghwa fic I'm hearing of, anon don't make me go crazy and stupid 😢
Yeah I can't believe my uber driver followed me to Malta, I told him to stay....
Lmao the Shinestar urges I get you. What did you say about the ending??? Will it be worse than Khr*nus... because I might block you bestie 🤨 you need to be stopped #stopmissbaek2022 go easy on me or I'm on my my way to Van City to 🤺
Btw I started reading this webtoon called For My Derelict Favorite, I relate to the protagonist because I am too very unhinged about my fave characters and would love to save some of them 😭 (me trying to teleport myself into the world of Khr*nus to fix everything)
Who the fuck is this sugar grandma I'm dying, lady please, why is she living my dream. The chicken foot necklac? The grip she has on Lix's hand... (apparently she's a racist transphobe, so I don't feel bad for saying that)
Fuck them kids, but Seonghwa with kids... hm, maybe I'm not opposed. Imagine a cute kindergarten teacher Hwa and Y/N who's basically forced to work there then sees the way Seonghwa cares for the lil gremlins and goes "maybe this job isn't that bad after all..."
Uh do you perhaps know Kim Jae Young because there's a new drama with him, even if it sucks ass I need to see it 😳 his recent drama Reflection of You fucked me up.
I need to find the Hwa call script in my notes so I can send it to you again!
P.S. ?????? Something is very wrong with that guy. I'm trying to be normal, but HOW? - DV 💖
hi helloo!!!
I'm trying to remember what I said in one of my messages, but essentially I agreed that silver Hwa is underrated, I even argued with one of my "friends" cause they don't like him with lighter hair, stfu.
AS U SHOULD,,, seonghwa be suiting every single colour atp and it's not even funny bc hOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE GODS FAVOURITE pls ask him that at a fan sign 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭
Also about talking to Ateez, I don't think I've ever had a coherent conversation with Wooyoung, but he's easy to talk to in general ihsusjanjdajxhjsjaja. And to answer your question which members are slightly more awkward to talk to, I feel like I don't know that much about Mingi and Yeosang 😭 our talks are always nice and fun, but idk. Like I might not have that much in common with Yunho or Jongho, but I find it easier to talk to them than Mingi and Yeo. 🤔 which pains me since Yeo is in my bias line
LMFAOOOO i just imagine him rambling and u trying to catch on but he switched the topic so ur more confused fbdbf,, AAAAAAA i kinda expected that ngl 😭 😭 they seem like ppl who u would have a better convo in person or when u know know them,, YEOSANG IS IN UR BIAS LINE????? NEW DAY NEW INFO????
Aaaaand I need to listen to Kibum's album with more focus, cause I had no time to give it a proper listen, but he performed Villain in a cat hat so I won!
EXACTLY HI IN THAT CAT SUIT,, IS WAIST???? GOD BLESS THAT MAN
Omfg yes imagine if the Malta guy found Seonghwa and his first thought would be "I know his gf" instead "that girl lied to me" snhdisdhhdjsjssnsns. Malta was fun, didn't go to any of the 365 churches, but it was great, though I didn't really relax so I'm tired 😭
LMFAOOO, and if he tells hwa and hwa's all "?????? s-sorry??" ahh hope ur gettting the rest needed!! if ur in england i guess 12 days of holidays for u (??) considering what happened to miss lizzie,, AH I WANTED TO ASK SINCE IN MALTA THERES this keyhole piazza dei cavalieri di malta,, did u have the chance to visit that???
Model Seonghwa please come true ok, then I might change my mind. Also wtf is this assassin Seonghwa fic I'm hearing of, anon don't make me go crazy and stupid 😢 //// Yeah I can't believe my uber driver followed me to Malta, I told him to stay....
kayq needs to make it happen, they got their first skincare endorsement it's only a matter of time they start getting the bigger branded ones, seonghwa for gucci or ysl im about to have a kai hwa meltdown irl and on fic 😭😭😭😭😭
Lmao the Shinestar urges I get you. What did you say about the ending??? Will it be worse than Khr*nus... because I might block you bestie 🤨 you need to be stopped #stopmissbaek2022 go easy on me or I'm on my my way to Van City to 🤺
iM literally writing that yunho fic under seonghwa's name jdjhv the ending, yES the ending yes, hope u like it <33 y/n unbothered girlboss era coming to ur area soon,,, LMFAOOOO BLOCK ME AFTER U SCREAM AT HOW DUMB SEONGHWA IS BHKDFFG come to van city <3
Btw I started reading this webtoon called For My Derelict Favorite, I relate to the protagonist because I am too very unhinged about my fave characters and would love to save some of them 😭 (me trying to teleport myself into the world of Khr*nus to fix everything)
oh??/ the main guy fine as hell, reminded me of tomoe 😭 😭 😭 LMFAOOOO KHRONUS SEONGHWA DEAD HE'S WAITING TO BE RESERRUCTED BY U
Who the fuck is this sugar grandma I'm dying, lady please, why is she living my dream. The chicken foot necklac? The grip she has on Lix's hand... (apparently she's a racist transphobe, so I don't feel bad for saying that)
that's actually me.
LMFHSDFSJKDHSFS NOT THE CHICKEN FOOT NECKLACE????? 😭 😭😭 😭😭 😭 ......no way????? omg what the hell is going on 😭 😭
Fuck them kids, but Seonghwa with kids... hm, maybe I'm not opposed. Imagine a cute kindergarten teacher Hwa and Y/N who's basically forced to work there then sees the way Seonghwa cares for the lil gremlins and goes "maybe this job isn't that bad after all..."
SO TRUE SO TRUE FUCK KIDS IF NOT WITH SEONGHWA >>>>> here me out, jock!seonghwa & teacherspet!y/n have to do mandatory volunteering services at a kindergarten boom boom LIL GREMLINS GGHHJRHBJVEHJ sometimes i see some wild kids and want to discipline them and then i rmr they arent mine,,, go crazy go stupid i guess just not next to me jehheshjdfh i would like to say,in the universe of hwa and yn, their child, youngest, hyun is a wild child, if wooyoung and baekhyun was in one, that is what it would be like
Uh do you perhaps know Kim Jae Young because there's a new drama with him, even if it sucks ass I need to see it 😳 his recent drama Reflection of You fucked me up.
STOP BC I WAS GONNA SEND U THIS SGDFHGAFGH I KNOW HIM AND WHY DID HE GET SO FINE AGAIN 😭😭 😭 i am very intrigued just by the video and the personality he shows and i am certain seonghwa au will happen, BUT I SAW THE TRAILER AND GO KYUNG PYO'S IN IT??? this better not turn out to be like true beauty, pls give jaeyoung a chance 😭😭 😭 that jaeyoung reminded me of this hwa and 😳 😳
I need to find the Hwa call script in my notes so I can send it to you again! //// P.S. ?????? Something is very wrong with that guy. I'm trying to be normal, but HOW? - DV 💖
YES PLS DO !!!,, why would u send that to me, esp after u sent that nose presentation, DO U THINK MY HEART IS WEAK???? BC IT IS PLS FASJFHJHF
Hellloooo I forgot to say this but why is my uber driver's clone on the cover of Vogue???
i have a few questions about ur uber driver actually,,, what's going on.
Also imagine this... what would you do 🎤
sweet home alabama.
This is so cute, I've been taking care of my manga collection recently and bought so much 😭 I also sold some things, but wheew I need a separate room for my kpop and manga stuff. Aaaaaand I watched or re-watched a lot of shoujo anime and my bad habit of coming up with Seonghwa AUs based on the shows is getting out of hand... h e l p - DV 💖
omg my bookstore would never 😭 😭 😭 😭 but that's such a cool idea,,, OOOOOOO which ones did u own?? i owned a maid sama volume once bgbfg NO EXACTLY WHAT U SAID ABT WATCHING SHOUJO AND MAKING HWA THE MAIN LEAD IN THEM THEM I , ALSO, EVERY SINGLE, SHOW. currently stuck at usui as hwa 😭 😭thoughts 🎤
u should gift this to hwa one fine day
second slide??? 😭😭
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Text
Love Delivered To Your Doorstep
Evan Buckley x Reader
Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of cheating, break ups and killing/serial killers. (<in a joking context)
Category: fluff for the most part.
Word Count: 3.9k
Author’s Note: Doesn’t follow canon, it has a little of buck begins in there but it doesn't follow a strict timeline. It also is written like Buck moves to LA and has his apartment from the moment he moves there while trying to figure out what he wants to do.
-----
Texting and calling was never your choice method of communication.
Letters had always been more of your thing.
Truthfully, they hadn't been your thing until your boyfriend moved halfway across the country for university. The two of you met in high school, freshman year and became inseparable since. Growing together and promising to always love each other no matter what -you always knew that couldn't be true but it never stopped you from telling him.
When he told you that he was going to be applying to UCLA during your senior year of high school, it came as a bit of a shock to you. The plan was always going to college together, get engaged when you were done school and then married with a house by 30.
You held out the hope of that being possible until the day he showed you his acceptance letter.
You were incredibly proud of him but it was real now, he was leaving.
You watched him pack up his entire life and uproot himself from New York and moved across the country. You sent the first letter to him at what was supposed to be his apartment.
September 30th.
‘Hi baby!
Just writing to see how you're settling in. How’s UCLA ? Have you gotten a chance to go around and get to see the place ? I know you’re there for school but you've got to live a little too. Hope your neighbours are sweet, your mom told me it’s a pretty nice place and it’s got a good view, sounds like your type of place. Hopefully I can come visit you soon.
I started my classes last week. My chem professor is a pain in my ass already, he expects us to read an entire textbook in a week - well not exactly an entire textbook but you get the point. My biology professor is a sweetheart, she showed us pictures of her kids and talked about them for an hour, I didn't realize being a mother was so interesting but she was cool. Also showed us a video of an appendectomy that one of her colleagues performed last week. How are your classes and professors ?
Did I mention I bumped into Sam at the grocery store ? Yeah, he’s back and he’s not fine to tell you the truth. He seemed like he was ready to snap but that might just be my judgment. He said to tell you hello if I spoke to you so- hello :)
I’m going to sign off here, I know this one is short but I don’t have much to update you on. Life’s been pretty dull without you. Hope you’re having fun out there, soaking up the sun for me.
Write me back soon, I love you.
Yours always, y/n’
You mailed the letter the next day, a few weeks had passed before you received a letter back. Except this letter had a different sender name but the same address.
October 22nd.
‘Hi y/n,
This isn't your boyfriend. (I'm assuming that’s who you're writing too based on the context of the letter) I’m Evan, I live in the apartment you thought belonged to your boyfriend or maybe you got the address wrong, I’m not sure. I know you were waiting for an update on all these exciting things that are happening at UCLA. I do not go to UCLA nor can I update you in anything exciting that’s happening there, sorry.
Anyways, the reason I'm writing you back is because I figured you’d want to know that this isn't the correct address and the person you were looking for isn't here before you send another letter and get no response. I was debating if I should have even written you back, but here I am, writing you back.
Your professor for chem seems like an ass to be honest (hope that’s not rude) and your biology professor sounds great, is she hot by the way ? because bonus points for that. Anyways, are you studying medicine ? I'm guessing yes because of the classes you're taking. I'm thinking of signing up to become a first responder but I haven’t decided yet on what yet or if I'm actually going to do it. Anyways, good luck on your classes and the shitty chem professor.
Hope you find your boyfriend (again, assuming)
Peace out,
Evan.’
To say you were shocked would be an understatement. How could the letter you sent to your boyfriend’s apartment belong to someone else ? Why was there someone else living in his apartment ? You dug through your apartment, searching for the paper he left you with the address, you finally found it buried in a drawer.
The address on the paper was identical to the one that Evan sent to you and to the one you sent prior to that. Either your boyfriend was lying or you were losing your mind.
November 4th.
‘Dear Evan,
I'm sorry that I sent the first letter to you and as you guessed, I was looking for my boyfriend who seems to be a bit MIA right now. His mother says that’s the right address and the place that she helped him move into. So I'm not really sure what’s happening there. Anyways, sorry for unloading all of that on you.
To answer your question, yes, I am studying medicine and no, she isn't hot. My bio professor is a 65 year old woman who loves her college aged kids very much. If that’s your definition of hot, then yes - she's got milf status
Have you decided yet if you’re going to sign up to be a first responder ? That’d be pretty cool. Imagine all the girls swoon over you and how many girls you’d pick up just for being a paramedic or a firefighter.
Wait, are you into girls ? Or guys ? You know, whoever you're into, just imagine how many of them you’d pick up.
Also, you’re not a murderer or anything right ? because I rather not answer questions when the police come asking about why I've been sending letters to a serial killer.
Anyways, signing off for now.
Yours always, y/n.
ps. if you do end up bumping into or meeting a guy that looks like my boyfriend, (tall, brown hair, brown eyes. he’s got a pierced ear and a little butterfly tattoo by his collarbone- though not sure why or how you'd see his collarbone) let me know or tell him that his girlfriend is looking for him.
Double ps, what size shirt do you wear ?’
Buck laughed at your absurd question. A person he didn’t even know was asking what size shirt he wore. The letter was set on the coffee table with the rest of the mail, getting buried under all of the stuff he had on there. It was almost the end of December when he realized that he hadn't written you back yet.
