#sighs like a dog who has taxes to pay
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If we lived in a truly just and kind world, there would be a 3DS dunmeshi game
#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#maybe we’ll get a switch game#maybe a mobile game#but it won’t be the same#it won’t have a top screen with a map and the bottom screen with the game and sometimes there’s a dialogue#with little portraits of the characters from the anime#sighs like a dog who has taxes to pay
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The Salem Song
Salem: Oh, Zwei~! I heard there's a song about me, and I want to hear it!
Zwei: Are... Are you sure?
Salem: Zwei, put the song on!
Zwei: It's... It's not very nice.
Salem: Zwei, put it on!
Zwei: Alright. (Presses scroll)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Music plays to the musical tune of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch")
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You're a mean one, Ms. Salem~.
Salem: That's me~.
You're a fugly piece of shit~!
Salem: What?
You bring bendy straws to bathrooms 'cause you like the taste of piss, Ms. Saleeeeem~!
Salem: No. No, I- No, I don't.
I wouldn't suck your tits if they were dipped in honey and could cure cancer.
Salem: Monty Oum! Who wrote this?! Who wrote this song, Zwei?!
ALSO YOU HAVE NO TIIIIIITS~!
Salem: Zwei, stop the song.
Zwei: I can't.
Salem: What do you mean you can't?
Zwei: It's broken.
Salem: What's broken?!
Zwei: I dunno, it's jammed.
Salem: What do you- Fine! Can you at least turn it down?
Zwei: I can't. I... I'm a dog.
Salem: ZWEI!
You're a dipshit, Ms. Salem~.
Salem: (Sighs) Okay?
Even babies want you dead~!
Salem: ...Wow.
You've never bring home a man 'cause you're scared you'll wet the bed, Ms. Saleeeeeeem~!
Salem: I wish they weren't so good at rhyming.
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote:
BITCH!
Salem: I'm not.
DUMPSTER!
BITCH!
Salem: No, no, no, this is not how it goes! Like, I knew they changed it, but I thought it would be like a key change, or maybe a guitar solo! But this is... This is just degrading. This hurts.
Zwei: It's pretty detailed, yeah.
Salem: What happened to the Beowolf part? I actually liked that part! It was kinda funny!
Zwei: It was a Beringel.
Salem: No, it was a Beowolf!
Zwei: It was a Beringel.
Salem: Was it a Beringel?
Zwei: Yeah, "Two Left Foot Beringel".
Salem: Oh.
You're poor, Ms. Salem~!
Salem: Didn't leave a stone unturned.
You can't afford the bus~!
Salem: Lower middle class, maybe!
You're deathly allergic to treenuts, and your exact address is thus,
Ms. Saleeeeeeem~!
Salem: What? Nonono! I-!
1482 Black Dragon Island Blvd.
Salem: Holy shit...
Remnant, Nevada.
Salem: That's my address! Wh-What are you gonna do?!
I MAILED YOUR BITCH-ASS A BAG OF NUUUUUUUUTS~!
Salem: This is a song that kids sing? Every year, they sing this same song around the Non-Descript Winter Holiday decorations?
Zwei: Yeah
Salem: A song that says "bitch"?! It has said "bitch" three times!
Zwei: Yeah, that's... That's too much.
Salem: They know I saved humanity, right?! Like, at the end of the series, I saved them all! I'm a good guy now! I pay my taxes! I go to church! (Epic solo) Oh, there is a guitar solo. ...Okay, that actually is a really good solo.
Zwei: Yeah.
Salem: Just a shame about the rest of the song.
It's not just that you are inbred~!
Salem: I'm fucked.
Miss Salem~!
Salem: This feels bad...
You don't know how to read~!
Salem: This feels really bad...
I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW MUCH YOU LOVE TO SUCK DOWN PEE, MS. SALEEEM~!
Salem: ...
According to an anonymous poll, with a sample size of more than three thousand people of Remnant who are asked to rank you on a scale from one to a hundred...
Zwei: ...Ms. Salem?
Salem: (Gone from her seat)
...based on variant traits such as likeablility, general odor, and your physical attractiveness...
Salem: (Standing over a cliff, Music muffled)
...THE HIGHEST NUMBER WE GOT WAS THREEEEEE~!
Zwei: What's wrong, Ms. Salem?
Salem: ...You ever feel like no matter how hard you try, people will always see you as your past self. Just as this one thing. This one, unchangeable thing.
Zwei: ...Like a dog?
Salem: (Sighs) I guess no matter what I do, I'll always be this black, white, and red monster.
Zwei: You're red?
Salem: Yeah, I'm red.
Zwei: Oh. I always thought you were gray.
Salem: You didn't know I was red, too?
Zwei: No. Dog.
Salem: (Smiles) That's right.
Zwei: ...I love you, Ms. Salem.
Salem: (Pets Zwei) I love you, too, Zwei.
Zwei: Happy Non-Descript Winter Holiday.
Salem: Happy Non-Descript Winter Holiday.
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More jealous Cassian please😭 I loved the last one with tarquin, so it does not necessarily have to be jealous Cassian, maybe just Nesta and tarquin friendship and their shenanigans (with Feyre ofc)
Alright everyone here it is! Pt 2 of Nesta taking herself a damn vacation in the summer court (aka me writing the fantasy life I personally would be living if I was made Fae… hot take but Summer > Night for me I just love the water and sun!!)
Nesta might never go back to the Night Court, she decided. She decided this laying on the top deck of Sunchaser, Tarquin’s sleek and luxurious personal yacht. It was considerably smaller than the massive party barge he usually took guests out on, but faster and infinitely more comfortable.
She thought about never returning to the imperially beautiful city of Velaris as drops of turquoise water skidded off of her body and were absorbed by the plush royal blue towel she’d draped over her lounge chair. Soft as cashmere but insanely absorbent. Some special fabric Summer inventors had woven into existence. She’d already stolen countless robes made out of the material, and yet, every time she came to visit there was a fresh one laid out in her chambers.
Not so long ago Nesta had thought she was too dark and twisted and broken to exist in any court, even the one her sister ran. And now she had dedicated rooms in three different courts.
“I think this is my favorite court, Quin.” Nesta sighed as the High Lord of Summer waved a hand and her glass refilled. She took another sip of the slushy beverage that tasted like salt and lime and summer sun.
“You’re only saying that because I pamper you when you come.” It was true, in the years that Nesta had been using Summer as an escape, she and Tarquin had struck up a somewhat unlikely friendship. He’d remembered her speech in the High Lord’s meeting during the war. She remembered that he’d been one of the only people in the room who seemed to genuinely care about the humans. They could spend hours in the sun or with a bottle of wine well past dark discussing the best ways to shake up the entrenched systems of inequality that ran rampant through Prythian.
Tarquin wanted to change tbings. And he had already started in his own Court. He didn’t just talk. He acted. Nesta admired that.
He did go on about how complicated equality could be or the many reasons why certain citizens were living a better life in his court than others. He identified the problem, talked through a solution, and implemented change. It was refreshing.
“Helion pampers me too,” Nesta commented breezily in response.
“That’s because he wants to sleep with you. I merely ask for access to your brain in return for a place to escape.”
“Hmm,” Nesta hummed, “You ask for more. My brain is worth far more than my body.”
Tarquin nodded, “why do you think I pay you so handsomely with private tours of Dolphin Cove?”
“I believe last time I came, when I helped with the new tax system, I was promised I’d get to see a mermaid.”
Tarquin smiled, white teeth glittering in the sun. “Before you leave we will find one, I promise. They are such elusive, private creatures. Some put on diving gear and chase them beneath the waves, but I prefer to wait for them to surface. To see them when they wish to be seen.”
“You are a prince among swine, Quin.” Nesta swallowed, thinking about the males and men who cared not whether beautiful things wanted to be seen or touched when they reached for them.
“I do try. When is Cassian back from Illyria?”
Nesta smirked, “last night.”
“What a terrible mate you are, not being there to greet him.” Tarquin’s voice lilted up in a mock outraged tone that sounded a bit too much like Nesta’s youngest sister.
“I’m sure he will find a snowball fight or something to entertain himself.”
“You love that he’s in agony right now,” Tarquin laughed, stepping back behind the boat’s wheel to begin moving them towards shore. “You love making him jealous.”
“I love reminding him what he has and making sure he doesn’t take it for granted.”
“He doesn’t,” Tarquin smiled softly, just the tiniest fleck of pain shooting through his eyes. “He looks at you like the stars are caught in your eyes.”
“How very Night Court of you,” Nesta teased.
“It seemed apt.”
As the little boat pulled into the harbour, Nesta wrapped herself in the linen dress she’d been wearing before she jumped into the water
And accepted Tarquin’s hand to help her into the dock.
“High Lord! High Lord!” A paunchy little man that Nesta recognized as the most panicky of Tarquin’s advisors rushed up the gangway and came to a huffing, puffing, halt in front of them. “There has been a security breach!”
Nesta and Tarquin locked eyes, and Nesta’s hand was reaching for Tarquin’s once again before he could even set it to his side. Winnowing them both back to the Summer Palace.
“Where is the-”
“Cornelius was being dramatic as per usual,” Varian sighed, waving his hand. “Security breach is a bit of a strong word. I’d say… unwanted guest.”
Nesta rolled her eyes, “Cassian you are banned from this court!” She yelled even though she couldn’t see her mate. She knew it was him.
“About that,” Cassian sauntered into the room from behind a billowing curtain. “I’ve decided that since this city would be sunk into the ocean without me I am no longer banned from it.”
Nesta stared. Tarquin gaped. Varian laughed.
“You are still banned.” Tarquin said in his best High Lord voice.
“Cassian what game are you playing here?”
“Me?!” Cassian flung his arms out dramatically “I’m the one playing games? Listen, it’s one thing when you’re pissed at me and come here to punish me. Fine. I can take that. But when I come home after a whole week in Illyria and you’d rather be jumping into tidal waves with Mermaid man and Barnacle boy,” Cassian waved a hand to Tarquin and Varian, “that’s where I draw the line.”
Nesta put her hand on her hip. “You draw the line? As if my actions, where I go, who I spend my time with, are a decision for you to make?”
“Never said that. Just said that I’ll be there too.”
Nesta rolled her eyes.
“I missed you,” Cassian used the broad side of his wing to shove Tarquin out of the way and circled his arms around Nesta’s waist. “Come home, please?”
Nesta sighed, let herself get caught up in his puppy dog eyes and lean her head on his broad chest. She let him wrap a wing around her and waited until she felt him smirking against her hair to whisper, gently into his chest, “No.”
“Cruel!” Cassian accused.
“Go take a steam with Azriel,” Nesta snickered.
“That where your mind’s at, huh Nes? Come home with me and we can-”
“Banned!” Nesta pointed at her mate, a smile tugging on her lips. “You are banned, Cassian.”
“Banned from being happy, apparently,” he muttered like a kicked dog.
“Oh let him stay, Tarquin waved a hand. Cassian perked up, grinning madly.
“Traitor!” Nesta accused.
“What can I say? I’m a hopeless romantic.”
#nessian#drabbles open#nesta archeron#nessian fanfiction#tarquin#cassian#nesta and cassian#a court of thorns and roses#sarah j maas#a court of silver flames#a court of mist and fury#acosf#acotar
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soriel, 1 (chocolate) for the ask game?
Like a Box of Chocolates
Rating: G
Word Count: 2734
Read on AO3: here
---
"Ok. I brought a few choices," Sans said while sitting with his back to the door. He pulled a plastic sack full of chocolate and chocolate-adjacent treats out from under his shirt.
"Oh, you did not have to do that." The voice behind the door sounded embarrassed.
"It's no big deal." He shrugged instinctively, though she wouldn't be able to see it. "Not like I candy things like this for you very often."
The lady laughed, even though the pun was a stretch. She was a great audience like that.
"I cannot argue with that. After all, it is the choco-thought that counts."
Sans let out a wheeze. Man, she had him beat in the bad jokes department. He needed to up his game.
"What can I say, I'm a sweet guy." That joke would work better if she could see his wink.
"You certainly are, my friend."
Sans blinked. He hadn't been prepared for the genuine warmth in her voice. Now he felt something like a melted chocolate himself.
"Uh. You'd better wait and make sure I didn't pick out garbage before you say that." He chuckled nervously and spread out the chocolates in the snow.
"Alright. Hit me with your best choco-shot."
He laughed out loud at that one too. She could really squeeze some mileage out of chocolate puns.
"First off we have the MTT-Brand Chocolate Mettaton. Which is exactly what it sounds like. Chocolate in the shape of everyone's favorite robot superstar." He scanned the back of the wrapper. "Contains sequins and glitter, but it's still monster food, so probably won't cause any more indigestion than Temmie Flakes. Still, wouldn't blame ya if you passed on that."
The lady laughed. "I do not know this 'Mettaton,' but he sounds like someone…"
Her voice trailed off, the way it always did when she neared a personal topic. It seemed to be happening more and more often lately. Sans didn't know if that was a good sign, or if he needed to do a better job of distracting her.
"Someone I know would have liked that," she finished clumsily.
"Welp. It's yours, then." He attempted to slide it under the door.
Attempted. The thick block of chocolate wouldn't fit through the narrow space.
"What are my other options?" The lady asked, not seeming to hear his failure.
(Or just ignoring it. The way they always ignored things they didn't want to acknowledge.)
Oh well. He'd deal with that later, if she wanted to.
He picked up the next box and rattled it. It looked thin enough to fit under the door.
"I think this one's called, uh, pocket?” He couldn’t tell for sure, since the box was labeled in a language he didn’t recognize. Where did Alphys get this stuff? “A pal gave it to me. They’re like chocolate-covered sticks, I think."
"Not precisely what I was looking for, but I would love to try it regardless," she said. "If I am allowed to have both options, I mean. If not, I should probably stick with the Em-Tee-Tee."
Sans bit back a snort. So she hadn't heard after all. That made this a lot more awkward.
"Do you wanna hear the other options first? Wouldn't want ya to have any regrets."
"Oh! There are more?"
She sounded as surprised as a kid finding an extra fry in the bottom of their Grillby's bag. He couldn't help grinning.
"Yup. Next up is a chocolate spider donut—”
“Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders?” The voice seemed on the verge of laughter again.
His eyesockets widened. “Uh… welp. Guess you don’t need the whole spiel, huh?”
“There is a spider bakesale right around the corner from my home,” the lady explained. “I believe they are saving for a… ‘heated limo’? To travel safely through Snowdin. I wish I could help them, but I did not think to take much gold when I…”
Another dead end. That was fine, Sans could piece together enough. Not that her personal life was any of his business, anyway.
“If it makes ya feel any better, they really raked me over the coals for this one.”
“It does not!” came her quick reply. “I only asked for a chocolate bar. Not for you to spend money that you need on me.”
Geez, this lady was too good for him. As if Sans ever really went out of his way for anyone.
Except Papyrus, but he was family. And sometimes Grillby, if he felt bad about failing to pay his tab for too long. And Alphys, but he owed her for screwing off after space-time blew up in their faces.
And now, the lady behind the door. The lady he didn’t owe anything to, except a few good laughs.
Who was he kidding? Those laughs were more important to him than anything.
“Eh, it just cost me one day of selling ‘dogs. Donut worry about it.”
“Very well. Since it was for a good cause, I will not grill you any further. But please tell me that was the last chocolate you purchased for me.”
“It’s the last one I purchased.” He grinned. While she couldn’t see his expression, she must have heard the but in his voice.
“Please tell me you did not steal any chocolate for me.”
“Geez, lady, what do you take me for? I’d never commit petty thievery.”
“Well, that is reassuring.”
“Yep. Gotta save room for the real high-dollar crimes. Like the illegal hot dog stand.”
The voice behind the door went silent. He wished he could see her face now more than ever. His own grin slowly slid from his skull.
“Everyone knows about it,” he reassured her. “If the King really wanted to shut me down, he’d have done it a long time ago.”
“Oh, I am not judging you for that. I am sure the law is rigged against you if the King has any say in it.” Her voice was surprisingly bitter.
His real problem was that he couldn’t ever find the necessary documents to get licensed in food preparation. His birth certificate was presumably in whatever alternate dimension his old man had blasted them out of.
“You are judging me for something, though,” he realized. The chill of the snow seeped into his bones, but he didn’t dare adjust his position. Somehow he felt that if he moved, she would disappear.
“I am not. I was only thinking about…” She sighed. “It is complicated. There was a time when I could have helped you, but it is long past.”
“Help me? Look, lady, the ‘dog stand is fine. Promise. Better than fine, since I don’t gotta pay taxes on it.”
She chuckled at that.
“Very well. Forgive a silly old lady for worrying.”
“Done.” He smiled, settling back against the door more comfortably.
He should’ve known she’d have a problem with his illegal activities, though. She was a classy lady, and he was… him. Why had he even brought it up? It wasn’t a great joke. Did he really just want her to know?
Eh, whatever. She wasn’t mad, so no harm done, right?
“I would like to know how you acquired this other chocolate, if it was not through your sticky fingers.” She sounded like she was grinning.
“Huh? Oh.” He blinked and dug out the last chocolate of the bunch. Blue dusted his cheeks. “QC—that’s the lady who runs the shop in town—gave ‘em to me for free. They’re called, uh, kisses.”
QC had a knowing look in her eyes when she’d offered the bag of chocolates to him. It was his own fault for implying they were for a girl. Everyone already thought he screwed around in the woods on his shifts, and with the way gossip travelled in a small town, everyone at Grillby’s would be asking about his girlfriend tonight.
“Kisses,” the lady behind the door echoed. “This is not one of your jokes, is it?”
“Not this time. Sorry to disappoint.” His grin felt too tight. “They’re, uh, tiny chocolates. Kinda cone-shaped? QC makes ‘em herself, so they’ve gotta be good.”
“Oh.” Oddly, the voice did sound disappointed. Sans couldn’t imagine why. Not like he could kiss her through the door, even if he had lips. And even if there was some unlikely timeline where she wanted a kiss from him.
He wanted to thump his skull back against the door, but there was no point in worrying her like that.
“In that case, I will take the kisses. They will be perfect for…”
He was sure she would leave it at that. Cover up with some non sequitur.
So his eyesockets went wide when she said, “for the anniversary of my child’s passing.”
“Oh.” He let out a strangled little laugh. “I—geez, I’m sorry. If I’d known—”
“You would have what? Spent even more money on this silly old lady, who cannot even leave to buy her child’s favorite chocolate?” Her voice was firm. “No. I thought you deserved to know, after the trouble you went to, and because you shared your own secret with me today.”
“My ‘dog stand is hardly a secret,” he said, still feeling a little shaky. She had a kid? A dead kid?
Well, who in the Underground didn’t have skeletons in their closet? Metaphorically or literally. She was still his best friend. If she wanted his pity, she would’ve said something sooner.
“Regardless,” she said. “It is in the past. Forget it, if you wish. But please do not treat me any differently.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sincerely. If there was one thing he was good at, it was maintaining the status quo. “So, uh. These chocolates. I kind of wanted you to have all of ‘em, if that’s alright with you.”
“It would be rude to refuse a gift, would it not?” She sounded like she was smiling again, to his relief.
“There’s just one problem. Uh. Don’t think they’re all gonna fit under the door.” He rapped on the stone surface with his knuckle for emphasis.
“I did not assume they would. The recipe I gave you before hardly passed through.”
Sans blinked. “Then you—huh?”
“I will open the door just a fraction. It can only be done from the inside.” She paused, like she was gathering a breath. “I would ask that you do not look. I promise I will not peek, either.”
Sans’s ribcage tightened. She was going to open the door. She would be right there, with no stone between them.
The thought opened a desperate floodgate within him. He hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to see her, to know her, to live off of more than just scraps and unfinished sentences.
She once had a child. She had some kind of beef against the King. She wanted to give charity to spiders, but didn’t have enough money. All these facts he filed away, tucking them into the grooves in his ribcage.
It would be enough. He’d duct tape those gates shut again, if he had to. He wasn’t going to betray the trust she’d shown him.
“Got it. You don’t wanna be smitten by my good looks, I understand,” he joked.
(He had a feeling it would be the other way around, if anything. Not that quality of jokes translated to quality of appearance—he would know. If it did, he’d have biceps like his brother.)
“It would be tragic. Much too high a price for you to handsome chocolate to me.”
“Heh, I’m sure you’re a door-able too. But I’ll keep my sockets shut, since our friendship hinges on it.”
That got a raucous laugh out of her, the kind that started off high-pitched and quickly became something of a snorting bleat. That sound was sweeter than chocolate to him.
...Man, his pals at Grilby’s would be right to dunk on him. He was a massive dork.
“Alright,” she said once she caught her breath, “if you are ready, my friend…”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Better choco-late than never, huh?”
That one only got a snort, but he wasn’t sure if that was because the pun fell flat, or because she was nervous. As far as he knew, she hadn’t been outside of the Ruins in years. And here she was, trusting a sentry—someone whose job it was to keep a look out—to turn a blind eye.
It was a good thing he’d never been good at his job.
Stone ground against stone with a dramatic rumble. His eyesockets stayed shut. Warmth emanated from somewhere near his shoulder, and he lifted the bag of chocolates.
His small hand brushed a large fur-covered one. A shiver trailed down his spine. One small touch shouldn’t have done so much to him, but—but she was real. She was more than just a voice behind a door. Which he knew, but knowing and feeling could be worlds apart at times.
She took the bag, and the moment was over. But the door didn’t close.
“My dear friend,” she whispered, her voice sounding closer than ever. “Would it be presumptuous to ask another favor of you?”
“‘Course not. Glad to do a favor for my favor-ite person.” He kept his tone light, unaffected by the swirling emotions inside him.
“If I could… oh, dear, this is embarrassing.”
He resisted the urge to open his eyes, to see what look might be on her face.
“It has simply been so long… may I hold your hand a moment longer?”
He felt the marrow heating within his bones.
“That all? I gotta hand it to ya, you made me think you needed an arm and a leg.”
She chuckled before awkwardly fumbling to grasp his hand again.
Heat poured from her palm into his phalanges. Aside from the fur, there were several spots of soft skin—probably paw pads. Was she a dog monster, like the Canine Unit in town? She didn’t make nearly enough dog jokes for that to be the case. Her laugh sounded more like a goat’s, but she obviously didn’t have hooves. Maybe she was some kind of chimera? You didn’t see those often nowadays, but then again, no one saw monsters from the Ruins, either.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice as soft as the snow that began to drift around him.
“Not disappointed?” He asked, only half-joking. “My hand can’t be as comfy as yours.”
“Ah, but it is all your bone. And that is wonderful to me.”
“Geez, old lady.” He was grateful she couldn’t see his blush. “You’re pretty fur-fect yourself.”
When she laughed, her body shook all the way down to her hand. The feeling more than made up for all the G he’d spent on chocolate and donuts.
Suddenly his hand was being lifted up, and then something soft pressed against his knuckles. His soul flared erratically, and his eyes nearly flew open. If they had, he was sure his left eyelight would have been blue from shock.
“A kiss for a kiss,” she said slyly. “It is only fair.”
“Heh heh…” His voice shook with more than laughter. “Technically, that was one kiss for a bag of kisses. Pretty sure that math doesn’t square up.”
“Oh, you are quite right! One day we will have to circle back and rectify that.”
He practically had to cast gravity magic on himself to keep his eyes from flying open.
“You—huh?” He said intelligently.
“Perhaps not soon,” she clarified. “This has all been… a lot, for me. But thanks to you, my dear friend, this day has not been so bitter as I am used to.”
“Uh, no problem, then. With all that chocolate, I hope it’s sweet.”
Sweet as the anniversary of a death could be, anyway. He grimaced. Maybe that joke was too soon, but she just squeezed his hand before finally letting go.
“I do think it will be,” she said softly. “I will look forward to hearing more of your punny jokes tomorrow.”
The door scraped shut, and he hesitantly opened his eyes. He couldn't help inspecting the door to see if anything changed. Pressing his still-warm hand against the smooth stone.
“Heh. Good luck getting rid of me now.” He grinned.
Then he tucked his hands in his pockets, where her kiss remained like a tattoo on his bone.
#tali writes#safeutdr#soriel#sans#toriel#fic tag#very happy with how this one turned out :D#hope you like it and thanks for the request!#prompt requests
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enter for yes, delete for no [wkh]
—summary: “social science is easy. watch me get an ‘a’ on this class”, said wong kunhang, two weeks before failing his first social science test…and horribly.
in light of his new college class making him feel dumber than he really is, and trying to make it through one of his worst economical states ever by balancing three jobs at the same time, kunhang almost loses it when the professor announces that they have to work in trios and make a social science project that is worth 60% of his grade.
great.
now, he’s fucked.
with yukhei by his side, whose eyes divert from the book to scan the library and search for his next love affair, and dejun, who never wanted to be part of his major to start with, he’s left alone with the weight of getting a good grade…
until yukhei’s almost-always silent roommate gives him the idea of the century: a blog. an anonymous blog where he can solve people’s issues. he can do that!
only when he starts to receive submissions from a certain woman does he realize how wrong he was.
—title: enter for yes, delete for no
—pairing: wong kunhang x reader
—genre: college!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; secret admirer!au ; roommate!au ; unrequited love-ish!au ; slowburn
—type: fluff ; angst ; drama ; humor ; suggestive ; crack-ish
—word count: around 19k words.
Kunhang thought that when getting into the political sciences major, he would only have to follow through with what he learned in the debate club back in high school. Tight smile, straight shoulders and a good ear for picking up on what people say.
The pamphlet that he read when opting for the college to attend to had never said that he had to have an entire class dedicated to social science. Knowing people, as human beings, individuals that feel and think, sometimes not as rationally as they should, shouldn’t be considered science. Chromosomes and genes? Sure, that’s science. Whatever the hell veterinarians study about dogs and cats? That’s science, too. Experiments based on how people react in social environments?
It’s dumb.
So dumb that Kunhang pushed the fabric of his gray hoodie on his black hair when leaning back on his seat when he attended the first class of social science in his sophomore year of college. The professor, Mr. Sam, sported his tidy and a little-too-small olive-green suit when he spoke to the class and Kunhang turned to look at Yukhei’s horrified expression with a smile on his face.
“Social science is easy,” He started, leaning forward on his seat before tapping his pencil against the wood of his desk. Yukhei scoffed at his words, a beam of his own taking place on his face because Kunhang has his moments of being too overconfident, and that coming from Wong Yukhei? It was grand. “Watch me get an ‘A’ on this class.”
Dejun sighed from his spot, the long and brown strands of his hair moving with the warm air that left his lips as he continued to scribble down some notes with as much furiousness as he could muster. “It’s not as easy.”
Humming, the tallest agreed. “I can finally say Dejun is right about something.”
The glare that Dejun threw to his friends was worthy of a picture, but Kunhang was the worst of them all, crossing his arms behind his back as he stared at the PowerPoint presentation with little to no interest.
“What’s so difficult about science that is based on people just talking to each other? I’ll get an A. Without studying, even.”
No one told him then, when he had spent most of his time studying for other classes and working his three jobs, that social science with Mr. Sam was a nightmare. Even a demon seen through sleep paralysis could be less scary that the beam the professor wore the day he decided to publish the grades of the first test of the class, delivering the pieces of paper one by one on top of his student’s desks.
Kunhang’s soft fingertips touch the surface of his test, turning it around and expecting to see—at the very least—a ninety-eight out of a hundred. Though, his chestnut eyes widen fractions that couldn’t even be measured when he sees his real grade.
“I had a laugh, Mr. Wong, dare I admit.” Mr. Sam says from his position next to him, fixing the rounded glasses that rest on the crooked base of his nose. The chuckle that leaves his lips annoys Kunhang to bits, taking in a breath. He can’t finish this class if he kills the professor, right? “One would think with how much you talk; you’d know more about social sciences…but that’s all you are, aren’t you?” The class falls silent, the student munching on his bottom lip to muffle the curses that threaten to leave his lips. “All talk won’t work for my class. Do better.”
With that, he hears a few muffled whispers and laughs around the class. Excellence was nitpicked in this exam, tainting his ego even further when he looks over his shoulder to see Yukhei’s grade.
“You got a seventy-two?!” Kunhang exclaims in a whisper, taking Yukhei’s test in between his hands.
Yukhei runs his fingers through his recently bleached blonde locks before shrugging. “I kind of had a date last weekend and she had passed this class. I was in her dorm and she repaid me with her notes from last semester.” The smugness in his voice has Dejun rolling his sharp eyes.
“Repay you for what, exactly?” Dejun questions, voice piercing, but Kunhang is not even half interested in the argument ensuing, mind roaming the sceneries of insecurity, jealousy, hatred…perhaps at himself or at this ridiculing teacher.
“I’m not allowed to say.” Yukhei replies, leaning on his desk towards Dejun, making sure to wink at him. “But I’m allowed to show you, if you’d like, bro.”
“Gross.”
Kunhang cuts through the conversation easily enough, not quite catching up with the bantering ways that surround the friend group. “How much did you get, Dejun?”
With that, the man whose drained ways have started to show on his deep eye-bags and the amount of time he spends studying, finally smiles. “I got a 99.”
And Kunhang got a 24. Fucking great.
In the scale of dumbasses, he’s right at the bottom. Even under the guys who copy and paste Google quotes on their social medias and get offended when someone calls them out because that quote is definitely not theirs, as they pride themselves in.
“No fucking way!” Kunhang lets out, his hand grasping Dejun’s test before he feels Yukhei’s breath ghosting over his shoulder.
“Who the fuck is Oaix Nujed?” The question almost seems to hold the answer to life in the way Yukhei spits it out, but it’s easy to catch up on what Yukhei didn’t understand at the time.
Kunhang turns the test around, Dejun’s alter-ego (eh-hem, Oaix Nujed) long forgotten and replaced for his real name. And his grade that stands in sixty-six.
“Shit,” Yukhei curses just as Dejun’s face pales, his thick eyebrows furrowed when he takes the test in between his hands. “I got the best grade out of all of us?!”
This can’t be.
N0. No. No.
Kunhang is certain he answered everything with a bit of logic. He read some here and there, that should be enough to pass a test. He’s sure Yukhei couldn’t do magic tricks with the notes his latest love affair gave him—
Mr. Sam stands in front of the class, his salt and pepper hair pushed to the front of his bald head to hide what is utterly obvious. He purses his lips when he fixes his jacket and speaks to the class. “The test was horrid. I even started to wonder how you made it to your sophomore year.” Well, Kunhang knows the answer. Hard work, paying taxes when it’s due, and with a lot of frustration. Example one, this moment. “So, to help you out, I’m going to reduce the percentage of value of the tests. I want you to familiarize yourself with the importance of social science, much more in the major you find yourselves in.” He breathes out, sitting at the edge of his desk. “I want a project. A social science project. Show me how people react when having relationships with other—friendships, enemies, whatever it is that interests you. With a basement of a hypothesis already done, of course. I don’t want anything from Freud because…it’s too simple. I need you to perfect it as if it was your thesis and I want it for the end of the class. Three months from now, that is.”
Okay, so he has a chance. He just has to think of a project that is not based on Freud and that shows the importance of society and their unions. If people went through this class and they didn’t die in the process, he could do it.
Right?
“I want it to be in trios and for you to show three different perspectives. You apply the same experiment but you have different thoughts about it. Conclusions, let’s call it.”
One of the girls in the class, with vibrant red hair and a black turtleneck, raises her hand in the air. “What if our conclusions are the same?”
“They can’t be.” Mr. Sam shrugs. “It’s social science. We don’t all enjoy the same relationships or friendships in one way or with just one group of people. Let’s say, if I see one word that is similar, I won’t even read the project. It’ll be a zero.”
Dejun clears his throat when he asks for the professor’s attention. “Will we be picking our groups or will you—?”
Mr. Sam interrupts him before he could continue, typical of him. His intelligence dares barricade his humongous ego. “I’ll let you guys work with whoever you want,” He fixes his folders and places them inside his backpack before chuckling softly. “I’m assuming Dummy, Dumb and Dumber are going to work together. Is that what this is all about?”
His nostrils expand the slightest when he presses his lips in a tight line. His mother has taught him how to respect elders, but if Mr. Sam just casually slipped and went down the flight of stairs in their building, with a car coincidentally passing over his face and killing him in the process…it may just not make him sad.
Yukhei whispers in the slightest deep vibrato. “Well, that’s new. Now, I’m Dummy. Normally, Dejun is—”
“I’m not Dummy, Dumb or Dumber.” Dejun shakes his head, on the verge of snapping at Yukhei. Well, he already did. “This man is just crazy.”
Kunhang nods at his words. “We agree on something, pal.”
“You know what? Yes. He’s a bit crazy.” Yukhei admits, placing his hand on top of Kunhang’s desk, the separation between Dejun and himself. “But I know a lot of people who had this class with him. From our major and other majors. It’s going to be fine. I still have those girl’s notes and my roommate is extra good at this kind of thing. She’ll help us out.”