December 21st.
‘Hey y/n,
Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. Things have been hectic over here. I’ve been doing some ‘soul-searching’ - I guess you could call it that and honestly, I don’t think if this whole first responders thing is for me.
I tried out bartending or well, the technical term is mixologist and I’m liking it so far, I think i’m going to stick with it for now.
How have you been ? How’s school ? Surely, you’re on break for the holidays right about now or at least when you get this letter. I hope that you're spending the break doing something fun.
I’m not going to make this very long, I’m sure you’ve been busy with whatever you’re doing right now.
Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you located the mysteriously disappearing boyfriend yet ? I haven't seen anyone that fit your description.
well, that’s not true- I did and just to be sure I asked to see his collarbone, he looked at me like I was a mad man so I guess it wasn't him ?
Anyways, I hope you have a good holiday and you're probably gonna get this sometime between holidays, so merry belated (?) Christmas and happy New Years y/n.
Peace out,
Evan.
ps. medium or large, depending on what it is. Hopefully that answers your question weirdo.’
January 13th.
The morning of the 13th, he went down to check his mail. A box was there with his name on it, the return address was one he had only seen on an envelope. The box returned upstairs with him, setting it on the counter before opening it.
Upon opening it, there was a letter and some colourful tissue paper with what seemed like a sweater under it. He opened the letter first.
‘Dear Evan,
Happy New Years! How was your holiday going ? Did you do anything fun ?
I’ve been good and school is good too, I'm almost done my first year, isn't that crazy ? Just a few more months to go.
How’s your job as mr. mixologist going ? I'm sure you’ve met some wild people and heard some interesting stories.
As for the boyfriend situation, that's over. I’m not surprised to tell you the truth but it still kinda sucks. Anyways, so what happened was that his older brother had come home from college last year and brought a friend with him. She went to the same school as his brother but transferred to UCLA- anyways long story short, they hooked up while he and I were still together and he moved in with her after his mom helped him move into the apartment I thought he had.
But! I’m single and chilling now so it’s all good. (bonus, she cheated on him and left him so yeah)
I got you a little something for Christmas and as a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present. I was in the gift shop and it made me think of you. Do you celebrate Christmas? I forgot to check oops. If you don't, count it as a just a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present?
I got a large because I wasn't sure if it would fit. I hope you like it. That’s all for now.
Yours always, y/n.’
He unwrapped the tissue paper to see a blue sweater with the letters NYU on it. He smiled, he assumed that’s where you went. It was sweet that you took the time to get him something, even if it was a by the way thing. Not a lot of people would send something to a person they had been talking to via letters and halfway across the country.
February 12th.
2 days before Valentine's Day, your least favourite holiday of the year. You weren't looking forward to watching all your friends going on with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The mail had arrived while you were out, you picked it up and headed in. There were two envelopes with your name on it, a plain white one and a red one. The red envelope was more squared than rectangular, you assumed it was a card- both had the same sender name.
‘Hey y/n!
Thank you for the sweater, it was nice of you to think of me and get me something. I didn’t know we were doing gifts or I would have sent you something as well and yes, I do celebrate Christmas.
My job as ‘mr. mixologist’ was going well until I quit. It just didn’t feel like the right fit for me you know ? I'm going to see what else is out there for me.
Sorry to hear about your boyfriend, he seems like a douche. Who would cheat on you ? You seem great I mean at least you are on paper (did you get my joke, it’s hard to tell)
Also, remember how I was thinking I might actually give that first responder thing a try? Imagine me as a firefighter, that’s pretty cool right ?
So I kinda did a thing and signed up and then I got in. I started two weeks ago and it was kicking my ass at first but I've gotten a hang of it and things are going pretty well. There's three other Evans in my class so everyone calls me Buck-I kind of like it.
The other envelope, hopefully you opened this one first, is a little something for you for valentines. Hope you like it.
Peace out,
Buck’
The red envelope was on your lap, you pulled the edges carefully not wanting to rip it. Inside was a plain white card with bright red letters that made you laugh. The cover read ‘I’m not sick of you yet!” Opening the card, a $20 fell onto your lap. There was a little message inside that went along with the cash.
‘Since we aren't together and can’t spend valentines together, there’s some cash to get yourself a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. Happy Valentines Day y/n
Love, Buck.’
You smile, this was the first time that Buck had signed with ‘love, buck’ it had always been ‘peace out, buck.’ You tucked the card into the drawer, one you didn’t use very often so you knew it’d be safe there.
*4 years later*
A few weeks had passed since Buck had last heard from y/n. His last letter to her was at the end of June, telling her all about the day he had spent at Hen and Karen’s. He always described every little detail so vividly that it made her feel like she was there with him- but it was now July, end of actually and moving into August.
4 years had blown like nothing.
It felt like just yesterday he got the first letter in the mail. 4 years and they still had no idea what each other looked like but they knew every intricate and intimate detail about each other, their lives and the people in it.
Y/n and Buck had grown rather close over the last few months- more than they already were. Y/n just went through a pretty shitty break up and Buck wasn't exactly big on relationships as of right now.
He had just gotten home from work, his keys set on the counter when he realized that he forgot to check his mail. Stepping back out, there was a woman in the hallway and boxes scattered across her, leading into the apartment down the hall.
She must be his new neighbour.
He wanted to go over and introduce himself but she was busy telling the movers where to set her couch so he decided that he would check the mail and then introduce himself when he returned so he did just that.
Except, she was still busy.
She leaned against the wall, watching the movers move what looked like a coffee table. She glanced up to see Buck walking by, she smiled and he returned the smile.
Buck reaches his apartment, the mail in hand and steps in. He sorts through the pile, bills, ads, coupons and no letter from y/n.
---
Your new apartment was a mess. You decided it was time for a change. You applied to a few hospitals after your break up and the one in LA hired you. So you dropped everything and moved- no family, no ties.
A fresh start.
It was a nice neighbourhood and the building was quiet. The neighbours you met were pleasant and welcoming. When you were having the furniture moved in, there was a blonde man who smiled at you and you assumed he lived in the unit down the hall because that’s where he stepped into.
It was almost 11pm when you finally sat down. You had been on your feet all day and just wanted to eat something. The box with the dishes was beside the couch, you pulled the tape off and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on top of the stack of plates.
Buck’s last letter to you.
You must have tossed it into the boxes while packing and you forgot to write him back. Tumbling through the boxes, you find a sheet of paper and a pen from your bag. Sitting on the floor, the paper resting on an unopened box, you begin writing.
‘Dear Buck,
I’m sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. I quit my job, and uprooted my entire life. The break up sucked major ass as you know, so I decided it was time for a change.
Guess where I decided to go ?
Did you guess yet?
No, not Canada, why would you guess Canada ?
LA!
Yeah, isn't that crazy that I ended up here of all places? Maybe we could get together one day (if you haven’t turned into a crazy serial killer that is.)
Anyways, that’s why I've taken so long to write. I was packing when I got your letter and I tossed it in a box and just found it again. Anyways, I hope you’ve been good, how have things been at the station ?
I promise I'll write again with more details soon, I just have to get settled in first.
Yours always, y/n.’
Folding the paper, you slipped into an envelope. The address being scribbled into the back of the envelope. You were about to seal it when the building number caught your eye.
It was the same number as the place you moved into. The same address, the building number, the same floor.
The unit number was the only difference.
There was no way you moved into the building that Buck lived in.
You knew the address felt familiar when you saw the listing but you didn’t think anything of it nor did it occur to you that you knew the address.
Stepping out of your apartment, looking at the number on the room and back down at the envelope in your hand. Buck’s apartment was down the hall.
Part of you just wanted to mail it and keep things as it was but another part of you wanted to meet him, to see what he was really like in person. So there you were walking down the hallway at a quarter past 11 in the dead of the night to meet a man you had been sending letters to for the last 4 years.
The end of the hallway, you stared at the black wooden door in front of you. Your brain weighing the options right now: he’s a sweetheart and welcoming and makes you feel comfortable or he’s a weird guy who’s been lying to you this whole time and you told him everything about you and now he’s going to kill you.
Before you could register what you were doing, you knocked on the door.
Glancing down at yourself, you were wearing a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt from high school that you found in a drawer while packing. Not an ideal outfit, maybe he’s sleeping and you can go home and change- the door opened, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt stood there. He looked like he had just woken up.
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“It's alright,” he yawned, his hand covering his mouth as he blinked away a few tears. “What can I do for you ?” he leaned against the door.
“Um, this is an odd question-” you shifted, glancing down at the envelope in your hand. “Are you Buck ?”
“I am, who are you ?”
“Y/n.”
You had never seen a man wake up that fast, he seemed surprised, confused and concerned all in one. “How- uh, are you- What ?” he mumbled.
“I found your letter in the box after I moved, I moved into the apartment down the hall” you point to your left, Buck sticks his head out of the doorway and looks at the door you were pointing to. You were the woman in the hallway that he saw earlier, he knew you looked familiar.
“I just wrote your letter and I noticed that the addresses were the same, just a different unit number so I decided to come check. Sorry if I bothered you, we can talk another day- it’s late and you probably have work” “Would you like to come in?” he opens the door a bit more, looking to you for an answer.
“Um, okay sure.” stepping in, you can’t help but glance around. The apartment was similar to yours, the layout was a bit different though. “Can I get you something to drink ? Coffee, water ? A beer ?” he rounded the kitchen counter, you took a seat on one of the chairs by the counter.
“Water’s fine, thanks”
He reached for a bottle from the fridge, sliding it over to you. You gave him a smile, he leaned against the counter and was now looking- studying you.
“I know we’ve talked to each other for 4 years but this is kinda strange” you chuckled awkwardly, Buck can't help but smile.
“Yeah, it is, isn't it? but can I ask why you moved to LA?”
“Well all of that was in the letter” you slide the envelope across the counter and he picks it up, opening it. Giving him a few moments to read, you watch his expression like you were hoping for some insight as to how he was feeling or what he was thinking. He let out a laugh, “how’d you know I'd guess Canada ?” you smiled at him, a small wave of relief washing over you for some reason. “Lucky guess I suppose”
“Do you-” “What are-” the sentences cutting each other off, the two of you awkwardly smiling at each other. “You first” looking at him, he hums.
“Do you have work tomorrow or are you busy ?” His eyes meet yours, you found yourself leaning forwards towards the counter- towards him. He made you feel comfortable, you’d go as far as to say safe, in a way you’ve never felt before.
“No, I don't start until the 21st. Why ?”
“I was thinking - if you're not busy and if you want to, of course. Maybe I could take you out for breakfast and I could show you around ? Or lunch or dinner ? Whatever works for you actually” he rambles, fiddling with his fingers to avoid eye contact.
A small laugh slips past your lips causing him to look up, his brows furrowed as he studies your face, looking for an answer.
“Breakfast sounds good, what time should I be ready for ?”
“Uh, is 10 okay ?” he asks, you nod. “I’ll be ready for 10 then.”
“Okay, I'll pick you up” he smiles.
“Buck, we live in the same building.”
“Oh right,” he chuckles, “well I'll be by yours at 10 then” the two of you smiling at each other.
“Okay.”
----
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bad buddy ep 1 ramble
ok so I absolutely adore p’aof and all of his projects and expected nothing less than smth incredible from this show. the premise was strong from the start and the first episode just solidified the level of care that went into this show. ok things I’m enjoying so fart
1) I cannot stress enough how much I love the format of the show. it has taken the classic uni/engineering BL style and has subverted it in a way that doesn’t need to be intentional - by making it unapologetically itself and also very deliberate and well made. The editing is far more ambitious than pretty much any BL I’ve seen and it adds so much comedy and enjoyment to the viewing experience. While Voiceover and dialogue still play a huge part in communicating the story, the camera work, the sets, the costumes, the sound and the colours all add a more impressive and high quality dimension to the show. It’s made with such respect for its roots but is also made to be innovative and different from its predecessors.
2) the intro is just wonderful. It lays out the characters so well, it has such distinct personality which matches the show and the intro music is upbeat and organic with the visuals. Simple, but full of colour and intrigue. Perfect.
3)pat and pran. both of them feel like real people!! they r such good stand alone characters which is so important in a character driven romance plot. their motivations and intentions were so clear and consistent to their personalities. their dynamic was full of warmth and the air of excitement that comes with young love and developing a crush on someone. all of their scenes together highlighted the wonderful chemistry the actors had as well as just showing their cautious yet familiar dynamic.
4)the rivalry. Romeo and Juliet is a classic and lifting the concept of rival families and friendship circles is such a good way to start building the world your characters live in. It puts them on an equal footing from the beginning and creates the sense of something well understood but unspoken between them and I fucking love it.
5)supporting cast. the sister is wonderful. she is probably going to act as a voice of reason and sense of stability for pat and he deserves that. all of their friends seem wildly supportive and generally like a solid addition to their worlds, as well as a different perspective on the events that are going to unfold. I have a feeling the families are going to play a major part in the drama of the show and I think that’s a marvellous choice, there are already some clear dynamics forming with a favoured parent and the different family dynamics that the two leads have.