Ambition fills his lungs when he hums along to Yukhei’s words. “I think Kun can help us, too.” Remembering the guy he works with, recently graduated, he taps his fingers against the desk. “We’re not going to let this man grade us that badly again. I don’t care how we’re doing it, but we’re getting a hundred on that project and he’ll have to suck my dick if he doesn’t give me that grade.”
“Oh man,” Yukhei says, laughter following his statement. “Kunhang is, for real, angry. He never talks about getting his dick sucked and now he wants Mr. Sam to do it for him.” Clasping his hands in front of him, he chuckles when Kunhang slaps the back of his head. “Aw, that’s so cute. Celibate and all, you’re a cutie.”
“Democratic vote to kick Yukhei out of our group.” Kunhang states, raising his hand at the same time that Dejun does, only to have Yukhei’s smile dissipating.
Well, at least he has his friends while going through this hell, scalding him with disappointment.
“You’re just jealous I’m Dummy.”
###
Four in the morning and Kunhang is already slipping into a cold shower. By six, he’s already out of the door and towards his first job of the day. With an apron wrapped around his waist, he serves coffees to people who dare say they are sleep deprived, but his eyes almost feel like they glue together from his hard work.
He’s out of there by eleven, with his feet moving incessantly on his bicycle to get to his first set of classes. Schedule arranged to take up his college courses from twelve in the afternoon and four, he gets out of his classes with homework to fulfill and another job to take care of.
By five, he waters Mrs. Ling’s plants. Makes sure to sings a tune to them or talk in order to get extra points with the older woman, who smiles at him when he gets out of the door only thirty minutes later. Once again, Kunhang finds himself in his bicycle and he rushes over to the restaurant he works in from six to nine at night. That’s where Kun is a dishwasher, just like him, trying to meet ends before he finds his first real job.
Just when he’s out, he gets enough time to study and do homework. Surprise, surprise, it’s never enough. He’s dozing off by twelve, working through his projects with expertise before he repeats the cycle again. Four hours of sleep, three jobs, classes, tests, sophomore year and a social life, if it’s after nine at night.
Three months is not enough time for him to think about a project, let alone work on it. Dejun has a job of his own—though, he takes care of children on his free time—and he’s as studious as he can get, but Kunhang just can’t play the asshole card and let all responsibilities fall on his shoulders. The thought makes him rub on the dishes with more force, his uniform splashed by droplets of water.
Yukhei could think about it—he’s got enough wit to do something, but he’s not as good in redacting something. His big eyes can stare into a Word document and not think about anything for hours. He could be in charge of tracking, excel sheets and graphics, but writing is just a big no.
If Dejun hasn’t had an idea in two weeks, as he said earlier when he saw him in class, he’s sure Yukhei doesn’t either.
And he sure as hell hasn’t had any time to think about it either.
With a pleading tone and jazz music in the background, his thin lips wrap around every edge of his words, his black hair falling across his slim face while he expresses his worries to Kun. Said man is more relaxed, not thinking about studying anymore but with a permanent frown when being denied the opportunity of trying by the real world. His degree dusts itself off in his apartment while he waits for a chance.
“I need you to give me an idea so I can develop it.”
Responsible lines of upright nature join and thread to make Kun’s shell. He raises one eyebrow, shaking his head when he chuckles softly. “No.”
Think of the pain of stepping on four Lego pieces at the same time. Yeah, that wouldn’t even compare to what Kunhang feels right at this moment. “Dude, don’t be an ass. I really have no idea what to do and my tests are going horribly—”
Kun sighs deeply, leaning his taut waist against the edge of the counter near the dishwasher. “It’s s0cial sciences, Kunhang. If I help you out, there is nothing that you will learn. You need to learn the root of social archetypes and correlations to be able to get a nice grade, and you won’t do that if I just help you.”
Alright, so, maybe, Kunhang is physically and mentally drained. He manages to be good in other classes—studies in between the times he has free and gives up his social life on the slightest bit just to be able to meet ends, but failing a class is something he can’t give himself the benefit of. He’s tight on money, and his face won’t be tranquil enough to tell his mom that he failed.
“I’m just asking you to give me an idea for the project,” Kunhang tries to convince the older man. “You didn’t have a class with this asshole. He’s gone through four divorces, man. Not a single woman can stand his faulty, stupid ass and that’s factual.”
Blinking, even his coworker seems surprised. The truth is…Mr. Sam is entire textbook-based. If he sees a comma, he wants you to write that comma on the test. Logic aside, he wants investigations, hypothesis, an entire project written on your test without a single ounce of your train of thoughts. Or, if you mask it as such, it has to be quoted from someone else. It’s tiring.
Yukhei is a memory learner. If he repeats words for a long period of time, he will learn them, a bit out of order, but his mind is skillful enough for that. Maybe, that’s why he does so great in this class.
“I just…I don’t know, man. I want you to feel the gratitude of doing this on your own.” Kun spits out, only to have Kunhang scoffing.
“I just want to pass.” Swatting his hands to watch the droplets of water fall away from them, cold in the freezing kitchen, he sighs. “I don’t care about learning because that man leaves no room for learning. He thinks he’s it. He’s worthy of writing a hundred textbooks because he’s that smart.”
“I can give you some textbooks, but I really don’t have the time to sit down and think about an idea. Sorry.” He can’t blame him, but somehow, he does. His options are running short and Yukhei, the star of the class, still hasn’t had his grand idea. Kun’s plate—metaphorically speaking, the plates are clean in this restaurant—is filled with a little too much stress right at this moment, and Kunhang can’t just beg him to go back to the pressure that comes from college projects. “I’ll bring them to you tomorrow. I know how packed your schedule is.”
He has no fucking idea. His body giving up on him, his knuckles almost become white when he leans his weight forward and grasps the edge of the counter in between his hands. A tired breath accompanies his dizzy mind, migraine thumping at the back of his eyelids. At the verge of giving up, he bites down on his lip, nodding once and returning to his positive ways.
Yukhei’s roommate is his only option.
###
Truth be told, the only good thing about working three jobs and having an apartment of his own, is that the money is worth it. He doesn’t have to deal with someone’s noise, one-night stands and the horrid walks of shame, and he definitely doesn’t have to hear one of his best friends screaming at the top of his lungs as he plays videogames and completely ignores the assignment at hand.
Sure, ten at night is not exactly the perfect moment to work on a project, but it’s the only time Kunhang has had free and he studied ahead of this Friday night just to be able to be here, at Yukhei’s place. Yangyang, one of Yukhei’s roommates, is playing around with the blender at the kitchen, making God-knows-what for the past fifteen minutes, stopping his ministrations to try the concoction before going back to the awful noise again. In any other occasion, Kunhang would have played along, nodded along to the beat of Yangyang’s dubstep blending…
Yet, for the first time in twenty-one years, Kunhang can say one thing…
He’s more stressed than Dejun.
Dejun flips one page to continue reading his textbook, his hair done a mess and his lips forever closed as he stares between his notes and one of the books Kun lent them. Still, not an idea has ensued. Maybe, he can blame it on the fact that Dejun’s girlfriend had just called him and created a scene out of him not being with her on a Friday night, jealousy pouring from her every word and Dejun’s eyebrows forever petrified in a frown growing even deeper.
None of the trio are on it today.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Yukhei curses, moving his controller to one side as his big eyes concentrate on the screen. “Babe, could you help me over here? I’m about to get killed.”
Oh, so that’s why. Kunhang could almost chuckle at that moment, had it not been for his comfortable position on the couch next to Yukhei, with one leg resting on the armrest and his eyes trained on a textbook he doesn’t give two shits about. Yukhei has completely forgotten about social sciences girl and now he’s with a gamer girl. From the faint distance, he hears a light giggle and a sweet tone.
This is definitely going nowhere.
“Found anything, Dejun?” Kunhang asks, finally straightening his back to hear every bone crack into place. When is the last time he took a nap and rested his back properly? He’s not sure.
Absentmindedly, the man’s brown eyes claim Kunhang’s attention, barely even there when he hums. “Not really. Kun’s textbooks are fine, but I asked around the class to see what topics people have picked and they’re all written down here. We need to come up with something else.”
Great. Now they’re behind everyone. “Alright,” Growing tired of waiting, Kunhang stands up, throwing his oversized bomber jacket on top of his white t-shirt, paired with comfortable basketball shorts and sneakers. “Yukhei.”
No answer.
“Yukhei!” Kunhang says louder, though Yukhei is still very much playing around with his PlayStation. Patience running low, he takes the headphones away from Yukhei’s ears, putting them around his head before speaking. “Listen, I know he looks cute in his profile picture and that you may think he’s the biggest catch in the world, but I really need you to stop flirting with him for two seconds so I can have him put, at least, a grain of knowledge into this project we’re making. It’s not you, it’s not me, it’s Wong Yukhei and his dick that keeps slipping out of his pants. I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“Hey!” Never had he heard Yukhei’s low voice grow so high, pausing his game to stand up and place his hands on his hips. “Don’t talk to GameOn187 like that.”
“Oh, GameOn187 doesn’t mind the slightest bit.” Kunhang crosses his arms across his chest, laughing at Yukhei’s antics. Okay, he was angry one second ago, but seeing Yukhei be so serious about someone he doesn’t even know the name of is hilarious. “Where’s your roommate?”
With that, worry grows on the man’s face, grasping his phone in between his hands and frowning at the time. “She told me she was outside fifteen minutes ago. She must’ve come back from her date by now.”
His stomach churns, twists in worry when he takes Yukhei’s keys in between his fingers and speaks over the noise of the game and the blender. “I’m going to look for her.”
“Do you need me to go with you?” Yukhei could fall in love as easily as he grew in high school, but that doesn’t mean his care and attention doesn’t go to his best friend and roommate.
With the starry night, blinding street lights and the college students drinking around the building in this Friday night, he’s sure he won’t need accompaniment. “I’ll be fine. I—I just need to look for her, get her home and make sure she helps us out.”
That’s how the cold night bites at the skin of his calves, long hair sweeping away from his face to showcase his worried eyes. Yukhei’s roommate may not be his closest friend, but glimpses of her in high school come back to his brain. Sweet, shy, a bit soft. The change happened when she suddenly grew dull, strong, collected and silent by the time college came around. Never had they connected on a level deeper than a few conversations and their shared interest for Yukhei’s wellbeing.
But he knows that not appearing for fifteen minutes after instructing she was outside is not a good thing. He greets some of the English majors by the entrance, drinking from bottles of beer with electric cigarettes dangling from their lips, but that doesn’t take his attention away from the quickened movement of his legs as he screams out her name.
Heart racing, eyebrows scrunched and eyes set everywhere and anywhere, he’s midway through the entrance, almost towards the street when he sees her. Leaning against the brick walls of the apartment complex for students, her back bent as her date relishes on kissing her like a madman, hungry for more of her. His hands go up and down her back, opening and closing when he leans his abdomen forward and pushes her more into the wall.
With how into it the taller man with a slim waist and buff arms is, Kunhang almost wants to look away.
Though, then he sees her. Her lips are moving, softly, delicately, not quite catching up to what her date is doing, taking more of her as if she owes it to him. Thus, her eyes are opened, lifelessly staring at the man with confusion, as if trying to understand the situation she’s in. Her hands rest on his shoulders, halfway through pushing him away or tugging him closer. Confusion and tenderness bathes over her features, clearly giving him a sign that she may not understand but he does.
She’s not into the kiss.
So, he calls out her name, loud and clear, powerful enough to make the man kissing her pull away from her, a scaredy cat in the making. She rubs her mouth with the back of her hand, the saliva glistening against her lips almost making him laugh.
Well, that doesn’t seem like a good kiss.
“We were looking for you.” Kunhang says, voice tranquil, barely jutting his chin towards her date as a greeting before trailing her eyes over her worried expression. “Yukhei and I. Want to come home now?”
Her date opens his thick lips to say something, his hipster hairstyle—shaved by the sides, sleeked back by gel—touched by the wind when she presses a hand to his taut chest. “Sorry, Leo, I think you should go.”
The man looks at her with the gaze of a man who wants something more and maybe, he’ll beg for it just to get a taste of her. “Want to take me to my car, then?”
She looks into his eyes, doubting, staring at the car with little to no longing before shaking her head. “I have to study.” Her excuse is as clear as day, but Kunhang doubts the asshole by her side even notices her reactions. If he couldn’t tell she wasn’t into that horrible kiss, then he’s not perceptive at all. “Text me once you get home, alright?”
The buff man quirks an eyebrow towards Kunhang, moving backwards as he gets the keys of his expensive car out. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“I didn’t tell you.” Kunhang answers, shrugging his shoulders when she moves to his side. For some reason, he can’t understand how someone as beautiful as her could go for the most simplistic man out there. Like everyone else in college, if not worse. And dumb, at that. “…It’s Kunhang.”
“Take care of my girl, will you?”
Scoffing, Kunhang chuckles soon after. “I think she can take care of herself perfectly well.” And he does, her change of character had only made her stronger, more reliable, though glimpses of that shy student he once knew in high school existed within her.
By the time the man’s car parked off and weaved through the streets in a rushed manner, Kunhang turns to look at her, resting his hand in between her shoulder blades to move her forward.
She walks alongside him, cladded in some beige shorts, a tight black shirt and a dark denim jacket. Unlike what she wears on most occasions, with boots tall enough to be killing her, but it’s a change of style. Glimmering beauty making him have a second take before smiling to himself.
“You weren’t into that kiss at all, were you?”
That question has her licking her bottom lip, the street lights casting down on her features before she shrugs. “Make outs should feel a bit disgusting, don’t they?” The question at the end lets him know about her insecurity, shoes dragging across the flooring. “I mean, it’s a mess of tongues against tongues and teeth and sucking and biting. That’s…meant to be gross at some point.”
Disagreeing completely, he shakes his head, resting his cold fingertips inside the pockets of his jacket before sighing. “Take a seat,” Upon seeing a set of stairs that leads to the entrance, the two of them sit on the concrete, eyes staring at the road ahead of them. Silent, until Kunhang speaks up again. “Kisses aren’t meant to feel gross. At all. If you are really into someone, it’s going to feel…sweet, you won’t even have to think about opening your eyes because you’re too entranced in the moment.”
Her cheekbones lift up when she smiles at him, resting her hand on her palm, elbow resting on her knees. “I didn’t open my eyes because of t—that…” Once again, she’s looking for excuses, blinking rapidly in the process. “I, shit, I can’t believe you saw me make out with someone.”
“Leo.” Kunhang corrects. “Why did Leo make you open your eyes, according to you?”
A sigh leaves her lips. “I guess I wanted to see how he looked like when he kissed me. I don’t know.” She replies, growing raged by her own answer. She drops her hands on her lap, looking down at them.
That’s not unusual. Some people just want to see how the other person looks like, but by the way they kissed each other with so much difference in approach, Kunhang could guess two things. It was one of their first kisses, first and foremost. And, none of them tried to meet at the middle; Leo asking for too much, while she asked for too little.
“Okay, okay!” Kunhang says, lifting his hands in the air. “Let’s say I believe you. What did you feel when you saw him kissing you?”
“Kunhang, really. It’s not that deep—”
“It is,” He finalizes for her. “I’ve known you for years and I’ve never seen you date anyone. Not once. You’re always so secretive about it. I know you’re not the kind to kiss where everyone can see you and you definitely are not the type to go for the most simplistic guy in the entire campus.”
That makes her laugh. “I didn’t meet him at the campus. I met him at my workplace.”
Oh, right. Yukhei always talks about his free yoga classes coupon that she gets him each month as a gift. She’s a receptionist at one of the gyms near the campus. “Fair enough, he’s a gym rat. I can see it. But what did Leo make you feel—?”
“I don’t know, he just looked weird!” Exasperated, she replies, a laugh leaving her after she says those words. “That should be normal. I’m sure it’s not impossible for me to be one of the few people who just don’t like kissing or think the person is cute but when they kiss them, they lose interest entirely. No one looks attractive while kissing someone.”
A thought crosses Kunhang’s head, a memory that he pushes to the back of his brain when his eyes claim each portion of her face with the drag of his pupils. “I think you’re wrong.” He whispers. “You’re always so uptight and proper, so difficult to approach, but you bend to a man’s will when you’re not even attracted to him.”
“He’s okay—”
“Okay is not enough for kissing someone.” Nudging her side with his elbow, he watches her lift her gaze, eyes connecting with her own when he sighs out of his words. “Listen, I know Yukhei should be the one to tell you this but he’s not the best of examples. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean that you have to do things just to do them. You get the benefit of feeling nice when you’re kissing someone, to want more, to not feel like lying to someone just to end a date. That’s not how attraction feels like.”
She shrugs, the night washing her down when she leans back on the stair and stares at the night sky. “What if I never feel like that for someone approachable?”
That takes the words out of his mouth for a second, turning to look at the stars as well. They twinkle, bright and clear, when he says: “I doubt you couldn’t get whoever you want.” He initiates. “Good legs and a nice smile? You’ll get any man you want.”
Deep is the laugh that leaves her lips, twirling her thumbs in between her fingers before whistling. “You’re really good at reading people, you know that?”
“Tell that to my social sciences teacher. I’m failing the class.”
A movement from her has their knees colliding, plastered to his side when she asks: “You’re failing Mr. Sam’s class?”
“He’s impossible.” He says, looking into her eyes and letting his smile fall at the memory of such class.
“Oh, tell that to his four ex-wives. He really is.” She conquers, but she swats her hand in the air soon after. “He’s all talk, though. I got a 98 in his class.”
“How?” Kunhang questions.
As if giving the elixir to a happy life, she quirks an eyebrow. “Just take what the textbooks say and apply it to our society. What you know best. In my case, I did a project about the repercussions of college on stressed students and what the root of societal norms do to craft impossible expectations, correlated to ‘all-or-nothing’ personalities and procrastinators.” The explanation of her project has his head thumping. Well, she is smart, he’ll give her that. Though not smart enough not to go out with a man like flavorless-ass Leo. “Dejun was one of my experiments and yes, his college life makes his very unhappy but that’s far away from the case—”
“What do you think I could do?” He expands his hand on top of his heart. “I truly have no idea.”
Her lips purse as she studies him, thinking for a moment before snapping her fingers together. “A blog.” She says. “Make an anonymous blog where you solve people’s issues, just like you did to me. Read people and tell them your opinion and see what’s the most common issue in selected age groups. For example, most 50-year-olds in your blog expressed issues with divorce and erectile disfunction while most 20-year-olds expressed parental issues and lack of knowledge on what their future holds for them.”
Denial almost slips from his lips, but the more he thinks about it, the more interested he is. Advice from Kunhang had been thrown around in between laughter, mostly shrugged off because he’s just some funny guy trying to take care of his friends, but then, it settles on him. He’s good at reading people, and his advice, while being anonymous, may be even better without the construction of walls of shame and dignity.
Taking her face in between his hands, he places a short peck to her forehead, standing up from the flight of stairs when he shouts out: “That’s brilliant!”
“Thanks.” She chuckles, slower in her movements when moving away from the staircase and next to him through the apartment complex.
“I’m going to tell Dejun so we can start working on the website today and Yukhei has a bunch of followers on Instagram. We can definitely find a proper following and get this going this week—”
Laughing, she adds: “See? Social sciences aren’t so bad after all.”
###
Demographics are insane. Five thousand Instagram followers from Yukhei plus the word spread around the campus in the past three days and now they have over one thousand messages to reply to. All in three motherfucking days.
The website had been coded by Dejun himself, simplistic, with the layout made for people to read the forum but to be unable to comment on what other people say or do. Against hate, of course. The only people who are able to talk are the administrations—Dejun, Yukhei and Kunhang, but even then, when he sees the inbox while standing in Dejun’s bedroom, he feels like throwing up.
“Wow,” Kunhang says, a smile taking over his features as he stands to Dejun’s right, Yukhei taking the spot on the left. “Well, we have to get to working.”
“How exactly are we going to get through over a thousand messages? And counting.” Yukhei says, watching another notification pop up from the corner of the website. “Listen, we can’t solve everyone’s issues…and leaving some outside would give us a bad reputation.”
Always the organizer, Dejun snaps a sheet of paper away from his agenda, clicking on his pen a few times, trying it out on the paper before sighing. “We’ll take turns and we’ll close the inbox by now. Each of us will personally respond to different messages, fifty at a time.” Jotting that down, he scribbles his friend’s names. “Yukhei will take the morning hours, considering that he’s free most mornings. I’ll take the afternoon time because I’m taking care of the kids by that time and Kunhang can take the night shift, respond to fifty messages himself.”
“That’s a lot of work.” Yukhei announces, but Kunhang chuckles.
“And a lot of data. This is a big project.” Kunhang finalizes. “How many days would it take us to get through all the messages?”
“We’d be responding to one hundred and fifty messages per day,” Lost in mathematics, Dejun clicks his pen one last time before hanging the piece of paper on the corner of his computer screen, glued by a bit of tape. “So, it would take us around a week, and that should be it.”
That just means they wouldn’t have to take in that much more data. One week worth of hard work and then, the only thing they would have to do is write down the project.
“Let’s do it, then.” Kunhang announces, looking down at his watch before clicking his tongue. “After I study for my final. See you guys!”
###
“Ugh, I can’t stand him. I really can’t.”
She stops wiping the main counter of the gym to watch Chaeryeong dabbing some sweat from the connection between her hairline and her forehead away with a towel. Her short black hair rests on her toned arms, her tattoo displayed on her left forearm, body cladded in her gym clothes. From the far distance, she sees Dejun rushing through his last set of push-ups before getting out the door, without even saying goodbye to his girlfriend.
Chaeryeong is a trainer here, though that’s not how he met her. They studied together during their first semester, before Chaeryeong decided that studying wasn’t her thing and dropped out completely. In between her family’s judgement and her growing relationship with Dejun, she decided to go that extra mile and start lifting weights. Buff arms and legs accompanied her, paired with her strong features and slim lips.
But what had once been the love story everyone envied now seems to be falling down. Stopping her ministrations, she leans forward on the counter to speak to her more privately. “He was just working out, Chaeryeong, he’s doing his best.”
“But he said he was going to be here two hours and thirty minutes later, he says he has to work on another project!” Chaeryeong whines, gulping down the rest of her water bottle before crushing the plastic in between her palms. Now, that’s anger. “He doesn’t even have time for me anymore and hear me out, girl, I was checking his Instagram the other night as I stayed over in his place and some bitch sent him a DM saying ‘you’re so hot’. I think the fuck not. I have all the right to be mad at him.”
Chaeryeong supports her friends much like she does her weights, but her personality goes from zero to infinity. It’s up to her to calm her friend down, hand extending to rest on top of her calloused hand. “Babe, Dejun loves you. He even gave you a promise ring and all. He’s just been really busy and that’s why he hasn’t been around as much as you want him to. After all, he’s in his sophomore year. We’re all busy around this time.”
Nodding, her friend continues her train of thought: “So, what about the girl?”
That topic is a little bit more difficult to treat, veins popping out of her neck the slightest out of the pressure building inside of her. A red jealousy monster at times…that she is. “He’s nice looking. Was she a senior?”
“Freshman.”
“Even worse,” She spits out, returning to her rubbing against the desk. “Freshmen are excited to finally be in college and they’re a little bit out there. Does he follow her?”
Chaeryeong shakes her head.
“Has he replied?”
Once again, the answer is no.
“Then, why are you worrying?”
“Because he didn’t tell me! I only saw the DM; he didn’t even want to tell me on the first place!” Chaeryeong marks her truth out with every elongation and punctuation of her words. “I appreciate your honesty, but if Dejun even dares cheating on me, I’m out. I’m not here for him to get angry at me when he has been the one who is distant and—”
From the corner of her eye, she sees a familiar figure entering the gym. A white t-shirt clings to every curve of his trained yet slim chest, pale skin plastered in some moles around his neck, thick lips curved into a smile, cheeks as tinted as the pink shorts he wears today. Zhang Leo, who had once asked her out while entering the gym two years ago, slim as ever, and had grown some muscle after a while, perseverant enough to get her out on a date.
Only a few seconds pass by when her knees duck and she’s hidden behind the desk, Chaeryeong stopping on her rambles when she mumbles: “W—What? What happened?”
“Leo is here.”
“Shit, let me cover you.”
Blame it on curiousness and a lonesome night that ended up with her saying yes not to one, but to three dates. Leo had persisted, ridiculously proud of going out with her but still, not daring to speak about himself but what he wanted to do with her instead. It was tiring, barely able to make her heart race past the initial fear of kissing him. Then, came blankness, exasperating dullness that she can’t get rid of, much like she can’t get rid of Leo.
The man moves towards the desk she hides behind of, expanding one hand on top of it as he speaks to Chaeryeong. The first thing he does is call out her name. “Where’s my girl?”
My girl, he says, even though she’s totally sure that’s a noun he uses for plenty of women. “Been throwing up like crazy since last night. She isn’t working today.”
Clinging closer to the desk, she sincerely hopes Leo doesn’t dare look to the left, because he could get a glimpse of her in this immaculate, big gray gym. “That’s weird.” Patting his hand against the desk, he adds: “Tell her to call me, okay? I’ll get tired of her if she keeps running away.”
Though, by the time he has left, she barely hears Chaeryeong’s voice mouthing out a small:
“Asshole.” She says. “Darling, you really don’t have to go out with an asshole like that, you know that? You definitely can get better.”
And that’s the set of words that cling to every corner of her mind for the rest of the evening. Even when she’s walking home after taking the bus, all she can think about is how romance is never fitted for her. Never had she felt love for someone, or the romantic kind, at least. Never had she been swept off her feet other than with a character on the screen. Never had she enjoyed a kiss as much as she did one time, and it wasn’t even a real kiss to begin with.
Her mind wonders—had love been created just to bring hope to people? Or was it misery that cladded the word and made it impossible to find these days? Had the people who had fallen in love in the past, hard and fast, with utmost sincerity, held onto the doubts that cover her every being?
If love was a word everyone understood, why was it so different for everyone?
If everyone was capable of loving, why was it difficult to find someone who loved her how she wanted to be loved?
Why couldn’t she love anyone, on the first place?
Speaking out those thoughts to her friends is the least she wants to do. None of them would find an answer—too entranced in their own issues. She can’t ask them to understand her, when she can’t do it herself. So, with a notification from Yukhei’s Instagram account from one day ago, her finger taps on his story, getting a few seconds to read the ‘swipe up’ message.
The Experience Club, get advice from people who have gone through it all!
Well, it’s worth a try. Besides, none of them would really know it’s her, after all.
Her fingers move with precision on the screen to write down the message on the big white box.
Dear ‘The Experience Club’,
I’ve never fallen in love with anyone and I feel pressured to do it thanks to my age. Though, all I’ve managed to meet are a bunch of dumbasses. I don’t know if it’s a me-issue, making me the type to attract assholes, or if it’s all them.
Should I feel ashamed of not having fallen in love? Or, even better, should I grow used to not feeling entirely attracted to someone because there is not such thing as a middle-half? I know people have flaws, I don’t expect someone to be perfect, but I thought, at least, my partner’s imperfections would suit me and be, somewhat, acceptable.
Maybe, I’m too impatient or selective, I’m not sure.
Please, help someone out.
Sincerely,
Loveless Anon.
###
“Mom, I promise, I’m fine.”
With his phone perched between his slim shoulder and his cheek, his fingertips continue to trail on the keyboard of his half-functioning laptop to finish the essay he should have finished a week ago. A plate of cold noodles settles on the side of his coffee table, back hunched beyond relief as he listens to the faint sound of a Post Malone song in the background.
Fine.
Spectacular.
Kunhang couldn’t be better.
But as he hears his mother shuffling around on the other end of the call, his ears become wary, trying to distinguish the almost imperceptible noise. “I’m sure you can do this and much more, Kunhang.” Dulcet as ever in her tone, she continues as Kunhang resumes his furious tapping. “See, baby, I’m moving your sisters’ degrees away to get that special spot for you in my living room. I want everyone to see my political scientist boy.”
His heart squeezes against his ribcage, stealing his breath away when his phone almost falls off his shoulder. Little does she know he’s halfway through failing a class for the first time, balancing three jobs and still, on the verge of paying another class with Mr. Sam. As if education wasn’t expensive enough.
“You didn’t have to—”
“You’re my boy, of course, I had to.” Stubborn, his mom continues. “You sound tired, Kunhang.”
“I already said I’m fine.” He grumbles, not meaning to sound as annoyed as he does. Truth be told—it’s the annoyance he has at himself. How fucking difficult is it to get over sixty on a test? He does fine on his other classes!
“Two jobs and studying are a lot of things, Kunhang. You used to be brighter.”
Sighing deeply, he puts the last word down on his essay, opening his Gmail and writing down some simplistic greeting before turning his work in. If only his mom knew about the third job…
“Just a bad day, mom.” Rubbing his eyes, he tries not to let his voice break. What about some bad months? Would it be too much to tell her the truth? “I have another project to work in, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to call you until tomorrow night. If you’re up, that is.”
“I’ll stay up for you.”
A smile plasters on his features. There will never be a love as beautiful as the one that comes from a good mother. “You don’t have to…”
“I want to.” She says. “Unless you’re playing this victim card so your mom doesn’t call you.”
“I could never.” His fingers hover over the mouse before clicking on The Experience Club’s website, the white color almost making his irises burn.
“How’s Yukhei doing?”
Typical guy who earns a spot in moms’ hearts. “I think he’s out with someone right now,” In light of Yukhei’s usual personality. “I haven’t really texted him today, but he’s doing fine.”
A little bit more talking ensues in between his mother and himself until he hears her yawn, loud and clear, barely getting a few words out when she excuses herself to go to bed. Not like he could do such thing, he has fifty letters to go through that he has to answer as soon as possible.
Forty-seven letters later and he has three hours to sleep when he feels his body melting into the seat, eyelids closing before he opens them widely. That jolts him awake, clicking on another letter to read through it.
Loveless Anon.
As he reads through the passages of questions and insecurities, he becomes awfully aware of his own vision of love. One year ago, one would see him tagging along with Yukhei, earning the attention of one or two women, responding to texts and being on social media. Then, came his shortage in salary and he had to add another job to his list. Working at a café was far more difficult than people thought.
Each day, he saw people flirting, he saw relationships blossom, but never had he stopped once and thought love was for him. Sure, he knew one day would come that he’d fall for someone…but he didn’t know how it feels. Great, he has felt comfortable enough in the relationships he has been in, but they have never been the greatest, making him think about the future.
With his mouse hovering over his answer, he starts typing:
Dear Loveless Anon,
Welcome to the Club, first and foremost. Truth be told, this had me thinking for a bit. I think love is something we’re allowed to feel, but we’re not meant to go through it per say. We decide if we want to do it or not, so being selective is never a bad thing.
Do I think it’s humanly impossible for someone to never feel love? Maybe. I think you’re just looking in the wrong place—or, perhaps, that is where you go wrong. You’re looking, you’re not exactly waiting for it and taking your chances.
Here’s a question: Do you look for a shooting star or do you get surprised when it arrives and make a wish?
It’s a one in a lifetime thing. Most people haven’t seen a shooting star, but they have seen planes fly by or starts that twinkle in different lights…and that, in the night sky, looks similar. Not all of us are shooting stars, but we’re shooting stars for someone.
Lighten up! I think you haven’t noticed you don’t have to settle for someone who doesn’t look at you like you’re that one bird that they confused for a shooting star. Flawed, sure, but still beautiful.
Thank you for giving me something to think about.
Sincerely,
H.W.
###
Four years ago.
Dipping French fries in garlic cream is a gift sent from heaven. It’s what distracts her in this awful party with high school students, sporting their best clothing, faces filled with dumb smiles in need of feeling integrated in groups. Instead, she leans against the kitchen counter in the house of one of her classmates, concentrating on the scene that develops on the TV screen, a romantic movie displayed in there as she munches on the snacks everyone has been passing on just to socialize.
With the sound of her name cutting through the music, she turns towards the gray door that leads to the small kitchen. Yukhei is there, brown hair falling on his forehead as he clasps his hands together in front of him. A ridiculous plaid shirt rests on his upper body, tucked inside his skinny jeans when he pleads, in his best whiny tone:
“Can you please stop being a party pooper and come play a game with us?” He questions, and she knows Yukhei does it in good fun. He brought her here on the first place, in his dad’s car, as he begged to have his best friend by his side. Parties are his thing—and with his high school girlfriend tied by his side, he attends them much more often. “Please. I need you to have fun once.”
Truth be told, she’s not as easy going as she should, but she continues to dip another French fry into the cream before bringing it up to her lips and taking it in one bite. “I’m having fun. Titanic is running, the AC here is just perfect and this cream, God, Yukhei, this cream is to die for—”
“You ate it all yourself?” The taller man questions, taking the plate in between his fingers and watching that, indeed, the plate is halfway finished. “Shit, you smell like garlic.” Bringing his index and thumb to his nose, he plucks at his nostrils not to smell the garlic in her, and she has to raise her eyebrows at that.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll just keep my mouth closed.”
Through a nasal tone, her best friend shakes his head. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” She says, blowing air into her rounded palm to feel her breath. Oof, boy, is it a good garlic.
“Because we’re about to play seven minutes in heaven and I want you to have a second chance at a first kiss since your first one sucked.” Fifteen, in the back of a cinema, with someone’s tongue down her throat and buttery fingertips running over her arms. It was horrid, and the thought alone of kissing someone else has her stomach churning. “I won’t pressure you to do it, but if the person you’re selected to go with is attractive to you,” He lets go of his nose, taking in a deep breath before smiling at her. “Go for it. You deserve to have a second try.”
Angel is not an adjective that would go with Yukhei’s name, but he is practical. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to offend anyone by saying no.”
“You’re not.” Yukhei says, swatting his hand in the air. “We’re all okay with it, and if you want to participate, you’re allowed to say no. We changed the rules. It’s consensual seven minutes in heaven. A classic for us.” Tugging at the sleeve of her oversized sweater, he drags her towards one of the bathrooms, rummaging through the glass cabinets until he finds some toothpaste. “But I need you to pour some of this on your finger and brush your teeth the best you can without a brush because I don’t want anyone tasting the garlic in your mouth. Thank you.”
Not enough objecting later and an endless pep-talk from Yukhei, she finds herself on a circle with some of her friends and classmates. Around twenty, to be exact, and the bottle had not landed on her yet. A few rounds pass by, and she’s left sipping on some soda to take the garlic breath away from her mouth—though bettered after half-brushing her teeth—, knees brought up to her chest when the bottle swings and she connects gazes with everyone on the circle.
Gravity makes it choice and when she looks down, the bottle is pointing at her, the other edge signaling towards Wong Kunhang.
Kunhang is not her closest friend, but he is cute. Big dark brown eyes, straight hair falling on the typical hairstyle on his forehead, dressed better than Yukhei in this occasion. A graphic t-shirt with some Star Wars quote and ripped jeans. His lips barely quirk up at the corner of his mouth when he looks up at her, her heart caged against her chest in fear of being denied.
Because Kunhang is a yes for her. She can’t say she would absolutely mind kissing him.
A shiver goes down her spine when Dia, one of the girls on the circle, claps her hands together and points to Kunhang after. “So, Kunhang, are you willing to get locked for seven minutes with your selected partner?”
Okay, this is it. This is the moment she feels like dissipating because one of the cutest guys in her class denies her. Maybe, he’ll stick his tongue out and pretend to vomit, or even worse, he’ll just shake his head and purse his lips, showing his disinterest—
“Yeah, of course.” He shrugs his shoulders, he does do that, but he sounds interested, quirking an eyebrow at her as his eyes twinkle. “Do you want to?”
The question is slow, enough to have her blinking a few times until Yukhei nudges her side with his bony elbow. “A—Ah, yes, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Sweet.” One of the guys says, deep voice following a high-five with Kunhang as the selected guy stands up and extends his hand towards her.
Shaking fingertips wrap around his, nervous beyond what she could explain. Yukhei had talked about this—kisses that were only meant to feel good, but she doesn’t think there should not be a reason for kissing. Clammy palms and tethering figure must have been made noticeable to Kunhang when they open the door to one of the closets, the lights turned off when they lock them inside, chest to chest, coats surrounding them in the cramped room.
With her heart practically racing out of her chest, Kunhang interlocks his fingers with hers, softly, speaking into the thin air: “We don’t have to kiss, you know?” He says, a chuckle following his words. “I’ll settle with a kiss on the cheek if that’s what you want.”
“W—Why do you say that?” She tries to grow accustomed to the dark room, but Kunhang’s eyes are nowhere to be seen in the dark.
“You’re shaking.”
Breathing out softly, she engulfs his palm with some strength. “I’m nervous.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of the kiss.” She mumbles out, feeling one of Kunhang’s hands pulling away from her hold to push her hair away from her shoulder, settling on her jaw softly. “I—I don’t think I enjoy kisses.”
Kunhang stays silent for a few seconds before quirking his head to the side, a confused noise leaving him. “You don’t?”
“They don’t feel good for me.”
“You’ve tried with various people?”
“One guy.”
“Who?”
“Woosung. He graduated last year.” Kunhang must not know him. Woosung was part of the soccer team, while he’s part of the debate club—
“Who the fuck trusts Woosung with a kiss?” He questions, voice levelled to have people believe they’re actually not just talking. “Isn’t that the guy who pees in the bushes instead of going to the bathroom like actual people?”
“He’s lazy.”
“It’s school. You can’t be that lazy.”
That relaxes her enough to chuckle, chest touching with his slim frame in the process. “Maybe, I just made a wrong choice.”
“Not a ‘maybe’. I’m certain.” Kunhang confesses, pushing his body forward the slightest, just one step, but enough to steal her breath away. “…What would you say if I told you I could do better? I mean, you could always compare and it could be a nice experience. You, you know, could consider this your first kiss.” He shrugs, and though she wants to continue talking, her eyes have finally settled to the dark and she sees the outline of his thin lips, too close for her not to notice them, not to want to taste them—
“Why not?”
Those are the two words that gave her the best kiss she’s ever had. Sweet, tranquil, patient, meant to feel good, to be relaxed and dizzying. Her palms extend to end on his waist, breathing in the scent of his perfume mixed with some spices, his hair tickling her face when he decides to deepen the kiss.
Most first kisses with someone are not perfect, but this one feels like it, taking every portion of her soul and claiming it as Kunhang’s. His hands settle on her waist, feeling feminine for once, as if she’s more than just a pair of lips to kiss—he has purpose on this, for them to feel good, connected beyond what anyone could have explained to her.
Wong Kunhang is one damn good kisser, even when he was just seventeen at the time.
And his sense of time is to envy, pulling away with a smile and a sly pop of his lips when he whispers, taking one last peck from her: “We have twenty seconds. I don’t want you to get caught.”
She barely has enough time to fix her hair and the sleeve of her sweater when Dia opens the door of the closet and beams at them.
“How was the kiss?”
Kunhang could have talked about how he dizzied her, made her feel better than any man but he went for the route he knew would be better for her instead.
“Wouldn’t know. We just talked.” Though, she’s not sure anyone believed him, lips rosy when he took his snapback and placed it backwards on his head, taking a seat on the circle once again with a smile on his face.
Dia wraps an arm around her shoulder, gasping at his words. “You just talked over there?”
Looking into her eyes, she finishes the conversation with a whispered: “I think we just needed to catch up.”
But her braincells hadn’t caught up to how insane she felt after kissing Kunhang.
So, that was what a real kiss was.
###
Her ribcage digs into the edge of the counter of the gym, pumped-up hip-hop music blaring from the speakers when she swipes through her phone screen. Worries, all accumulated inside her head, with the need to be voiced out, go from one corner of her brain to the other as she swipes through her screen, refreshing the website that had given her some peace of thought when it came to solitude.
How would Kunhang react had he known the reality of it all? Had he known that H.W had made her feel better? They never had that connection; that thing that she had with Yukhei where she could approach him and endlessly talk about topics with no judgement inside her heart. Not because she feared his words would pierce through her with stigmas, but because the distance between them was based on her attraction towards him. Always relaxed, honest, living a day at a time…seemingly unworried.
So, she continues to talk to him, in hopes to be read, to get a glimmer of his heart and head once again even when the website’s inbox is closed.
I don’t know why I’m writing to you again, or well, I really do.
H.W, have you ever made a mess so big you don’t know how to put the pieces together? Have you ever hidden in hopes of no one seeing you? I’m sure not a lot of people have. Here I am, hiding from the man I don’t want to date while I’m unable to tell him to just fuck off.
See, something you should know about me, apart from loveless, I’m also a coward.
The first thing I thought about was writing something to you. I know this is part of your project and you may not read me again, but whatever, I just need to let this out with someone…
Do you, oh so wise love master, have some list of ways to break things off with someone who you’re not really dating but you don’t want to see anymore because you didn’t want to see them on the first place?
Asking for a friend.
Or, not. Definitely asking for myself.
I’m a mess.
Dearly,
Loveless Anon.
P.S: Should I start calling myself Dumbass Anon? Fits better, IMO.
With that, she shrinks at the sight of Leo entering the establishment, the heels of her palms digging onto the tiles to get away from the main area and into the office at the back, closing the door behind her with a soft swish.
She’s sure of one thing, she doesn’t want to kiss that man again.
###
“What does…?” Plopping the red lollipop from between his lips, Mrs. Ling’s grandson, Lu, swings his feet back and forth while seated on the bench in his grandmother’s garden. Mrs. Ling had married a wealthy man back in her day, when her ninety-year-old bones didn’t creak whenever she walked, hence the family has a wealthy lifestyle. “What does Pikachu turn into once he grows up?”
Lu may be trying to say the word ‘evolve’, and this entire obsession for Pokémon may have come from the constant singing of the theme song towards the plants with the kid around, but with the sun beaming down his features, keeping him reddened under the limelight, Kunhang hums. “That’s be Raichu.”
Pouring water fills the silence around them until Lu pouts out his plump bottom lip, his long dark bowl-cut moving with the wind. The seven-year-old is adorable, he’ll give him that. “But Pikachu never changes in the show…”
Turning around, he stops watering the plants, a smile taking over his features when he says: “Maybe, because he doesn’t want to change.”
“But who wouldn’t want to be a stronger Pikachu?”
That question makes him think back to his website. It’s been a while since he last checked for it, inbox closed and project running, but all he can think about is Loveless Anon. She wanted to be better at love, without realizing there is no bettering what is just meant to happen.
“Strength is not everything, kid.” Kunhang replies, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Sometimes, all we need is our friends. Or people who want to be by our sides. What’s the point of being better if you can’t be better with your people?”
That has Lu thinking for a few seconds, his Pikachu plushie placed on his lap, his chin resting on its head and Kunhang resumes to watering the plants, twenty minutes left on the clock before he has to rush out of there.
“Are you Raichu or Pikachu?”
That moment, Kunhang wants to laugh. Well, the metaphors are now connected to a kid’s show. “Like, a Feebas. Unique, but no one really gives a…thing about me.”
Lu’s eyes twinkle when he stands up from his spot. “I have a Feebas in my game.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” Lu nods. “It’s cool, like you. I want to be like you when I grow up, HangHang.”
When a plate breaks, the sound perpetrates each portion of a person’s body. It shatters to the point of bringing fear onto someone. Yet, that dulling noise settles inside his ears, confusing him when he sees Lu enter the spacious home and rush up the set of stairs. A kid, a whole rich kid who plays Pokémon a little too much had told him that he wanted to be like him?
Now, that’s one of the best things that has happened to Kunhang in a while.
And maybe, it’s about time he feels proud of what he has done. A website, along with his friends. A project now developed, that doesn’t sound too bad. He’s midway through his career. A good friend, a nice son, an annoying brother…he’s a lot of things, but he never stops and thinks about the change he can make into someone’s life.
That’s how he ends his job a bit early, with ten minutes on the clock as he takes a seat on that bench Lu had taken place on, rummaging through the website to see if Loveless Anon had written something else to him.
Nonetheless, he didn’t expect for her to actually reply to him.
Thus, taking into consideration that the website includes the option of personal replies, he starts writing.
Be honest. That’s the key to life.
You know, I don’t think you’re a dumbass. I have a friend who is just like you. She’s…amazing, but she doesn’t realize it in most occasions. If ever. I think if the guy you’re seeing is an absolute asshole, prepare with all your might, make something grand that sits his ass down in place and have a great time at it (record it if you do embarrass him, I love watching assholes have a hard time).
But hey, if he’s a nice dude, just sit him down and talk about it. Say you don’t feel the way he wants you to feel and move on.
I don’t think being a coward is inherent to us. We can change it, you know?
Or, contract H.W to do it for you. Would love to!
P.S: I really like the name Loveless Anon. It sounds so aesthetic. I can imagine it on Pinterest posts between hearts.
Talk to me sometime, maybe off anon dude,
H.W.
Though, when he lifts his gaze, he hears the sound of someone falling onto the bushes of the garden, he stands up with a frown on his face.
Oh, please don’t tell him he’s about to be part of a robbery—
###
People of the world, jot down the rule number one of living in your notebooks…
Don’t break up with a rich person while being on their car. Don’t break up with a man with an ego so huge it’s bigger than his nonexistent ass. Those are two rules, but with a comma in between, they can be added together.
Leo’s sharp eyes had managed to find her today and with his incessant need to get her out to buy some ice cream for her, a wet kiss pressed to her lips without her desire, she decided it was time. You know, how in movies the side character who is best friends with the real main character opts that enough is enough and they’re going to evolve.
Well, this didn’t go so well.
What she had said, five minutes ago was: “I don’t think we should be seeing each other. Ever. I just…ah, it doesn’t work for me, I guess?”
So, that’s where the pleading started, his plush lips spitting out the truths that he guesses about her—that she was so into their kisses, so devoted to him, so simply head over heels that he couldn’t believe she was spitting out such lies.
“Leo, I’m fucking honest. It’s over.” With her patience running short, her fingers hook around the handle of the door, ready to jump out of the car if necessary. The man is not even looking ahead of the road when he comes to a clear, abrupt stop.
“You’re such a needy little bitch.” Finally, his true colors are shown and she has to lift her eyebrows at the sentence that left his lips. “You think that just because you’re half cute, you get to treat people like shit. It has always been like this—”
“Well, you were the one trying it out with me. You were pushy, Leo.”
“You said yes,” He shrugs, unlocking the doors of his expensive car, an eye-roll following after. “What are you, stupid? Now I have to read between the lines with bitches because there are people like you that don’t know what they want?”
That is the brink of the iceberg, the tip, making her chuckle as she opens the door of the car. “I know what I want,” She starts. “And it has never been you. I dated you because you were all over the place, asking me out.”
“Out of pity.” Leo conquers. “No one wants to date you because you’re fucking impossible to deal with.”
“Okay then! I’m better off not dating if that means not seeing people like you.”
When she closes the door of the car, the swooshing motion of the windows opening has it pulling down. “Get back in the car.”
“I won’t.”
“Get back in the fucking car before I tell everyone just how much of a bitch you are.”
“I don’t care. Not about you, not about your opinion.”
Though, when she hears his wheels whirling and the man moving backwards, she starts running, fearful of what his tainted ego could do. Rocks splattered on the sidewalk may have been enough to make her lose her footing as she looks over her shoulder, someone’s gates digging onto her sternum for the briefest second when she falls, lunching forward and inside a house.
Well, what a way to end things coolly.
Curled leaves fall against her hair, the harshness of a hose plastered against her waist when she lets out a curt sigh. She swears she hears footsteps, but with the sun beaming down on her eyes and the fall corrupting every portion of her muscles, her ears barely make out the noise until someone’s strong fingertips wrap around her arms and bring her up, stomach folded, eyes widening when she sees the person in front of her.
He calls out her name at the same time that she whispers out a tiny: “Kunhang?”
For once, the sun has done him justice, scarlet streaks of embarrassment and heat transcending from his cheeks to his neck when a big smile takes over his features. “You’re trying to rob my employer’s house?”
“God, no.” She shakes her head, her own hands resting on his shoulders to straighten her back and get up as skillfully as she can while hurt from the fall. “No, no, I would never.”
“Then, explain this very inappropriate way of entering someone’s house.” Thus, she knows he is joking around with her, arms folded across his chest when she sighs deeply.
She has written to him under the name of Loveless Anon, maybe because she was scared of saying it out loud—that the only man she has ever enjoyed kissing and hasn’t lost attraction to is him. There, with the fear of being judged for being so fucking easy to read, for him to know that things with Leo weren’t working out, she decides to speak up.
“Leo was following me around with his car after I broke things off with him.” Resting her hands on the depth of her pockets, she shrugs. “Well, or he could have just driving off, but with how angry he was…I thought…”
“What did he tell you?” Through gritted teeth, he hunts for answers, jaw tightened on his hold.
“Called me a bitch. Said something about me being impossible—”
“Oh, of course he would.” Kunhang rolls his eyes, pure exasperation following his scoff when she decides to interrupt him.
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have dated just because, it was bad.”
He quirks an eyebrow at that, before humming softly. “You’ve got a point. I can’t say it wasn’t your fault.” He replies. “But that doesn’t give him a reason to treat you badly, much less make you jump into someone’s house.”
“That was a reflex.”
Placing one hand on top of her head, Kunhang chuckles. “I don’t care. That asshole doesn’t get to treat you like that.” With that, he gives one step away from her, the warmth of him replaced by the sun when he goes pick up his backpack. “Is he out there?”
She knows how tight Kunhang’s schedule is, so she shakes her head. “I doubt he is. I—I will just walk home.”
“I can’t offer you a car ride, but I won’t let you leave on your own. What if he’s out there, all pissed off?” With that, he tosses his helmet towards her, caught through nimble fingers when he gives her a smile. “We’re going on my super bicycle. Batman had his car, I have my bicycle.”
Though the sentence warms her heart, she can’t accept it. “Kunhang, you’re going to run late to work—”
“Consider it a calf workout. I need them to get stronger.” With the way he rests a hand in between her shoulder blades, moving her away from the garden and saying his goodbyes over his shoulder, her mind can already make out his positive answer to taking her home.
“Your legs are fine.”
“You think so?” Kunhang asks, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. “So, the ladies say.”
“Oh, come on.” She nudges his side with her elbow. “Too much time with Yukhei is making you go all Casanova.”
“Please. I’m not in Yukhei’s level.”
“Thank God.”
In a cramped little bicycle with the world swishing around them, her arms wrap around his taut waist, her head lulled against his back when she takes in the scent of him, the spice that she may never forget, relishing on his softness and the way he never stops talking, sometimes in a deeper voice when he doesn’t notice. It’s purely him, the guy in the closet with her that one time years ago.
It’s H.W.
It’s not a surprise when guilt washes over her when she gets home, Kunhang not having much time for conversation as he rushes—quite late—to his next job. Upon seeing her apartment complex, she looks down at her phone, seeing a notification from the website he created.
Would he still reply to her if he knew it was her?
###
You know that game people play before graduation, a little bit before prom? Most likely to become president or to get married? Well, Yangyang should’ve won the title ‘most likely to become high on one sip of caffeine but still be goddamn addicted.’
Fits him like a glove.
Fresh coffee beans, Styrofoam cups, wiped tables and soft jazz, Kunhang has learned the art of caffeine against his will. With his eyes half closing, he tries not to pour down the coffee that he is serving Yukhei’s roommate this early in the morning. With his apron digging into his stomach, his hair done a mess and his eyelashes fluttering against his under-eyes, he feels like Yangyang is another kind of specimen. If his guesses are not wrong, Yangyang may have not even slept the entire night.
The balls of his feet make him move back and forth by the time Kunhang turns around, the barista is midway through a yawn when he scribbles a quick heart on top of Yangyang’s coffee and sends it over his way.
“You look horrible,” Yangyang spits out, thankfully the last in line. With relaxation filling his bones, Kunhang rests his elbow on the counter, head lulling to the side while delicately closing his eyes. “Maybe, you should start tidying up. My roomie is about to get here any second.”
With pursed lips and a tired scoff, Kunhang replies: “Why would I give a shit about what Yukhei thinks? He’s seen me this tired since forever.”
But Yangyang is smart, with his cat-like smile, pushed back hair and oversized hoodie, he doesn’t look like a nightmare, but he goddamn right is intuitive and a headache, much more when he spits out her name and has Kunhang straightening his back, looking around the room in suspicion.
“Guilty as charged, I see.”
“T—That doesn’t mean a thing.” Kunhang tries to chuckle, shrugging his shoulders in the process. “I’m just not used…to looking bad…in front of people who are not my closest friends?” His voice sounds like a goddamned question. Fuck, why can’t he simply sound more relaxed?
Truth is, he has one of those bad cases of underthinking. When all he can think about is one person. These past few weeks, he has checked that goddamned website, with the little time he has left, and he has looked forward to talking to Loveless Anon. For, it feels like he is talking to her, and that kind of connection has never come around.
He’s a coward. He kissed her in a closet during the lamest game in the world and he could never ask her out. Partly because he expected her to say something, admit that it was a good kiss and wasn’t like the others, and another part of him was just a tad bit scared. Of the awkwardness, for example, that could come in their friend group and with Yukhei if they just happened to see each other that way and break up.
“So, the myth has it—” Yangyang takes a sip of his drink. “That you two kissed when you were like seventeen.”
Kunhang’s eyes settle on a figure at the far distance, bustling laughter and clapping hands of men making him frown. Isn’t that Leo…? He returns his gaze to Yangyang. “Who told you that?”
“You know, like, that one time last Christmas when we got stuck at the campus and you were, like, drunk off your ass?” Kunhang nods. “I asked you who was a better kisser between two girls you dated and you told me her name, and she wasn’t even in the list.”
“I was drunk.” Kunhang tries to chuckle the matter away.
“So, she wasn’t a good kisser?” Yangyang waves his eyebrows on his forehead, up and down. “Or should I test it myself just so we have a reaction out of you and you finally ask her out? Because you’re hot, she’s hot. Hot plus hot makes hotter.”
The older man shakes his head, pondering if he should go to that goddamned table that included Leo and his friends. He’s not sure if he wants her to see him, so it’s better to simply attend them and get them out of the way. Running his hands over his apron, he walks away from his spot behind the counter.
“That actually makes two hot. Hot plus hot makes two hot, not hotter.”
“Nerd talk doesn’t get the girls, bro.” Yangyang conquers with a wave of his hand.
“Oh, and you’re not kissing her.”
With a scrunched-up face and a faked gag, he nods. “Of course, I won’t. I’ve heard that woman fart, I’m not sure if I see her that way, or any way.”
“You really expect your future partner not to fart in front of you?”
“I expect them to make me fall in love hard enough for me not to care about their stinky farts.”
He laughs, patting Yangyang’s shoulder before speaking. “Listen, Leo is right over there and I hadn’t even noticed. Now, I want you not to let her inside if she gets here. I don’t want her seeing that dude.”
For a second, Yangyang’s brown eyes widen before catching a glimpse of the man by the table before nodding. “You’ve got it. We’re distracting her and making mortadella out of his dick.”
“Not really.” Kunhang spits out, but he points at his friends. “But I like your way of thinking.”
Very rarely does Kunhang feel petrified, in spot, as if the world around him is going miles per minutes and he’s stuck in half a mile. His chest contracts when he gets his notepad out of his pocket, only to hear the obscenities that left Leo’s lips, a smirk forever plastered on his face.
“You should’ve seen her face when I was fucking her.”
He listens, loud and clear, every little detail that Leo presumably fakes, that boosts his ego and have his friends leaning on the table to hear about him from up close. The man barely looks up from the menu on his hands or stops talking about the ‘little noises she made’—his words, not Kunhang’s—when he recognizes the man in front of him. Barely concealing his grin, he continues speaking.
“She doesn’t look like the type.” One of his friends says, laughing in the most obnoxious of ways as he folds the sleeves of his red t-shirt for the umpteenth time, all in hopes of showing his muscles. “But atta boy, you got to fuck her in less than a month. Congrats.”
Maybe, he should’ve thought rationally. He could lose his job for what he does next…but who is he kidding? This is the rational thing to do. Take the used coffee cup on one of the abandoned tables, pull the back of Leo’s shirt away from his neck and soon after, pour the entirety of the sipped on, cold, perhaps rancid coffee down his shirt to hear him gasp and pull away from the table with a harsh tug.
There is goes.
Revenge and karma are fucking dating, and for a reason.
“Oh no. No. No. No.” He swears he hears Yangyang saying when he gets closer, but Leo, with his taller height, has already grasped the front of Kunhang’s shirt, breathing a little too closely.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Cooling you off.” Kunhang replies, quirking one of his eyebrows in the process. “You were getting a little horny out of your spank-bank imagination, so I needed to stop your shit.”
Before Leo could push him backwards, his fist goes forward, knocking him on his sculpted abdomen before pulling away. “Is this what this shit is about?” He questions, though when he lifts his hand to hit Kunhang, he swats it away with ease. Too much muscle, not a lot of strength. “You’re angry I fucked your friend?”
Yangyang takes this moment to butt in. “I’m not the type to fight but you definitely didn’t fuck her.”
“You were there?”
“I know you didn’t.” Kunhang replies for Yangyang, though it’s more of a prayer. If this man ever dared lay a finger on her, he’s going to lose his mind. Maybe, because someone like him shouldn’t have kissed her on the first place. “Man, everyone who saw you with her could tell that she wasn’t really into you. Get over it.”
A punch lays on Kunhang’s cheekbone, burning bright and hurting the slightest, his hand coming to the side to cradle the pained skin. “What do you fucking know?”
With the doors of the café opening and some customers still gaping at them, he hears the sound of someone getting closer, a low voice adding:
“Now I know enough.” And from the way she speaks, Kunhang could only curse at himself for what she saw. A beanie rests on her head, her face stoic, the rest of her clothing comfortable and ready for a coffee meeting with her roommate, but that had to be ruined by this asshole. “You didn’t fuck me, and I’m so thankful I decided not to do anything else with you. So, you can talk all the shit you want about me, I don’t care. Tell everyone about what we didn’t do or create a fucking story, but don’t you dare lay a hand on him again, you get me?”
Shivering from the cold brewed coffee on his back, Leo says: “You are insane!”
“Well, yeah, now you know my second name.”
“Out.” Kunhang says, pointing at the door, skin tainted on his cheekbone, hurting like a madman. Maybe, he spoke about Leo’s strength quite too soon. “Out of my establishment right now.”
“Whatever.” Leo spits out, picking up his backpack before pointing with his chin towards the door. “Let’s go, boys.”
By the time the doors open and close behind the group of men, wheels of his car whirling at his high speed, he hears Yangyang clapping his hands once before saying, in the softest tone:
“Who would’ve thought dumbass Wong Kunhang had it in him to be badass?”
Scoffing, she turns to look at Kunhang, sitting him down where Leo had taken place on pink leather accompanied by a white table before inspecting his face with soft fingertips. He really tries his hardest not to concentrate on her face, her tainted lips and sweet eyes when she studies his features.
“That’s not badass. That’s stupid.” She conquers, opening her bag and getting a cloth out before talking to Yangyang. “Bring me some water. It must be killing him—”
Saluting her, Yangyang hums. “On it.”
“It wasn’t stupid.” Kunhang hisses when she digs her fingers onto his cheekbones, palping around. “That asshole was lying about you and I couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry, but with how much it takes you to trust someone and how much you pressured yourself to like him, I didn’t think it was fair for him to treat you as if you were a toy. I don’t think it’s okay.”
Silence falls upon her, only opening her lips when Yangyang brings her a bottle of water. Somehow, the youngest understands to get away from the situation, not the annoying one by the time she pours some water on the cloth and presses it to Kunhang’s bruised skin.
“Did you believe him?”
Kunhang shakes his head. “No.” He denies softly, hissing at the pain. “But even if you had done something with him, that doesn’t give him the benefit to talk about it as if it wasn’t something you two did. As if most people don’t get involved in shit like that. No one cares—”
A little smile tugs at the corner of her lips, pushed away by her worry. “And the coffee stain?”
“I poured coffee on him.”
“Why?”
“He was talking on detail and hearing all those guys thirst over you in that light. I don’t know…” Kunhang looks over to the side, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Not that I hope no one feels attracted to you, I know a lot of people do. I sure hope you get, at least, twenty guys in your DM’s every time you post a picture because it’s the hype you deserve…but I don’t want, you know…”
“You don’t want what?”
“I don’t want you to date just whoever.” Kunhang finalizes, raising his hands in the air. “But it’s not my call and I have to accept it, because I want your utmost happiness above all…but come on? A gym rat that talks about sex and hitting it from the back even if you were absolutely repulsed to kiss him? You can do so much better—”
The moment she wraps her arms around him, he doesn’t expect it. Truth is, every action of her being tugs at his heart strings in ways that he can’t understand. The warm nature of her hug when she rests her chin on his shoulder and rests her hands on his back has his own arm coming upwards, engulfing her and resting his fingertips on her head.
“You’re not meant to be my knight in shining armor, you know?”
“I don’t mean to be that.” Kunhang whispers, pulling away to tenderly trail his gaze over her face. “I know you can take care of yourself perfectly fine. Jump into some old lady’s house on the way, too.”
“…You’re such a fool.” Rolling her eyes, she lets her thumb trail over his cheekbone. “And a cute fool, but now you look like Prince Charming after getting on the boxing ring with Canelo Alvarez.”
“I stopped listening after cute.” Batting his eyelashes, Kunhang stands up at that moment. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to continue working. May I know, our beloved customer, what your coffee order for today is?”
Fixing the hoodie over her head, she pouts out her lips when saying: “Cinnamon coffee, please? And one for you, too. You look exhausted.”
Someone please put a wall up before she gets to his much-too-busy life and heart.
###
The world falls from her eyes, tired beyond what she could express, entering her last year of her psychology major and still, feeling unprepared. Maybe, that’s the endless minds of adults—losing confidence with each step they give into forever. Her fingers rake through her hair with the light of Yukhei’s laptop casting over her face as she reads through the last version of his shared project with Kunhang.
And maybe, in this room, she feels a bit guilty—divided in a way that she can’t quite explain. She’s not doing anything wrong, but connecting with Kunhang only through a website makes her feel ridiculous. Maybe, here where she is sitting, reading the conclusions, she starts to think there would have been no way for Kunhang to talk to her had it not been under a pseudonym and somehow, it’s the harshest pill to swallow.
Closing her eyes tightly, she taps her finger against the last sentence of the document before humming. “Proud of you, giant.” She says, voice as dulcet as it can be when treating with her roommate, turning to him with a faint smile on her features. Yukhei rests against the doorframe of her room, sporting some plaid pajamas and his blonde hair done a mess. “It’s good. You took the corrections I gave you and wrote a nice project, and the conclusions are great—”
“Did you read Kunhang’s?” He questions, her grin faltering the slightest.
She did, indeed. While Yukhei had concentrated on issues according to unemployment and how it affected people’s social lives, Kunhang had gone straight for love and how pressuring it feels for young adults to find the love of their lives.
Maybe, Loveless Anon had something to do with that.
“I read the entire project. Can’t wait for you guys to get the best grade.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, dummy.” Yukhei gets closer to her, kneeling in front of her computer seat before tugging at the edge and pulling her away from the desk. He needs her utmost attention, as it seems. “You want me to believe, me Wong Yukhei, that you’re not that Loveless Anon that Kunhang has been talking to for the past two months ago?”
Trying to look for an answer, she comes with the smallest one, barely let out through her half-parted lips. “So, what about it?”
Yukhei widens his eyes at that. “Oh shit, I was right.”
Well, there goes Yukhei guessing and doing it right for once. “…You were guessing.”
“And, I guessed right. I am really not as dumb as people think I am.” Yukhei chuckles at his own words, patting his hand against her knee. “So, when are you going to confess it all to him? Like, in one of those coming-of-age movies that we see or in those Hong Kong romance movies where—”
“Never.”
“What?”
Perhaps, Yukhei thinks of this as a movie. That romances in college last, or that either of them has the time to actually date each other. Not only that, but her own cowardly nature that had preferred to write under an anon name rather than talk to him in the way they did two months ago.
She once learned probabilities, she really did—and while she can read people, she can read situations even better. Kunhang and herself are not probable; they are not a match made in heaven and neither can they be friends. Not after that kiss. Not because they have a friend in common, Yukhei in this case, that would be absolutely devastated if he lost one or the other.
“Listen, it’s going to be weird because…I don’t know, I guess the letters feel a bit obvious about me flirting with him and—”
“And, so what?” Yukhei questions, his hands coming up to his hair when he stands up to pace back and forth. “Throughout the entirety of these two months, you’ve questioned yourself for never being attracted enough to a guy, for never wanting a guy as much as they want you but now, for the first time in years, you are interested in a guy whom you’ve kissed and you’d kiss again. Shit, why the hell aren’t you telling him and testing the waters?!”
“It isn’t that easy.” Closing the Word document with Yukhei’s project, she turns to look through the PDF book she should be reading for a class. “What if he’s not interested?”
“Oh, trust me. Kunhang thinks you’re hot.”
“That isn’t enough, Yukhei.” Though, heat fills her face once she rests her palm on her cheek, trying to hide away from her best friend. “What if he doesn’t want the same thing I do?”
“Then, you can say you tried.”
For a moment, those words repeat inside her head, with the memories—though definitely in group of friends—in between the two and the smiles shared, but she shakes her head before she can think of it any further.
“Thanks for the concern, Yukhei, but I’d rather pluck all of my eyelashes out than go through the embarrassment of being rejected by Kunhang. Bye.”
“He’s not going to reject you.” He tries to reason. “But if he did, then he’s the one losing you. Not you losing him.”
Even through it all, the hardships of college, the stress of adulthood, she can say she has someone taking care of her.
“I said bye, giant.”