6)budding (haha get it) romance. oh it’s STRONG. they already have such a good rappor, and the romance aspect is so well integrated into their friendship that it isn’t going to be hard to make that switch in the future. I already talked about the warmth of their scenes together but I would like to once again discuss the unspoken nature of the joy they feel when they get to spend time together and be close to each other. they are clearly a great team with similar mind sets who have the ability to communicate their boundaries and not lose themselves in the desire to change to fit with their significant other. also pat’s sister having some awareness of pat’s feelings for pran is such a good choice and draws attention to the fact that pat has been queer this whole time and that is an integral part of how he navigates his life. his feelings for pran are clearly a source of pain and confusion of him, whereas pran’s feelings aren’t as clearly defined yet but still feel as intense and central to the way he conducts himself as pat’s feelings are.
my predictions:
-pran’s mum is going to be a pain in everybody’s ass
-pat either is already out as gay or has come out to himself and not told anyone yet
-if we get a coming out story it’s going to be pran’s coming out
-the idea of time and the presence of clocks is going to be a constant theme in the show
-I’m banking on at least one friend b romance plot
-this show is gonna Hurt
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Will They Won’t They | Part 1/4 [Reggie Peters]
Pairing: Reggie Peters x fem!reader
Words: 7000
Summary: Reggie and reader were the best of friends up until middle school where they drifted apart and decided never to speak to each other again. What happens when a shared algebra class and a resulting detention force them to spend and increasing amount of time together. Will it be enough to overcome the mutual hate? Or was the relationship doomed from the start.
WARNINGS: swears, spicy dancing, ANGST
A/N: Okay this is the first of hopefully many collabs between Drea and I! We’re both so excited to share out very long baby with you and hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it! - mimi <3
A/N (2): hi babes it’s drea taking over HAHAHA to repeat what mimi said, we are SO EXCITED to collab and work together to create this SUPER ANGSTY but also SUPER FLUFFY AND FUN fic! your feedback is highly appreciated! and if you like our writing, please like, comment, and reblog! we’d love to hear what you have to say! sending my love! - drea :)
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The night was young in your eyes. All the lights in the (L/N) household were off, aside from the nightlight in your bedroom. Despite it being nearly eleven at night, you and your best friend, Reggie Peters, were far from tired.
The soft humming from the radio was all that could be heard from your room, along with the occasional giggle from you or joke cracked by Reggie. You laid on your bed next to him, your legs tangled in the bedsheets. As much as you loved sleepovers with your best friend, you had to admit that Reggie’s growth spurt did not help your cramped situation.
“Your elbow is jabbing my ribs,” you grumbled, kicking Reggie towards the edge of your bed.
The boy only shoved you back, a playful smirk on his face. “You’re just jealous I’m taller than you now, Cookie,” he said triumphantly.
“I’m jealous you’re taking up all the space on my bed, dork,” you shot back, kicking hard enough to push him over the edge. Reggie let out a yelp before hitting the ground, groaning upon the impact. You fell into a fit of giggles as you peeked over the edge of your bed to see a pair of narrowed blue-green eyes and a scowl. “Sorry, Flicka,” you squeaked.
Reggie glared at you jokingly, rubbing his elbow in pain. “No you’re not,” he whispered back.
“Yeah, I’m not.”
You swung your legs over the edge of your bed, standing up to reach -well almost- Reggie’s height. You frowned at his arm, gingerly taking it into your hands. The boy winced upon first touch, but relaxed in your grasp. “Does it hurt a lot?” you asked in a concerned voice.
Reggie shrugged his shoulders. “It’s whatever,” he responded nonchalantly, but the pain in his voice was visible.
You raised an eyebrow at your best friend. “You don’t have to pretend to be all strong and tough,” you reminded him.
The taller boy sighed, a pout adorning his lips. “I know,” he murmured. “But we’re starting middle school soon. I should be ‘all strong and tough.’”
Snorting, you shook your head. “Who cares about that nonsense?” you exclaimed in a hushed voice. “We all feel pain, that’s not a bad thing. Besides, it’s just me, Flicka. You don’t need to put up an act.”
Reggie’s lips turned upwards as he looked into your eyes. Everything just felt right at the moment. The smile on your face. The redness in his cheeks. The moonlight reached the window and illuminated the room. It was perfect.
The radio, forgotten by the two of you, started to play a new song. Your song.
“You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere”
Glancing up at Reggie, you could both tell you were thinking the exact same thing.
“Dance with me, Flicka?” you asked, giving his hands a squeeze.
Reggie’s face burned in embarrassment as you moved his hand to your waist. “I’m not any good at this, you know that, Cookie,” he muttered, resting his chin on top of your head.
You scoffed, starting to sway along to the music. “Just follow my lead, Reggie. I promise I won’t leave you hanging.”
There, the two of you swayed silently to the music. The moon shined bright from your window, making the blue and green in his eyes shine brighter than usual. Reggie watched as you moved your head so that it laid against his chest. You could hear his heart practically beating out of his chest, making you giggle softly.
“Flicka? you spoke up in a hushed tone. Reggie only hummed in reply. You took a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll never leave me?”
Reggie looked out the window, seeing a glimpse of both of your reflections through the glass. “I’d never leave you, Cookie.”
“You promise?” you whispered.
“I promise.”
That was your first broken promise. The first broken promise upon millions. Reggie told you he’d never leave you, that he’d always be your friend.
Funny how fragile promises can be.
That was nearly seven years ago. The late nights spent doing who knows what, listening to the radio seemed like a distant memory from a past life.
Now your days were spent alone in the library, bent over textbooks determined to ace your classes to get a scholarship and go to a good college. You wouldn’t make your parents pay for that. That was asking too much of them.
You weren’t sure where Reggie was, or what he was doing. Once you both were in middle school, he found himself new friends, and apparently a band, too. Even though you weren’t on speaking terms, you had listened to his music every once in a while. You knew he was destined for big things. Those big things just didn’t include you.
But that was fine. Your entire life wasn’t centred around some boy from your childhood. You had school and your family. So, for you, that meant signing up for all the most challenging classes and studying your ass off for all of them.
You didn’t want to admit it but this class was killing you. Your pride always got in the way. Most of the time, you believed you were capable of passing every class with flying colours. But, there was no denying this class was more difficult than the others. How were you supposed to know what effects the Great Depression had on farmers of that era? You weren’t them and they were all dead.
Your tired eyes drifted over to the clock and you sighed as you realized what time it was. Packing your things, you left the library and dragged your feet to your algebra class.
Sitting patiently in the front row while your teacher explained the lesson plan you barely even registered the faint knock on the door frame, but when you turned your head up your expression changed from one neutral to a scowl.
He hadn’t changed a bit. Aside from the whole outfit -he definitely switched his old sports sweatshirts for leather jackets sometime in freshman year- he was the same old Reggie Peters. The same dark hair, piercing blue-green eyes, and rosy red cheeks.
“Um, sorry I’m supposed to be in algebra with Mr. Milenika, I just got transferred.” the dark hair teen said, running a hand through his hair and shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Yes, Mr. Peters correct?”
Reggie nodded wordlessly. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Not from nerves, but is pure hatred for the boy. He couldn’t be in this class. He just couldn’t. Why would the universe do that to you?
“Very well, take a seat.”
Reggie walked into the class, eyeing where to take a seat when he noticed the only open spot was next to you.
His features hardened and he threw his bag down next to the empty desk, pulling out the chair and sitting in it with a loud thump.
“Flicka,” you spat.
“Cookie,” he nodded with a hiss in return.
“Great, I take it you two know each other?” Mr. Milenika asked, unaware of the drama that was associated with whatever relationship you and Reggie had. It was a stretch to say you even had one.
You and Reggie gave him a bitter “Yes.”
Mr. Milenika, never one who was ever good at differentiating bitterness and normal answers, beamed at the two.
“Good, because even though this is a math class, I will make you work with your partner quite often. So I suggest you get to know whoever is sitting next to you.” Your body stiffened. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Mr. Milenka never failed to disappoint.
Mr. Milenika continued on, explaining the rest of the plan for the class, but you seemed unable to concentrate, entirely focused on the boy who was now sitting next to you. With his stupid face and stupidly strong cologne, you couldn’t focus at all on whatever was on the board. It was as though you were in a haze, and all you could think about was him.
It had been years since you’d last spoken, not to mention you barely saw him in the halls anymore. He was notorious for skipping class to go rehearse with his so-called band while you were quite the opposite. Never missing a day, no matter what it took.
“Never thought you were one for staring,” he whispered under his breath and you scoffed.
“Oh so we don’t talk for seven years and you think now’s a good time to start?”
“Yeah, I do, cause then I could tell you how stupid those shoes look,”
“I’m literally just wearing converse, you are too Reginald,” you spat.
“Shut up!” he said, raising his voice slightly.
“You first!” you said, voice becoming louder. Was it a childish comeback? Perhaps, but you weren’t one to back down, no matter how stupid your comebacks were.
Now the whole class was listening, even Mr. Milenika had stopped teaching to observe what was going on with his students and just as he was about to intervene it seemed the debate had gotten worse.
“Me? shut up? You’re the one who was always bossing me around and telling me what to do! I could never get in a word with you!” Reggie snapped back.
“That’s because you were too thick-skulled to listen to anything I had to say!” you hissed, not realizing the audience you had. “Who knows Flicka maybe if you had you wouldn’t have failed this class last term!”
“That was uncalled for!” Reggie exclaimed, now standing from his chair. “And it’s not my fault the tutor bailed on me because it was a conflict of interest. This isn’t Judge Judy (Y/N)! If anything it’s your fault!”
“You manipulative little asshole!”
“Suck up!”
“Motherf-,”
“That’s enough!” Mr. Milenika yelled over both of you, causing you to shrink and turn to look at the very angry teacher. “Never in my years of teaching have I seen such barbaric behaviour! That’s two months' detention. Both of you! Now go to Mrs. Hillside’s office, immediately.”
Reggie angrily grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, kicking a stray chair on his way out while you followed close behind in a much quieter fashion.
You had no words as you entered the principal’s office, sitting across from her desk while Reggie took the seat next to yours.
It was your first day back from the holiday. Your first day back and you finally had a conversation with your childhood best friend in seven years and got two months of detention with said childhood best friend. Your heart ached at the thought of the big flaw printed on your record. You only had Reggie to blame.
Purposefully, you shuffled away from him and he rolled his eyes as Mrs. Hillside finished her phone conversation with Mr. Milenika.
“Disrupting a class?” The woman exclaimed. “Foul language? Damaging school property?” Your face burned at each accusation.
Mrs. Hillside glared at you. “Ms.(L/N),” she addressed with a frown. “I did not expect such reckless and irresponsible behaviour from a promising student like you. I’m greatly disappointed.”
Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. “Please don’t make it go on my record,” you whimpered, your voice cracking.
The woman pressed her lips together. “You’re lucky this is your first detention, Ms.(L/N).” You released the breath you had no idea you were holding.
“Kiss ass,” Reggie muttered.
You narrowed your eyes at the boy, prepared to shoot back another comeback when your principal had something far better.
“I find that rich from you, Mr. Peters,” she laughed humorlessly. “Remind me, how many detentions did you have last term?” The boy’s cheek flushed, instantly shutting his mouth. You held back a laugh as to not get a snapback of your own from the teacher. “Now as much as this is infuriating, you both do have a class that I believe would be in your best interest not to miss. So we’ll draw up a schedule for these two months of detention and then you can return to your class in an orderly fashion. You understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” you nodded and Reggie just shrugged, if he blew this for you, well let’s just say there wouldn’t be any evidence of the crime.
“So let’s make this three days a week for two months. Thursday, Friday and Saturday and the hours will vary from time to time depending on the tasks you need to complete.”
“Three times a week?” Reggie exclaimed. “Mrs. Hillside, I have band practice-”
“And I’m losing my patience,” she cut him off. “Now go back to class before I make it four detentions a week.”
You squeaked a quiet “Thank you” before picking up your things and leaving the principal’s office. Speeding down the hallways, you didn’t hear Reggie catching up close behind you. When you saw a blur of black and red in the corner of your eye, you fought the urge to turn your head.
“Stupid Reggie Peters,” you muttered under your breath. “Stupid algebra class. Stupid Mr. Milenka and his stupid detention. Stupid-”
“Are you talking to me, Cookie?” Reggie spoke up, making you jump in surprise. By that time, you were already at the door of your algebra class.
You pressed your binder close to your chest, shooting the boy a pointed glare. “I hate you,” you said, opening the door just enough for you to slip through and slam in Reggie’s face.
You didn’t dare speak when you returned back to class, not wanting to try your luck and possibly extend your already long detention.
Reggie seemed to be thinking the same thing, possibly except he didn’t have his record on the line it was that stupid band practice of his. If he had spent as much time studying as he did practicing maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation because he would have passed the class in the first place.
You knew that you’d need to spend time catching up tonight so you didn’t even bother paying attention to the lesson. Anger bubbled in your chest as you mindlessly wrote notes for the class, not processing anything at all. Occasionally, you would notice a pair of blue-green eyes staring at you, only for them to turn back to the board each time you would look back.
You couldn’t even look each other in the eye. How were you supposed to last two months of detention with him?
Finally, the bell rang and allowed you to escape the confinement that was the loud stares of your classmates as you headed to your first assigned detention. Cleaning up the backroom of the library.