“I’m not—”
“I’ll delete your Word document with your entire project if you don’t leave, Yukhei.” She adds, with humor in her tone. “And I know you don’t back your shit up.”
When he opens the door to leave, she hears a faint whisper leaving his deep voice: “You’re evil, woman.”
###
The air around his lungs feels less constricting when seated on that table in his social science class, grasping his last test in between his fingers, his project revised and approved by the professor, ending up on second place in the entire class.
This is the grade that could make him pass.
Or, alternatively, that could mean more money for university.
Kunhang has always prided on the fact that he’s confident, but with shaky fingertips and weaving eyes, he doesn’t know what to think about. Dejun’s face has softened sufficiently, meaning he has done well and of course, star of the class—somehow—Wong Yukhei is not worried.
“Come on, man.” Yukhei pats his hand against the back of his head, harsher than intended. “It’ll be fine. You’ve stupid like crazy.”
And that’s what scares him. For the first time, Kunhang has put his all and a bit more, waiting for the best outcome, but by the way his stomach twists and turns, his mind lightweight, it’s impossible for him to pass this class. No matter how hard he works, Mr. Sam wouldn’t be nice enough to grade him properly.
“Yeah, I guess.” Kunhang mumbles, turning the page around until it meets his gaze, like a glass of cold water falling on his face and awakening him. The most beautiful moments of life are not those who are perfect, but when his head felt like it was underwater and he managed to rise again.
Eighty.
Kunhang got an eighty in his last test.
“I fucking passed!” The smile on his face reads a thousand shades of sunshine when he plasters the exam down on the desk and brings his hands up his features, upwards towards the strands of his brown hair.
He can breathe again.
###
From: Min Chaeryeong.
Come pick me up at Dejun’s place.
Just broke up with him.
That asshole.
Never again, girl. Never again.
Romance movies paint it so beautifully. There’s a beginning, a limitation, a resolution and an end—well, a prolongated end in the form of happily ever after. What they never expect is for the secondary character to be rushing through the streets in order to get to Dejun’s place, looking for her best friend who had been on a long relationship only for it to end in an abrupt night of July, with a text that worries her to bits and pieces.
Her hair swishes with the movement of her hands opening the entrance door, greeting some of the students in the apartment complex before going up the set of stairs. Sneakers clanking against the tiles after coming from her workplace, her stomach roars in hunger and yet, she can only worry about Chaeryeong. Would she be crying endlessly? She knows, better than anyone, that Chaeryeong and Dejun love each other, or used to, at the very least…but if they can’t work together, then so be it.
She pulls the hood of her white sweater off her head, knocking on Dejun’s door a few times only to come up with silence. Her ear presses to the orange wood, wanting to listen to, at least, the whisper of the aftereffects of a fight, but it’s silent. Could they have gone somewhere else?
Her phone slips out of her pocket when she writes back.
To: Min Chaeryeong.
Chae, I’m here.
Where are you?
What happened?
Open the door.
From: Min Chaeryeong.
It’s open.
I’m in the closet with Dejun.
Come pick me up before I slice his nuts in half.
Okay, now that is a sign for her to open the door as quickly as she can.
The handle slides from her fingertips quickly, managing to take off her shoes in a swift motion before walking through the elongated hallway. None of Dejun’s roommates are anywhere to be around, not even his dog, Bella, but she does know where the closet can be found. Third door on the right, next to Dejun’s room.
Picking up Chaeryeong after staying over at Dejun’s place had been normal occurrence more than once, after all.
Maybe, it’s the worry for her two friends, the aspiring voice full of ambition that tells her she can save the day, but she opens the door of the closet. Darkened walls and not a single light in sight, the cramped space welcomes her body, door swinging closed behind her until she hears a small whine in a manly voice, a man standing up just when he hears the door closing.
“No!” But by the movement the visitor made—clearly Kunhang, now that she hears his voice—, caused for his chest to be pressed to hers, his left arm extending to stop the door from closing a little too late. Well, Kunhang is here, but—
“Where are Chae and Dejun?”
Kunhang pulls away at that, crossing his arms over his chest, glimmers of sweat dancing across his forehead and temple before sighing. “They’re in the other room, celebrating their anniversary by playing some fucking prank on us but for some reason, they locked me up in here and said you’d come in any second. The handle doesn’t work from the inside.”
“Fuck!” She curses, trying the handle out just when she hears Kunhang plop himself down on the flooring. “Why would they lock us in here?”
This sounds oddly familiar, and by the way Kunhang tugs at the collar of his shirt to wave some air towards himself, they could fry themselves from the heat here. “I have no idea.”
A knock on the door makes her look up, only to hear Dejun’s voice. “Because you two have something to tell each other and—”
“Chaeryeong, Dejun, you either get us out of here or I swear I will kick this door down!” Knowing the reason why she is here doesn’t make her feel any better. All of this just for her to admit that she’s Loveless Anon? Not a chance. She won’t stay here to make a fool of herself or die in the process. “Are you fucking out of your minds?”
“Well, everything with you guys has always started with a closet, so.” Chaeryeong is so dead for doing this to her— “I’ll give you seven minutes. If nothing happens, well, we’ll quit and accept we are just being stupid. If something happens, you’re welcome.”
“Chae!” Banging her fist against the door, she doesn’t hear anything else more than footsteps and the start of a timer, making her sigh deeply.
“Something to tell me?” Kunhang questions, voice low and soft before releasing a scoff. “Okay, you can tell me whatever. I won’t judge you. I just don’t want to suffocate in here because I think I’ve been here for five minutes or so and I’m—”
“I—I don’t know what to tell you!” She replies back, taking a seat next to him on the flooring before crossing her legs. “It’s really nothing. Like, it’s not a big deal.”
Turning to her, face closer than ever, he sighs through his nostrils. “They think it’s a big deal. So, it should be…”
“Listen, it’s…” With the scent of him engulfing her and her heart racing inside her chest, she thinks about how much of a coward she has been. Closed up and pulling away from him, even not saying anything to him that one time they kissed years ago. It was as if it didn’t happen, afraid of the consequences to the point she never tried to understand what that kiss meant. “You know, I’ve always…shit, I don’t know how to say this.”
“Just say it.” Kunhang laughs, using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I promise I won’t judge. Unless it’s something really bad.”
What does he consider really bad?
“I’ve been confused for years. I thought that…that I’d never like someone for a long period of time. I guess, I wouldn’t ever be interested in someone for more than a week and it made me feel like the biggest bitch. And not in the good sense,” Turning to look at him, she rakes her eyes over his features. Twinkling eyes, rosy lips and understanding nature. “So, what did I do? I pushed myself away from ever feeling like that and I would’ve been perfectly fine with it had it not been for that one time at that party when I was curious to kiss you. I did, as you can remember.”
Kunhang lets his gaze fall down to her lips, chuckling in the process. Soft. Tender. “I do, of course.”
“And this is bad, really bad, but I compared every kiss after to you and part of me always wondered, as I was kissing other men, if I would only like to be kissed by you or how could I teach someone to kiss me like you did…and I’d feel even worse.” Her voice becomes duller, fluttering eyelashes from endless blinking. “So, that night you told me it wasn’t my fault, I was curious, again. I couldn’t believe that I was still stupid enough to be hung up on you, but I couldn’t talk about this with anyone. Shit, Yukhei is one of your best friends…”
“You really thought of me as your best kiss?” Kunhang questions, pointing with his index finger towards his taut chest. She nods once.
“I really thought I could learn how to come to terms with the fact that romance and kissing isn’t that big of a deal if I just talked to someone like you. You’re so relaxed all the fucking time and…” This time around, her throat contracts, not finding the words to say. Her eyelids close tightly when she breathes out: “I became Loveless Anon, because I wanted to know your opinion about it.”
For one second, Kunhang remains silent, a house of cards that has fallen onto the weight of realization, but then, laughter comes from him, barely audible when he shakes his head.
“I knew you were Loveless Anon.”
She widens her eyes at that, inspecting his impressed features. “You did?”
“The speech was the same as yours. And you only replied at times when I know you weren’t working or studying. It had to be you. Same issues, too.” Who would have thought that Kunhang would have guessed it from the beginning? “I didn’t want to believe it at first…but when I started to reply to you more often, I just knew. Every time I pressed enter on those messages, I thought of you.”
“Holy fuck.” She whispers, covering her face with her hands as sweet laughter leaves her lips. “I was mortified, Kunhang.”
His fingertips wrap around her wrists, uncovering her face when he beams at her face “Why? Why? You shouldn’t have been stressing out about this.” He whispers, cradling both hands in between his. “I should be the one stressing out because I never said anything either—and I really liked that kiss back then, too.”
“You don’t have to say it just because I did.” She laughs, trying to shrug the embarrassment that creeps up on her away. It’s impossible for him to have thought of that kiss in a closet to be something he enjoyed, much more compared with the number of women that were in his life during college after. “It’s okay, really. You’re just a really good kisser and you should know that—”
His arm wraps around her waist, bringing her forward to rest his lips against hers, his chest to hers when he turns to left to peck her lips softly. Delicately. Her eyes are barely closed by the time he pulls away, though from the brief glimpse of light from under the door, she can see that his eyelids have denied her the benefit of looking into his powerful eyes.
What she doesn’t expect is for him to press another softer, longer peck to her lips, her hands melting against his touch and resting on his chest, curling onto his side when she’s the one to pull away this time. Her sweater becomes his axis, curled into his fist when he leans in one last time, a sharp intake of breath following his actions when he deepens the kiss, his free hand resting on her shoulder, caressing the skin over the fabric.
Her own hands end up on his long hair, lips melting against her own, dancing with fervor, necessity, yet not picking up his pace—as if he has all the time in the world and he would rather spend it with her. Her fingertips go lower, to his jawline, burning skin scalding her own, sharp under her touch when he softly breathes against her skin, a sound captured on the back of his throat.
“You’re stupid, you know that?” He says over her lips, making her chuckle before resting another peck on his skin, hiding her face on his neck soon after.
“What a thing to tell a girl after you’ve kissed her.”
“I could’ve been kissing you since way before this, but you had to make things complicated.” His fingers tingle against her skin, even when he’s still holding her waist above the thick hoodie, and when she pulls away, she hears him speak again, timbre low. “Still as good as you remembered it?”
“Just as good.”
“Not better?”
“You’re still very patient. I’ve always liked that.” She grasps his face in between her hands, looking into his eyes. “No one kisses like that anymore.”
“Is this the ‘getting the guy I’m dating’s ego as big as Jupiter’ challenge?”
Her eyebrows frown at his words, his lips dancing along her own once again, spine curved the slightest to join him in the middle before laughter interrupts their kiss. “Since when am I dating someone?”
“Oh, right now.” Kunhang’s confidence, ever-present, becomes apparent when he pats her ribcage. “You can’t just expect a guy not to want to date you, the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a while, when you tell him he’s the best kiss you’ve ever had.” He shrugs. “You owe me four years of dates and kissing.”
“Okay, alright. Fair. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“And we get to kiss on places outside a closet.” Kunhang stipulates. “I’m sweating my ass off.”
“That’s so romantic.” Sarcastically, she adds, only to hear keys dangling outside the closet.
“You guys have talked it out?” Dejun asks from the other side of the door, only to have Kunhang standing up, knocking on the door.
“Yeah.” He says, pressing his forehead to the door. “But you better open this door up before you have a talk with the foot that I’m going to put up your ass.”
“Alright. Talk time is over. Time to let the dogs out.” Dejun tells someone, presumably Chaeryeong, before he opens the door to the closet, not missing out on the way Kunhang wraps his arm around his neck and keeps him locked in place. “Ow!”
“Are you crazy?!”
“You two talked it out! I had to do it!”
“That was the stupidest idea you could have, Dejun.” She adds, crossing her arms across her chest. “You’ve now downgraded to the Dumber position in the trio.”
Or, the methods weren’t just the best…but at least, she can say one thing.
Wong Kunhang is still the best kisser she has gotten the chance to try.
#hendery scenarios#hendery#wayv scenarios#nct scenarios#nct#wayv#writing#wayv fluff#wayv angst#wayv au#nct fluff#nct angst#nct au#college!au#i don't know what else to add fdanjfndaj but i like this!
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previous lists here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.
gimme gimme gimme by jay (tofupofu)
When Eddie and Buck have sex for the first time, the both discover that Eddie is a little more... sensitive than originally anticipated.
woke up the girl who looked just like you, i almost said your name by rarakiplin
“You forgot this at my place,” he says, dropping a set of keys into Eddie’s hand. “Figured you’d need them to get home.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, looking down at his own hand for a second before aiming a grin up at Tommy, who’s got one or two inches on him. “Thanks.”
Tommy’s resulting grin fades into a wince when he glances over Eddie’s shoulder and catches the surprise on Chim’s face. “Sorry, is it, like, disrespectful to wear hats in here? Like in school?” He tugs the beanie off, and he’s got dirty blond curls that tumble loosely over his forehead.
Chim blinks, then blinks again, because with the hair Eddie's...friend almost looks like—No. He can’t look like Buck, actually, because that would be the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of humankind and Chimney would have to quit his job to dedicate the rest of his life to laughing about it.
-
Or, five times Eddie dates a guy a little too similar to Buck, and one time he dates the real deal.
renegade (if I would've known) by writerforlife
"Eddie has always felt safe, with Buck at his back. Yet that isn’t enough anymore, not when Christopher is waking up screaming. Not when Eddie hasn’t been okay for a long time. Buck is not enough to save him, and Eddie doesn’t know how to say that, especially when Buck looks up, meets his eye, and says, “Don’t go.”"
Or: in the aftermath of leaving the 118, Eddie confronts his trauma, drinks beer with Buck, and goes to therapy - not exactly in that order, though.
take you over anybody else by thisissirius
"Don't be scared," Eddie says, his voice thick. "I'm right here, Buck, okay? I'm right here."
Eddie's here.
Buck's okay as long as Eddie's here.
We Lived Through the Wreck of Our Hearts by soft_satan
When the door to the supply closet burst open, Eddie skidded to a stop only feet away from them, his blood turning ice cold in his veins. A tall, wild eyed man had an arm wrapped around Buck’s neck and a gun pressed to the side of his head.
heaven's here, it's right where you're standing by spinningincircles
But a year later wounds are healed, PT is long done, and he wakes up next to Buck every morning feeling happier than he has in almost a decade. He gets to buy the shirt for him, stock up on yogurt, and press himself into Buck’s space until his eyes get their spark back. He can fantasize about the house they’ll buy or the dogs they’ll adopt once Chris moves out.
He can see a titanium ring in the display case of the jewelry store at the mall and perfectly imagine what it would look like on Buck’s finger.
And he can make it all the way to his truck after buying it before the panic starts to set it.
Sucker for Praise by sirencalls
Eddie loves eating Buck out, loves how responsive Buck always is. He just isn’t sure how it would feel the other way around. Eddie has bottomed for Buck before, taken his cock and come on it and loved every second of it, but this feels... different. More intimate, a little dirtier, and something he isn’t sure if he would even enjoy.
But like most things, Buck convinces him by begging for it.
you always build it better (the second time around) by sarcastic_fina
"I'm in high school now," Chris sighed. "Right dad?"
Eddie half-smiled. "Right. You're practically grown." Eddie ruffled Chris' hair. "You'll be paying taxes any day now."
Christopher scrunched his nose up. "I'm fourteen."
"Apply for pension, Eds. Our kid's practically an old man." Buck groaned. "We've gotta be ancient."
Laughing, Christopher pulled the door open and called back to them, "You are old."
Or, it's Christopher's first day of high school, and Eddie has some feelings both about that and Buck's place in their family.
calm night of the soul by extasiswings
The thing is, Eddie isn’t sure he ever really wanted kids.
Which is why he’s thrown when he gets a text from Chim when he’s in the middle of the grocery store on his day off that has a picture of Buck holding a newly-delivered baby and a message that reads—
So, when are you going to give that husband of yours a baby?
And there, in the middle of the cereal aisle, Eddie stops dead, trying to remember if he and Buck have ever actually had that conversation.
[Or: The one where there are some things that can't be compromised on, but that doesn't mean they can't work out anyway]
(as long as you love me so) let it snow by lecornergirl
“I hate it when you’re right.”
“I’m right all the time.”
“I hate you all the time,” Buck says, and Eddie grins.
“No, you don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” Buck agrees. “I would kiss you, but—”
“Yeah, no, hands on the wheel and eyes on the road,” Eddie says. “You need to keep us alive long enough to get us somewhere I can show you exactly how much you don’t hate me.”
“Sex bribery will get you everywhere,” Buck says, shooting Eddie a look. It’s the barest glance, milliseconds before he looks at the road again, but it’s a look Eddie knows in his soul and feels in his toes.
Father's Day Brunch by hideeho
After a disastrous Mother's Day, Eddie invites Buck to Father's Day's brunch with him and Christopher. He's not overthinking this decision at all.
LA Pride by natural_singularity
Every year, the LAFD is invited to join the Los Angeles Pride Parade in West Hollywood. And every year, the LAFD asks stations to volunteer to represent the department, and they choose a station at random. The 118 has volunteered every year since Bobby was made captain, but has never been selected. This year is different.
What's Died Will Never Stay Dead by HMSLusitania
Bobby's family died in an apartment fire in St Paul, he was honest about that much.
But it was in 1904, not 2014.
OR
The immortal firefam AU no one asked for.
stop this train by gracieli
When Taylor flops back down next to him, a new wine bottle in hand, she asks, “So are you gonna tell me what’s up with you?”
He frowns as he glances at her. “What do you mean?”
“Well for one, you don’t normally cry when we hook up,” she says - not unkindly, but he can feel a pit forming in his stomach anyway. Sex was supposed to be the thing that he didn’t fuck up and he couldn’t even manage that.
“Sorry,” he cringes, “It’s - it’s not you, or anything like that.”
“Oh, I know,” she says flippantly, pushing her hair back, “I’m just wondering what it is.”
marry me, eddie diaz by elisela
There’s a long silence, and then, “you do that a lot,” Eddie says, looking over at him strangely.
“I do what a lot?”
“Ask me to marry you,” Eddie says. “I know it’s just a joke, but I feel like—” he stops and shakes his head, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.
Are we destined to burn or will we last the night? by Mellaithwen
Spoilers for 4x14 Survivors
Bobby expects to find Buck pacing the corridors, tuned into the singular frequency of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie — his panic and fear coming off of him in waves — but instead, he finds him hovering off to one-side, standing so still and so silent that Bobby almost hadn’t noticed there was anyone there at all...
Mehta had said that Buck wasn’t injured, he’d said that he needed the sweatshirt, that he was shaken up, but…this? Bobby's not sure he’s ever gonna forget the image of what his youngest firefighter looks like covered in his best friend's blood.
.
aka Bobby arrives at the hospital just after Eddie’s been shot, and tries to deal with the fallout.
haha just kidding ... unless? by ok_thanks
Snapchat from Bucky
Messages: from Evan
DONT OPEN THAT!! ACCIDENTALLY SENT U A DICK PIC
!!!!!
There’s a string of what Eddie can only describe as increasingly distressed emojis following that.
A Thousand Ways To Say I Hate You by morganofthefairies
Eddie looked around at the colorful arrays surrounding him, thinking.
“How do you say ‘fuck you’ in flower?”
The person burst out laughing - whatever they had been expecting, it clearly hadn’t been that.
“Okay, I can help you with that,” they said after a moment, still grinning. “But now I have to ask.”
And so Eddie spilled the whole sordid story – dating Ana, getting shot, realizing he was in love with Buck, Buck dating Taylor.
The double date from hell.
~~~~~
Five times Eddie buys Taylor fuck-you flowers, and one time he doesn't need to.
to be perfectly queer by archerincombat
“Did you know,” Buck asks, “That one in four people are queer?”
Chim narrows his eyes at the crowded station kitchen. “And yet there are 20 firefighters on this shift,” he announces, a little too loudly. “Fess up, people!”
“I hope it’s Eddie,” Ravi says. “He’s hot.”
“That man,” Hen says firmly. “Is straight. I would know.”
Buck’s face does something complicated. “Yeah,” he agrees, voice pitched a little too high. “Yeah. Totally.”
75 best knitting puns that will have you hooked by iphigenias
Buck—Buck is knitting.
Eddie blinks, rubs his eyes. Yeah, Buck is knitting: thick fingers a little clumsy as Bobby shows him how to purl stitch with a soft-looking ball of pink ombre wool. “You’re knitting,” Eddie says, flummoxed, because Buck’s hands look huge and ridiculous on the needles, but the way he’s holding them so carefully, the pink tip of his tongue pursed between his lips as he concentrates, is making Eddie feel—well, something. He’s not sure what. And then Buck pulls the stitch from one needle to the other, looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes with an embarrassed smile, and, yeah, okay. He knows what he’s feeling.
you're a real life fantasy by ColorMeParanoid
"Would you fuck me?" Buck asked so suddenly that Eddie nearly choked on his coffee. Chimney, who was walking up to join them in their little rec room area turned on his heel and stumbled down the stairs in an effort to avoid this upcoming conversation. Eddie couldn’t even blame him for running away. This was a lot, even for Buck.
"What?"
Not deterred in the slightest by Eddie’s obvious shock, Buck said, “Not to sound vain or anything, but I work hard to keep my ass in shape. And yet, nobody seems to care.”
(Or, the one where Buck wants to fulfil a certain fantasy and Eddie is more than happy to lend him a helping dick)
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Nova Ch 11
AN: This is gonna be the last of the set-up chapters. The story will start snowballing (see what I did there? Heehee) from the next chapter on.
This chapter includes an art piece I requested from the talented @plutonis, and I’m so glad I can finally show this off because it contains some very gorgeous colors.
AO3 Link
Ch 11: Spectrum
Terran Date 2015.4.28
Yesterday, Pinky showed me one of his favorite pieces of media to thank me for the story of Heikro var Silda, even though he cried for fifteen minutes because of the tragic ending. While indeed sad, I’m proud to say I remained steadfast and controlled my emotions upon revisiting the story. And while I told him it wasn’t necessary, he insisted and I acquiesced to his demands.
That’s how Pinky introduced me to The Lion King. Once again, I remained strong even when the emotional distress threatened to override my logical mind. It was...rather difficult, I’ll admit. We watched the sequel afterward, and though I’ve created five different charts that list the plot points in order, I cannot come up with a satisfactory sequence of events that connects both movies into a cohesive narrative.
Moving onto real life matters...Pinky seems to be under the impression that I will be a permanent resident of the lab.
Celestial bodies above, what use is my intelligence if I’m trapped among heathen, dimwitted fools who can’t tell the difference between left and right! I refuse to be a lab rat, made to do the so-called dominant species’ bidding. Snowball and I shall be taking over this planet and progressing their backwards society far beyond their wildest dreams! That’s what we came here for, and I will not be sidetracked again.
As for Pinky...well, his imagination can make up some personalities for his inanimate object friends once I leave. He doesn’t have any shortage of those. The newest addition to the crew is an eraser nub with the moniker of ‘Gummy’.
Signing off for now,
The Brain
o-o-o-o-o
Brain saved the new transmission to an encrypted, password-protected file. None of the scientists were technical experts, so the odds of discovery were miniscule or nonexistent. He only had five audio files in total, a meager amount compared to the hundreds of transmissions he’d made back on New Selene.
The pointer hovered over the Delete All button. He didn’t have a reason to keep making transmissions when he was leaving the lab behind in just a few days.
Still, he hesitated.
Maybe he could leave it as a memento for Pinky. But even a basic level of encryption and case-sensitive password would remain far beyond Pinky’s capabilities.
Perhaps it was best to leave the issue for another night.
He logged off the computer and joined Pinky, who’d surrounded himself with Gummy and the rest of his inanimate object friends as he played a board game called Monopoly. Though Brain had looked up the rules and goals of the game during his online session out of curiosity, he didn’t really understand the appeal or mass marketability of such an unbalanced game.
Although, given the number of different versions of Monopoly out there, creating and selling his own version of the game with the title of Brainopoly could prove to be a viable plan.
Pinky was playing as if there were four players and not just a free-for-all against a nickel, button, and eraser. It became disturbingly obvious that Pinky was either overly generous or just woefully terrible at mental math, because he continually doled out the wrong amount of money from the bank or his own meager cash pile.
And Pinky was far better off if Brain cut in now, because there was no chance that anyone else was catching up to Gummy, who owned the most lucrative properties and had the largest amount of money.
He had to stop anthropomorphizing these objects. He was starting to think like Pinky, and that was an extremely distressing thought.
“You’re losing to an eraser,” Brain said. Pinky only had a few fives in currency, and the three properties he owned were all flipped over and mortgaged.
“Yeah, Gummy’s just very good at this game! Narf!” Pinky said as he rolled the dice for Mr. Button. “It’s so nice of him to let us sleep in his Marvin Garden Apartments though. Otherwise we’d be homeless!”
“Nice indeed,” Brain replied. For his peace of mind, he didn’t dare press for more details.
Pinky threw the dice, then moved the bucket token seven spaces, landing on the Luxury Tax space. “That’ll be seventy-five dollars, Mr. Button,” Pinky said as he gathered the money, which only totaled sixty. And Mr. Button’s four properties were all mortgaged. Pinky realized this too. “Oh...you don’t have enough. Poit.”
Any normal player would’ve tossed in the towel right there, but Pinky wasn’t a conventional player by any means. He frowned, scratched his head, then picked up his own pile of fives and tossed them onto the sixty, bringing the amount to seventy-five, with two leftover fives for Mr. Button.
“You can have that, Mr. Button!” Pinky chirped as he dumped the luxury tax money in the middle of the board. “With a little more for the bus!”
Pinky had completely knocked himself out of the game.
This was supposed to be an extremely competitive game for families and seasoned professionals, right? Though the rules of Monopoly appeared confusing and controversial to most players, he was certain that nobody would willingly lose with such a reckless method.
Well...maybe it was just a fluke. Pinky was only playing against himself, so if he wanted to give up the money to something he was making the decisions for, that was his choice.
Besides, he couldn’t watch this game much longer.
“I’ll be your next opponent,” Brain announced. He’d never played before, but the basics seemed simple enough. And the math involved was basic arithmetic he could do in his sleep. “Reset the board at once, Pinky.”
Pinky’s tail wagged as he gathered up the houses and hotels and tossed them back into the box, then settled down as he skillfully shuffled the Community Chest and Chance cards. From the way he hummed and twirled around, an outsider could easily mistake Brain for a playmate instead of an opponent.
Brain quickly read over the instruction sheet, then divided the game currency into a starting amount for himself, Pinky, and the bank.
“Can I be in charge of the property cards, Brain?” Pinky asked as he organized them by color.
“Yes, but I shall handle all other banker duties,” Brain said. “Listen closely, Pinky. I’ve looked up stories about Monopoly games going on for a long time with no definitive winner, so we’ll stop the game when one of us runs out of money, or if chance has favored you or I enough that we can place a hotel on the board.”
“Chance always has a problem with favoritism,” Pinky said as he moved the horse token to the Go space. Indeed, chance hasn’t always favored members of either of their species, but it could stand to be more merciful during a board game. He hugged the horse token to his chest. “Anyways, Pharfigtwoton is always my choice! What’s yours?”
Brain didn’t understand how anyone in their right mind would want to play as a wheelbarrow or bucket, and the only pieces that interested him at all were the ones that resembled modes of Terran transportation. In the end, he chose the battleship.
He was tempted to call it the Conquistador Two, but he didn’t want to follow the trend of naming random objects.
“Good one!” Pinky said as he pushed the ship over to the horse token. “A gorgeous ship like this needs a name...so I hereby dub thee Battley McBattleface!”
“We’re calling it the Conquistador Two, and that’s final,” Brain snapped.
“The Conquesodor Two,” Pinky agreed.
They tossed the dice to decide turn order, and Pinky won that battle easily since Brain had the misfortune to roll double ones.
On his first turn, Pinky managed to land on St. Charles Place with a high roll. He happily shelled out the money required to buy the property. “I’m putting a nice dog park here!” he declared, placing the unused dog token in the magenta space above the property. “Now Pharfigtwoton can give rides to all the puppies!”
Brain didn’t know if Monopoly required players to create their own storyline, but it certainly made the game more interesting and baffling at the same time. He rolled the dice, sighing when he could only advance to Reading Railroad.
He hoped it wouldn’t be a trend for Pinky to receive high rolls while he was stuck in the first half of the board.
But he quickly changed his mind once he paid up for Reading Railroad and read through the card information. Just like any real life war or corporate strategy, the key to his victory would lie in controlling the flow of transportation and goods!
Pinky landed on New York on his next turn, rambling about taking all the puppies to New York for a double decker bus tour of the city as he slid a stack of bills to Brain. Brain sighed and tossed an extra twenty bill back at Pinky. He wished Pinky would pay more attention to adding properly than the make-believe puppies.
Brain rolled the dice and moved his battleship to Virginia, claiming the property so Pinky couldn’t control one-fourth of the board this early in the game.
“Brain, can I have a house?” Pinky asked as he drew a Community Chest card. He read through the card and grinned. “Awww, I got second in a beauty pageant! Thank you, everyone! It’s such an honor! Oh, and it says I also won ten dollars.”
“You don’t meet the conditions required for a house, Pinky,” Brain said, giving Pinky a ten. He didn’t care about the fake beauty pageant, just that money was either gained or lost depending on luck of the draw.
“Oh, I’ll keep them off the board,” Pinky promised. “I just want a house for Terry to live in.”
He held up the dog token, who was now apparently called Terry.
“Fine, but don’t mix your ridiculous fantasies with the board,” Brain sighed and tossed a green house at Pinky, which smacked him in the head when he didn’t catch it in time. Pinky laughed it off and coaxed Terry to stand next to the house.
Houses and hotels. His Internet searches on the Clarkes led to tons of websites on the Terran real estate market and hotel industry.
Which reminded Brain that he hadn’t shared his research into the Clarkes with Pinky yet. There hadn’t been enough time during the day, where the incompetent scientists poked and prodded them. And in Brain’s case, tried to figure out where the antennae came from.
Their hypotheses, and he was being exceedingly generous when he described their speculation and conspiracy theories as hypotheses, amounted to claiming a Terran mouse and insect had reproduced together.
“I’ve brushed up on the Clarkes so we can properly impersonate them at the party. According to-scrik!” Brain hissed under his breath when he landed on New York and had to pay Pinky.
“Sixteen please!” Pinky chirped. “All proceeds will go to buying toys and treats for good dogs in need!”
Brain grudgingly gave up the sixteen. Probability was not on his side tonight. “As I was saying before cruel fate reared its ugly head, the man I shall impersonate, Anthony Clarke, is an esteemed real estate and luxury hotel mogul, with a net worth in the billions. His success is rooted in savvy, ruthless business against competitors. It appears that he and Lamont are old college acquaintances, which we can spin to our advantage. And...yes! B&O Railroad!”
He claimed the B&O Railroad for himself, and Pinky wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t ride on the Body Odor Railroad even if you pay me in cheese,” he said.
Brain rolled his eyes. “The temptation for cheese is too powerful for your empty mind and bottomless stomach.”
“You’re right, Brain. It’s too yummy.” Pinky licked his lips. “So does that make me Mrs. Zoey Clarke then? Unless he divorced her already. I haven’t kept up with them in a while.”
The butler on the phone had made a similar comment, thoroughly expecting ‘Mr. Clarke’ to divorce his spouse by the end of the week.
“So you’re aware of the Clarkes,” Brain said. He rolled the dice, and chance immediately sentenced him to jail. He had to push his battleship all the way to the jail space.
But all of this divorcing nonsense was trivial to his goals. Hardly worth a footnote.
The objective was to infiltrate the party, mingle with the guests to throw off suspicion, then steal the military weapon and take over the world, not involve himself in a Terran’s relationship drama.
“Ooh, tough.” Pinky clicked his tongue in sympathy as he bought Waterworks. “But everyone knows who the Clarkes are. Didn’t you see anything about all those divorces when you looked them up?”
“I’m more interested in his business ventures than his messy personal life,” Brain replied. “All this talk about divorce is simply incidental. But now I digress. Escaping jail so I may continue my conquering campaign is of utmost priority.”
“Doubles! Doubles!” Pinky chanted as Brain threw the dice. A two and three faced up, but no doubles. Pinky deflated, but only for a moment. Then he picked up a fifty. “Here, Brain. I’ll bail you out.”
From Brain’s brief skim over the rules, he didn’t recall a single one that allowed players to bail each other out of jail. He wanted to refuse and tell Pinky to focus on winning for himself, but obtaining Pennsylvania Railroad, which he’d missed the first time he’d passed through this section of the board, was just too tempting.
Brain took the fifty from Pinky, put it in the bank, then moved his battleship out of jail and used his draining resources to buy Pennsylvania Railroad. Only afterward did he realize that he’d been steadily losing money every turn and hadn’t gained anything since the beginning of the game.
Contrast to Pinky, who rolled a twelve and skipped over the last fourth of the board, placing him squarely on the Go space and guaranteeing himself a free two hundred. Then he rolled a low number and bought Mediterranean.
A poor investment, given that it was hardly worth anything. But Pinky didn’t think so.
And he wouldn’t stop cooking up new fantasies either. “Now we can host a beach jubilee for your welcome home from jail party! With hot dogs and beach balls and those big umbrellas and-”
Brain lobbed the dice at Pinky so he’d quiet down and allow Brain to formulate a strategy in peace.
Perhaps a pass around the board without purchasing anything would be necessary. He had to rebuild his financial resources again. The downside was that Pinky could potentially take the spaces for himself, but it was entirely possible that he’d miss some of the open spaces too.
So he did just that, finally lucking out when a Community Chest card sent Pinky to Reading Railroad.
But Pinky was incapable of keeping his mouth shut, and soon he was back on the topic of the infamous Clarke divorces.
“-so I think Zoey is number eleven, and I know they all blend together, so when I confuse them I just remember divorce, beheaded, died, divorce, beheaded, survived!”
Brain stared at Pinky, praying to all the ancient Selenian gods nobody believed in anymore that Snowball didn’t have him take the identity of a murderer.
“Oh wait no, no...that’s King Henry, not Clarke. Must’ve mixed them up, poit. Sorry.”
Brain threw another green house at Pinky, nailing him in the shoulder. Pinky yelped, but once he realized he had another house he immediately thanked Brain because that meant Terry’s friend could move next door.
Since there was little point to dissuading Pinky entirely, Brain focused on his game strategy instead.
It was mostly repetition anyway. Roll dice, move piece, board event, repeat. Perhaps it would be considered tedious and monotonous, but the storylines Pinky improvised were what truly made it fascinating, even though Brain could only follow about half of it since Pinky created plotholes within the fantastical yet mundane place named Monopoly City faster than the speed of light.
According to Pinky, he and his sister co-ran an enormous pet supply shop attached to a humane animal shelter next door to the dog park. Meanwhile, Brain was conductor of a magical train and seeking the mayorship because the corrupt mayor was involved with an evil cigarette corporation who wanted to diabolically sell their products to innocent children.
And while Pinky certainly had a knack for improvisation, the matter at hand was that Brain couldn’t resist buying Boardwalk, but he’d used up a third of his money and Pinky wasn’t landing there to make up for the deficit. But Brain also had Baltic, the least valuable property, and Pinky had Park Place, which Brain desperately needed since neither of them had houses on the board yet.
This wasn’t going to be a fair trade for Pinky, but it was the best chance Brain had to etch out a victory. He was going for it.
“Park for Baltic so we can finally build some residences,” Brain said, sliding the card over to Pinky.
And to his surprise, Pinky jumped at the opportunity. “Sure, Brain! If you’ll trade me Oriental for Marvin Gardens. We’re gonna open a Chinatown district!”
He’d be giving Pinky control of the first quarter of the board, but the allure of the most expensive properties was far too tempting to pass up.
They swapped properties, then paused the game to set up their houses. Brain didn’t have enough money to buy houses for all his properties, so he set two houses on Boardwalk and hoped he could deal a staggering blow to Pinky’s finances. And even this decision was costly, for he only had $180 left.
Pinky set four houses on Baltic and clapped his hands together. “They’re beach houses,” he explained, and didn’t bother putting houses on the rest of his properties even though he could afford it.
Brain kept his mouth shut. Best not to give Pinky ideas. So he rolled the dice and got doubles.
Luxury Tax.
Scrik.
Now he was down to $105. But he’d pass Go on his next turn, so he could obtain an extra two hundred and hopefully skip this portion of the board.
Then he landed on Baltic.
He slowly looked at Pinky, and Brain couldn’t tell if Pinky was being perfectly innocent or just very, very good at pretending to be perfectly innocent. “That’ll be $320 please,” Pinky said.
Including the two hundred from passing Go, he’d only have a grand total of $305.
And according to the conditions he’d set, he’d lost the game through losing all his money.
“Can’t pay it,” Brain sighed. “Congratulations, Pinky. You’ve bested me.”
Pinky giggled and threw his play money in the air in celebration. “Aw, thanks for playing with me! I’ve never played Monopoly with anyone before. Never been able to get the board to Pharfignewton’s stable without the play money flying all over the street. It took me a long time to pick it all up. We should definitely do this again, Brain! Troz!”
But there wouldn’t be a next time. No matter how much he wanted to be victorious in another match against Pinky.
“Yes, we should,” Brain forced out, willing his racing heart to calm down so he wasn’t caught in his lie.
Pinky beamed, and Brain only wished it wasn’t so difficult to explain.
o-o-o-o-o
Terran Date 4.29.2015
Tonight, we shall seek appropriate outfits for the masquerade ball. I have been informed that my jumpsuit is not considered formal attire and that we will need to shop for proper clothing. However, I will be bringing my jumpsuit along since I will not return to the lab, and I require my conquering outfit to carry out our plans.
Pinky knows a place that may contain what we need. He’s spent the last two hours finishing his hat for the Kentucky Derby and has proudly shown off the finished product to me. Though I’ll admit that the result can only be considered a hat if one is generous with their definition.
I have not been able to contact Snowball. I can only assume he’s making the necessary preparations on his end.
Signing off for now,
The Brain
o-o-o-o-o
They stood in front of an enormous building with bright neon letters, impossible to miss even with his direction-challenged companion. Thankfully, it was only a few blocks from the lab. After the scientists strapped him to a machine that tested centrifugal force, he didn’t have the energy to walk much further.
“Welcome to Toyz ‘B’ We, Brain!” Pinky exclaimed, and Brain cringed at the horrendous grammar of that name. “It's the most wonderfulest toy shop ever!”
Wonderfulest wasn’t a word, but Brain was given no time to inform Pinky of that fact before Pinky dragged him to the entrance, where a large, cartoonish statue of a Terran bee stood off to the side, greeting customers with a cheerful wave of her magic wand.
“So that’s the mascot, Becky Bee,...let’s see, those are the shopping carts and the baskets and those machines that give you washable tattoos-”
“Focus on the clothing, Pinky. Not all the extraneous material,” Brain reminded him as they entered the store. Unlike their disastrous mall trip, Brain had brought along a source of money, an ACME credit card one of the scientists had carelessly left at their desk after purchasing a chair online.
They had a right to use the card as ACME employees who never got paid for their hard labor in experiments. And he promised Pinky he’d give it back once they were through purchasing the necessary items, so it didn’t catch on that pesky ‘no stealing’ radar.
Based on Pinky’s descriptions of the store, he expected an interior full of wonder, excitement, and interesting objects designed for enjoyment for young Terrans.
Instead, everything was a sterile white, yellow, or black. Rectangular kits of building blocks of all shapes and sizes sat neatly in a row, their price tags dusty as if they hadn’t been moved or cleaned in some time.
Dozens of bee models hung from the ceiling rafters, all of them sharing the exact same dead stare and pose. The whole setup was rather unnerving, and Brain averted his eyes.
He spotted two workers at the registers. They scrolled through their phones, not noticing Pinky’s cheerful greeting as he skipped past them. A third worker called out in alarm to them, and they suddenly dropped their phones and picked up rags, repetitively wiping their counters in circles in a poor attempt to appear busy.
The only one who acted like they were in a store meant for entertainment was Pinky, who oohed and ahhed and zigzagged all over the place to get a look at all the toys.
“Brain, look at this Barbie convertible! It’s so sparkly!” Pinky exclaimed before darting off to admire the box art on five-hundred piece jigsaw puzzles, then crawled onto the lowest shelf to hug a life-sized chihuahua plushie. “Narf! This one’s a cutie! And I also like the polka-dotted lizard, that green unicorn, and that rainbow koala looks really soft too-”
Brain grabbed Pinky’s tail, yanking him out of the shelf and onto the floor.
“This store’s already eroding whatever’s left of your mind,” Brain said, dragging Pinky away from the stuffed animals.
Pinky propped himself up on his elbows, humming as they passed aisle upon aisle of action figures, balls, and building blocks.
It was strange how they seemed to be the only customers here. Shouldn’t there be more snot-nosed brats running amok or haggard parents corralling them so they didn’t destroy everything with their grubby hands?
Still, perhaps he shouldn’t complain.
It was a relief that he didn’t have to worry about people trampling him underfoot for now.
But the peace didn’t last long, since Pinky suddenly peeled away in a completely different direction, forgetting that Brain was hanging onto his tail. Though he tried to dig his heels in, Pinky was too fast and the floor too slippery for Brain to bring them to a halt.
Then Pinky stopped on his own, and Brain only caught a glimpse of a metallic table leg before he crashed face-first into it, his nose smarting from the impact.
“Sorry, Brain,” Pinky said sheepishly, and there were five upside-down images of him. Brain swatted at the one in the middle, but his hand hit empty air instead. He shook his head to clear his vision, and all but the Pinky on the far left vanished.
Pinky didn’t stay put for long, darting past Brain. He hauled himself up the table leg and onto a light blue tablecloth. “You have to come up and see this, Brain!” Pinky squealed, peering over the edge of the table, his tail wagging beside him. “There’s an entire fence made of Legos here!”
Brain sighed, wondering if it was an exercise in futility to get Pinky to focus on the task at hand. “This is the last time I’ll repeat myself!” Brain shouted as he climbed up to retrieve Pinky. “We’re here for the clothes and-”
Though Brain only took fifteen seconds to ascend, Pinky managed to don a cropped, checkered top that showed off his slender stomach and a very short blue skirt in that short timeframe.
“Well, what do you think?” Pinky giggled and twirled in circles, the skirt flying in a graceful arc around his waist. “I could go square dancin’ in this, pardner! Yee-narf!”
Realizing he’d been staring at Pinky’s exposed stomach rather than making proper eye contact, Brain quickly turned away and pretended to find a row of small toy cars interesting. Next to the toy cars, there was a menagerie of small, plastic animals penned in by a colorful fence.
Part of a garden themed jigsaw puzzle served as a lawn under his feet, the pieces leading up to an enormous pink dollhouse.
Pinky took off the clothes he’d tried on, neatly threading a bent wire through the crop top and skirt and hanging them on a piece of string that served as a makeshift clothesline. There were five different clotheslines, each stocked to the brim with a variety of colorful articles.
Brain thumbed through the selection, though he didn’t feel an attachment to any of these pieces. While these clothes were designed for toys, most of them were still too big for him.
Finding something that would fit would be more difficult than he realized.
There was a large empty space past all the clotheslines, but it seemed it would be filled in soon enough. The display had all the signs of being a work in progress, and Brain couldn’t help but wonder who had the patience to put all this together. Certainly not the bored workers at the registers.
It was a welcome splash of creativity from the rest of the dull store.
“Poit. This is exactly how I imagined my dream home to be,” Pinky said in awe. He walked up to the front door and popped it open, revealing a spacious interior. Brain followed Pinky inside and they explored the first floor together, which contained a kitchen, living room, and a playroom.
“I really like the coloring on those kitchen cabinets, and the fireplace is a great touch! Very retro. And the kiddies will have a grand ol’ time in the playroom,” Pinky said as they climbed the staircase to the second floor and walked through two bedrooms and a bathroom.
“Marble countertops would make the kitchen and bathroom more refined,” Brain argued. Really, did Pinky want any visitors to think uncivilized brutes owned the house? “But the fireplace is a welcome touch.”
Pinky shrugged as they entered the master bedroom. “It’s fine as is. Now if the backyard was bigger with a dolphin-shaped swimming pool, that would be really, really amazing!”
And Brain preferred marble countertops, but since he wouldn’t be getting everything he wanted, neither would Pinky.
Brain sat on the large bed that took up half the room, the fluffy covers soft and welcoming. But they were on a mission, and future world rulers didn’t roll around on beds in an undignified manner, no matter how tempting it was.
Pinky threw open the closet doors, revealing more clothing inside. “Oh, these pajamas are lovely!” he said, pressing a yellow nightgown close to his body.
“Anything that would suit our purposes?” Brain asked. In hindsight, doing some research into what people wore for masquerade balls would’ve been helpful. He didn’t know why it slipped his mind. Perhaps Pinky’s scatterbrained traits were contagious.
“Hmmm, it’s all pajamas and casual wear,” Pinky said, flicking through the different articles. He closed the doors and reopened them, as if the formal wear would magically appear if they were out of sight. “No suits for you or the porpoises, Brain.”
And he’d been so hopeful too.
“Maybe we can find something in the aisles,” Pinky said.
A sensible suggestion, for once.
Brain tried not to appear reluctant to leave the bed, but necessity demanded it. As he stood up, the fur on his neck pricked, his ears twitching towards the large window in the bedroom.
An odd sense that he was being watched came over him, and when he turned to look at the window, he saw a Terran’s eye peering into the balcony.
They stared at each other.
Then the eye blinked.
And Brain was suddenly very, very glad Snowball wasn’t here to bear witness, or he’d never hear the end of how he’d leapt onto Pinky’s back in his moment of panic.
Pinky yelped, and so did the Terran outside the window. There were several loud thuds, followed by a frantic apology.
Brain released Pinky, rubbing his face to get rid of the blush as he ran down the staircase and out the front door.
“S-sorry!” a young woman stammered as she bent down to pick up several packages of toys, only to lose her large glasses on the floor in the process. She wore the standard uniform of the store. “I didn’t think anyone would be inside! I thought one of the furniture pieces fell over, that’s all!”
Pinky hopped down from the table, picking up the woman’s glasses and pressing them into her hand. “It’s okay!” he chirped. “You scared us good, but now we can laugh about it! Oh, your name tag says Sharon! What a lovely name! I’m Pinky, that chubby alien up there is Brain, and we’re going to a party this weekend where we’ll raise awareness for the plight of frosted animal crackers!”
“That’s not the event’s objective,” Brain corrected, and he had no choice but to let Pinky come to his own conclusions. Stealing the secret weapon on Lamont property would remain classified information as promised. “And if you call me chubby again, I shall have to hurt you.”
Sharon took her glasses from Pinky with a tentative smile, then let him climb up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Zort! You have very good taste in Polly Pocket dolls!” Pinky said, peering down at the packages in her hands. “Do you collect?”
Sharon blushed. “I, um, have a lot of Beanie Babies at home. I’m not really interested in Polly Pockets, but they’d fit much better in this display than a standard Barbie.” She glanced at Brain. “I’m sorry, could you please move? I’m putting a few things in that area.”
Brain moved out of the way as Sharon carefully opened the packages. Then she placed several small tables and chairs in the empty space next to the clotheslines, bending the dolls’ legs into sitting positions and placing them on the chairs. She worked slowly and diligently, taking great caution to not knock anything over or break the items.
“Did you make all this?” Pinky asked. “It’s amazing!”
“Y-yeah, I did. The display, I mean. Not the toys.” Sharon didn’t look at Pinky as she straightened one of the Lego fences. “Store’s been on the decline, and because there’s not really much to do, I’m trying to create a few displays to generate some interest. The toys in this one were supposed to be thrown away since nobody’s buying them, even on clearance, but it just seemed so wasteful.”
She was resourceful. It was a valuable trait, but she seemed more embarrassed than anything.
“Take pride, Sharon. It’s an excellent use of parts,” Brain advised.
Pinky nodded eagerly. “And you’re saving the toys from the evil furnace! I’m sure they’re very grateful to you when you’re not looking!”
“You...you really like it?” Sharon lifted her glasses and wiped a tear from her eye. “Nobody’s ever really noticed my efforts around here.”
“Well, they should!” Pinky declared. “I’ll tell them so myself!”
Sharon smiled as Pinky hugged her face, then rejoined Brain on the table. “Thanks, but I don’t think you came to this store just to invade a toy home.”
“No, we didn’t,” Brain said, seeing his opportunity and seizing it. “We require formal clothes for a masquerade ball, and unfortunately, we haven’t seen anything of interest yet.”
“There’s plenty of interesting things in here, Brain,” Pinky said. “Like the busybody bees up on the ceiling!”
Apparently they had two very different definitions of interesting.
“Well, I can bring out some items from the back,” Sharon offered. “We had to pull the entire line of formal Zuma Ben accessories last week. Some parents found the outfits a little scandalous for their kids, so now the accessories are just going in the trash. But maybe you’ll find something to wear from the pile. Be right back, guys!”
She walked away, her steps growing slightly more confident.
“Real Zuma Ben accessories?” Pinky clasped his hands to his cheek. “I’ve never worn anything like that before!”
“It’s just a name,” Brain said. He didn’t see why Pinky was treating Zuma Ben’s name like a sacred object. “As long as we’re dressed to impress, the name doesn’t matter.”
“I just think they’re pretty,” Pinky replied. “And I like looking at them, even if I can’t buy anything. Still, I’m really happy with the clothes I have now.”
But Pinky had a sizable wardrobe. Those clothes had to come from somewhere.
“So how did you obtain your clothes if you never bought them?” Brain asked.
Pinky smiled. “The scientists. They’ll drop clothes into my cage, which is really nice of them! One time, I put on this pretty sundress they gave me and I started itching really bad. I was jumping around like a tiny monkey and I managed to make them all laugh! I must’ve been quite the sight!”
Pinky laughed at the memory, but Brain was more disturbed at how the blatant act of humiliation didn’t affect him in the slightest. Then the laugh faltered and restarted at a higher pitch.
No, that initial assessment was wrong. True, Pinky could withstand many things, but not even the most resilient being could tolerate the sound of mockery for long.
Should he say something? Was an ‘I’m sorry’ sufficient? Was there any act of comfort that didn’t involve unnecessary physical contact?
Brain wanted to be decisive, but dozens of scenarios played out in his head, and none of them led to a satisfactory outcome. Tell Pinky to cease his laughter, embrace him, talk about the weather. He didn’t know.
Emotions led to nothing but trouble.
“Quit staring,” Brain snapped when Pinky wouldn’t stop watching him like he wanted something.
Pinky’s ears fell, but Sharon came back before the pang of guilt could fully settle in Brain’s stomach.
“Thanks for waiting, guys,” Sharon said as she dumped the accessory packages onto the table. “See anything you like?”
“All of them!” Pinky declared, happily tossing a three-pack of formal dresses into the air. He tried tearing it open, but the packaging wouldn’t give. Sharon helpfully tore it open for him, and Pinky made a happy, grateful sound before pulling a sparkly purple dress over his body. He twirled around. “So how do I look?”
“Lovely,” Sharon giggled as she pulled out her phone. She set it against the Lego fence, allowing Pinky to see himself in the camera app.
“I’ll put this as a maybe,” Pinky said. “But I have to give all the dresses a chance too!”
He tried four other dresses on in quick succession, and all of them went into the maybe pile.
Meanwhile, Brain searched through his choices of men’s formal wear. He wanted the best possible option for successful infiltration, but he didn’t know much about Terran fashion. His nose wrinkled at a powdered blue suit with far too many ruffles. He was fairly certain that wouldn’t garner respect on any planet, so he pushed the offending pack away from his other options.
The pure white suit would get stained too easily. He needed something darker. That one was out.
“Hey Brain, what about this one?” Pinky asked. He now wore a long sleeved lime green dress, which Brain found extremely tacky and unappealing to the eyes. Not even Pinky could salvage that monstrosity. Yet in Pinky’s hands, there was a black suit with a white shirt underneath. Not extravagant by any means, but since the coloration was similar to his conquering attire, it was the most probable choice by far.
But while Pinky was comfortable with changing in front of others, Brain wasn’t so keen on the idea.
“I require privacy,” Brain said. He took the suit from Pinky and went inside the house, shutting the door behind him and ensuring the shutters were closed.
Then he removed his gloves and jumpsuit, shivering from the cold air as he laid the items over a chair. He put on the new set of pants first, then the white collared shirt, and finally buttoned the jacket over his abdomen.
Well, it was comfortable. And it hid most of his stomach too, which was also a positive. But he needed to see how it looked in the light before making a judgment call, so he rejoined Pinky and Sharon, who were playing with different filters on her phone while Pinky wore a magnificent feathery pink dress.
“Now you really look like a flamingo,” Sharon laughed as Pinky changed the filter to sepia, the image now different shades of tan. Pinky blew a kiss to the camera.
“This one’s my favorite so far,” Pinky declared with a graceful curtsey.
And the sleeveless feathery dress did seem to match his personality much better than all the other dresses. Flamboyant and quirky, but inviting and friendly as well. A darker pink feather boa was draped over his shoulders, and purple feathers fanned out from the back of his neck. A light green choker was wrapped around his neck. Then Pinky added a matching headband with a light pink tuft to complete the ensemble.
“That will certainly make an excellent first impression on the partygoers,” Brain said.
Pinky changed the phone filter back to normal with one hand, playing with the feather boa in his other. “Egad, you really think so?” he exclaimed. “Hold on a sec, Brain. Where’s the rest of your outfit?”
“Rest of?” Brain echoed. “This doesn’t require anything else.”
Pinky shook his head and dug a red bow and matching sash out of the clothes pile. “You need a few splashes of color, Brain! Or you’ll just end up a sad wilty wallflower!”
“They’d really match your circles,” Sharon added.
Well, he’d always looked good in red. It was a bold, attention-grabbing color.
Brain draped the sash over his shoulder and fastened the bow around his ear, checking himself over in Sharon’s phone. Then Pinky and Sharon started giggling for some odd reason.
“What?” Brain asked. He was presentable at a formal event now, wasn’t he?
“You’re kinda wearing it wrong,” Sharon admitted.
His ears flattened from embarrassment. Selenians typically wore practical jumpsuits with minimal accessories, and none of their databanks ever mentioned Terran outfits. They must’ve found it unimportant.
“Don’t worry, Brain. It’s an easy fix! May I?” Pinky exclaimed.
Brain nodded his permission, and Pinky removed the bow from Brain’s ear and carefully fastened it underneath his collar, taking great care to not pull the bow too tightly around his neck.
“So this isn’t a sash. It’s a cummerbund and you wear it around your stomach,” Pinky explained as he demonstrated the proper way to wear it. It was relieving to know Terrans made accessories that would hide the slight bulge, and Brain donned the cummerbund correctly.
The accessories really did match his orbs. For the first time, he was dressed to the nines and it was a glorious feeling indeed.
“Aw, you’re both so spiffy!” Sharon exclaimed. “Mind if I put a photo of this on the Twitter page to boost some interest?”
“We’ll return the favor,” Brain said. She deserved some reward for helping them out anyway.
Sharon turned her phone around, ready to snap the picture when Pinky suddenly darted out of frame. “Hold on! Narf!” he cried, shoving a small blue butterfly-themed mask into Brain’s hands and flipping a pink feathery mask over his face. “It’s a masquerade ball, you know!”
While Brain’s mask only covered the area around his eyes, Pinky’s face was mostly hidden by his birdlike mask, leaving only his bright blue eyes exposed.
“Doesn’t that tickle?” Brain inquired as Pinky stretched his boa out for a picture.
Pinky shrugged. “A little. But I don’t mind!”
“Smile for the camera, you guys!” Sharon grinned.
Brain didn’t smile, but he stood in front of the toy house while Sharon snapped pictures and Pinky struck a different pose with every shot.
Pinky’s laughter rang joyously in Brain’s ears.
He would leave that sound behind in just a few days. But it was a small price to pay for the world.
End AN: Maybe this chapter is a little disjointed, but oh well. Sharon is based off the toy store worker who helps the mice in Brain’s Night Off.
I tried to do the math for the Monopoly game and even pulled out my Monopoly property cards so I could get the amounts correct, but if anything is inaccurate I am hereby excused from responsibility because I am a writer and not a mathematician. Yes i use that excuse every time but it’s true.
Brain's outfit comes from the tuxedo he wore in the reboot's Future Brain episode. Pluto designed Pinky's outfit herself (somehow we both were thinking lots of pink feathers for Pinky) and deserves all the credit for it cause it's so beautiful. I chose a butterfly mask for Brain and a flamingo theme for Pinky.
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killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.02]
Fandom: Genshin Impact
Pairing: Childe / Reader
Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love
Words: 3.5k
Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla,“ sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia’s hands.
Notes: Part 1
Masterlist
Chapter 2
At the barracks’ canteen reigns the unspoken rule that no one is allowed to cook borsch, and trying to do so is punished by cleaning all windows with cold water only in the middle of the night. Can’t see anything because the nights at the outskirts of Zapolyarny are blacker than out in the taiga? Tough luck. There are so many different recipes as there are families out there, and everyone has their very own way to make it. Fatui agents have brought each other to the hospital wing over fighting which recipe is the best, therefore a couple of years before Tartaglia and you enrolled, this rule was established.
Sitting out in the cold of Jaroslawk at four in the morning, you’d kill for a hot bowl of your mamochka’s borsch—the best in Morepesok even though Tartaglia begs to differ, but the only problem with his claim is that he is fucking wrong.
Through your binoculars you see everything is quiet and dark on the other side of the compound, which is a good sign. Unfortunately, good also means very boring. You’ve been lying in the exact same position for nearly three hours now: on your belly, elbows slightly propping your upper body to see the Baron’s estate that’s embraced by a forest like a mother cradling its child. Tales have it if you make even one little mistake inside those cold brick walls, Baron Igor would personally see to it that you don’t leave these woods alive and whatever his hellish guard dogs don’t finish eating up, his servants would send to your family as a small parting gift and warning to get as far and fast away as possible.
If only he were as thorough covering his tracks as he is scaring people, but Baron Igor has never really excelled at multiple things and now, months after the first little bird brought some interesting insight, you can’t wait for Baron Igor to finally slip and confirm the rumours about him selling information on one of Il Dottore’s gun research labs to a spy from Sumeru. Intel has it exchanges usually occur once every full moon and with the orb now hidden behind thick, black clouds, this is the last chance to get some evidence before the ship leaving to Sumeru carries whoever deserves a knife in their windpipe back to their God of Wisdom.
Baron Igor has messed up, got too arrogant, and now you and your team are here to make sure he eats up his mess. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate his mansion. Mitsuki only passed because you took out two of the other contesters for one of the Baron’s favourite restaurants down in Nowobirsk. That man bows to greed and when introduced to the place’s new maître d’hôtel—the best of his kind, the most exotic to own during their flimsy ceasefire with Inazuma—Baron Igor acted swiftly and hired him. Mitsuki had gagged at those words while lieutenant Scaramouche had shown the patience of a man barely holding himself back from violence. Two days later, Mitsuki took his position as spy and head waiter of the Baron’s personal restaurant taking up the whole second floor in the right wing of his stone mansion.
“Fuck me, I look like a penguin,” Mitsuki had said on the night before his work began at the estate, glaring at himself in the mirror dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo.
“Then we know who to call if Baron Igor decides to open a zoo,” Mikhail had said, but he was in no hurry to turn away his appreciative gaze from how tight Mitsuki’s black pants tugged his slim legs and ass.
That’s the team, Mitsuki, you and Mikhail—Lock, Shock and Barrel, one of your fellow division’s comrade likes to call you for unknown reasons, simply laughing to himself and shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a good memory. Though for all that Scaramouche is concerned, to him you’re triple double and a clusterfuck he doesn’t want anywhere near him or so help him Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he’ll stake your heads and scatter your remains to the seagulls terrorising the coast of Port Odessa.
“He loves us,” Mikhail likes to joke, even though you aren’t sure the words love and Scaramouche should be used in one sentence.
“One day, he’ll kill one of us with his bear hands and feel nothing,” Mitsuki commonly remarks, sounding like whatever you’d do to receive such a punishment is probably ghastly enough to justify being murdered.
“His hat is pretty neat,” is usually your only contribution and they both look at you as if you’re crazy.
“Any movement?” a voice asks from your right. Mikhail shakes still fresh snow from his head and shoulders as he dugs under the narrow doorway, looking like a puppy trying to shake itself dry. Now that a year has passed since a Geo Vision user crushed his right arm and healers had to amputate it to save his life, he’s adapted pretty well to only one arm and hand at his disposal. He’s balancing a cup in his palm while holding two paper bags with his fingers and somehow makes it look easy. He rejoins you at the window, carefully placing the steaming cup and one bag in front of you. You hand him your binoculars so he can see for himself, and inspect your breakfast. “Do I even want to know where you found,” you peak inside the bag, “pirozhky at a time like this?”
“Couple of blocks down there’s this place. Really nice lady, gave me one for free and added a little extra to our coffee.”
You take a sip, and instantly begin coughing and pounding your chest as it goes down burning. “Archons, that’s disgusting. Who in their right mind puts Fire-Water in their coffee?”
“I know, right?” Mikhail beams. “It’s genius.”
It’s ghastly. You take another sip. Horrible, really. But it keeps you warm and awake. So maybe it isn’t that bad at all.
While Mikhail observes the area, you dig into your beef and onion pirozhky. There’s nothing fun about pulling an all-nighter but sometimes sharing a cup of coffee and eating warm food helps to get through them. Also knowing someone suffers with you. Sharing pain is gain, after all.
“Well, they sure like taking their sweet time,” Mikhail mumbles, getting a little more comfortable on the cold stone ground. He puts the binoculars away and digs into his own food. “What are we gonna do if nothing happens today?”
“Then we’ll come back next month and do it all over again.” Hopefully you don’t have to. Fyrva’snezh was two weeks ago but this winter started off particularly brutal. Two out of three units are still missing from their outskirts training and you don’t want to be in the poor lasses’ and lads’ shoes who are still at the infirmary recovering from severe hypothermia. “What worries me more is that Mitsuki might lose his sanity if he stays there another whole month.”
“Well, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” Mikhail says, wiping his greasy fingers off his pants. “I just want to wipe that smug smirk off the Baron’s pig face.”
He and probably every citizen populating Jaroslawk. “Once Mitsuki locates the communication point, we’ll go in and neutralise the target if we can’t catch him alive,” you say. “Baron Igor will try and weasel his way out of it but so far all evidence stands against him. The rest is up to Her Majesty.” And the Tsaritsa is known for many things, but mercy isn’t one of them. That will show anyone else trying to make business behind her back.
“Do you really think Mitsuki will endure another month in that stupidly tight uniform?” Mikhail sounds like he very much wished for another month out in the cold like this if it meant Mitsuki would bless him for a while longer wearing his uniform.
You stretch your leg and kick him in his shin. “Don’t jinx this, Nozhyalensky,” you say. “No matter how good his ass looks in those pants, it isn’t worth freezing your own ass off out in this cold. If we have to extend our mission, I’m going to steal your coat and own it for the whole time.”
“You don’t care if I freeze to death?”
“I really don’t.”
He puts his hand on his heart in mock despair. “That’s harsh.”
It would be his own fault, no hard feelings. You sit in silence, sharing your scalding hot coffee. In the mansion on the other side, a light flickers on in the east wing. Mikhail shifts and makes a disgusted grunt. “I did not want to know the Baron is banging the Duchess of Pavlovich.”
“Might be good leverage in the future.” You quickly dot it down in your notebook, squinting at the barely illuminated page. “Especially if the Duke refuses to pay his taxes again. I’m sure we can get to him through her.”
More minutes pass in silence. Mikhail continues his watch while you start to mindlessly doodle a little Foul Legacy Child in the corner of your page. You wonder what time it is in Liyue. Is Childe also out on a mission or tugged in and sleeping well in a land that knows nothing of harsh winds and freezing nights. Does he spare a thought of home? Is he missing you as much as you miss him or has he already filled the gnawing void with faceless, warm women that comfort him at night?
“Heard anything from our comrades in Liyue?” Mikhail asks nonchalantly, but he’s always been the poorest liar of you three and it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. Part of you hungers for that conflict.
“They still can’t find whoever killed the Geo Archon. But Lord Childe might have located the Gnosis and has begun his infiltration.”
Chances are good he might succeed in another month or so, though from the letters you’ve received so far, it sounds like he might succeed fucking the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor before that. Tartaglia has never started anything serious with guys before, safe from occasionally drunk making outs, but new cultures could change a lot in you and it’s Tartaglia’s first time staying for so long in Liyue and meeting a man like this so called Zhongli.
Mikhail clicks his tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe this guy is over there for three months already and is still nowhere near finishing the job.” He spits at the ground and twists his mouth in a very familiar manner of annoyance—only usually this expression is meant for initiate Fatui members who can’t tell a shotgun from a sniper rifle.
“How can you still be mad at him for handing you your ass three years ago,” you say. A man’s ego is such a frail thing, thank the Tsaritsa for being a strong, independent woman.
“This isn’t about that stupid fight,” Mikhail splutters, red blotches creeping up his neck. His inability to lie is abysmal. “I don’t get how you stand that guy. His arrogance needs its own giant room to fit inside. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two and maybe beat out this need to whore around as well—”
You move in a flash. Mikhail doesn’t have any time to react before he finds himself on his back, pinned down by your weight with a knife to his throat. “Mikhail, I love you like my own kin and you know I’d take a bullet for you any time,” you growl. “But speak another filthy word about Childe and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to street dogs while watching you bleed out like a slaughtered pig. Are we clear?”