Reaching the library, you were met with the librarian, Mr. Mallard. The old man was hunched over a box filled with books, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. It seemed as though he didn’t realize you were right behind him, so you awkwardly cleared your throat.
Mr. Mallard jumped, turned around to see you nervously waving at him. “Oh, Ms. (L/N), I didn’t see you there.” You waved his comment off.
“Not a problem,” you said with a kind smile. You mentally let out a sigh of relief. Good thing Mr. Mallard was nicer than the rest of the teachers here.
“I was just listening to music,” he explained, nodding at the radio playing soft music. He looked back at you. “You know I used to be a dancer back in my day? Now, I got this bad back, so I’m stuck here with you rascals.” You laughed at the man as he tried to snap his fingers and sway his hips to the music. “Ah, I got too carried away, sorry, dear. Now I must be getting old because I could have sworn there were supposed to be two of you here with me.”
You nodded, looking around for the boy in a leather jacket and red flannel, but came up empty. “He must be running late,” you told him.
Mr. Mallard frowned. “Well, I guess we can wait for him,” he settled, sitting down on his desk chair. “Feel free to take a seat over there until he comes in.”
Reggie came in a few minutes later, tossing his bag onto one of the chairs and placing his bass guitar on the table.
“The usual Mr. Mallard?” Reggie asked and the older man gave him a nod. It seemed Reggie had become familiar with the library as you had, just in a different way. “Well what are you waiting for?” he looked at you unimpressed. “The faster we start the faster we leave.”
You didn’t say a word, only followed him into the back room where you’d be organizing some old books, boxes and trophies
You stepped into the room, squinting at the shadows of assorted boxes. It was completely dark.
“Well, come on, Cookie,” Reggie said, giving you a shove. “We don’t have all day.”
You took in a shaky breath. “It’s dark,” you pointed out.
Reggie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that,” he said. “Let’s just find the light switch and start cleaning.”
You nodded, blindly searching along the walls for that damn switch. Not noticing the small box on the floor, you kicked it aside, spilling all sorts of books onto the floor. You squeaked in fear, grabbing the first thing in sight. Of course, that had to be Reggie’s hand.
You whipped your head around, face red in embarrassment. Lucky for you the darkness of the room prevented him from seeing that. “Sorry,” you muttered.
Reggie scoffed at you. “Still scared of the dark?” he asked in a teasing voice.
“Still sleep with that horse plushie of yours?” you shot back.
Reggie glared at you but didn’t say anything else. Without letting go of your hand he flicked on the switch and the room filled with a dim orange hue.
“You can let go now,” you said, trying to shimmy your hand away from his, only prompting him to grip harder.
“What are you scared of me now?” he asked with a smirk and you scowled, ripping your hand away from his.
“Let’s just clean, like you said, the faster we get this done the faster we can go home.”
The room was silent aside from the noises of books falling against the floor, making a quiet thud. You made a small area of your own in the back of the room, a stack of boxes hiding your view of Reggie. But from the lack of noises made in his part of the room, you could tell he wasn’t doing anything productive.
You poked your head out of your small space, frowning at the boy. He was sitting on the floor, slouching as he scribbled on a dusty piece of paper.
“Hey!” you called out, throwing an old yearbook in his direction.
Reggie barely ducked in time, sitting up and turning in your area. “What the hell?” he yelled.
“We’re supposed to be working on cleaning this room!” you snapped. “You aren’t doing shit, Flicka.”
“I did clean,” he muttered. “I just had an idea for the band-”
“That stupid band! Why can’t you just stop for once in your life and focus on what’s in front of you,” you scowled, frustrated that even now you were the one stuck doing all the work. Seemed like maybe things hadn’t changed much from seven years ago.
“Maybe if you loosened a screw or two we wouldn’t need to have this conversation,”
“Just shut up Reginald, you have no idea what it means to take responsibility for something. You haven’t changed and you never will.”
Reggie was about to come back with a retort when the door to the backroom swung open and Mr. Mallard came in with a smile on his face.
“Could I get you kids some snacks?” he asked kindly.
“Always, you’re the man Mr. M.” Reggie grinned, completely ignoring you and giving the librarian a high five from where he sat on the ground.
“I’m good Mr. Mallard,” you shook your head and he left you both with a nod of his head and promised to be back with some assortment of fruits and such.
After your first detention, it was safe to say that all hope of fixing your friendship with Reggie went down the drain. It seemed as though every hour you spent with him gave you all the more reasons to throttle him and be glad he stopped talking to you back in middle school.
—
Detentions became just another regular part of your week, integrated with your studying and your part-time job at the cafe. So you were more than happy to take a minute and walk back home where you could take a minute to rest.
Unfortunately, the universe had other plans.
“Reggie!” a voice yelled. You took a deep breath as you tried to make yourself invisible. It was his friends, Luke, Alex, and Bobby. The friends he left you for.
Reggie’s face lit up as he walked past you, running over to his friends. “Hey guys!” he said with a toothy grin. “What are you doing here?”
Luke shrugged his shoulders. “We thought we might as well give you a ride to practice since we were already around here for lunch,” he explained nonchalantly.
Bobby sent his friend a glare. “You mean I gave you a ride,” he corrected, gesturing to the keys in his hand.”
Luke waved his comment off. “Details. Oh, who’s that?” Luke asked pointing over to you and you tried to pick up your pace before he eventually made his way to you.
“That’s just (Y/N),” Reggie shrugged. “We have detention together.” Luke approached you with an overexcited pep in his step. You tried to back away as subtly as possible, but you were stopped by a wall.
“You’re adorable!” he grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulder while you looked at him in a sort of odd confusion. “Your face is so cute and pink, kind of like a bunny! You know, growing up I had this bunny for a pet named Carrot. We’re adopting you, right boys?”
You ducked under his arm, trying to stay as polite as possible. “Oh, I’d love to be your friend and all,” you began nervously. “But um...I just have things to do and-”
“We’re. Adopting. You,” Luke said in a sickly sweet but firm voice. “Right boys?”
As you tried to slip out of his grasp and walk away, Alex, who was also coincidentally your lab partner, called out from the van.
“Hey (N/N), you need a ride?”
“No thanks! I’m fine walking,” you called back, but Luke didn’t want to take no for an answer. He ran up in front of you and scooped you in his arms, throwing you over his shoulder causing you to shriek in surprise.
“We’re taking you with us! Who knows what kind of dangerous types are wandering around LA.”
“At the moment I would think you’re one of them!” you exclaimed, squirming to have him put you down, before finally giving up when he tossed you in the van. “Could this constitute a kidnapping? I feel like it’s a kidnapping. Can I call the police?”
Reggie followed close behind the two of you, clearly not liking this at all. He had already spent enough time with you in detention. Now you’re with his friends? He took the backseat, right behind you. “Dude, come on,” Reggie said as Luke fastened your seatbelt before patting the top of your head. You shot the guitarist a glare. “I really don’t want to be arrested for kidnapping. Especially since it’s her. Lord knows she’ll manage to pin the charges on me.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Nonsense,” he said. “We’re not kidnapping her. We’re making friends!”
“That’s not how making friends works, Patterson!” you yelled as he slid the van door closed.
While they were making their way to your house Luke seemed to glance at the time on the dash and gasped.
“Shit! Guys turn around we’re gonna be late for practice!”
“Practice, you said you were taking me home!” you exclaimed. “This is actually a kidnapping now! Flicka your friends suck!”
“Sorry Lady Bunny,” Luke shrugged and you whined.
Reggie groaned and banged his head on the seat in front of him while Bobby took a definitely illegal u-turn to go where they normally had their rehearsals.
The car stopped in front of a fairly nice house with a big studio. The boys filed out, leaving you grumbling in the back seat. Luke opened the door, bowing dramatically.
“Lady Bunny,” Luke said, reaching his hand out to you.
You scowled at the boy, crossing your arms on your chest. “I want to go home,” you muttered.
“No can do, Lady Bunny,” Luke said with a shrug of his shoulders. “We have practice to do.”
“Then I’ll walk home,” you whined.
Luke laughed at your frustrated face. “Can’t let you do that either,” he told you. “Besides, you’re too little and innocent to brave the world on your own.” Luke reached for your cheek, patting it softly until you turned your head and bit his finger. “Ouch!”
“Yeah, bunnies bite, dick head. This is holding an innocent party against their will and you will do jail time,”
“(N/N), just stick around this once, I’ll make sure you get home later,” Alex offered and you slouched in your seat and mumbled a “Fine,”
Alex patted your back and led you into the large studio where there was a girl with frizzy brown curly hair, sitting on a couch.
“Finally! What took you guys so long!” she sighed and stood up.
“We adopted a bunny, Rose!” Luke grinned and hugged you from behind tucking your chin in his shoulder. You rolled your eyes and mouthed help me, to the girl and she scrunched her nose as if to say, ‘sorry honey there isn’t anything I can do.’
Luke pulled you to the couch and sat you down. “Now you stay there while we practice, okay bunny?” he said, patting your head.
“If you’re good we might give you snacks,” Bobby added from behind Luke, snickering under his breath.
Rose shot both boys a pointed look. “Cut that out, you two,” she ordered. Rose sat next to you, patting your knee. “Can I get you anything? Water? A snack? You don’t have to do a flip for treats or whatever.”
You laughed in response, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater. “I’m fine, thank you,” you responded politely. “If anything I just want a ride home.”
Rose frowned, leaning against the pillow cushions. “I’d give you a ride but my sister took the car for today,” she explained apologetically. Rose could sense the awkward tension, and wanted to break the ice. “So which one of them is your boyfriend?”
You choked on air, not expecting her question. For once, you were thankful the band was blasting music. “I’m sorry?” you coughed, causing Rose to reach over to grab a water bottle from the table and offer it to you. You took a big gulp, sighing. “What made you think that?”
Rose hummed as she thought of her answer. “Well, you’re way too nervous around me,” she began. “And the boys all keep on looking at you. Alex is not your boyfriend because he’s currently talking to this guy in my English class. Bobby...definitely isn’t your type, now that I look at you. I considered Luke for a moment but he’s way too dedicated to music to date anyone but his six-string, you also just seemed way too annoyed by him, but what’s new. And now that leaves Reggie.” she looked over at the boy playing the bass. Reggie, who apparently was watching the two of you talk, quickly ducked his head, his cheeks visibly red. “You two have history, don’t you?”
You froze, eyes widening. “How did you-”
“I think you forgot we were in the same homeroom since fourth grade,” she laughed. “You and Reggie, you guys were glued at the hip. Don’t you have nicknames for each other or something?”
“I-I guess,” you shrugged, it wasn’t really something you used as a term of endearment anymore, but it was still there. “He was Flicka and I was Cookie,”
“Did you date?” she asked curiously, leaning in closer.
“No,” you shook your head. “Just friends. Used to be.” you corrected and Rose frowned, but before she could ask another question you stopped her. “If I have to sit here and wait for Alex to take me home you think we could talk about something else?”
“Sure,” Rose nodded, “Well in that case I think you should come around here more often,”
“What do you mean?” you nervously chuckled.
“I don’t know, I just think we’d be pretty good friends,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
You leaned your head on her shoulder, smiling at the warm feeling bubbling inside you. “Yeah,” you agreed in a quiet voice. “I’m starting to think so, too.”
—
“And then he told me I was annoying!” you hissed, angrily scribbling the data of your experiment onto your notebook. “Can you believe that? Him!”
Alex anxiously watched you as you reached for a pipette, squeezing the poor thing like it stole your money. “Really?” Alex only said in a shaky voice.
You nodded furiously, taking the indicator, not even caring to count out your drops and just pouring the purple liquid haphazardly into the Erlenmeyer flask.
“He’s-He’s just a… argh! I can’t stand him!” you waved your hands almost knocking over the whole buret and ring stand with a very strong molarity composition of hydrochloric acid in it causing Alex to let out a strangled yelp from the back of his throat.
“C-can you please at least stay ten feet away from the table?” he requested. “You’re going to either break something or send me to the hospital with an acid burn and I really would prefer if that didn’t happen.”
You placed your materials down, glaring at the blond boy. “What are you talking about?” you snapped, not meaning to take your anger out on your friend (and chemistry experiment, at that).
Alex placed his hands up in the air in defence. “Just-” he swallowed loudly, trying to think of the right words. “Maybe take a deep breath? I know Reggie gets you all angry and stuff, but please don’t put our lives and chemistry grade on the line.”
“Makes me mad is a fucking understatement,” you grumbled.
“Okay, we can start there,” Alex began, slowly moving the materials far away from you. “I think it’s reasonable and incredibly understandable that you dislike him. But do you really hate him?”
You scowled. “Yes, Alexander,” you said in a scarily calm voice. “As a matter of fact, I do. He’s a fucking pain in my ass and can go fuck himself for all I care. He’s rude, inconsiderate, and selfish beyond belief.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Alex, you’re not my therapist, stop acting like you have every right to be in my business when you don’t know a single thing about me!”
Alex didn’t respond to that comment, fearing what you might say next. You paused, noticing Alex’s uneasiness. “I’m sorry,” you only mumbled.
He nodded wordlessly, gently placing his hand over yours. “Don’t worry about it, (N/N),” he reassured you.
Silence followed, aside from the quiet mumbling of instructions for the experiment. Minutes in, you finally decided to break the silence.
“Because he left me,” you whispered in a broken voice.
Alex raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?” he said, genuinely not hearing you.
You sighed, placing your pencil and notebook down. “He left me for your stupid band. He got friends and I got nothing,” you explained further. You removed your glasses, wiping away a stray tear. “I probably shouldn’t even be mad at him, at this point. He’s moved on...and got popular and actually has something going on for himself. And me?” You laughed humorlessly at yourself. “I work a job to help mom and dad pay the bills and work my ass off so I can go to school and make a life for myself. No one told me trying for success would be so lonely.”
“(Y/N),” Alex said, frowning slightly.
You shook your head. “But he’s happy, isn’t he?” you asked. “Reggie. He’s smiling wider than I’ve ever seen before. Singing and playing the bass, dancing his heart out on stage. He never used to do those things with me.” You looked away from Alex, unable to take his pitiful gaze. “He’s changed while I’ve stayed the same. I’m stuck here, still moping about my past. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he is better off without me.”
“He’s not,” Alex said without even thinking.
“How could you say that? He’s clearly happier. It’s not like you can pretend you don’t see that,”
“But he’s not. He just replaced what he had, his friendship with you, with music. I might not know him as well as you, but it’s his coping mechanism. It hides all the bad things in life that he chooses not to deal with,”
“Reggie’s not like that,” you shook your head, refusing to believe what Alex was saying.
Alex, starting to get frustrated, slammed his hands on the edge of the table. “Dammit, (Y/N) can you just realize for one second that you don’t hate Reggie and that Reggie doesn’t hate you?” Your mouth remained closed, so Alex took it as an opportunity to push further. “You two talk my ears off about each other more than you realize. It’s always “Reggie did this” or “(Y/N) did that” can’t you two get your heads out of your asses and see that?”
“C-Can you take care of this, I’m just going to run to the washroom,” you murmured, not waiting for a response. You took off your goggles, gloves and lab coat, making your way to the courtyard, contrary to where you said you were going. Pulling your MP3 player out of your pocket you threw on a pair of battered headphones and turned the volume all the way up clicking on the familiar track of Fast Car maybe you couldn’t run away physically, but right now, your heart sure needed a break.
—
“You two will be with Mrs. Leona today in the dance room,”
“What does she need?” you asked with much confusion. Normally Saturdays were used for either sitting in silence or cleaning up some area of the school.
“She needs help choreographing the dance she’s going to use for the sophomore class next semester,” Mrs. Hillside explained. “Now go on, get dressed and meet her in the dance room.”
You and Reggie walked away to the locker rooms. A scowl was plastered on the boy’s face. “These detentions are getting more and more ridiculous each day,” he muttered.
Scoffing, you crossed your arms on your chest. “Well, that’s something we both can agree on.”
You parted ways for a short time to get changed before meeting back up again in the dance room where Mrs. Leona was already setting up and waiting for you both.
“Perfect! So glad you guys could make it,” she grinned.
“We have detention,” Reggie noted. “Not really much of a choice,” You shot the boy a glare, elbowing him roughly in the ribs.
“Right,” she chuckled. “Well, I’m working on a routine for my sophomores. Apparently, they think we’re doing the same thing over and over again so I’m going to give them something new for a change. I was thinking a partner assignment would work best.”
You and Reggie nodded as Mrs. Leona walked over to the stereo, popping in a CD and playing All That She Wants in the background on repeat while she would lead the stretches.
“Isn’t this song a little inappropriate to have sophomores dancing to? Or like even just to play in school?” you asked as you followed along.
Reggie rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you ask,” he muttered.
Mrs. Leona waved off your comment. “It’s fine,” she insisted. “It’s an upbeat song, and it’s “in,” so might as well give the kids a fun assignment.”
“Mrs. Leona, what kind of dance moves are you thinking?” Reggie asked curiously. “Because I’m not that good of a dancer and (Y/N) is practically so old she could break her hip by breathing.”
“I’m not old,” you snapped, crossing your arms on your chest.
“You sure act like it,” he shot back.
“You bit-”
“Enough talking!” Mrs. Leona cut you both off. “More dancing. Now I have a couple of ideas for you two, so make sure you’re really stretched out so you don’t pull something.”
You groaned, looking up at the ceiling. “What did I get myself into?”
—
“It’s a simple concept!” Mrs. Leona insisted after the millionth attempt. “You two are just so awkward with each other.”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Can you just explain it again, please?” you requested.
Mrs. Leona sighed, standing up to show you the dance sequence. “Reggie, take her hand and bring it to your lips. Step away, and (Y/N) you pull him back. Then Reggie turn so that you and (Y/N) are facing each other. At that point, you grab him by the shirt while he takes your waist, then he twirls you and goes in to dip you. Simple enough!”
Simple to maybe a Rockette, but not to a bassist and an awkward bookworm.
“Let’s take it from there, okay guys?”
You grumbled to yourself, positioning yourself in front of the boy. “This is way too much,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.
“Just shut up and do what she says,” Reggie hissed. “I don’t want to be any closer to you than I have to.”
When the music started playing, you felt Reggie’s fingertips trace down your arm to your hand, unknowingly creating a trail of goosebumps. Weaving his fingers with yours, he brought your intertwined hands up to his face, his lips ever so gently grazing your hand.
On beat, Reggie started to walk away from you, only for you to pull him back. His eyes met yours as you brought your other hand to his chest, balling the fabric of his shirt in your fist. You watched as he dropped his hand to your waist before pulling away to twirl you. The moment he pulled you back into his chest, you saw his cheeks redden. You were so close, close enough to smell that stupidly distracting cologne of his. You knew Reggie was just as flustered. His hand was getting clammy in yours. Before you could even process it, he dipped you down, making you gasp in surprise.
You didn’t even notice the music had stopped. All that was on your mind at that moment was Reggie. His eyes flicked down to yours, and you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile on his lips.
The loud clapping coming from Mrs. Leona had snapped you out of your trance. Immediately regaining his composure, Reggie loosened his grip on you. You fell to the ground, hitting your elbow upon impact.
“Ass,” you muttered, rubbing your elbow in pain.
“If you’re saying I’ve got a good one then I agree,” he smirked and you scoffed loudly.
Mrs. Leona walked up to the two of you. “That was probably the best dancing I’ve seen from the two of you all morning,” she applauded. “And for that, you can take a five-minute break,”
“Oh thank God,” you whispered and flopped onto the ground, trying to relax your muscles. You tried to pull one leg over the other, stretching it out, but unable to turn properly in order to pull the tension out of your muscle.
Your eyes were closed so you didn’t notice Reggie coming closer and kneeling toward you, placing a hand on your thigh and pushing it down for you, causing you to open your eyes and see him practically leaning over top of you.
“Ow! Fuck! Too much,” you hissed and he loosened his grip. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Helping you stretch, you’re ancient so I thought I might be able to lend a hand,”
“Get your hand off me,” you said seriously.
“What,” he grinned, lifting his hand higher and causing your breath to hitch and slap his hand away and sit up, scooching back.
“Fuck off Flicka,” you said, the words barely able to leave your mouth, throat turning dry.
“Only trying to help, Cookie,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked over at your arm, seeing as you winced with every movement. “Does it hurt a lot?”
You cradled your elbow. “It’s whatever,” you mumbled in response, unconsciously mimicking his answer.
Reggie scoffed, leaning back on his hands. “Say what you want, Cookie, but I know when you’re lying. You can’t pretend around me.” You paused, vaguely remembering that night with the radio.
“I said I’m fine, Reggie,” you insisted firmly.
“Just let me see it,” he asked, crawling over to you, prompting you to scoot all the way back until you hit the mirror. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he frowned.
“That’s what you said seven years ago but I’ve learnt the hard way to take promises from you with a grain of salt,” you said venomously.
Reggie paused, moving back to his spot, far away from you. “Fine,” he simply said. “But don’t act like you were the only victim. I got hurt, too.”
You opened your mouth to respond when Mrs. Leona walked back into the room with three water bottles. “Well, I’m back. Are you two rested enough to continue?”
You shook your head. “Mrs. Leona, um I think it’s probably time we head back to Mrs. Hillside’s office,” you suggested. “It’s erm, late and I hurt my elbow, so…”
Mrs. Leona nodded understandingly. “Yes, of course, I forgot how much time had passed. You two work so well together, I might as well keep you guys in my class!” You laughed nervously before grabbing your things and waving goodbye. You didn’t bother looking back at Reggie. There was nothing left to say.
#jatp#julie and the phantoms#fantoms#julie molina#ray molina#rose molina#reggie peters#reggie peters x reader#reggie peters x fem!reader#reggie peters fanfic#reggie peters fic#reggie peters fanfiction#jeremy shada#charlie gillespie#owen joyner#alex mercer#luke patterson#jatp fanfic#jatp fanfiction#jatp fic#alex mercer x platonic!reader#luke patterson x platonic!reader#julie and the phantoms fanfiction
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The Colour of Waiting is Purple
Summary: Spencer's just trying to get home as quickly as possible when a bad decision to take a shortcut down a back alley leaves him broken and bleeding into the night. // Hotch thinks it's a new case when his phone rings at 3 in the morning. It isn't.
Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, physical assault, major character injury, hospitals, dad hotch, hurt spencer, angst with a happy ending, eventual fluff
TW: graphic descriptions of violence // physical assault (no rape/non-con)
Pairing: Gen, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid
Word Count: 3.7k
Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo
Disclaimer: I'm sure there are some medical inaccuracies here, everything I know comes from google, whump tumblr blogs, and my embarrassing obsession with medical dramas. I also have no knowledge of the US medical system aside from what I know from the aforementioned sources so excuse any issues there.
Spencer doesn’t think anything of it when he leaves work at his usual time, the clock pushing midnight and the offices deserted. He packs his few personal belongings up and turns off his lamp before nodding to the janitor, the only other person to be seen, and taking the elevator down to the ground floor where there’s a little more sign of human life at least.
As soon as he steps out into the crisp winter air, he feels the exhaustion of working close to 18 hours straight on far too little sleep hit him. They haven’t even been working a case, he just gets so caught up in his reports and consults that he doesn’t notice the hours whizzing by until he looks up and the bullpen is deserted, dark except for his desk lamp.
Inevitably when spending the day at the office dealing with banalities, he finds something that captures his interest. It tends to send him on a trawl through the internet — or, occasionally, to another part of the building — looking it up in every journal he buys a subscription to until that itch is scratched.
The others always gently touch his shoulder or call out to him as they leave, which he tends to hear about 50% of the time, and Hotch especially tries to make him leave at a more sensible time, but he can’t help the way his brain works. Once it latches onto something it’s not letting go until it’s satisfied.
His feet carry him to the Metro station while his brain absently thinks over his most recent fixation, and soon enough he’s at his stop and back in DC. The streets are slightly more lively in the city, and the noise and light snap him back to reality enough to remind him of his bone-deep fatigue. He usually walks down the main streets to get to his apartment building, occasionally catching a bus if he’s earlier than usual or a cab if he’s later, but tonight he’s just longing for a quick microwave meal, a shower, and his bed. So, he dips down an alleyway and takes the shortcut home.
It’s stupid.
He knows pretty much every statistic there is to know about his city, and at the forefront of his brain are those concerning crime. DC has one of the highest crime rates in America, and a person’s chances of being a victim is 1 in 18, and although it’s slightly lower in Adams Morgan which is one of the safest, violent crimes are still 36% higher than the national average. This is decidedly increased when you take stupid risks like walking through the backstreets in the dead of night when you’re on your own.
Sadly, this does not occur to Spencer before he’s deep in the back streets of the city, being slammed ruthlessly against a wall by two men he didn’t see coming.
He’s winded immediately, and before his brain can catch up with what’s happening, a knife is being held dangerously close to his neck. All his self-defence training, all the moves Derek had spent hours teaching him when he’d first joined the BAU fly out the window and he can only breathe heavily with what he knows must be a terrified expression on his face.
“Well, well, well,” the man holding the knife leers, his arid breath hitting Spencer’s face, “look what we have here.”
The other man doesn’t speak. He’s stood slightly further back, arms crossed as he stares Spencer down. Although he’s physically the lesser threat right now, something about him has ice pooling in Spencer’s stomach.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen, you fucking pansy,” he continues, pushing Spencer further into the wall, pain blossoming across his body, “you’re gonna let us look through your gay ass purse, and we’re gonna take whatever we want from it. And then, you’re gonna let Paulie here do whatever he wants to you. He’s had a real bad day, and a pathetic little queer like you is just the punching bag he needs, you hear me?”
It’s all Spencer can do to nod his head frantically. He wants to open his mouth, to negotiate, to talk them down, but this is nothing like when he’s faced with the FBI’s most wanted. He’s in control there, he’s on his turf, his playing field, it’s his game and he knows every rule, every bylaw, every exception.
Right now, he’s completely at these men’s mercy.
“Paulie, take his bag.” The man doesn’t take his eyes off Spencer’s face, scanning his expression and body language for any sign he’s about to bolt, for any reason to put his knife to work.