You feel Mikhail’s chest rising and falling under your spread hand, his body warm, proof of his life. How easy it would be to take it from him, to warm the cold, dirty ground with his blood.
Mikhail’s dark eyes don’t give away anything. He’s holding very still, like a cornered animal faced with its hunter; don’t move and maybe it thinks one is dead. Eventually, he says quietly, “If you could see what an unlikeable, unpleasant person he really is, maybe...” He doesn't finish. There is no need to. You know very well what point he’s trying to make.
“I don’t need your supervision,” you say. “Or your pity.”
Mikhail barks a loud, humourless laugh. “Lassie, if I had an ounce of pity left for anyone else than myself, I wouldn’t be very good at this job, would I?”
You shift your weight. Mikhail groans as you put pressure on a wound a Pyro Vision user inflicted on him a week ago that hasn’t fully healed yet—a favour for Mikhail to prevent him from following his train of thought. You don’t know what is worse: His unrequited love for Mitsuki or Tartaglia and you knowing what you both want but can’t have.
Mikhail quietly says your name and gently lowers your hand. The sharp knife has bit into his skin just enough to leave a fine, red line on his throat. “All I’m saying is, I am not the bad guy here.”
He is right, of course. But that makes it even worse, because without a bad guy, who could you put blame on? Who would be the target of your frustration and your scorn? Who would pay for countless sleepless nights wasted alone or in a stranger’s arms?
If there is no good, no bad side, no villains or heroes to put blame on, what does that leave for you? Just the law. It is hard, but it is the law.
There is no one but yourself who carries the burden. Even knowing Tartaglia goes through the same doesn’t soothe the pain steadily growing in your heart. You’re like two stars gravitating to each other, seeking the sweet collision to finally become one and create something bigger, the most exquisite light in the endless black galaxy, but whenever you manage to come close to each other, other forces pull you apart.
You shift your position from towering above him to slumping back on Mikhail’s lap, your anger deflated like a balloon.
“Arguing with you is no fun,” you mumble, sheathing the knife back in its place inside your boot.
Mikhail arches one dark brow. “Learnt from the best. You don’t want to get into an argument with my mama.”
“Are you two leaving me out from a team bonding session?” comes a static voice from your left.
“Darling, we would never leave you out from a potential threesome,” Mikhail says back, a wicked grin flirting with his mouth.
“Blergh,” you groan in disgust and roll off him, grabbing for the plastic piece from where Mitsuki’s voice has sounded; Il Dottore’s newest invention, a voice transmitter agents use for long distance communication.
“So, how’s it cooking, good looking?” Mikhail asks, ignoring your eyes rolling back. “Anything new at the front?”
Mitsuki is silent for a moment. Somewhere, a dog barks. “I think someone might have tipped the Baron off.”
Immediately, you feel Mikhail's body tense next to you. “Do you need us to come in?”
Oppressive silence fills the room. Mikhail jerks, but before he can jump to rash actions, you grab his arm hard enough to bruise. He freezes, and you both stare at the voice transmitter in Mikhail’s hand.
A moment later, static crackles, and Mitsuki says, “I received a note on the caviar shipment. Roads are all clear, it should come in around seven in the morning.”
Mikhail relaxes, but a sweat bead rolls from his temple and disappears behind his black turtle neck sweater. He sags against you, exhaling very loudly.
A couple of years ago, after you three had been working together and hadn’t tried to kill each other as often as other teams, you guys had decided to come up with your own secret language for times like these. Mikhail had first complained about the hours put into learning it the most—the semantics always changing depending on what line of work you’d infiltrate—but eventually even he had agreed it was a pretty neat trick. What Mitsuki has said simply means all is in order and the mission is proceeding smoothly.
“Little fucker,” Mikhail grumbles, ruffling his own hair just to keep his hand busy. You agree. It feels like you’ve aged five years in those last five minutes.
That relief is short lived. A small explosion from the right wing inside the mansion lights up the night like a firework show. Mikhail is out of the window in a flash. You grab your rifle, keeping an eye on him as he crosses the street in a flash and climbs over the iron gate.
Two shadows tumble through the hole in the second floor. You sway your scope, laying eyes on Mitsuki as he wrestles with a cloaked figure. Purple sparks fly, clashing with crimson flames that rise skyward and turn into black smoke. At least something is according to plan even though your Cryo Vision would be more effective.
You watch them fight for a moment, unable to get a clear shot as both are short distance fighters. Mitsuki moves quicker than a flash, whirling two hatches over his head, parrying a deathly bow from the Sumeru’s Claymore. Mitsuki is smaller than most of his comrades. People like to underestimate him, but that’s part of the fun, according to him. Proving people wrong. He dodges another swift strike, rolling out of the way and giving you a clear sight at your target. But over his shoulder, Mitsuki catches your eyes and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet.
You wish he could see the stingy eye you’re giving him right now. You’ve waited long enough out in this cold and your whole body shakes with the need to move, the need to fight. A quick look to Mikhail shows he’s fending off two of the Baron’s guards himself. Luckily, they can’t really hold their stand against a fully trained Fatui agent. He quickly takes out his opponents, closing in on Mitsuki and the Sumeru agent. Mitsuki has driven him to the edge of the forest. So that’s his plan. You wait until the spy is right beneath a long, thick branch, then pull the trigger. The shot is muffled by the silencer, slicing through the air with infused Cryo power. It hits its target, cutting the branch off. The Sumeru spy is too slow. When the branch buries him under its weight, Mikhail finally catches up to Mitsuki, and through your scope you can see him patting Mitsuki down for injuries. Mitsuki pushes him away, not hard or in a mean way, just enough to signal this isn’t the time. The job isn’t done yet.
Mitsuki advances the spy and kneels, looking for signs of life. He looks up, his dark eyes searching your scope. He holds your gaze, picking up his voice transmitter.
“I have good and bad news,” he says. “The spy is still alive, so we’ll get our answers. But now I’m pretty sure the Baron knows what’s going on.”
“Then don’t just stand there, someone go after him, quick!” you yell in your transmitter.
Before Mikhail dashes off, you hear him curse. “Lord Scaramouche is going to kill us.”
He will, considered this was supposed to undergo without the Baron noticing anything.
* * *
Dear little tygress,
forgive my horrible handwriting. I am still shaking from all the laughter your last letter gave me. Zhongli-xiansheng was actually worried for my wellbeing because I had choked on air and almost died. I swear, you will kill me one day, little tygress.
Speaking of little and potential lethal beasts, I’m surprised Scaramouche didn’t use your head as a toilet plunger. I really do think he's fond of you, little tygress. Any other team would be six feet under by now. You have to tell me your secret once I’m back. Scaramouche still doesn’t know I broke his favourite, ugly cup with the bear on the front from Fontaine, and I want to be prepared once he knows.
Everything is the same in Liyue, and at the same time, everything is changing. Rex Lapis’ murder is still unsolved, and I do enjoy watching the little traveller boy run around looking for answers. Once I return with the Geo Archon’s gnosis, dinner will be on me.
How are things at home? I hope Tonia hasn’t finished all mooncakes by herself again and saved some for the rest of the bunch. I can’t bear to hear Anthon cry again about me only sending sweets to Tonia and Teucer. Has the old man gotten in touch with you? He still doesn’t reply to me, but mama says he’s reading the letters. Maybe a bottle of Liyue’s Baijiu will loose his tongue, or hand for that matter. It’s almost as good as Fire-Water, promise.
Till next time and don’t get too much on little ‘Mouche’s nerves, otherwise there will be no room left for me.
Yours,
Red Fox
__________________________________________________
please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!
#philliamwrites#ao3#fanfiction#genshin impact#genshin impact childe#childe#tartaglia#genshin impact tartaglia#reader#reader insert#childe x reader#tartaglia x reader#genshin impact childe x reader#genshin impact tartaglia x reader#tartaglia x you#childe x you#genshin impact tartaglia x you#genshin impact childe x you
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jaune's from a family of raiders
well not quite he's from a culture that puts a lot of stock in capturing and ransoming off their friends and neighbors from other tribes. think of it like a combat sport only some times you're also stealing cattle and horses.
he's a prince of the high king
well again it's more complicated the kingdoms are like city states they don't exactly legislate or collect taxes all the way out into the wilds. but they do send huntsmen to protect the area and then tax the huntsmen.
jaune's dad just happened to be a huntsman who didn't pay taxes because the area his family had lived in for generations also happened to be outside the control of vale. and lots of people wanna live near the huntsmen who can keep them safe. so he has a position of respect among all the tribes. and jaune is his son
he's also required to have a harem
this one is interesting because it's one of those cultural things that seems weird from the outside but makes more sense when you look at it. men are hard to keep alive without a hospital. even with aura. women are part of a protected group like children and so take less risks in life. leading to there being a ton more women than men. and since technology isn't quite to the level of the kingdoms proper,
well more hands to help maintain a house isn't bad right?
but most of all jaune is a man who only wants to do right by his family, whether that be those from the past, or the woman, or women, that he loves.
and this part needs no further clarification
tldr: au where jaune's part of a tribal community and brings his lover or lovers home to meet the family. how does that go for everyone?
P.S: also sorry for the flowery ask, i felt inspired by something
Ooh, do tell the inspiration!
"Unhand me, you brute!" Jaune sighed as the girl in white screeched and squirmed behind him. "Do you know who I am?! When my family hears of this, they will hang you for this! Do you hear me?"
Jaune kept his focus on the road ahead as he gripped the reigns of Valorie, his mare, glancing left and right occasionally to avoid an ambush. His family might have a hold on the territory, but with his father growing in age, so, too, did that grip loosen. A rival tribe or rogue patrol from the kingdoms would easily snatch up an easy target like the lone swordsman and his latest bride.
"Could you at least tell me where we're going?"
"Home." Jaune answered, not looking back.
"Oh, yes, of course! How could I not know? And where exactly is your home?"
"Just up ahead."
"Uh huh, I see, and what are you going to do once you're home?"
Jaune let out a long sigh as he stretched his shoulders a bit. "Well, drop you off with the others, then have you judged, if there's enough time."
"Judged?" Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Judged for what?"
"Wife material." Weiss blushed and her jaw dropped. "Can you cook; can you clean; are you good with children; can you have children; do you have any family illnesses?" He shrugged. "Routine wedding discussions."
"W-Wedding?!" Ah, and just like that, the shrieking began anew. "You savage! You brute! I refuse to be treated like some stock taken to auction, about to be sold to some pervert noble!"
"You're not being sold to a noble." Jaune smiled and looked back. "Just me." Before she could begin again, Jaune let out a sigh of relief. "Finally, we're home."
It may have only been about a week since Jaune had left, but it felt like forever since his departure from the lands of Arcadia. The valleys and hills were as green and lush as ever, and the summer winds carried the calming scent of flowers across it all. He passed the growing crops, where he saw his sisters, their wives, and some of his own watering and tending to them. They waved to him, and he returned one to them.
"Welcome home, Miss Weiss." The girl marveled at the beauty. She had only heard of such places from her studies in the manor, but to see it in person was something else. Before she could admire it more, however, the mare stopped, jostling her from her focus.
Jaune slid down, then pulled Weiss down as well, carrying her bridal style. He then set her onto her own feet and untied the binds on her wrists and ankles. She lifted her leg, then kicked his shin. He yelped in pain.
"That was for the kidnapping!" She shouted.
"Yeesh! Just a kick?" Weiss turned to see a lilac-eyed blonde woman in fieldwork garments smiling at her. "When he dropped me off, they had to get his old man to get me off of him." She looked past Weiss to Jaune. "You going soft on me, or just your taste in women?"
"And who are you?" Weiss spat. "One of his whores?"
Yang laughed and placed a sweaty, mud-encrusted paw on her delicate shoulder. It felt warm at first, then hot as her grip became tight, and her eyes red. "I dare you to say that again."
"Yang, stop it!" Weiss and Yang looked to the younger girl running from inside the house. She was a brunette with red tips and silver eyes, and she wore a red apron that she had to roll up to her shins. She futilely tugged on the blonde woman's arm. "Jaune told you not to hurt anyone else!"
She let go, making the girl yelp as she was lifted with her arm. "Aw, c'mon, Rubes, we were just playing!" She then looked to Weiss, her eyes lilac once more. "Ain't that right, Ice Queen?"
"Ice Queen?!" Weiss balked.
"Yang, cut it out, please." Jaune sighed.
"Fine, fine!" Yang turned around, lowering her arm. The smaller girl let go as she walked away. "Besides, the crops won't grow themselves. I'll go be a good workhorse." She stopped to look back and winked. "I expect my carrot tonight, though, sweetheart~."
"Play nice and we'll see." Jaune responded with a smile. With that, Yang chuckled and resumed walking, swaying her hips for a few more yards before jogging back to the field. He looked to the younger girl and smiled. "And how have you been, Ruby?"
She sighed. "Do you mean after you left, or after you came back?"
"Both."
"After you left, I missed you. It was your mom's birthday, but I couldn't afford a present, so I took on her chores for the week, but I didn't expect her chores included chimney cleaning, so now I have soot so far up my nose, I'm still sneezing black. Then I had to tend to the chickens, but they're so vicious, and I swear they can smell weakness, because the rooster jumped me at least six times. Then Zwei needed a bath, but he somehow tricked me into the tub, so I smell like wet dog a little bit. And then I had to bake her cake all on my own, but there were eggshells in it and it came out both burnt and raw somehow, and I just- Argh!" Ruby collapsed into Jaune's torso. "I really missed you."
Jaune held her and kissed the crown of her head. "I missed you, too, Ruby." He stepped back and held a hand outward towards Weiss. "Ruby Rose-Arc, this is Weiss Schnee. She's going to be my newest bride." He looked to Weiss. "Weiss Schnee, this is Ruby Rose-Arc, my second wife. She and Yang will help prepare you for judging."
"It's so nice to meet you!" Ruby swooped in, snatching the other woman's hands in hers. Her smile was wide and bright. "It'll be nice to have another short girl in our home!"
"No!" Weiss yanked her hands away. "I refuse! When my father hears of this, he'll-"
"Oh, that reminds me!" Jaune walked to Valorie and reached into her saddlebag. Weiss grumbled as she watched him pull out a small, burlap sack. "Here, Ruby. This was part of the dowry, but I want you to have it."
Ruby opened the sack and squealed in delight. "Dust crystals!" She hugged the new woman tightly. "You are the bestest bestie a bestie could ever have!"
"What the-?! Where did you get those?!" Weiss shrieked.
"From your father." Ruby ran inside with her new sack. "In exchange for marrying you, we'll allow him to trade through our lands."
"My father would never-!" Jaune gave her a curious look. "I mean, not to one of his own-!" Her voice grew softer. "I thought..."
"Listen," Jaune placed a hand on her shoulder, "if you don't want to marry me, I understand. Most of the others didn't want to, either. But if you give it a few days, you might learn to love it here. You won't go hungry, you'll be well protected, and I promise you'll be loved every day."
"I just... I didn't think I would be treated like this. By my own family."
"I know." Jaune removed his hand. "Would it be okay if I hugged you?"
"I-"
"JAUNEY!" The two saw a young woman bull rush towards Jaune, carrying a dead boar high above her head. Jaune extended his arms out and caught her, spinning in place at least a dozen times. Blood sprayed around, including onto Weiss and the other two as they embraced. When they stopped, Jaune set her down, giving her a butterfly kiss with his nose to hers. "You're home!"
Jaune chuckled. "Yup!" He peered around her and looked to Weiss. "And I brought back someone new."
Nora turned around and gasped as she looked at Weiss. "Oh! My! Dust! You are so small!" She looked to Jaune and waggled her brow. "Be careful you don't break her!" She then laughed. "I'd shake your hand, but, uh, I'm a little busy. I'm Nora Valkyrie-Arc, Jaune's fourth wife."
"Weiss Schnee." Blood dripped from her hair. "And I was just about to leave."
"Aw! Already?! We were gonna make pancakes tomorrow!"
"I was going to make pancakes, Nora." Weiss turned to the male voice and saw a slim man in the doorway, wearing both an apron and a blank expression. "Just like I do every morning for you."
"Renny!" Nora cheered before tossing the trophy to him. "This is my first husband, Lie-Valkyrie Ren!"
Despite his slim figure, the man held the heavy beast with seemingly no trouble. "A pleasure to meet you." He nodded, before turning to head inside.
"Is he also your husband?" Weiss asked. Jaune chuckled nervously. This was going to be a long day, but they both already knew that.
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A Little Bit Part 19
Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader
A/N: Hello there! This one was a little more fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it. illuminated-blue’s gif goes really well with this one. ❤️
Warnings: annoying people, mention of death at the end, and wound cleaning.
You and Billie end up going to that one restaurant you’d visited when you were hopping around town trying to avoid people. You are glad to be going back because Milo had loved it and you were starving. You are seated quickly and both you and Billie laugh as Milo makes a friend from a nearby table. He plays with the lab while you and Billie get comfortable. You smile when she hands you one of the waters that the waiter brought a few minutes ago.
“Here, dear. Drink. Let me know if we need to leave, okay?”
You smile widely at Billie’s thoughtfulness before nodding in agreement. You take a sip of the water before looking around with a sigh of relief. It’s so nice to be out again, and being with Billie and Milo is just icing on the cake. You look back at Billie watching as she eyes you carefully before glancing at the menu. You know what you’re getting, but that doesn’t stop you from looking. Billie doesn’t bother with that yet. She is more concerned about you.
“Are you excited to go back to work?”
This question surprises you, and you look up suddenly before shrugging noncommittally. You are excited to go back to work because sitting around all day isn’t for you. Sure, you like being with Billie and Milo, but you became a vet for a reason. Despite loving Milo like he was your child, you really needed to see other animals too. You smile at the thought and nod in confirmation before taking another sip from the glass in front of you.
“I am! I miss the pets and keeping busy, but I have to admit it has been nice to spend time with you.”
Billie smiles at this before she glances down at the menu in front of her. She’s never been here before, but when you mentioned that you liked it she figured she’d give it a try. It was a little more out in the open than she liked to be, but so far no one was paying them much attention. She found it hard to pay attention to much of anything else when she was around you. She had really enjoyed these past few days having you and Milo stay with her.
“I’ve enjoyed it too, Y/N.”
You smile at this before glancing behind you to check on Milo who is still playing with the other dog. You laugh before shooting Billie a questioning look. You’re only half kidding with what you ask next because part of you is worried that you’ve overstayed your welcome.
“Are you sure you’re not sick of us yet?”
Billie smirks at the thought of growing sick of you and Milo. She had to admit that sometimes Milo could be a little high maintenance, but she enjoyed every moment she spent with the two of you. It seemed so easy with you, and although she knows the current situation isn’t exactly realistic, she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you around all the time.
Billie shakes her head about to disagree with you when your waiter comes back with your drinks. You smile excitedly because you haven’t had an actual drink in a while, but you were feeling better today so you decided to go for it. You were also celebrating since it was the end of the week and you had yet to fall down again. You made a note to knock on some wood later before turning to Billie as she orders her dinner. You smile absentmindedly before taking a long sip from your drink. Billie watches with an amused smile as your waiter leaves after taking your orders.
“Feeling better?”
Billie’s teasing smile makes you laugh in embarrassment, but you don’t hesitate to nod before you place your already half empty glass on the table. You turn to bring Milo back towards you since he is kind of in the way, and you smile as he moves quickly to sit next to you, his head already in your lap, sniffing for food. You push him away before offering a verbal response.
“Definitely. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
Billie smiles at this before taking a sip of her own drink. She eyes Milo when he comes to stand next to her looking for food. Billie simply pets him before shaking her head. She can’t help but smile when he whines a little before just lying down next to her. You smile at this and you’re too busy looking at Milo to realize that Billie’s shooting you an adoring look.
“Well, you deserve it after the week you’ve had, Y/N.”
You nearly laugh at this but you manage to hold yourself back and just smile instead. You can’t think of anything more relaxing than what you’ve done for the last week. You’ve just been sitting around all day doing nothing but spending time with Billie and your dog. You honestly couldn’t think of anything better.
“The week I’ve had? All I’ve done is sit around and spend time with you and Milo. Not exactly taxing, Billie.”
You watch as she smiles at you before you realize that this isn’t exactly what Billie meant. You don’t bother to change your answer because you still feel like you’ve had a pretty nice time off.
Billie shakes her head before clarifying her meaning. “I was mostly referring to Sunday, but I’m glad you haven’t had a miserable time.”
Billie smiles as you blush slightly before shaking your head at the thought of how much of a ‘miserable time’ you’ve had with Billie. Sure, the first couple of days were a little rough, but your headache hadn’t bothered you in hours and you were glad to be out with Billie again. Not that you didn’t enjoy your time alone with the medium, it was just nice to feel normal again. Not sickly and stuck indoors.
“Not at all. I’ve had a lot of fun.”
Billie smirks at the way you say this and she raises an eyebrow as she watches you get lost in thought. She can imagine what you’re thinking of because her mind quickly goes to certain moments alone with you. Billie doesn’t get to dwell on them long before you’re speaking again. She looks up just in time to see you smile cheekily, and she has to resist the urge to throw something at you. The chips in the middle of the table look like a good option.
“With the kittens of course. They’re my favorite part.”
You have to stop yourself from laughing when you see how Billie’s expression changes to one you recognize immediately. You looked away because now wasn’t the best time to humor those thoughts. Instead, you finish up your drink before you smile apologetically at your girlfriend before reaching out for her. She moves her hand away last minute and you pout before trying again.
“Aw Billie, I was kidding. You know you’re my favorite.”
You smile victoriously when Billie accepts your apology and takes your hand with a sigh. She runs her nails over the back of your hand before you turn it so your palm is facing up. You shiver slightly and have to stifle a laugh as Billie tickles your palm. She smiles at your adorably ticklish nature before releasing your hand to reach for her drink.
“I have to bring them back to you soon, don’t I?”
You are too busy feeding Milo a treat that you’d brought with you to follow Billie’s question. You look back to her with a frown before what she said registered and you nod enthusiastically. The kittens are finally old enough to get their first round of vaccines this week. You have no idea what your schedule looks like, but you will make sure to find time for them when you can.
You and Billie talk a little about her cats before your food arrives. You can’t help how excited you look, and Billie doesn’t even try to hold back a laugh at your childlike glee. She knows how you feel about food, but she supposes that it’s food and just the fact that you’re out again that’s making you so happy. She doesn’t let herself feel bad for keeping you at home for so long, but she is glad to see you like this again.
“You’re adorable, Y/N.”
You smile at Billie about to say something sarcastic when something over her shoulder catches your eye. Your smile disappears and you drop the chip in your hand as you groan under your breath. Billie frowns about to turn around to see what you’ve spotted, but she doesn’t get the chance. You sigh in defeat, moving Milo so he’s under the table before putting on the fakest smile you can muster. Maybe she’ll get the hint.
“Claire. How are you?”
It took Billie a moment to recognize the name. She turned to see the brunette standing behind her and her frown immediately deepened. It didn’t take Billie long to realize that she wasn’t going to like this interaction at all. If not for the reasons you’d given her in the past, then just the way that Claire was looking at you now was enough for Billie to decide that she didn’t like her.
Since she heard about your hospital visit, Claire had been trying to track you down. She’d called into your work only to be told that you weren’t going to be in for the next week or so. She knew where you lived from the various stories about you in the news, but she didn’t know which apartment. She’d harassed the front office enough that she was banned and despite hanging around for almost a full day she never saw you.
She had almost given up trying to find you when she realized that you probably weren’t even home.
You were with Billie.
Claire hadn’t wanted to run into the medium, or really see her at all, so she waited. She waited for almost a week before she followed you here. It had taken a while to gather the courage to confront you, but now as she stood beside you, she was glad that she hadn’t just gone home.
“It’s nice to see you alive and well, Doc.”
You stiffen as you watch Claire move closer to you and rest her hand on the table just inches from yours. You don’t fail to notice how she completely ignores Billie, and you turn to your ticked girlfriend before looking back to Claire. You’re not in the mood for whatever this is, and you are going to make sure that Claire knows that. You don’t appreciate that she’s ruined a perfectly good outing by showing up and you try your best not to snap at her as you respond.
“It certainly is. Have you met Billie Dean? Billie this is Claire, she works at the pet store I go to.”
You sincerely hope that Claire could take the hint and leave you in peace. However, as you watch the brunette barely turn toward Billie who somehow looks even less impressed, you feel any hope you had slip away. Claire instead turns more so she’s facing you after throwing a perfunctory look over her shoulder.
“Yeah, hi. I just wanted to check on you. I heard about what happened.”
You sigh in annoyance before responding quickly. You don’t say that you’re fine because you’re not. You’re a little miffed and you want this to end now.
“It was just a little concussion, I’m all better now.”
You ignore Claire as she starts speaking again. You vaguely realize that she’s going on about how concerned she was and how glad she is, but all you can focus on is Billie. She’s shooting you an incredulous look that you assume is a result of your description of your injury. You just shrugged before shooting her a smile that she rolls her eyes at. You see her look down briefly before reaching for what you assume is Milo under the table. You’re glad that he’s stayed put and you sigh before meeting her gaze again. You’re about to say something to cut Claire off when you feel a hand on yours. You know it’s not Billie’s because you’re looking right at the blonde and she’s petting Milo and sipping her wine. Her gaze moves down to where Claire’s hand covers yours, and that finally makes you realize that you haven’t responded.
“Well, I’m glad that you’re feeling better.”
You barely hear the end of what Claire says before you move to stand up. You mostly wanted to move your hand, but for some reason you stood and now you had to do something. You smile before moving around the table, not looking away from Billie who is frowning slightly in confusion. You just smile wider before you reach Billie’s side and sit down next to her. Now Billie is between you and Claire, and you feel like you can breathe again.
“Yeah, I have Billie to thank for that. She took good care of me.”
You get settled in your chair before leaning in close to Billie. Despite the fact that it brings you closer to Claire, you don’t really think she’ll reach over Billie to get to you, you are immediately comforted by the close contact. Claire’s bold, but not that bold. She seems to pause for a second before she does something that really shouldn’t surprise you. She sits down in your abandoned seat before reaching for your drink. Your mouth falls open and you’re glad that you finished it because Claire just frowns before putting it down.
Your patience is gone at this point and you sigh before squeezing Billie’s arm so she doesn’t snap. You felt her tense and you didn’t want her to be the one to tell Claire off. It should be you.
“Did you need something, Claire?”
You sound as ticked as you are, and you’d feel bad about it if this was anyone else. However, it’s not and this was probably the 12th time you’ve had to keep yourself from commenting on something rude that Claire has done. For this reason, you don’t feel much sympathy as the brunette in front of you frowns before looking to your food. You don’t have time to speak up again before Claire is smiling and shrugging casually.
“Yeah, Doc. I was going to ask if you wanted to go out sometime. You know on a real date?”
You can’t help but smile at her question and even as you feel Billie sit up next to you, you let out a laugh. You know that your reaction is weird. You should be pissed by what Claire is insinuating, like Billie, but you just find it hilarious. Your laugh seems to stop her and she frowns in confusion as she looks to you before you manage to sit up with a sigh. You see the smug look on Claire’s face, probably due to the fact that she got a reaction from Billie, but that didn’t really matter. You weren’t going to let her have the satisfaction for long.
“Thanks, but I’m more than happy here with Billie.”
You squeeze Billie’s hand under the table as you say this, but you don’t feel her relax which you don’t like. Your attention turns to Claire though once you hear her sigh heavily before leaning back in her—your chair. She crosses her arms over her chest before finally looking to Billie. There are a lot of things that she’d like to say, to accuse the medium of but she doesn’t. She isn’t sure what you see in her. She’s a hack who thinks too highly of herself, and you deserve better than that.
“Are you sure? I can show you a better time. Like you deserve.”
You scowl and open your mouth to say something a little meaner, but Billie beats you to it. She clenches her fist and glares at the brunette across from her. She doesn’t know much about her, but Billie can’t help but wonder where all of this cockiness comes from. Clearly, she can’t take no for an answer.
“What Y/N deserves is to be respected. Which means when she says back off, you back the fuck off.”
You hold your breath as you watch Claire tense at this and glare at Billie in return. You sigh in defeat, but you nod in agreement with what Billie’s said before saying the last thing you’re willing to about this.
“She’s right Claire. You don’t respect me enough to take no for an answer, so even if Billie wasn’t in the picture, you wouldn’t be either.”
Despite the mood changing drastically from Claire’s unwelcome visit, you and Billie stay for an hour or so longer. You don’t move back to your seat. Instead, you move your food to your side and get yourself a new drink that you finish way too quickly. You sigh before turning to Billie with an apologetic look.
She hasn’t said much since Claire left. You did most of the talking which you couldn’t help but worry about. You know that Billie’s upset and you can’t really blame her, but you’re still nervous. Billie was already stressed out by the interview airing tonight, now this? You frown as you reach out for Billie’s hand that’s resting on your thigh.
“I’m sorry she showed up, Billie. I never would have thought--.”
Billie shakes her head, cutting you off before she sighs in defeat. She has to admit that she was still a little annoyed by the rude interruption to their dinner. She wouldn’t have thought that you had to deal with things like this happening. She didn’t think that Claire was so bold. Then again, you had said that she’s done something similar at work and whenever you went to the pet store.
Finally, Billie finds her words and she tries to smile before squeezing your hand.
“You don’t have to apologize for her behavior. I didn’t realize how persistent she was.”
You smile wryly at this before nodding in agreement. You mention how often Claire has bothered you and Billie feels her anger return full force. Why couldn’t people take a hint?
“She’s still young. Hopefully she’ll get a clue.”
You don’t notice how Billie’s mood has soured until she scoffs a few seconds later. She doesn’t want to imagine what it will take for Claire to get a clue. She drains the rest of her drink with a scowl at the thought. You stop with your fork halfway to your mouth when Billie empties her glass and your eyes widen a little before you put it down. You turn to Billie, not quite sure what to say, but you just go for it hoping you don’t make it worse.
“It’s okay, Billie. I think you scared her off.”
Billie Dean shakes her head before speaking up in a tone that immediately had your attention. You frown despite what Billie says to you.
“No, it’s not okay, Y/N. People shouldn’t treat you like that. Not her and not-.”
Billie trails off, mentally cursing herself for letting that last part slip. She hadn’t planned on mentioning Doug because you’d already made up your mind. She didn’t want to argue about it despite not really liking your decision. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like you’re going to let this go, and you shoot Billie a questioning look.
“What? What were you going to say?”
Billie doesn’t answer immediately and instead reaches for Milo’s treats. She feeds him one and watches as he catches it midair. Billie smiles slightly before turning back to see you frowning.
“Not Claire, or assholes like Doug get to treat you like that. You deserve much better, Y/N. I mean that.”
You smile appreciatively before kissing her in thanks. You pull away sooner than you want, but you’re in public and you are still a little on edge from Claire popping up. So you just smile before moving a stray hair behind her ear with a sigh.
“You know, thanks to you, I’m starting to believe it.”
This time Billie kisses you and you laugh when Milo tries to get in on the action. He wasn’t finished begging for treats and he has his front paws up on the table before you realize what he’s doing. You push him down before shooting him a glare while Billie simply laughs. You roll your eyes but accept another kiss from Billie with a smile.
You eventually pull away before looking around you briefly. You saw Claire leave so you’re not worried about her, but you still feel eyes on you somewhere. Instead of focusing on this you decide to turn back to your girlfriend with a cheeky smile.
“Still, if we run into her again, I want you to punch that bitch in the face, Billie Dean.”
Milo leads you through the neighborhood excitedly on his last walk of the night. It’s almost 11 and you and Billie got back from the restaurant a while ago. You had been glad when Billie seemed to leave her worry behind and return to her normally calm self by the time you arrived home. You left her to go check on the cats and you and Milo were wandering around aimlessly as you thought about what the rest of your time here would look like.
You plan to leave Sunday because you really should get back to your place. You need to get ready to work Monday and that includes making sure that you have food to eat. You are going through a list of things that you need to do when something surprises you and Milo. You jump and then curse as Milo pulls free and runs after whatever just jumped out of the bushes.
“Milo, no! Wait!”
You aren’t completely surprised when he doesn’t listen to you and you groan in annoyance before taking off after him.
Billie is downstairs waiting for you to come back when 11 o’clock rolls around. She sighs before looking to the television with a frown. She’s not going to watch the interview, and she hopes that you don’t want to either. Billie reaches out for Bit when she hears the front door open. She lets Bit rub up against her hand, but she soon flees when Milo comes running into the living room. He’s a mess and Billie’s surprised by the sight of him covered in dirt and leaves.
“Milo, what did you do?”
Billie looks up when she hears you groan loudly before you appear around the corner. It takes you a minute to get your shoes off and you finally sigh in relief before heading to where Billie is waiting. She stands immediately when she sees you and you wince in anticipation as she gasps in surprise.
“Y/N! What happened?”