He tries to calm himself down a little, enough to catch his breath at least. He’s taken countless beatings throughout his life, he knows how to survive, just… please, don’t let it be anything more. It’s all Spencer dares to hope for.
The other man steps forward and snatches his messenger bag, unceremoniously dumping the contents of his bag on the pavement. Spencer’s just grateful that he doesn’t have anything in there that hints towards his career. He knows this type: they’re intimidating but they’re easily scared. Right now, he’s a weak twenty-something on his way home, he’s not a threat to them, but who knows what they’d do to him if they realised he’s a fed?
They take his wallet and his phone before they rummage through his pockets to find some spare cash. His badge is tucked in an inner pocket in his blazer and his Quantico ID is still hanging around his neck, hidden under his scarf, blazer, and thin overcoat; he’s so glad he never took it off.
An icy tear drips down his face as he stands there, pressed against the wall, awaiting his fate. All he wants right now is to be back at home. No, that’s not right. All he wants right now is Hotch. As soon as the thought of his father-figure crosses his mind, the tears start flowing faster, desperate to feel safe again, knowing Hotch is the only person to really let him feel that way.
The man holding the knife has turned to watch Paulie sift through his bag and rummage through his pockets, but as soon as his steely grey eyes return to Spencer’s face, his face splits into a shit-eating grin. “Aw, are you crying?” he mocks, starting to laugh. “Are the big bad men making you feel scared? You gonna run home to Mommy?”
He knows that it’s exactly what the man wants, but he can’t stop the tears from devolving into full-blown sobs at his words. The whole terrifying experience, the implications, the realisations of what might be coming for him in the next few minutes start to catch up to him and he’s violently shaking as he cries uncontrollably.
“You’re pathetic,” the man spits, releasing his grip on him slightly, letting Spencer’s shaky legs collapse under him and send him crashing towards the ground. “He’s all yours, Paulie. I’m gonna enjoy this.”
His position is quickly taken over by Paulie as the other man leans against a dumpster close by to watch the show, and Spencer looks up at the intimidating man with fear blazing in his eyes as he hangs in purgatory, knowing the hell that’s about to rain down on him.
Paulie doesn’t take long to get started and he doesn’t hold back, his sturdy, black boots kicking him relentlessly in the stomach and his thighs before moving up to his chest, slamming the toe of his boots into each individual rib. Spencer can hear the other man laughing maniacally over the sound of his own bones breaking, over his own choked pleas for mercy, but it’s like Paulie doesn’t hear either of them. His face is blank as he gives Spencer the beating of his life, and it only makes him more terrifying.
He quickly gets bored of kicking Spencer and bends down to yank him up by his scarf, only to land a hard, brutal punch on his jaw, then his cheek, then his nose before dropping him down again, this time so his back is vulnerable, at the mercy of Paulie’s cruel feet.
The torture continues for a few more minutes, and Spencer doesn’t know how no-one hears his desperate cries, but they’re left alone in the alley as he coughs up blood and feels his bones break under the tread of Paulie’s boots. He’s deprived of air as his chest is stood on, as his windpipe is crushed, but finally, finally it’s over.
“I’m bored,” Paulie grunts, giving Spencer one last brutal kick to the base of his back before walking over to the other man. They both saunter off down the alleyway, not casting a single look back at Spencer lying curled up on the ground, surrounded by his own blood.
Soon, the men have left, and he’s alone with only his ragged, painful breaths for company. He can hear the hoots of a bachelor party just a street over, but no-one’s coming to save him. No-one else is stupid enough to venture down the backstreets of DC. Not with crime rates like those of their city. Not in the small hours of the morning. Not alone.
He doesn’t even have his phone to call for help.
⭐️
Hotch expects it to be work when he picks up the phone at 3am. By the time he’s sat up in bed and sliding the bar on his phone to answer it, he’s already half in work-mode, ready to call Jessica and drive Jack over before racing into work to beat the others on the team. He can already taste his first coffee of the day.
“Hello, is this Aaron Hotchner?”
It isn’t work.
“Uh, yes,” he says hesitantly, shifting upright a little further, sleep-addled mind trying to guess who the caller could possibly be, “speaking.”
“Hi, my name is Mary Kutner, I’m calling from George Washington University Hospital. I have you down as Spencer Reid’s emergency contact, is that correct?”
Hotch’s heart plummets, and he leaps out of bed immediately, ready to get dressed as the shock wakes him up. “That’s correct. What’s happened?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge much information over the phone, sir, but we’ll need you to come to the hospital urgently.”
He isn’t usually an emotional person, but he can feel tears springing to his eyes already. Spencer is a surrogate son to him, and knowing he’s hurt without knowing what he can actually do about it is an atrocious feeling. Please don’t let me watch another member of my family die, is all he can think as he tries to gain enough composure to reply to the nurse on the other end of the line.
“Can you tell me his condition?” he asks, somehow managing to get the words past the lump in his throat.
“He’s currently in theatre, sir,” Mary replies as gently as one can in such a professional tone. “If you come down to the hospital and report to the ER a doctor will be able to tell you more. I’ll need you to bring identification with you, please.”
“Okay,” he breathes, trying to keep as calm as possible, “okay. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be right there.”
He throws the phone on the bed as he finishes throwing his clothes on. He packs two bags: one for him (mostly filled with things Spencer might need) and one for Jack, pulls on his coat and shoes before creeping into his son’s room and lifting him out of bed gently, carrying him down to the car.
Jack is a heavy sleeper — he frequently wakes up the next morning tucked in his room at Jessica’s, sometimes in the car on the way — and he’s endlessly thankful for that now. Explaining why he’s dashing out of the flat with a panicked look on his face to a seven-year-old is a conversation he’s glad to avoid.
He rings Jessica on the way who, used to his early morning calls waking her up, has no problem with looking after Jack.
Somehow, he manages to make it to the hospital only forty-five minutes later, and he didn’t even have to park illegally. Thank God the hospital is at least a little quieter in the dead of night.
“Hi, I’m Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid’s emergency contact,” he explains shakily to the woman at the front desk, laying down his FBI identification bag down as ID. He could use his driving licence, sure, but… if knowing they’re FBI agents will make any difference to Spencer’s care then he doesn’t give a damn if this could be construed in some way as abuse of his position. He’d rather lose his job than lose his son.
“Oh, hi Agent Hotchner,” the woman says with a tone of recognition, glancing at his ID before typing something into her computer, “I’m Mary Kutner, I spoke to you on the phone. Dr Reid is still in surgery but I’ll go and find a doctor who can explain the situation to you.”
He nods absently, face stern and pinched as furious anxiety toils inside him. He feels like the last forty-five minutes have been a daze, and now the bright lights and noisy machines and bustling action of the Emergency Department at a major trauma centre are slowly snapping him out of it, the implications of ‘urgent’ and ‘surgery’ and it being the middle of the damn night finally catching up to him.
Some number of minutes pass by — he’s too anxious and caught in his head to keep track of the linear passage of time right now — before he’s approached by a young doctor, wearing a mask carefully constructed of confident professionalism and reassuring compassion.
“Agent Hotchner?” She’s clarifying uselessly, she knows it’s him. He knows she probably has to confirm for some stupid HIPAA rule, but he just wants to know what happened goddamnit.
“Yes,” he replies shortly, “what’s happened to Spencer?”
He doesn’t miss her almost perfectly concealed wince, and he feels his stomach sink further. “He was involved in an assault on his way home from work. A passer-by found him in a back road not far from the hospital and called for an ambulance. Luckily we got him into surgery quickly. Upon admission’s initial assessment, he had a ruptured spleen, a collapsed lung, a double kidney contusion, and he suffered a pelvic fracture along with multiple broken ribs, a fractured jaw and cheekbone, and several severe breaks in his left forearm, wrist, and hand.”
Hotch stares at the doctor in disbelief as she lists Spencer’s injuries: he feels like he’s going into shock. How could anyone want to hurt the sweetest person he’s ever met? How could anyone be so brutal? He’s worked with serial killers for nearly two decades and still, nothing could prepare him for this. He sits down in the seat behind him as the world spins, his brain trying to piece everything together.
“Are you alright, sir?” the doctor asks, sitting down in the seat next to him. “Do you want a glass of water?”
“What?” He turns to look at her before her words sink in and he realises what she asked. “Oh. No, I’m fine… I— is he going to be okay?” As soon as the first tear spills down his cheek, he can’t stop them from falling one after another, dripping down his face in his most public display of emotion since Haley died.
“He’s going to need a lot of care,” she reasons, “he’ll need to stay in hospital for at least a week depending on the outcome of the surgery, but we have every reason to believe he’ll make a full recovery.”
“What’s— what’s the surgery for?” He feels like he’s having an out of body experience.
“They’ll address the internal bleeding first by either fixing or removing the spleen and making sure we didn’t miss anything else on the scans. The surgeon will also assess the damage to Spencer’s kidneys and make sure they aren’t contributing to the internal bleeding. They’ll address the pelvic fractures and the collapsed lung as well. You need to understand that Spencer may need further surgery and he’ll definitely need very close monitoring over the coming weeks and months.”
“What about his broken bones?” Hotch asks. “How bad is it?”
She sighs. “They’re bad,” she admits. “The pelvic fractures are likely going to have a big impact on his mobility, and he won’t have the use of his left arm for a long time. We’re looking at a long recovery, Agent Hotchner. But we have every reason to believe that he will eventually recover.”
She pats him comfortingly on the hand before getting up. “Someone will fetch you as soon as he’s out of surgery.”
It’s not until she’s halfway across the waiting room that he realises she never even told him her name.
It’s close to 8am by the time a surgeon walks over to him, still dressed in scrubs. There’s a smudge of blood on his shirt and Hotch winces at the knowledge that it’s Spencer’s.
“How is he?” he asks, leaping up. He doesn't want any screwing around. He just wants to know if Spencer’s going to be okay.
“He’s stable. The surgery went well. Unfortunately, we had to conduct a full splenectomy to stop his internal bleed which does put him at risk for serious infections, but otherwise, it’s good news. His kidneys will need support but should heal in a timely manner, and we were able to set the rib that punctured his lung and reinflate it, although we’re going to keep him on oxygen to be safe. His pelvis was severely fractured but we managed to reposition the displaced bone fragments and inserted a screw and metal plate to hold them together.”
“Oh, thank God,” Hotch sighs with relief. The worst, immediate threats have been dealt with, and it settles a small part of the anxiety he’s feeling.
“He’s in room 338 if you’d like to go and see him. He should be waking up shortly.”
⭐️
Wasting no time, he races up to Spencer’s floor where a nurse lets him onto the ward and leads him down to 338. He pushes the door open apprehensively, swallowing his emotion at the sight of the man he considers a son lying in a hospital bed. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s been rushed to the hospital, but it’s never been like this. It’s always after a case: Spencer knows the risks of the job, they all do, and he puts himself deliberately in harm's way for the sake of others.
This time, though… this time he was just walking home from work. This time he had no say in the matter.
His left arm is in a cast and his face is bruised and swollen, chestnut hair matted and tangled. Opening the bag he packed, he pulls out a comb and gently teases out the tangles until he can comb through the curls completely unobstructed. There are undoubtedly more knots at the back of his head, but those can wait until he’s woken up at least. It just makes him feel like he’s doing something.
It’s only when he sits down in the chair by his bed that he realises it’s Thursday morning now; he’s supposed to be at work today, they both are. No-one except Jessica knows what’s happened.
The first thing, he supposes, is to ring Strauss.
Once that’s out of the way and she knows that neither he nor Spencer will be in today and he’ll inform her of the latest updates as soon as possible, he messages Rossi. He’s the only one who will be able to remain objective enough to inform everyone, and he’s enough of a dad to the team to help manage everyone’s emotional responses.
Just as he hits send on the message, his head snaps up at Spencer’s quiet whimpering as he comes around.
“Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says as soothingly as possible, “it’s okay, I’m here. You’re in the hospital. Are you in pain?”
Spencer blinks his eyes open blearily, wearing such a pained and vulnerable expression that it goes right to Hotch’s gut. He nods in response to his question, his good hand reaching to hold Hotch’s.
“Okay, there’s a PCA pump right here, I’ll turn it up a little. Is that better?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, tears springing to his eyes. Now he’s not in as much physical pain, Hotch knows this is pure emotion, and he thinks that’s somehow worse. Spencer’s been through a horrifying physical ordeal, but the emotional recovery is going to be just as gruelling and last years. If there’s one word he’d use to describe Spencer, though, it’s resilient.
He shushes him gently, bringing a hand to his hair and caressing it lightly. “I’m here,” he repeats. “You’re safe. I won’t leave you, okay?”
Spencer nods and relaxes into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he calms down a little.
“You rest now,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Everything’s going to be okay.”
They’ll deal with the fall-out later. They’ll deal with the team coming to visit, with the paperwork for his sick leave and the frustration of government bureaucracy. They’ll manage their way through processing the trauma of what happened to him, the physical, mental, and occupational implications of the assault. They’ll stay glued at the hip while Spencer’s interviewed by the police, while doctors explain to him just how serious his injuries are.
Right now, though, Spencer will sleep and Hotch will sit by his bedside watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to every steady beep on the heart rate monitor, searing the living breathing proof that Spencer is alive into his mind. Spencer will sleep and Hotch will cry silently over the cruelty of the world, he’ll grieve for the man he said good-bye to 12 hours earlier, knowing he’ll never quite be the same again.
Spencer will sleep and Hotch will be there, holding his hand, waiting for him to wake up again.
taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith
#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds writing#criminal minds whump#whump#spencer reid whump#aaron hotchner#hotch#spencer reid#aaron hotchner & spencer reid#criminal minds gen#criminal minds gen fic#criminal minds angst#tw violence#tw assault#tw beating
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surfaced in every shadow.
757 words
Frank Morrison/Quentin Smith
Dead by Daylight
CW: blood, injury, language
I got a bit bored and wanted to play with some character interactions, so of course I chose a first proper meeting between Frank and Quentin. Because I am absolute Morrismith trash. Enjoy :)
***
“Listen ‘ere, you scrawny American slag. Start shit again n’ I’ll kill ya myself.”
“You think you scare me? Fucking British dickhead.”
“YOU LITTLE-”
Frank approaches the sound of two people fighting in the boundary woods just outside of the Survivors’ campfire.
He and Julie have been at each other’s throats for the past few weeks, having recently broken up over conflicting interests, and Frank is desperately looking for something to distract him from the fact that he’s stuck in the Fog forever with his now-ex. So maybe snooping on the latest Survivor drama is a perfect way to occupy his mind.
He walks quietly through the trees and rolling mist, just barely able to pick out the shapes of two people brawling. It’s hard to discern who the two individuals are, but Frank does recognize the brawny frame of David King, the survivor who arrived with Anna. As for the smaller, more slender person? Frank has no idea.
The fight escalates until David throws a punch to the other Survivor’s jaw, sending the smaller man flying back against a tree. There’s a pained groan as he slides down the trunk to slump against the ground.
David bares his teeth in one last snarl as he snaps, “Come back t’the fire when you’ve cooled off. Fuckin’ cunt.”
Then, to Frank’s surprise, David leaves the survivor lying in the leaf litter and briars.
He always thought survivors were super altruistic and kind to one another. But apparently, they fight just as frequently as killers do. In spite of himself, he chuckles lowly.
I could use a bit of shit-talking.
With a confident, swaggering stride, Frank makes his way over to the collapsed survivor and leans nonchalantly against a tree. Hands in his pockets, he flips up his mask to reveal his face. “Damn, he laid you the fuck out.”
Now, he recognizes the survivor. Quentin Smith, the survivor who came here with Freddy Krueger. Always altruistic towards his teammates, and cutting with his banter towards the killers. But from where Frank’s standing, perhaps the insomniac is a lot less liked by his fellow survivors than it seems in trials.
Quentin opens one grey-blue eye, the other being blackened and swollen shut. “Think I won’t fuck you up right now? This is nothing.”
Ballsy, Frank remarks silently, I like that.
“Get up, then. Show me you ain’t just spitting bullshit.” Frank challenges.
Quentin narrows his one functioning eye. After a moment of pause, he sluggishly rolls over and drags himself to his feet, leaning against the nearest tree for support. He spits blood and fixates Frank with an icy glare.
Frank whistles. “Colour me impressed. Didn’t think you had it in ya after that ass-beating.”
“Shut up.” Quentin hisses. “I can take you, no problem.”
For a moment, Frank considers taking Quentin up on that offer. It’d be fun to beat the hell out of a guy talking this much shit. But instead, Frank chuckles and moves closer to the survivor. Throwing an arm around his shoulders, Frank forces Quentin to lean his weight on him.
“H-hey, what are you-?!” Quentin stammers, struggling against Frank’s grip.
Frank jostles Quentin just enough to force the injured young man to lean on him again with a hiss. “Takin’ you to get patched up. Seems like your little survivor friends aren’t gonna help you, what with your crappy attitude and all.”
“I’m calling bullshit. You’re just gonna-” Quentin lets out an unhinged, high-pitched laugh, “-you’re gonna take me to him. So he’ll gut me and you can play in my fucking entrails.”
“Dunno who ‘he’ is, but as tempting as that sounds, I ain’t into playing with guts. Too messy. I like clean kills.” Frank replies with a smirk. “I’d rather patch your stupid ass up so I can beat the shit out of you in a fair fight.”
Quentin scrutinizes Frank’s face for a time, as if searching for any hint of a lie. But of course, he finds none. He averts his eyes. “If this were the real world, and you had no stupid powers or weapons, I’d flatten you.”
“Well, why don’t we schedule a fight once you’re back in fightin’ shape? No powers, no weapons, no decisive strike bullshit. Just two idiots throwing punches.”
For a time, Frank thinks Quentin is going to decline. But after what seems like an eternity, Quentin nods. “Sure. Maybe if I wreck you, David’ll respect me enough to leave me the fuck alone.”
Frank laughs. “You’ve gotta beat me first, jackass.”
#dbd#dbd fic#dead by daylight#quentin smith#frank morrison#morrismith#oneshot#hitashit#this might be a bit heavy on the cursing#but these two strike me qs the type who use curse words like commas#enemies to friends to lovers ig
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My One in a Million Chapter 4
Tagging @donttouchmycarrots and @sunflowerfox87 who I still can’t believe wanted to be tagged 🥺
Thank you so much everyone for your support ❤️
And as always, thank you @inloveoknutzy and Nayla for proofreading, you guys are the best ❤️
My One in a Million Masterlist
Chapter 4 - Morning routines
The feeling of the earth on his bare feet. Long nights playing video games with his friends. Streaming for his fans. Slow sunsets and starry nights. Having the gang at his flat all the time. Relaxing bubble baths. Sunday lunch with the Potters. Making the people who doubted him shove their words up their asses.
Those were all things Sirius Black loved.
Having his brother drilling him at 7 am on an otherwise perfect Friday morning was most definitely not one of them. Not at all.
“I told you a thousand times already, and I’ll say it again one last time. I am not. Going. To that stupid. Fucking. Dinner,” he practically yelled over the phone.
There was a tired sigh on the other end of the line.
“Sirius, please. Could you stop thinking only about yourself for once? They want you to come.” A short pause. “I want you to come.”
Sirius grunted lowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“No, Reg. I gave them too much already. I can’t keep giving them more. I’m sorry.” He hung up before Regulus could get another word in and raked both hands through his hair.
Manipulative pieces of crap. They ‘wanted him to come’? What a fucking pile of shit. They had never wanted him there, they only wanted whatever they could get from him, asking for more, more and more, until they could suck him dry. They wouldn’t even be bothering with him if he was of no use to them.
Saying no to Regulus was the hard part. Knowing they were using him precisely because of this, that Regulus himself was using it against him, was almost like a knife twisting in his gut.
It hurt.
It hurt so fucking much, because Sirius still cared about him. He was still his little brother, despite the decisions they had both taken for their lives. But Regulus didn’t see it that way.
Sirius started pacing up and down his room, rubbing a hand through his face as his other went instinctively to his back pocket to grab a pack of cigarettes. He hated feeling like this, hated the push and pull that came with his family’s relationships; craving the acceptance of his own blood, wanting to be close to his brother, but also feeling like he needed to get as far from them as he could. Why couldn’t they understand he didn’t want anything to do with the company? Heck, he didn’t want anything to do with most of them, he only kept some sort of contact because of Regulus. Even if his brother didn’t really want anything to do with him.
A flash of pain slashed him in the middle of his chest, and Sirius stormed off to the balcony, a fag already between his lips.
Lighting it up felt like lifting some of the weight off his shoulders. He pictured all of his problems in his head and imagined exhaling them with the smoke, drifting away in the morning sky until there was nothing left of them.
Sirius snorted. He wished it was that easy to get rid of all his worries, but his brother’s voice kept whispering in his ears, no matter how many times he watched the smoke dissipate in front of his face, mixing with words that were not Reg’s but still sounded in his voice. Stop thinking about yourself. You’re such a disappointment. We gave you so much, and this is how you repay us? You don’t care about me. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care.
“Ugh, fuck,” Sirius grunted as he leaned on the rail and let his head hang low, pressing his forehead against the cold metal.
A low sound reached him through the fog of noises in his head. It was a song he’d never heard before, its rhythm slow and calming, and Sirius tried to focus on that to clear his mind and make the voice shut up.
He raised his head, looking at the place where it was coming from, only to be faced with a sight that almost made him drop his cigarette six floors down.
The new neighbor, Remus, was behind the glass doors of his balcony, standing on top of a yoga mat, wearing a black tank top and a pair of grey shorts that were dangerously hiking up his thighs in the position he was currently in.
His arms were stretched on top of his head, his toned muscles making the veins in his arms pop, and his broad shoulders working with the slow movements he was making. There was such a peaceful air about him. His eyes were closed and the sun was drawing golden lines that flitted through his hair as he bent down at the waist to touch the floor, leaving his back exposed.
The freckles on Remus shoulders disappeared below the t-shirt, and Sirius desperately wanted to know just how far they reached. He swallowed thickly, unable to look away. It was mesmerizing to watch Remus transition between poses, his lithe body flowing like water. He briefly wondered if the man was as pliable in other ways, but when his heart rate started quickening, Sirius decided he should stop being a creep and allow his neighbor the privacy he deserved. Before he could tear his eyes away though, a black shadow darted into the room and tackled Remus to the floor.
Sirius gripped the rail unconsciously before he realised it was just Remus’ dog, and he was left breathless once more at the image in front of him.
Remus was laughing as the dog nudged him with its head, two of its paws pressed over those powerful shoulders as Remus stroked the fur at its sides. The man’s eyes were crinkled, his curls falling onto his forehead in a tawny mess that was so cute Sirius thought he might die.
Seeing him smiling like that, it reminded Sirius of the Halloween party almost a week ago.
At first, he’d been annoyed about Lily bringing Remus and a stranger into his home, but that was mainly ‘cause Sirius had been on edge about the whole family drama. He had been looking forward to a chill night with his friends, and having outsider eyes at that moment felt like something that would have made him step on eggshells all night to avoid revealing his identity.
But Remus had proved to be as interesting as Sirius had thought him to be the first time they talked, always taking him by surprise with his comments and reactions.
Sirius desperately wanted to know where the hell Remus had learned to play like that. It wasn’t every day that he was beaten by someone that didn’t seem to have a lot of time for games, even if he’d been overly distracted by his toned thigh touching his own leg. Yes, Sirius had had a hard time concentrating, but he hadn’t slacked off. Remus was good. And Sirius wanted to know how.
He was intrigued by the man in so many ways, his interest peaking with every new little thing he noticed: the gaming, the yoga, his weird way of thinking -Sirius chuckled when he remembered how Remus had thought he was a fucking drug dealer-, him showing up at a party wearing a jumper that was a few sizes too big for him, looking so impossibly cuddly and warm; his relationship with his dog, his relationship with that Leo guy.
As Remus nuzzled his nose into the dog’s fur, Sirius thought about the rainbow coloured bracelet on Leo’s wrist. He admired the guy for wearing the flag so proudly, just there in plain sight for everyone to see. Sirius wished he could do the same, to stand tall, out in the open. But the consequences for him were way too high.
A small, annoying part of his brain felt the need to remind him that this didn’t mean Remus liked dudes. But Sirius took comfort in the knowledge that, at the very least, it meant that he was ok with it. That he wouldn’t condemn Sirius for it.
Sirius reached for a new cigarette, even if he was already feeling calmer, and put it between his teeth, taking a second before lighting it. While he played with the flame of his lighter, he wondered how Remus knew about Padfoot. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to know that story.
His heart warmed, not for the first time, at how Remus had defended Padfoot so fiercely, having no idea that he was right there; no idea how much his words meant for Sirius. Remus had understood him incredibly thoroughly for someone that didn’t even know who Padfoot was. That he was sitting right next to him. And Sirius wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but he wanted to find out.
It was no surprise that Remus hadn’t recognized his voice, even though he was clearly a fan. Sirius always hid his accent on his videos to conceal any connection to his family, so his parents wouldn’t intervene and ruin everything.
Suddenly, the music drifting from the room next door changed to a more upbeat one. Remus lifted the black dog up in his arms, something that couldn’t be easy given its size, and hugged it as he started twirling around the room, laughing brightly as he did.
He was dancing.
With his dog.
And the face he was making, like the animal meant the world to him... How could someone you barely knew be so fucking endearing?
Sirius was still staring when Remus turned around and lifted his head, his eyes locking with Sirius’. He stopped mid-turn, the smile slipping from his face. Sirius felt a blush prickling at his cheeks at being caught basically ogling him, but he waved with an awkward smile.
His only answer was a scowl, even if from afar he could tell Remus was blushing too. He set the dog down, glaring at Sirius, who let his hand drop slowly as he watched the man close the curtains in a slash.
Sirius hid his face in his hands, feeling the heat radiate from his cheeks. How could he fuck up so much? Remus would think he was a fucking creep now. Dragging his hands down, Sirius knew he would have to genuinely step up his game if he wanted to get to know this man.
In the afternoon, Sirius was still pondering ways to get more acquainted with Remus, and coming back empty handed. He didn’t want to just show up at one of his classes, he lived right next door for fucks sake! He should be able to find a way to start up a conversation with him, right? Although Sirius had to admit, he hadn’t seen much of the guy since he’d moved in. Of course, Sirius hadn’t exactly been in the right state of mind to notice him.