You, like your dog, are covered in dirt and small cuts from where you’d fallen a couple of times before diving to catch your dog. You stiffen, but don’t protest as Billie’s hands go to your shoulders, and she leads you to the couch. She takes a good look at you and sighs when she notices that you’ve scraped your palms and some of your knuckles pretty badly. She looks to you again for an explanation, and you sigh in defeat before mentioning how Milo had gotten away from you.
“Milo decided to chase a stray cat through some bushes and out of the neighborhood.”
Billie’s eyes widen before she turns back to Milo who is lying at your feet. He is licking his paws but seems fine while you look a little worse for wear. You sigh as you sit up slightly before realizing that you hurt your knee falling too. You hiss in pain and Billie immediately looks over you again before she sees your stained pants.
“Did you hurt your knee?”
Billie is really just asking for clarification because you’d already said that you’d fallen. Still, you nod before muttering something under your breath that Billie doesn’t hear. You shoot Milo a look before sighing in realization. You probably need to get cleaned up. You don’t get to say this; however, because Billie beats you to it as she glances upstairs.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”
You hiss under your breath as you hold your hand out to Billie. You’re sitting on her bed still in your dirty clothes as the medium gets her supplies together. You watch as she grabs the hydrogen peroxide and you cringe in anticipation waiting as she grabs some gauze.
“This might sting a little.”
You just nod before holding your hand out to Billie and she takes it in hers before carefully cleaning your knuckles. You hold your breath and don’t let yourself curse at the pain. You jump slightly though and Billie just shoots you a sympathetic look before kissing your forehead.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll be more careful.”
You shake your head and manage a smile before releasing the breath you’d been holding. Billie had been careful and you were just a wimp when it came to injuries. You say something to this effect and Billie rolls her eyes at you as she finishes putting on your band aids. You sigh in relief before thanking Billie for the help. You take a look at your hands before realizing what comes next.
“I guess I need to get undressed, huh?”
Billie just smiles before looking at the clock. It’s nearly midnight, and Billie is a little worn out from her busy day. She wants to make sure you’re taken care of first, so she just nods before turning to leave.
“That’s probably best. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”
You just nod because you’re finally starting to feel your exhaustion set in. The adrenaline of chasing after Milo and getting to him before he ran into traffic had worn off and now you were just tired. You stifled a yawn as you stood up started to take off your pants. You stumble slightly and groan in annoyance before you manage to get them off. Your breath hitches as you bend your knee and pain shoots up your leg. You curse Milo again before finding a pair of shorts to wear.
You’re dressed and sitting back on the bed when Billie comes back a couple of minutes later. You have your leg stretched out and you’re examining the growing bruise on your knee. Billie’s eyes widen and she hurries over to take a better look. She moves to sit next to you before resting her hand on your calf.
“Oh, Y/N. That looks like it hurts.”
You can’t deny it but you try to as you just shrug and mention that you’ve had worse. Which isn’t a lie, but that doesn’t make your knee throb any less. You think about what you could do to treat it before remembering how much you drank earlier tonight. So instead of medicine you settle on ice, and Billie is right there with you. She leaves you to clean the minor cuts as she hurries downstairs to get some ice.
You shift on the bed before trying to clean your knee, but you immediately realize that it hurts more than you thought it would. You just clench your teeth and bear it, and by the time Billie’s back you have it cleaned and covered. You smile at her before taking the offered icepack that Billie brought. At least you try to, but Billie shakes her head before motioning for you to sit back. You do as she says and lie back against a pillow so you’re more comfortable. Billie holds the icepack over your knee with a questioning look, and you just nod before tensing slightly. Your breath hitches at the cold, but you say nothing as Billie holds it to your knee with a sigh.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, sweetheart?”
You smile before shaking your head. You’ll be fine, you just need to rest and not run around anymore. You turn at the sound of Milo running down the hall you wait until he pushes open the door before sighing again. You look him over and don’t see that he’s hurt himself, but you didn’t really expect anything else. He just ran a lot and then came to a very sudden stop when you managed to step on his leash.
“Milo, you little shit.”
Milo just wags his tail as he comes over to lick your hand. You scratch him briefly before looking to Billie with a sigh. You know it’s late and you’re tired, so you imagine that Billie is too.
“You didn’t hit your head, did you?”
Billie speaks up before you can, but you just shake your head. You had made sure that you didn’t and at the expense of tearing up your hands you’re glad that you hadn’t. You shake your head, not really sure if your headache is from the fall or the alcohol before patting the bed next to you.
“Want to join me?”
Almost half an hour later, you are surprisingly still awake. Billie fell asleep a while ago, but she hadn’t even made it under the covers. She slept with her head in your lap and you gently ran your fingers through her hair as your mind wandered to next Saturday.
The 10th.
You never really cared much about your birthday before. Sure, you liked cake and you didn’t complain about presents, but it wasn’t something you made a big deal about.
This year you were determined to do the same. It was honestly going to feel weird and different no matter what you did. It was the first birthday you wouldn’t be celebrating with family. The first one without your dad.
You quickly think of something else before that train of thought gets you in trouble. You sigh as you glance at your phone. It’s 12:30. You really should sleep. You stifle a yawn as you put your phone back and try to get comfortable without disturbing Billie. You’re almost asleep when you realize that you didn’t watch Billie’s interview.
You decide it’s probably for the best given how upset Billie was afterwards. Instead, you just lie down and pull Billie closer to you. The next interview has to go better for her, right?
Part 20
Tag list: @madamevirgo, @illuminated-blue
#american horror story#ahs#ahs imagine#ahs fic#ahs fanfic#ahs murder house#billie dean howard imagine#billie dean howard x reader#billie dean howard#a little bit#my fic#billie dean howard x female reader
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Summary: Winters running the Mystery Shack are difficult, but two unexpected guests improve Stan’s day.
Characters: Stan Pines, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Ford Pines
Relationships: Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines
Happy Holidays, @halogalopaghost! I'm your Secret Santa, here to mash together a couple different prompts through the power of time travel (and Mabel)!
***
It doesn’t take Stan many years to learn that winter’s no good for the rural Oregon tourist business.
Granted, he can hardly blame the tourists — he has to drive on Gravity Falls roads himself, much to his disgust. Between the paved, plowed streets that always turn slick with ice where you least expect them, and the winding gravel roads that you might as well ignore when road and wilderness alike are under identical four-inch blankets of snow, he knows no gallery of fake haunted paintings or taxidermied coyote’s ass is worth the trip in these conditions.
He’s on his third winter in town, now — not counting the first, worst one he arrived at the tail end of — and if there’s a right way to run a business this time of year, he hasn’t found it yet. He always scrapes together just enough to pay his bills, thanks the occasional local who wanders over to purchase a seasonally appropriate if overpriced snow globe — but he’s lucky if he breaks even in December, and knows January through March are a lost cause before they begin. He’ll make it back within the next year, sometimes even before summer ends, but it stings to know he’s about to fail at his one goal for the next three to four months straight, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.
It might sting less if he had another way to spend these winters — if he had a good reason to formally close the Shack for a few months, like an experienced business owner making a grounded and responsible decision. But he can’t even search for Ford’s journals in this weather — he’s learned from his mistakes, his countless brushes with frostbite, throughout those cold, desperate months in the wake of the portal shutting down.
He’s useless right now, and worse, this season’s shaping up to be the bleakest yet. His usually-scammable neighbors have already lined their shelves with winter knicknacks from Mystery Shack visits past, and the bulk of Stan’s meager sales have come from shivering out-of-towners who’ve never tried to take a Pacific Northwest road trip in December before, and probably won’t be keen to try again.
What seasonal merchandise hasn’t he sold yet? Bumper stickers for miscellaneous holidays, maybe — but neither timely bumper stickers nor the usual selection of tchotchkes will convince people to visit the Shack in the first place, under these road conditions. He can’t even walk around selling merch door to door, for the same reason he can’t look for the other journals — he’d freeze to death, presuming he could make it through the snowdrifts to somewhere worth visiting in the first place. Even with snow chains on the Stanmobile’s tires and a bucket of salt in her trunk, grocery runs alone are perilous enough.
Damn it, Ford, he thinks, why couldn’t you have gone missing in Florida?
He could always do what he does best and lie, maybe — send out word that there’s free hot chocolate or something with every purchase at the Mystery Shack, and hope that people hand over their hard-earned cash before they pick up on the false advertising. He might draw in some local customers that way, and even if he loses their trust for the next few months, they always seem to forget about his cons eventually — as if he never scammed them, and they’ve never so much as heard the words caveat emptor.
He’s just about to dial the local paper’s number on the phone, hoping to flatter Toby into letting him run another ad for free, when he hears a telltale knock at the gift shop door. The bell atop that door doesn’t ring, which means that despite the hostile winds and snow they braved to get here, his visitors are still out loitering on the porch — or so Stan thinks for a moment, before it dawns on him that he doesn’t even remember unlocking the door this morning. He’d just been that pessimistic about even seeing a customer.
“Hello?” someone calls — a fairly young voice, probably approaching the tail end of puberty. “Are you there, uh…Mr. Mystery?”
“On my way!” Stan shouts, throwing on his fez and bolting for the door. His neighbors in Gravity Falls might forget and forgive a lot, but he doesn’t want to risk the wrath of a parent whose teenage kid froze to death on the local grifter’s doorstep, so he unlocks and flings open the door as fast as he can. “Welcome, travelers! Prepare to be baffled and bemused by our mind-boggling boreal mysteries, here at this last refuge at the edge of the Arctic we like to call the Cryptid Cabin!”
His visitor — no, his two visitors — both blink slowly, proving to at least be baffled, if nothing else. Both are bundled up in what Stan assumes to be several sheep worth of wool garments, lovingly knitted into sweaters, hats, and scarves.
“But you call this place the Mystery Shack,” the girl speaks up, and the boy nods.
“Yeah, and we’re nowhere near the Arctic! This is Oregon, not Alaska!”
Stan groans — the only customers he might see all week, and of course they’re teenagers. “Look, punks, business is slow these days! I’ve had a lot of time to think about a seasonal rebranding, and not a lot of chances to workshop it, alright?”
The teens’ expressions instantly soften, and the girl exclaims: “Well, you can workshop it with us!” She grabs the other kid — her brother? — by the hand, and pulls him into the gift shop.
Maybe Stan’s judged them too quickly — he’s still not thrilled to have strangers pitying him, of course, but he’ll take it over strangers mocking him any day of the week.
“Dang, you’re right,” the boy comments once inside, and face-to-face with shelves of untouched merchandise. “It really is empty in here in the winter.”
With little light coming in from the windows, and a flickering bulb overhead that will soon need replacing, the often-bustling room is now dim and eerie — aside from the junk food wrappers on the floor, which Stan hastily kicks under his desk.
“Look at all the lonely snowglobes in need of homes!” the girl pipes up, swiping a glass-encased antelabbit off the shelf and giving it a hearty shake. “Good thing I’m here to adopt this lucky little guy — how much is he?”
Stan takes a second to run the numbers — the maximum amount of money a teen would have on hand, versus what Stan needs to charge to make a profit — and replies: “Twenty-nine ninety-nine and nothing more. We don’t do sales tax here, ‘less you’re a cop.”
“Bet there’s a lot of other taxes you don’t do, either,” the boy snorts, rummaging through a shelf of hats until he unearths one with the old Murder Hut logo on it. “Aha! Now here’s a collector’s item!”
“Oh, did you come here before the rebrand and forget to grab a souvenir?” Stan asks. He doesn’t remember these two, but it’s been a couple years since he painted over the last Murder Hut sign — and they do seem pretty familiar with the building, not to mention Stan’s whole… business model.
“Oh, uh, that’s a funny story, actually! Real funny!” the boy stammers with a whole lot more trepidation than the topic should’ve warranted, and looks to his sister for help.
Sure enough, she steps in. “We lived here for a while — in Gravity Falls, I mean! Not here in the Shack, obviously — wouldn’t that be ridiculous, if we lived in your house for months without you knowing? Could you imagine —”
“That is to say, we still visit sometimes!” the boy supplies. His eyes are a whole lot more fixated on the snowglobes than with anything in Stan’s general direction. “You probably don’t remember us — we weren’t in town for very long, or anything…”
Stan sighs. They’re lying, obviously — but hey, there’s no cops in the Mystery Shack, and he doesn’t have a dog in whatever fight compelled the duo to spew this bullshit. He’ll keep an eye on the cash register, of course, but these kids are tolerable company when they’re not being suspicious as hell — so if they want to invent a bad cover story for a low-stakes tourist trap visit, more power to them.
“Well, the hat’s vintage, so that’ll be double price. Twenty bucks,” he announces matter-of-factly, and the boy groans — but there’s a smile behind it, like he’d expected this and now he’s just playing along. If there’s one thing Stan’s willing to believe, it’s that these kids have been to the Mystery Shack before.
“You’re a highway robber, old man, and I’m the coward who’s gonna let you get away with it,” the boy declares, and Stan can’t help but laugh. The kid reaches under several layers of sweaters to pull out a wallet, with a blue pine tree embroidered on, and miscellaneous charms of fantasy characters hanging off a chain on the side. Stan doesn’t recognize any of them, but they still tug at his heartstrings, because he can tell they’re the exact kind of nerdy references Ford would love.
He does take note of the pine tree design, though — it’s generic enough that slapping it on some shirts and hats wouldn’t quite be plagiarism, and in Stan’s eyes, those are always the best souvenir designs.
The kids put their money forward, hovering awkwardly as Stan rings up their items — the girl busies herself attacking a loose string on her brother’s scarf, nimble fingers tying it back in its approximate place, while the boy twiddles his thumbs and stares at the snowy, gray scene out the window. At the moment, only light flurries fill the air, but tomorrow night promises a blizzard… and Stan, grump with a soft side that he is, can’t help but hope that if these kids are really on vacation, then they aren’t planning to drive anywhere tonight.
With it being winter, and him running the business that he does, he doesn’t have much charity to give — but, if he’s going to play along with his customers’ little lie, then he should probably at least bring up the topic.
“You’re not hittin’ the road any time soon, are you?” He makes eye contact only with the green illustrated presidents in his hands, so not to come across as overly invested. “Weather forecast says tonight’s gonna be a doozy.”
“Aww, you’re worried about us?” the girl coos, because apparently both parties here are damn good at picking up on each other’s lies. “That’s so sweet — but you don’t have to be! Our great uncle’s waiting for us in town, and he’ll… well, let’s just say he’s planning to bring us back home before the blizzard hits.”
“He’s, uh — he lived here back in the seventies, so he knows what he’s doing,” the boy adds. “On the roads, that is. Mostly.”
“Well, you two take care,” Stan tells them, hastily adding on: “So you can come back when the weather isn’t terrible and buy more keychains, that is.”
“Oh, we will.” The boy grins, sharing a conspiratorial glance with his sister. “Maybe don’t count on it being next year — or the year after that, even — but you can count on it.”
“Well, uh…” Stan stops himself, resisting the impulse to divulge things he really shouldn’t. “You just shouldn’t count on me running this place forever. Be sure to get your novelty cryptid pins while they’re hot, y’know.”
He’s never really wondered what he’ll do with the Shack when he gets Ford back — and yes, he has to believe that statement deserves a when, not an if — but he figures the Shack’s fate will depend more on Ford’s own whims. If reality lands somewhere between the nightmares of Ford wanting him gone and the fantasies of finally sailing around the world, if Ford doesn’t hate him but still wants to spend more time with Important Science Experiments than with his brother, then Stan could see himself returning to a mediocre life in his moderately successful tourist trap… but with the search for the journals still coming up empty, Stan can only try not to think about the future, and accept that he’ll just cross — or burn — that bridge when he comes to it.
“Okay, Mr. Mystery,” the girl suddenly declares with a tone that frankly reminds Stan of his mother, “you look like you could use a pick-me-up!”
“What?” It’s starting to freak Stan out how well she can read him, and there’s no telling whether it’s just a sharp intuition, or something significantly more Gravity Falls-y. “If I look tired, kid, it’s because it’s December in Oregon, I haven’t seen the sun in a week, and I am tired. Only pick-me-up I need is for you to get out of my hair, and let me go back into hibernation like nature intended.”
“Okay, but counterpoint: you hear us out,” the boy insists. “We’ve got a little something up our sleeve to really light up your winter —” He winks at his sister. “Don’t we?”
“You bet we do!” She pulls a bag of marshmallows out of not her sleeve, but her backpack, and grins. “Prepare to be amazed and astounded by the natural wonders of this town, and also the miracle that is processed sugar and gelatin!”
“Are you imitating my sales pitches?” Stan asks, dumbfounded. “And do you carry those on you at all times?”
“In winter in Gravity Falls, I do!” the girl replies, already heading for the exit with her brother. “C’mon! If this doesn’t put a smile on your face, nothing will!”
“We all know you’ve got time to spare, Stan,” the boy adds, cracking open the door. “Get a move on!”
“Spare time doesn’t mean I’ve got spare limbs to lose to frostbite,” Stan grumbles, but follows them anyway. There’s something captivating about these little punks — not so much this mysterious phenomenon they’re trying to sell him on, as if they could really out-charlatan Mr. Mystery himself, but rather the way they’re not put off by his frigid facade. They see right through him, showering him in alternating kindness and acerbic wit.
Stan can’t help but wonder if their uncle’s kind of like him — tired, bitter, and pretending to be indifferent, but secretly soft on the inside, like a marshmallow that’s burnt on the surface but melted within. It would explain why they’re so good at calling him on his shit — but then again, Stan and this mystery guy can’t be too alike, because if Stan had a niece and nephew like these two, he’s sure he’d be living his life a whole lot differently.
He exits the Shack, and all his questions are immediately replaced with new ones when he sees the teens just hurling marshmallows towards the edge of the woods. The wind’s in their favor, so some of those sugary little fuckers fly far.
“Okay, so I’ve already got a couple concerns,” Stan tells them, shivering. “First off, what the hell?”
“It might take a couple minutes before one shows up,” the girl admits, as if it’s a totally reasonable stand-alone explanation for whatever the hell’s going on here. With about a third of the marshmallows now blending into the snow on Stan’s lawn, she and her brother stop with the throwing, though they still hold onto the bag. “Our grunkle theorized that they move slower in winter, to save energy — oh wait, never mind! Here comes one now!”
“Sorry, what? And where?” Stan squints out into the woods, terrified to lay his eyes upon a woodland monster these kids just lured to his doorstep — but all he sees, at first, are a few wisps of smoke dispersing in the wind above the trees. He’s not even convinced it’s smoke, really, because these aren’t the right conditions for a fire — but to his surprise, he glimpses an orange light within the woods, glowing steadily brighter until the trees and bushes around it are all casting faint shadows.
When it steps into the clearing, Stan realizes he has seen something like it before, albeit only from the overcautious distance he tries to keep from all anomalies. It’s an otherwise normal campfire perched on wooden, spiderlike legs, and it melts a path in the snow as it trots forwards, then lowers itself to the ground to absorb the first of a dozen marshmallows.
It lets out a satisfied little sound — a low, steady crackle that sounds almost like a purr — then scampers up to the next morsel of food to repeat the process.
“It’s called a Scampfire!” the girl explains, beaming. “There’s a bunch of them out in the woods, and they’ll always wander over if you leave out enough campfire food — especially sugary stuff! Isn’t that cute?”
“Our great uncle figured out this amazing trick when he used to live here, and he passed it down to us!” the boy adds, practically bouncing up and down in place. “If you leave them a trail of food, they’ll follow you around until you run out — which means they can clear your driveway, warm your hands, even save your car if you drive into a snowbank! Or help you make s’mores, of course.”
“Our grunkle says he even skipped paying his heating bill a couple winters,” the girl adds with a grin, “but I dunno if we can recommend that in good conscience.”
As the scampfire draws a closer, continuing to purr as it consumes more of the sugary trail, the boy slaps a handful of marshmallows into Stan’s palm. “Give it a try!”
Stan’s not thrilled about bringing a fire onto the wooden porch attached to his wooden house, even as cute as said fire is, so instead he tosses his ammunition at something much more disposable — the golf cart, since if this one croaks, he can always just steal another from the insufferable rich family up on the hill. His aim isn’t great — he blames his cold fingers — but exactly one marshmallow lands right in the cart’s driver seat.
The scampfire breaks course from its path towards the Shack, clearing a path through the snow before it crawls into the cart, absorbing the final morsel and curling up atop crossed legs. Nothing explodes, and in fact, a few of the icicles on the awning start to melt, dripping water into the patch of bare muddy ground surrounding the cart.
“Huh,” Stan mutters. Dozens of harebrained schemes flash before his eyes — if he could find a slingshot, or even better, some kind of cannon to mount on the cart’s front hood, then he’s sure that with practice, he could entice some scampfires to clear a path through any snowdrift…
But no matter his exact solution, it’s a way to get into town consistently. He can finally go door-to-door selling knickknacks, instead of sitting in the gift shop every day and hoping some poor soul would get bored enough to brave the roads and visit. He can actually work out a way to line his pockets even in the winter, instead of constantly waking up from nightmares about getting foreclosed on —
“See? They get food, and we don’t freeze — classic mutualistic symbiotic relationship!” the boy declares, and his sister gently socks him in the arm.
“Nerd!”
“Hey, you knew that too! We’re in the same biology class!”
It’s familiar, but the kind of familiarity that Stan doesn’t treasure anymore. It’s more like the kind that he hides in the basement or in boarded-up rooms whenever he can, and grins and bears with a heavy heart when he can’t, like every time he looks in the mirror or hears someone call him Stanford. He comes so close to asking these teens if they’re twins, because he figures the answer can’t be worse than wondering — but the question dies in his throat, and he tells himself it’s for the best.
“Is your uncle who invented this trick the same one who’s waiting in town for you?” he asks instead.
“Yep!” replies the girl. “He probably won’t get worried about us for like, ten or fifteen more minutes, though — I’m sure he’s got his nose buried deep in a book right now.”
“Do me a favor and let him know he’s a lifesaver,” Stan says. “Also tell him I’m glad he moved out, because he sounds a little too smart to fall for the fake monster wares that I peddle.”
The kids exchange a look that Stan can’t even hope to comprehend, though he’s damn sure it’s worth a thousand words to the two of them. Twins or not, he’s getting an “inseparable” kind of vibe from these two, that’s for sure.
“I’m not sure he’d like the Shack at first,” the brother muses, “but I’ve got a hunch it would grow on him.”
“He does like cryptids — sometimes even fake ones!” the sister chimes in. “Oh, shoot — we still need to grab a souvenir for him! I knew we were forgetting something!”
“Huh.” Stan throws a few more marshmallows in the direction of the woods, and the scampfire stumbles off the cart before trotting along on its merry way back to the forest. “I can get you something, no problem — I don’t call this place a gift shop for nothing, y’know. But for the love of Paul Bunyan, let’s talk about it inside.”
He’s not great at mental math, but he doesn’t have to be to know he owes a lot to these teens and the mysterious uncle he might never meet. Hell, even forgetting the business perspective — he can actually look for the journals in winter without risking frostbite, if he gets one of his fiery neighbors to tag along. Even if he finds nothing, even if he only winds up with more failures to contend with, he’d rather rule out locations than be useless to Ford for months at a time.
None of this weird family that he might never see again, these three benevolent strangers that he can only put two faces to, could possibly know how much they’ve just changed for him — and he can’t tell them, as much as his oversized heart promises he can trust these snarky kids who remind him so much of himself. But he does owe them, so when he reenters the gift shop, he goes straight for a seldom-opened and never-advertised box of knickknacks that he has no intention of charging them for. It’s got the dimensions of only about two side-by-side shoeboxes, so he lifts it onto the counter with hardly a grunt, and opens it up.
“Got lots of goodies in here — mostly stuff that I made or, ahem, acquired in bulk, so they never quite sold out by the time everyone and their mother in town had already bought their own. Take a gander.”
He knows that gander will reveal some Murder Hut-branded shirts with the words written on in marker, plastic six-sided dice with a different cryptids pictured on each side, cheap whistles purported to attract Bigfoot, cheap flashlights once advertised for attracting Mothman, exactly three cool rocks that Stan found in the woods… and the pièce de résistance, a little wooden Mystery Shack-shaped music box, which chirps out a pleasant tune when Stan flips up the roof. That last one’s a rare knickknack that Stan really put effort into personally crafting, back at the height of last winter’s monotony, through cannibalizing parts of premade music boxes and sticking them into brand-new shapes — but he couldn’t sell them for enough to be worth the cost of making more, and could never sell this last one at all.
“Oh, wow!” the girl gasps, clearly delighted. “How can I even choose between —”
“No, take it all. It’s on the house — but don’t you dare tell anyone about this, you hear me? I’ll know if you blab, ‘cause people will start asking me if they can get free crap, too, and I don’t wanna hear a word of that nonsense.”
“Free stuff at the Mystery Shack?” The boy narrows his eyes. “Are you feeling okay, old man?”
“Kid, stuff only goes in the Free Bullshit Box when I can’t sell it anyway.” Stan crosses his arms with a huff, even though he’s technically telling the truth. “The only catch is take it before I change my mind.”
A sudden spark of recognition in the brother’s eyes morphs into a grin on his face, and he nods. “Oh, we will. Don’t worry.”
“I think our grunkle will love this! Especially the dice,” the sister adds. “Hey, maybe we could give all this to him piece by piece for Hanukkah! There’s enough here for a new surprise every night!”
“Whoa, there is! Man, the look on his face the first time we bring out a Bigfoot whistle is gonna be great —” The boys eyes dart to the watch on his wrist, and he coughs into his hand. “But we should probably get a move on, huh? Don’t want to get caught in, y’know, the blizzard tonight.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Stan returns the lid and hands the box over. “You, uh, need a ride back to town? ‘Cause being a man of mystery and all, I know this neat trick to clear a whole road with just a bag full of marshmallows —”
The kids both start cackling, so hard that the box almost escapes the girl’s hands, and Stan laughs with them — not because he thought his joke was that funny, but because the kids’ laughter is absolutely priceless. The isolation’s definitely getting to his head and his heart, but he’ll take whatever reprieve he can get.
“I think we’ll manage on our own,” the boy finally wheezes out, “but thanks for the offer, Mr. Mystery. Thanks for everything, really.”
“See you later!” his sister adds as they leave. “Don’t let the feral gnomes bite!”
“You take care, too,” Stan replies, not nearly as loud — but he figures that the kids can read his lips. They can read so much about him, and know so much about the town, that he’s honestly a hair’s breadth away from assuming they’re two more anomalies from the woods themselves, just in more recognizable shapes than most…
Though if Stan’s honestly considering that theory, then more of Ford must’ve rubbed off on him than he likes to think about — which is to say, it’s a good a reason as any to stop thinking about it. What or whoever they were, the duo were actually pretty tolerable for teenagers, and Stan’s pretty sure they didn’t put a curse or whatever magic mumbo jumbo on him — because if they could manage that, they could definitely tell some less conspicuous lies, right?
He kinda likes the idea of one goddamn supernatural force in this town that’s actually benevolent, actually watching his back when his mood’s at its bleakest, and coming to his rescue with — no, he’s dropping that train of thought. No baseless hoping, just letting himself down easy before he gets up.
It does occur to him, several minutes after the gift shop door swings closed, that Hanukkah has already come and gone this year. Which probably just means the kids are prepared to hide that box for another twelve months… but maybe, when Stan finds the other journals, he’ll double-check for entries on helpful teenage cryptids who can’t lie. Just to be sure.
***
Mabel, Dipper, and Ford barrel into the living room so suddenly that Stan almost drops his mug of hot chocolate. They’re all covered in a ridiculous amount of snow, considering how briefly they were just outside, and Ford looks awfully delighted for someone whose glasses are someone whose glasses have just turned opaque with fog.
“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel shouts. The cardboard box in her arms has seen better days, but she’s cradling it like an infant. “You’ll never guess when we just were!”
Dipper points a gloved finger in the air. “You mean, when we just — oh wait, did you already —”
“Yeah, I beat you to it this time!” Mabel pumps her fist. “Anyways, Grunkle Stan — you’ll never guess who we just visited!”
#gravity falls#stanley pines#mabel pines#dipper pines#stanford pines#gravity falls secret santa 2020#rosalia writes fic
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It’s A Family Thing
Summary: A boy falls for a girl
Pairing: Reader x Ian Kildner ( fake person)
Word Count: 3847
Okay so here are something to know before you read. The teams are real but all the people fake it was easier for me with this story.
Juliette stood by a high table, wearing a stunning and elegant black dress A-line gown with a respectable but fun slit up the side, talking to a relatively wealthy seeming older gentleman. His tux was custom, hair grey, and thinking, and the date he had brought with him was barely legal to drink, showing almost all her cleavage, and was sipping her cosmo through a straw. But Juliette didn't care about any of that right now. All she cared about was convincing this man that a donation to the team's charity would be a brilliant investment.
"Mr. Mason donating to the teams' charity is not only a write-off for you with tax breaks, but it allows lots of people to see just how good you and your company are." Manson Construction was responsible for building half of Boston and rebuilding the other half. They had gone through a string of bad publicity when someone leaked rumors of the company cutting corners regarding safety protocols to the local newspapers. The stories had been proven untrue, but they had still caused doubt in the community. Mason Construction was a good company, and Juliette knew that. "Manson Construction on every banner we use when the team works with charities like Habitat for Humanity or does an event with local children's hospitals something like that could change how the community views your company," she said with a passionate and firm promise to her voice. Just as Juliette finished her speech, a loud, sharp crack of noise erupted from behind her.
Juliette's brother Jack, the youngest of her four brothers, and his girlfriend Ashley had been fighting all night. Juliette had been keeping an eye on it. Ashley was not a great girlfriend. Juliette was pretty sure Ashley was in it for the idea of dating a pro athlete, and Jack was in it cause Ashley was hot. Juliette had noticed more and more that Jack seemed done with Ashley's crap, and from the Way, Ashley was now storming out and the fact Jack wasn't going after her, he had decided to end things tonight in a public place.
Juliette turned back to Mr.Mason, who was chuckling to himself. "Your brother seems to be quiet, the unlucky fellow tonight in regards to love. But you are better than luck. You're smart, and you've got gumption, Juliette. I like the image you've given the charity, and I think it will provide great support and publicity for my business. I will send you a check tomorrow with the donation. If the team or the charity needs anything, you let me know," he said, smiling and walking away with his old wrinkled hand on his arm candy's ass.
Jules shivered in disgust as she watched arm candy giggle and kiss him on the cheek, then took a deep breathe she had done it. She had landed another massive donation for the charity.
Suddenly a large and heavy arm flopped around her shoulder, and her oldest brother Brandon was there by her side.
"Way to go, Jules. It looks like Mr.Mason was pleased with the idea of being the teams highest paying donor', he said with pride and admiration for his sister.
"He said he would send over the check tomorrow. I need a drink, and to get these heels off my feet are killing me." She laughed, walking to the bar.
Brandon was the oldest of the four brothers at the age of 33. He had retired from the league last year due to a knee injury. The team hired him as the skills coach. Brandon was always responsible. He was the boy next door with a killer smile and genuine charm. The next one down was Henry, who was 31 and was the team's new athletic trainer. He was sporty and the smartest. He wanted to be a doctor when he was younger but found a way to combine his love of medicine and learning with his love of hockey and the team he had grown up around. He immediately change to sports medicine. The third one was Eric. He was the middle one, wild and crazy. He was 28, had been on the team as a defender for four years now, and made sure everyone knew his opinion on any given subject.
Jack, the youngest of the brothers, was a sweet kid, but just that, still a kid in many respects. He had the talent and a good heart, but he needed to grow up. He was 25 and still trying to figure out many things about life but was too stubborn to listen to anyone's advice. Finally, there was Juliette, the youngest out of the five children and the only girl. She grew up tough and headstrong, just like her brothers. Her mother made sure she was balanced, though, so she had put her in dance as a little girl, and she had loved it. She still went to classes and taught little ones occasionally. Her brothers were always there in the front row to cheer her on then give her noogies after. She was 24, but most people thought she was older because of how she held herself.
All 5 of the siblings looked alike, all athletic, tall, and toned the brothers ranging in muscle definition. All five had dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. There was no denying they were family. The dark hair came from their dad, and the eyes had come from their mom. The whole family was here tonight, and Jules loved that. Everyone in the family had found a way to be apart of the team or organization in a job they loved. She loved being around her family and the constant support they gave. Her mom had started the Boston Bruins charity when her dad had been a player. She was still running it and was grooming Juliette to take over soon. Being a Bruin was a family thing. They had been born into it and loved every minute of it.
She and Brandon were standing by the bar ordering drinks when she saw out of the corner of her eye, Henry and Eric walk up.
"So, we all saw the slap that Ashley gave Jack, right?" Henry said in a cautious and questioning tone.
"Yes, the whole room heard it. Did you see where he went?" Brandon asked cautiously.
"No, but my guess would be the locker room, someone should go check on him?" Eric said, turning towards Jules.
"Yea yea yea, I'll go. Even though one of you are married and ones engaged," she said over her shoulder, walking away toward the locker room.