But life seemed to be on his side, at least this once. Because when he stepped into the coffee shop where he was meeting up with James and Lily, the first thing he saw was a head of tawny curls.
Barely keeping in his glee, Sirius walked towards Remus, figuring he could just say hi. He stopped dead in his tracks though, when he was just a few steps behind him and he realized Remus was humming the lyrics of An Open Letter to Myself.
“I love that song,” he said without thinking. The man had a lovely voice, sweet and a bit sad, and it made his curiosity peak again.
Remus jolted and turned around with surprised eyes and slightly flushed cheeks, but as gold met silver, his eyebrows dropped quickly over his eyes. Sirius was taken aback by the clear hostility in Remus’ features, which made him stutter as he cleared his throat.
“Sorry, I... I saw you and thought... I… uhm... should come and say hi? So...hi,” Sirius said and immediately groaned inwardly at his stupidity. Since when was he this clumsy?
“Hello,” Remus said in a polite, detached tone before he turned away.
Sirius took a minute to rearrange his thoughts while he placed his order right after Remus. They got their drinks at the same time, and before Remus could walk away from the shop, Sirius scrambled for something else to say.
“Your dog is beautiful, what’s its name?”
The corner of Remus’ mouth tickled up at the mention of his pet, but it was pushed down almost instantly.
“Cocoa,” he replied reluctantly, and Sirius almost spit his tea.
“Cocoa? That huge ass dog has a cute name like Cocoa?”
Remus rolled his eyes, but he was almost pouting. “I just really like chocolate, ok? Besides, he’s just a pup,” he said as he moved over to add some sugar to his chai latte. Sirius followed.
“A pup?” he said incredulously. “How is that a pup?!”
Remus huffed. “He’s only about two or three years old.”
Sirius stared at him in disbelief. That dog was already past Remus’ knees, and if what he was saying was right, he was probably going to grow some more.
“Did you adopt him?” he asked, tilting his head, thinking about Remus’ choice of words. He was focusing his whole attention on Remus, and that was probably the only reason why he noticed the slight stutter of his hand as he stirred his drink.
“Yeah,” he said in a breath. Sirius thought that would be the end of the conversation, but then -as if he couldn't help himself- Remus added, “he was very young when I found him. He was abandoned and practically left to die; his previous owners must have thought it was too much trouble to raise a wolfdog, and decided to leave him tied up in the woods instead of being decent human beings and finding him an appropriate home.”
There was such disgust in his voice that Sirius took a step back while his heart melted into a puddle. Of course he rescued dogs. Sirius was starting to wonder if this guy was even real. He’d been so thoroughly captivated by him in such a short time, it was a bit scary. Sirius hadn’t felt like this in a very long time. He hadn’t let himself feel like this, it was too risky, and he knew it would be more sensible to leave Remus alone and stay away from him before things got worse, but he had felt drawn to him ever since the Halloween party.
“That’s awful. No one deserves to be treated like that,” he replied softly against his better judgement. If things got worse, he’d deal with that later.
Remus’ head snapped up, and for a moment it looked like he was drowning. Sirius had no idea what had brought that expression to his face, but the only thought in his mind was how desperately he wanted to erase it.
In hopes of doing so, he tried to change the subject to something lighter. “So, you like games, huh? You really did a number on me the other day. When did you start playing?”
The response he got was not what he’d expected. Remus’ expression hardened, and he turned his gaze away as he discarded the used stick with more force than was probably necessary.
“That’s hardly any of your concern, is it?”
Sirius blinked. And then blinked again. Was he still mad at him?
“Look, I’m really sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, I just-”
“You really think this is all just about this morning?” Remus snapped.
“What?” Sirius was confused. What had he done? He’d made a little fun of Remus the first time they talked, but it hadn’t been that bad, had it?
“At least you weren’t smoking into my room today,” Remus added with a huff, which made Sirius frown.
He supposed he did smoke quite close to the edge of their balconies, but by the way Remus was talking, he felt like there was more to it. He tried to think of all the interactions they had had so far, but he couldn’t think of anything that would elicit Remus’ anger. His mind drifted to them sitting on his couch with the NHL game, how their shoulders had bumped together playfully, how Remus had even seemed to be comfortable once he got a controller in his hands. It was the only time Remus had acted in a friendly-ish manner towards him, without the scowl that seemed to be permanently weighing down on his brows. But none of his smiles had actually been directed at him, they had all been shared with Leo.
He smiled a lot around the blond, but whenever he was close to Sirius he seemed to be in a bad mood. Sirius hated that.
“What did I do for you to dislike me so much?”
“If you need to ask, it just shows that it’s not even worth answering you.”
Remus turned around and walked briskly to the door, leaving Sirius completely dumbfounded. The door opened just as Remus was reaching for the handle, and he almost bumped into Lily and James, who were coming in. Sirius watched as he nodded at them with a few words, threw one last glare his way, and disappeared in the afternoon sun.
Lily watched him walk away with a confused expression on her face. She glanced at James who just shrugged, and then she looked directly at Sirius with a deep frown. He seemed to be getting a lot of those lately.
“What was that all about?” she asked when they got next to him.
“He hates me, that’s what it was,” Sirius grumbled.
“Why?”
“I don’t know!” Throwing his hands in the air, Sirius stared at Lily like she held all the answers in the world. “He looks at me like I’m the worst person to ever walk the Earth. What did I do to deserve that?”
Lily winced, and Sirius felt his heart freeze where it had melted on the floor.
“Well, apparently, you haven’t been a very good neighbor, have you?” she said gently. Everything started falling into place then, and Sirius suddenly had a pretty good idea what she was talking about. He could be a very self-absorbed prick after a row with his family.
“What can I do?”
“Maybe you should try apologizing first,” she doubted for a second before she kept going. “I’ve heard you broke something important of his on the day you two met.”
“That was him?!” Sirius asked in astonishment, remembering the day he’d knocked someone over in the hall, and ignoring the few heads that turned his way at his raised voice.
“You’re joking, right? You didn’t know?” When Sirius only shook his head, still speechless, Lily stared at him, bewildered. “Sirius, how could you not know?”
“I was so angry at the time Lily, I barely noticed anything I was doing!” Sirius said in a pleading voice. He glanced at James for support, who looked at him in sympathy and understanding. Sirius rubbed a hand over his face. “I just needed to get out of the flat, I couldn’t stand the sight of Reg with his cold eyes and-” Sirius stopped himself, clenching his fists.
It all came back to him. How Regulus had suddenly turned up at his flat, even though he wasn’t supposed to know the address. Even though he hadn’t visited Sirius’ home in five years.
How Reg had looked at him with such clear disappointment, like Sirius was nothing more than a waste of space, and had told him that he was expected to attend the annual Black Enterprises’ gala and fulfill his duty to the family. How he had stated that it was time he stopped acting like a child, with his foolish, selfish dreams, and took his place in the company.
Sirius had never wanted anything to do with the monster corporation that was Black Enterprises. He hated the way they did business and how they treated people, like anyone outside the Black family was trash.
A hand on his shoulder shook him away from his memories before he could spiral down into the hole he’d been in in the weeks before Halloween. Sirius looked up, and found James’ kind hazel eyes.
“It’s ok Pads,” he whispered. “You’re out of there. They have nothing on you, and you owe them absolutely nothing. I’m sure you can fix this.”
Sirius hoped his friend was right.
#My One in a Million#wolfstar#wolfstar fic#remus x sirius#Sirius Black#Remus Lupin#neighbor!au#yoga!remus#remus#sirius orion black
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A3! Best friend headcanons p.4
I’m finally back to finish this headcanon! 💕
I had originally planned to upload it later because I was working but then again... why would I wait? I’m so excited for everyone to tell me their opinions! So here you go. Enjoy! 💕
🌸 Harugumi best friend headcanons
🔆 Natsugumi best friend headcanons
🍁 Akigumi best friend headcanons
-
Being best friends with each Winter Troupe member includes...
Tsumugi
Super best friend material. Top notch.
But also kind of like having a grandma as a best friend??
Enjoying going to cafes together every time you can to listen to each other’s ramblings about your week.
Tsumugi giving the best advices and points of view.
You being the person he goes to every time the youngers at Mankai or his students talk to him in slang and he doesn’t understand.
“Y/N, I was told in one of my classes that I am ‘on fleek’…is that good or bad?”
“I’m not sure, Kazunari keeps calling me ‘bro’ at the dorm, but I’m not actually his brother? should I... talk to him??”
Having discussions about the best flowers to grow and their old meanings.
You encouraging Tsumugi to speak up more and make him come out of his shell.
“I can’t Y/N, I…”
“Tsumugi, do you believe in me?”
“O-of course I do, but…”
“Then open wide and listen: You are able to do so many amazing things, Tsumugi. Be confident in your abilities”
And he does, and the play is a success.
Tsumugi doesn’t know what he would do without you as his best friend.
Homare
He’s THE drama queen. Like 200%. Doesn’t even try to deny it.
Of course, being best friends with Homare means bringing him back from his dreamland to reality. He never takes it well.
“I’m utterly shocked. You are supposed to be on my side, Y/N.”
“I’m supposed to what now.”
You enjoy the poems he makes though.
Sometimes.
Meaning you just got used to them
Homare always remembering dates??
At this point of your friendhip, it doesn’t matter what it is, he knows
The day you two met, your birthday, when you two went on that short trip, that time you drank too much, when you started that new job… you name it.
Discovering he marks them on a calendar.
You starting to do the same just because it makes Homare happy.
“Our friendship will be engraved in these majestic lines!”
Homare opening up to you about how he thinks he’s broken?
You hugging him and promissing it’s not true, because he has the biggest heart you know and it takes a while, but he starts believing it too.
After all, you are there supporting him.
“A cheer to our beautiful and memorable friendship, Y/N.”
“Cheers to that, Homare.”
Hisoka
A.K.A Your cuddling monster.
You sit anywhere, and within minutes, you have him over you.
Being the other thing Hisoka likes more than marshmallows.
“All right, Hisoka-kun let’s say... if you could only save the biggest, most wonderful marshmallow created, or Y/N, what would you do?”
“…”
“Hisoka-kun?”
“Hisoka I swear.”
“…I eat the marshmallow and take Y/N.”
“HISOKA.”
Also, somehow you being the only one able to find him from his naps when no one else can??
Starts as a funny thing.
Until it’s not.
“Y/N, Could you come? Hisoka isn’t…”
“Don’t you guys pull up the ‘help us find your best friend’ card here because If I go and find him I’ll murder him and you won’t have a winter actor anymore.”
“…”
“Ugh, I’ll be there in ten.”
Hisoka talking to you about his memories and trembling from relief when the only thing you ask is if he needs a hug when he finishes.
You are his precious best friend and he’s so glad you still think the same about him.
Azuma
Of course, sleepovers. So many sleepovers. Sakyo is thinking about making you pay the rent at some point.
Azuma talking to you to sleep with a voice you keep telling him it’s not normal.
“Fufu I like your voice too, Y/N.”
“Not the same and you know it.”
Azuma also not letting you go out unless you have the perfect skin routine done. This usually last for forty-five minutes on a good day.
Sharing a full collection of famous colouring books between the two of you
When it gets too overwhelming, becoming a steady presence for Azuma when he can’t tell nightmare from reality.
“Listen to me Azuma, look, I’m here, right? Where are you then?”
Him shuddering from relief when he sees you, “…safe.”
Getting together to enjoy champagne or other drinks.
Going on walks late at night, watching the moon in the sky and taking pleasure of the silent noises surrounding you both.
“I’m so glad I have such a wonderful friend like you, Y/N.”
“Me too, Azuma.”
Tasuku
Everything somehow becoming a competition between the both of you.
Tasuku trying to get you to work out with him.
Only lasting for one hour. Never again.
Him getting confused if people refer to you as his partner. Who again??
“Y/N, can you not?” he mutters as you continue to tie his hair while he reads his script.
“Careful there, I’m making you prettier.”
He sighs. Tasuku knows he must look ridiculous, but it makes you laugh, so he lets you do it.
He doesn’t get memes. You find it hilarious.
“Why do you keep sending me an ugly cat on the side of a dinner table when I ask you to come to help me.”
“He’s called Smudge, Tasuku.”
“…just get your pain in the ass here.”
You being one of the very few people he feels he doesn’t have to think about what to say or change his stoic expression to fit. It allows him to relax.
Enjoying his acting and Tasuku displaying it willingly for you any time you request it because he likes seeing you enjoy so much.
___________________________________________________________
And we are done! 💕 Aw, I had a the best time doing these headcanons, you guys have no idea. Hopefully you guys enjoyed them too! 💕
Have a wonderful day!
#a3! act! addict! actors!#A3! Actor Training Game#a3 act#a3#a3!#a3! headcanons#homare arisugawa#a3 homare#tasuku#a3 tasuku#tsumugi tsukioka#a3 tsumugi#tsumugi#hisoka mikage#a3 hisoka#Hisoka#azuma yukishiro#a3 azuma#fuyugumi#a3 fuyugumi#a3! best friends#a3! hisoka#a3! azuma#a3! homare#a3! tsumugi#a3! tasuku
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