She found Jack sitting in his locker with a cold beer pressed to his face. head drooped down and fidgeting with his phone. "You shouldn't call her, "Jules said, pulling the drink away to check out the handprint on his face. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had sounded probably just stung. Ashley wasn't abusive, just dramatic.
"Why? Cause she slapped me?"
"No, because she gave the bartender her number about 15 mins before that happened. You made the right call. She didn't love you; she loved the status."
"I know. I just thought she was the one at the beginning. "He sighed as Jules sat next to him.
They sat there for a few minutes in silence. Jules knew he would be fine just needed someone to lean on for a bit, and sure enough, after about 10 minutes, he handed Jules his beer and stated with new energy, "There are plenty of fish in the sea. I have to find the right one, right?!" Jack jumped up and started walking to the doors.
"Yes, just please be safe and smart and maybe go home alone tonight," Jules shouted to him as he strutted out the doors.
Jules took a sip of the beer and sighed, starting to take her shoes off, enjoying the silence. When she heard the doors slam open and Jimmy Peters and his date for the evening tumbled though not breaking the sloppy kiss and handsy embrace, they were tangled in. They never noticed her as she grabbed her high heels and beer and left the room. She was in the hall on the way back, laughing to herself about the thought of giving Jimmy a hard time the next time she saw him when she heard the classic catcall whistle from behind her.
She turned to find Ian Kildern, one of the team's defensive players. He was 6'4", muscled more than the average hockey player and curly brown hair with deep green eyes. His tux was well altered; it hung perfectly on him, showing his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Ian was an excellent player, intelligent, lightning-fast, and a great leader. He was 26 and had been in the league since he was 19. The Bruins had picked him up four years ago when his contract had been up with the Tampa Bay Lighting. They were friends, but Jules was closer to other players, and usually only had a small talk with easy, polite jokes.
"Juliette Calloway, you clean up nice." He said in a semi-serious, mostly mocking tone.
"Shut up, Ian. Don't you have a date to dazzle like the rest of the team?" She said in a cheeky and light-hearted tone.
"No, actually, Kelly and I broke up last weekend."
"Oh, that's right; her name was Kelly, and I'm so sorry to hear that after a week together, you had to call quits. You must be devastated. She said with a wink. Knowing fully, he had never planned on keeping it serious. Ian didn't sleep around a lot, but he also didn't keep girlfriends long.
He chuckled, "Yeah, she was allergic to my dog." He changed the subject when he noticed the bottle in her hand, "You drinking alone - drowning your sorrows?"
"No, actually," she said in a matter of fact tone, "I was consoling my brother."
Ian's face squished up, and he sucked in a breath, "Yea, I saw - well heard the slap. Is he okay?"
"He's fine. It's his pride that's hurting more than anything, although he won't admit to it", She explained on a sigh.
"Well, I'm glad he's okay. It's tough trying to figure everything out—the balance between the game and social life. Suddenly having money and not know if women want you the status or the money. It can be a rough and bumpy ride."He said with an understanding tone.
"You sound like you have some experience, but you seemed to have figured it all out."
"I had my mistakes and issues, but the key difference is I didn't have a last name that's attached to 2 legends. Jack has a whole lot more spotlight from the league because of your dad and oldest brother. I could make my mistakes in private."
"So, you had a girl slap you in front of your entire team and about 45 VIP guests?" Jules questioned, intrigued to hear his answer.
"Okay, well, no, I never had that, but I did have a date throw up on me at an event one time. Rachel Madison, I'll always remember that name now. She hadn't eaten all day and then started doing shots of tequila. The smell was horrendous. It was like...
"Ew, I don't want to know! Please stop you win. That's disgusting." She fussed, cutting him off and giggling at the idea.
"Well, then, Miss. Date Judger where is your perfect event plus one this evening." He asked mockingly, looking around the hallway they were slowly walking down.
"Oh, I don't ever bring a date to an event that mom and I are running. I did once or twice and always felt bad that I left him standing somewhere while doing things for the event, plus dating in my life is hard. They tend to get offended when I know more about the game or jealous when I spend all my time here at the arena with you guys OR my brothers bully them, and they can't take the heat."
They had almost reached the doorway to the main lobby, where the fundraising event was when Ian's ear perked up as he heard his favorite song come on. It Had To Be You by Harry Conick Jr. He grabbed her hand put the bottle of beer in her hand on the floor, and stated softly, "It's a great song - I wouldn't want it to go to waste since you don't have someone to dance with."
Surprised by the sudden change in tone, Juliette lost her voice a little and had to clear it before asking, "Ian Kildern, are you asking me to dance?"
He slowly started to pull her into his arms, saying in a volume just barely above a whisper, "I guess I am. Are you saying yes?"
"I guess I am." She said, staring into his eyes and falling into the sway of his body. Still stiff at first, she slowly drifted further into the daze the music mixed with his look and tone of voice had caused, eventually allowing her to melt completely into him. Neither spoke to busy enjoying the moment. It had been years since she had slow danced, and she was enjoying being wrapped in someone's arms. Not just any someone, but someone who had made her laugh and had been having a good conversation with, not to mention he smelled incredible.
Ian couldn't believe he was dancing again. He had stopped bringing dates to events because it always fell short of what he wanted the evening to be. But with Juilette, he couldn't help but notice her laugh at his story or the way she had softened and molded to him as they danced. Hand in hand, his left hand rested at the small of her back, her head resting on his chest her right on his shoulder. She felt good in his arms. He felt something different for her, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. The music drifted away as the song ended, and they both stopped swaying. She pulled her head back but didn't pull away; she just looked at him, waiting for him to speak first, but Ian didn't want to say anything anymore. The smell of her vanilla perfume. The blush that had risen in her cheeks, the way she was waiting for him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel those soft pink lips pressed to his. Before he knew it, she was wetting her lips and starting to lean in because she had wanted it too. Never one to miss the opportunity; he leaned in and pressed his hand into her back more, drawing her closer. They were a whisper away from each other when Jimmy and his date exploded from the locker room with laughter, pulling Ian and Jules apart. Jimmy and his date rush by them and unseen to the car in the parking lot.
"Well, it's late. I should be going," Ian said, trying to hide the disappointment that the moment was gone from his voice.
"Uh, yea, it's late. I should be finding mom to see if she needs help with anything. Good night Ian and thank you for the dance.", She said, turning and walking away before he could say or do anything.
It took a split second for him to decide, but he had made his choice he wanted her. He wanted to hold, kiss, love, and keep Juliette Calloway forever.
Ian couldn't stop thinking about that night. It had been two weeks, and all he could think about was Juliette Calloway. He had been indifferent to her before that night. Ian had had conversations with her but always just regarded her as almost one of the guys. And now he couldn't get her out of his head. The way her eyes sparkled with what he hoped was lust and something more. The way she didn't back away from him and the chemistry in the air. He needed to do something, but what?
Friday games were always Juliettes favorites. The offices were always more energetic with Friday games as everyone was excited to watch them. Juliette always ran home at lunch for an hour or so to let out Wayne, her Weimaraner, go potty and play, then she would change into her jersey and jeans. She would come back and finish up work, then relax until the game started. Today was no different. She got home and was greeted by Wayne's barks and excited tail. She let him into the backyard and threw her bag and keys on the counter. She loved her home. It was warm and welcoming with leather couches and natural linens. She left the back door open for Wayne to come back in and walked to her bedroom. She was opted for wearing Jack's jersey tonight, paired it with her black jeans and favorite booties. She was excited and happy about tonight's game. Hence, she decided on a smokey eye - if she was honest with herself, she was thinking about her evening with Ian when she had decided on it but pushed it away and assured herself it had nothing to do with him. Wayne had yet to come back in; she went in search of him to find him bathing in the sun and enjoying the day just as much as she was. She called him in, gave him a treat, and headed back to the arena. The game was at 7. The team usually came in about 5. Everyone in the offices had more than likely left for the day; she had a few more things to do when there was a knock at her office door.
"Come in," she called to the knocker.
"Wow, nice digs," the knocker said with a low and slow whistle.
Juliette's head snapped up. She had expected it to be a co-worker that was running behind or family. Her brother or mother would sometimes stop by, but she was not expecting him, "Ian...what are you doing here"?
"Though I'd finally venture up to the offices. Poke around, see what it was like having an office job", he said, waltzing into the office looking around. His eyes settled on the wall of pictures and headlines. The wall was full of pictures of her brothers and father on the ice. It captured each of their timelines, from training to playing to winning championships at all different ages. A particular photo caught Ian's eye, and Juliette got up from her desk to join him. He looked fantastic in a suit more casual than the other night but still just as perfect. It was a solid black suit with a black button-down. He had the first few buttons undone. Juliette was standing next to him when he laughed to himself, saying, " Is this .. Henry?!"
"Yea, it is. He was like 8 or 9. Mom loves that photo; he hates it", she said with a snicker. The photo was of Henry in full hockey gear. He was standing on the ice for the first game of the season when he slipped and fell. The camera had caught it just right, and all his limbs were up in the air, and his face read of terror and surprise, not know what had just happened.
"I have to have the team come see this. Look at his bowl hair cut, "He cackled.
" Don't you dare! He will kill me if he knows anyone from the team has seen it", she said hastily while grabbing his arm to stress the importance and implore him not to tell.
He felt the electricity of her touch shoot through him. He was no longer focused on the photo but her. The way she smiled and was almost begging him not to spill her secret. He paused and looked at her hand on his arm. She realized what she had done with the casual touch, she could feel his muscle move, and she was immediately turned on and pulsed for him. When she tried to retract her hand, Ian grabbed it, placing a kiss on the top, and looked at her with seductive eyes while asking, "Are you begging me, Juliette?"
Juliette felt the innuendo to her core, and her stomach filled with butterflies. But she was no rose petal. She wanted him and wasn't going to melt for him like all the other women he was used to. She moved just a few inches closer and looked at him with a devilish smile, and asked, "Do you want me to?" Something inside Ian snapped. He couldn't hold himself back any longer. The look in her eyes mixed with her smile and words had him going practically feral. He gave the hand he was holding a tug, and she stumbled into his chest, her other hand landing in between them as she attempted to catch herself. Ian's other hand wrapped around her waist. He dropped her hand and slid his into her hair at the nape of her neck. He paused for a moment, making sure he still saw the same look in her eyes. He was thrilled to see it there but even more intense. He pulled her in and kissed her.
The kiss was passionate, hard, and needy. Ian pulled ever so slightly on Juliettes hair, causing her to moan softly into his mouth, giving his tongue access to explore. He deepened the kiss, fingers digging into her side, causing more soft moans to escape her. He pulled back ever so slightly to give her air, but Juliette chased him, making him growl and start to grow hard. Juliette's heart was pounding her panties were becoming very wet. She wanted more. They both craved to feel each other skin to skin. When they both broke because they needed air, Juliette saw a softness in Ian's eyes. His thumb stroked her cheek for a split second while he started to ask her out on a date to dinner in a few nights when she cut him off, smirking, "I guess you should be going wouldn't want coach to see you be late to practice." Then with a quick kiss, smirk, and a hoard of giggles, she pushed Ian out of her office and locked the door behind her. Ian was still in shock as he walked from the office to the locker room, both from the kiss and that she had pushed him out without saying anything else. She had a fire and spirit he had certainly never seen before. Juliette slunk down into the couch in her office. She couldn't believe she had just done that. He was incredibly sexy, and she was very turned on. She could feel the blush creep into her cheeks. She knew she wanted him in more than a casual fling way. That's why she was going to play hard to get. Make Ian chase a little bit for once in his life.
#hockey#hockey smut#hockey fic#hockey story#hockey fluff#jamie benn#dallas stars#boston bruins#tyler seguin#toronto maple leafs#hockey players#fanfic#chicago blackhawks#tampa bay lightning#sidney crosby#patrick cane#jamie benn imagine
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but ALSO okay so first of all thank you so much for the ficlets so far they are Adorable and i love them so much. second of all i am so glad you opened prompts again bcuz. i have. smth ive been wanting to read for a WHILE. so. prompt: junior generation post-canon, they all have super high standards for romantic partners cuz they spend time with Super Lovey Dovey WangXian. not like jiang cheng's List but smth a la Tenille Arts's Somebody Like That iykwim
i hope its not too late to insert a detail to my prompt!!! (i ran outta chara space in the og prompt message and then forgot ^^" ) but theres just one thing!! i really wanna see!!!! in the wangxian spoiling each other bit!!!!! (and the juniors being all That is Love Why Should We Settle For Less) -- i want lan zhan walkin around at one point with his hair in a braid and flowers braided in!!! and if asked he gets all soft and looks at it and is like "wei ying did it" ahhh i love the image <3
can anybody find me (somebody to love)
by stiltonbasket
“Wei-qianbei, we’re getting old enough to go courting now,” Jingyi says eagerly; but he’s a horrible liar who lies, because he and Sizhui are only nineteen, and Jin Ling doesn’t come of age until early winter. “What do you think we should put on our list of requirements?”
(Or, the one where Jin Rulan visits the Cloud Recesses, contemplates his love life, and gets a new point of view on the Lan sect's taxation policy.)
Jin Ling is seventeen the year his dajiu marries Hanguang-jun, and finally gives Jin Ling the right to call Lan Sizhui his cousin. Sizhui’s always been his cousin, of course—they’ve been cousins since Jin Ling was born, even if neither of them knew it—but he couldn’t say so, because that would mean telling everyone that Sizhui was born a Wen. And telling everyone that Sizhui was a Wen would lead to terrible things, so Jin Ling keeps his mouth shut until after his dajiu’s wedding.
“You could just say that he was born to us during the Sunshot Campaign!” Wei Wuxian laughed, when he finally heard why Jin Ling wanted him to hurry up and take his three bows with Hanguang-jun. “Half the cultivation world already thinks he’s ours, anyway.”
But regardless of whether he could call Sizhui his biao-ge in public, Sizhui is first and foremost a very dear friend; and so are Lan Jingyi and A-Qing and Ouyang Zizhen, though Jin Ling’s best friend is probably Zizhen, just like Sizhui’s is Jingyi. He visits them in Gusu as often as he can, since all of them save Zizhen live there, and even Zizhen hangs around the Cloud Recesses more often than not.
“Don’t you have a clan of your own?” Jin Ling frowns, when he visits his dajiu around midsummer to find the younger boy eating xiaolongbao in the jingshi’s new kitchen. “How come you’re still here, A-Zhen? The lectures ended weeks ago!”
“I’m almost sixteen,” Zizhen yawns, reaching for a shallow dish of black vinegar and soaking a salted mushroom in it. “Father says I’m old enough to go where I like, and Lan-xiansheng said I could keep studying with the Lan disciples as long as I stayed.”
“You’re just here for the food,” grumbles Jin Ling. His dajiu is a good cook when he doesn’t cover everything in chili peppers, and Jiujiu once told him in confidence that Wei-dajiu’s food was the closest Jin Ling would ever get to having his mother’s. But a steaming plate of xiaolongbao lands in front of Jin Ling before he can really start thinking about that, and then his baby cousin crawls into his lap and steals one of the soup dumplings.
“Ling-gege pays taxes,” three-year-old Lan Yu says serenely, poking a hole in the xiaolongbao and sucking out the broth. “Xiao-Yu can have one more?”
“Taxes?” Jin Ling stares at him. “What in the world does he mean?”
Wei Wuxian laughs and comes back over to give him another succulent soup dumpling to replace the one Xiao-Yu stole. “He’s pretending to be the sect leader,” he explains, ruffling Jin Ling’s hair on his way back to the stove. “And he found out about tax management this morning, since Lan Zhan and Xichen-ge are thinking about lifting the luxury tax on goods from some of the minor sects. But A-Yu thinks taxes are presents for the sect leader, so…”
“One more bao tax for xiao-Lan-zongzhu!” Xiao-Yu says imperiously, holding out his chubby hands. “Ling-gege give, please?”
“That is not polite, Xiao-Yu,” Hanguang-jun scolds, sweeping into the kitchen with A-Yuan and Jingyi behind him and A-Qing bringing up the rear. He lifts Xiao-Yu into his arms and sits him down on the bench next to Zizhen, and then he reaches up for a stack of patterned bowls and passes them around to the others.
Jin Ling still hasn’t gotten used to eating at the Chief Cultivator’s table, even if Hanguang-jun is technically his uncle now. Sometimes Hanguang-jun even does the cooking, and feeds Wei-dajiu with his own chopsticks while everyone else watches, and then Jin Ling tries to choke himself to death on the bamboo shoots in his yan du xian before deciding that Lanling can’t afford to lose the first decent zongzhu it’s had since his great-grandfather’s time.
“I wish I was married,” Ouyang Zizhen sighs dreamily, resting his cheek on his hand as Xiao-Yu tries to steal his dumplings next. On his other side, A-Qing’s cheeks flush crimson, and she stares resolutely down at her hands while Hanguang-jun offers her a plate of savory vegetables. “It looks so nice, Wei-qianbei.”
“It is nice,” Wei-dajiui winks—and oh, gross, because Hanguang-jun is blushing now, and staring at Wei Wuxian as if he’s the most amazing thing in the world. “Marrying Lan Zhan is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Mm,” Hanguang-jun says quietly, putting a heaping spoonful of potato congee into his husband’s bowl. “Wei Ying is the best thing that happened to me, too.”
Ouyang Zizhen wails.
“Wei-qianbei, we’re getting old enough to go courting now,” Jingyi says eagerly; but he’s a horrible liar who lies, because he and Sizhui are only nineteen, and Jin Ling doesn’t come of age until early winter. “What do you think we should put on our list of requirements?”
“What, you want an arranged marriage?” Wei-dajiu frowns. “ I never went through the process myself—” and Hanguang-jun reaches out and squeezes Wei-dajiu’s waist, as if even thinking about Wei-dajiu seeing a matchmaker was too much— “and I don’t really know anyone who did, since Yunmeng’s a lot freer about these things. Are you sure, Jingyi?”
“I’m not asking for a matchmaker,” Jingyi says, tossing his long ponytail over his shoulder. “I want to know what to look for if my love of a lifetime comes along. So what were you looking for?”
“Nothing when I was your age, A-Yi. I thought I would spend my whole life at Lotus Pier, and marry one of the shijies or shimeis who liked me. But then I met Lan Zhan, and…”
And then his ideal became Hanguang-jun, Jin Ling finishes, chewing on a mouthful of mustard greens. Everyone knows that, Jingyi!
Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t end there. It goes on for the better part of an hour, and all through the course of coconut pudding Hanguang-jun made for dessert, and Jin Ling can’t even leave because that would be rude, and the food is too good to pass up even if Ouyang Zizhen wants to ask about kissing now.
“How old is old enough to have your first kiss?” he inquires, while Lan Sizhui giggles into his hands and elbows Zizhen to make him stop. “I’m sixteen, so is that too young?”
“I was thirty-eight when I first kissed Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun says dryly. “I would advise patience, unless Ouyang-gongzi already has a beloved one in mind.”
Jin Ling wants to die. Why is his extended family like this?
“Pudding tax,” Xiao-Yu announces from his lap. “Ling-gege, can A-Yu have a bite?”
“I’m Sect Leader Jin, though. I don’t have to pay you taxes.”
Xiao-Yu gives him a serious little nod before turning to Sizhui. “Yuan-gege, pay pudding taxes.”
“You’ve had enough pudding,” Sizhui scolds; and indeed, the dishes are mostly empty now, except for the serving bowls in the middle of the table. “Come on, A-Yu. Let’s go visit the rabbits.”
They end up at the rabbit field about ten minutes later, after Jingyi and Sizhui help Hanguang-jun with the dishes. Jin Ling thinks it must make a very strange picture: after all, one doesn’t often see three Lan juniors, one Ouyang sect heir, one Jin sect leader, and one Lan baby lying in the grass with bunnies climbing over them. But the peace and quiet is beautifully welcome after the political unrest in Lanling and the dog food in Wei-dajiu’s tiny kitchen, so Jin Ling closes his eyes and settles down for a nap with a small white rabbit on his chest.
“I think Shufu was right,” he hears A-Qing say. “There’s no point in having a list of requirements. Look at what happened to Jiang-zongzhu.”
“His first list was terrible, though,” Zizhen objects. “And he’s going to be married by next spring, so it worked for him in the end. After he fixed his requirements, I mean.”
“Gossipping is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Sizhui says tranquilly. “And what Father meant was that having a list means you might miss your fated one when they come along, so it’s best to think about what you want, instead of what your beloved should be.”
“I’d like it if my wife liked to eat my cooking,” sighs Zizhen—he’s an excellent cook, too, and Jin Ling knows for a fact that A-Qing’s favorite food is the shrimp and water spinach Zizhen’s mother taught him to make. “Then I could cook, and she could wash our children’s hands and bring them to the kitchen when I was done, and we would all eat together.”
“I think I’d like a husband who knew how to do my hair,” A-Qing says, not even trying to be subtle. Jin Ling has seen the combs Zizhen keeps giving her, even if they’re far too young for a courtship, and Zizhen is always the first to offer assistance whenever A-Qing’s hair falls out of its bun. “Even a plain bun is too hard for me, since my hair’s so bushy.”
Zizhen nearly drops his rabbit. “Oh,” he whispers, blushing so hard that his neck turns red. “That’s good!”
Jin Ling wants to die. He can’t stand visiting Lotus Pier because his jiujiu is obviously courting, even if he won’t say he is, and now he’s going to have to watch A-Qing and Zizhen flirt until Zewu-jun and Ouyang-zongzhu give them permission to get married.
“What about you, Jingyi?”
“Huh? Oh, I want to marry someone who won’t mind how loud I am,” Jingyi shrugs. “Or someone even louder than me, so we can make trouble together. A-Yuan?”
“I haven’t really thought about it, actually,” Sizhui sighs. “I’m Zewu-jun’s heir, so I have to get married, but I’m not sure if I want to.”
A moment of silence.
“Then you won’t have to,” Jin Ling says. Everyone stares at him. “Zewu-jun didn’t get married, and Hanguang-jun wouldn’t have if Wei-dajiu didn’t come back to life. You can just choose an heir born to one of your cousins, since Jingyi was going to inherit the sect before Hanguang-jun adopted you.”
The others swoop in to assure Sizhui that no one’s going to make him get married, and Jin Ling folds his arms behind his head and wonders if his biao-ge could possibly be like Zewu-jun: a yi xin yi shen, whole in heart and body, who eschewed marriage in favor of cultivation. It would explain a lot, Jin Ling thinks, because even he knows what it feels like when someone makes his heart beat fast and his face turn pink, and Sizhui’s never felt that way.
(Jin Ling tries not to think of Nie-zongzhu’s hot-tempered archivist, who knocked him into the dust with her saber the last time he visited Qinghe and then told him he had pretty eyes. Nie Shiyong is a few years older than him, and he usually ends up nursing several new bruises each time he meets her, but Jin Ling is man enough to admit to himself that he likes her. Maybe.)
“Xiao-Yu is sleepy,” little A-Yu says, interrupting his embarrassing train of thought before it can go any further. “Yuan-gege, I have a nap?”
“You can just sleep here,” Jingyi suggests. “The grass is soft enough, right? And you can use one of us for a pillow.”
“Jingyi,” Sizhui chides, and Jin Ling hears the long grass rustling as his cousin gets to his feet. “Come on, A-Yu. I’ll take you home to A-Niang.”
“No need,” someone else says; and that’s Hanguang-jun’s voice, coming up the hill from the direction of the jingshi. “I am here. A-Yu, come.”
Jin Ling scrambles up to greet his uncle by marriage (sect leader or not, jiujiu would kill him if he greeted the Chief Cultivator from the ground) and then he reels back and blinks in surprise, because Hanguang-jun’s hair is up in a loose braid instead of a half-topknot, and somebody seems to have decorated the braid with a row of half-bloomed lotus flowers.
“Wei Ying did it,” Hanguang-jun says, with a small, soft smile that makes Sizhui and the others gasp. “He will do the same for your hair, too, if you ask.”
And then he lifts Xiao-Yu up into his arms and carries him away, leaving Jin Ling still frozen mid-bow with Jingyi and Zizhen gaping behind him.
“I think what Hanguang-jun meant is that the first requirement for marriage is love,” Lan Sizhui remarks, when Jin Ling finally snaps his mouth shut. “And that no matter what we want, or think we want, we shouldn’t settle for less.”
(Jin Ling is the first of his friends to marry, and he never forgets his biao-ge’s advice until the end of his days.)
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Astor just sighed to himself as he walked down the castle’s long hallways.
The windows on this level of the castle spanned from the floor to ceiling, with natural sunlight dripping in through the gold trim. His eyes squinted at the light, and he let his hair fall closer to his face. I should get a hood one of these days.
His footsteps were mostly quiet and unnoticable, which unfortunately for him, led to a less than ideal collision with someone as he turned the corner.
“SON OF A—”
The man ran straight into Astor, his papers scattering across the floor. He shook a fist at the prophet, angrily—he was some old soul with blond hair with bits of grey, and a weathered round face with a set of furious blue eyes.
“Watch where you’re going, you clod!” Ligero yelled. “I have half a mind to report you for interfering with sensitive documents!”
Astor leaned down, picking up the papers—seemingly just full of various recorded tax benefits—and rolled his eyes, mumbling. “Yes...and we wouldn’t want you to stress yourself working on only half a brain…”
“What was that?”
“Mm...nothing…”
“You youths...I hate mumbling…”
Astor fitted the papers into a neat stack before handing them back to Ligero, which he snatched up, flipping through them carefully. The prophet gave a shallow, shallow bow.
“My deepest apologies...Lord Ligero.”
Ligero suddenly stopped reading, raising an eyebrow and looking him up and down for a moment. “Do I...know you?”
He narrowed his eyes. “If the stars had aligned correctly, this would be our first and last meeting.”
The Lord wagged a finger at him as his eyes lit up. “Ahhh...you’re that crazy star seer. The one aways snuggled up in the queen’s shadow…”
“Gh…...I’m not—”
“Yeah…” Ligero rubbed his chin. “You’re that sickly twig that’s been whining about our deaths and such...always making a fuss since Elane died.” He chuckled to himself, while Astor scowled.
“Her Majesty’s...passing, puts the future of Hyrule on a path of certain doom. I believe I’ve made my predictions of past clear, that the princess will not awaken her power in—”
“Ayap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap…” Ligero opened and closed his hand like a mouth in mockery. “Listen boy, you won’t win any favours by spewing your miserable thoughts at every meeting.”
“Maybe I don’t desire your favour.”
“Well then who are you looking to please? Cause I’m afraid it’s a little late to cuck His Majesty any further.”
“Excuse me?” Astor took a step forward, but the Lord stood his ground with a smile, cocking his head to the side.
“I mean, that’s the only reason some nobody like you is here in the first place, isn’t it? Royal connections? Lovely pity on a scrawny useless orph—”
“I’m here to do my job.”
“Aw, don’t live in denial, boy. I have an eye for this sort of thing. And I’m always partial to helping a lad in need…”
Astor was already turning to move past Ligero, but suddenly stopped. He smirked to himself in amusement. “Is that so…?”
“Oh sure. My own son I’ve raised to be the peak of perfection. Striking young man, dashing blond—like me—and skilled. Rising up the knight’s ranks faster than an octo balloon! That’s all me, all my parenting right th—”
“And which son is that?”
“My oldest, my…...one, son.” He glared at him with a frown.
“Hmm…” Astor could barely hold back from snickering. “And what do you think of this oldest son then?”
“Oh, too much of his mother’s child, if you ask me. But much better than I in some regards, though of course, not all of them. Ohoho…”
“Yes…” Astor smiled to himself. “You’re a funny man, Ligero Hartell…”
Ligero finally stopped laughing to himself. “But you see, perfection like that isn’t born. It’s made and nurtured, you have to coax it out of them.” He poked Astor’s chest, and he flinched away in disgust. “Quit your mumbling, your babbling, your little grief stricken dreams, it’s all useless. No one cares for it.”
The Lord went to pat his head, like a puppy, but Astor dodged out of the movement with a verbal “nope” as he whipped behind him. Ligero just shrugged. “If you can’t churn yourself to be a better man, then you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. You want to be something more? Something of actual merit? Taken more seriously than some child that was dragged up these polished steps out of a late woman’s mercy?” He flicked his wrist, adjusting the cuff of his pristine white sleeve. “Stop chasing the dead. Don’t be blinded by replaceable things like compassion and the sort. Find a wealthy friend or something, get rich, get power.”
Ligero turned to continue walking down the hall. “Besides, even if it is like you say—then all the more to ride the sayings of, ‘You only live once.’”
Astor glowered, watching Ligero walk away. He scoffed, and started to turn back towards his own destination, before the Lord called out once more—
“And cut your hair or something! You’re no Rito, quit with the braids. It’ll get all greasy and frizzy...Trust me, I knew someone with hair like that, once.”
Astor’s expression softened just a bit—nearly undetectable—before immediately being replaced with a darker scowl.
He kept walking, his deep purple robes dancing just a finger-widths above the stone polished steps. He opened and closed his hand to himself, miming Ligero’s speaking.
“Always partial to helping a lad in need...gods, seems childhood memory has still captured him to perfection.” Astor came up on the wooden door, and walked inside.
The ceiling was a stone dome, littered with old parchment maps, and Sheikah charts, along with chalk that outlined ancient constellations and designs. There was an old chalkboard—stolen, from the Sheikah department—with further sketches and notes, torn out pages from old journals and texts pinned to the board and walls. Even the window was covered by hanging gyrospheres and astrolabes, twirling in infinite suspension. Since they blocked the window’s hinges, they were probably the reason why the room smelled so musty.
Astor closed the door, and flopped down on an old velvet bench, staring at the ceiling in silence.
“BOO!”
“GAAaaAAAh!” Astor shot up, whipping his head at the dangerous intruder, only to find a giggling, blonde girl.
She was doing her best to muffle her laughter by holding her hands to her mouth. “Gotchu again, Mr. Astor!”
He sighed. “What are you doing here?”
The princess shuffled towards his desk, hands already bored and ready to play with the nearest pointy object. “You took so long to get heeeeree….why was that old guy even talking to you?”
He fixed his hair behind his ears, not really paying attention. “Oh? You heard all that, then?”
“Yeaaah, the halls are—” she cupped her hands over her mouth, “—ECHOEY, Echoey, echoey...echoey….” Her voice grew fainter at each repetition.
“Stop shouting in my study. You’ll attract the rats…”
“I like rats!” She ran back up to Astor, sitting on the other end of the bench. “They’re like dogs! But small!”
“They’re rodents. Think more possums and mice.”
“Like that old guy, right?” She played with a loose thread on her dress. “Last week you called him a gross...virgin? Vermin… Velvet…? I forgot the word—”
Astor suddenly scooped the young Zelda up under her arms, holding her out in front of him like she was a disease. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, alright? That’s our secret.”
“Put me doooooooown!!”
“No. Get out. I’m working.”
The princess struggled in his grip so much that by the time he reached the door with her, she was nearly upside down. He opened the door and she craned her neck up, pleading at him with an upside down frown.
“Pleeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase let me stay??? Dad never bothers to look for me here….and your room is so cool! Even mom hung out here a lot…” Astor physically flinched, and Zelda took that as an opportunity to let loose some puppy eyes. “Pweaaaaaaase????”
Astor was so ready, so ready to shake her off his arm and let her possibly break a bone tumbling down the steps. “Oh! It was an accident, Your Majesty. She was so busy talking and talking and bouncing off the walls she forgot how stairs worked! I tried to stop her but she used her superglue prank again! Oh what a shame!” It would have been so easy…
Instead, the prophet just sighed, turned around, and let her topple onto the room’s floor. She yelled a “Yay!” before scuttling towards the windowsill, adorned with sparkly objects. Astor made his way to his desk, muttering.
“You can stay for five minutes. But don’t touch anything.”
Zelda immediately started touching and spinning the gyrospheres around in her hand.
The princess pranced and sat and played and pondered around the room—five minutes, ten, fifteen, and twenty. Finally she hobbled up to Astor, her arms full of shiny orbs and trinkets. She peered at his desk.
“So whatcha working on?” Zelda asked, looking at the weird sketches. “You seeing the future and stuff?”
“Something like that,” he replied stiffly. Silence resumed in the room.
Zelda set down her arm full of collectables, before standing on her toes to catch a better glimpse. “So what’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen in the future?”
The prophet rolled his eyes, still trying to focus on his work. “Oh, you know. Death, doom, destruction. You’ll fail to awaken your powers, everyone perishes...the usual sort.”
Zelda crossed her arms and sat on the ground with a huff. “You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.”
“Oh yeah? Well if you can see the future, then WHAT am I gonna do next? Betcha can’t tell!”
“You’re going to attempt a backflip.”
“I’m going to do a b—” Zelda had jumped up, her arms already in the air, before she let them drop and sputtered angrily. “H-Hey! How’d you know that?!”
“Because that’s what you always do to try and disprove me.” He nodded towards the broken chair beside the door, along with a broken shelf, and a broken footstool.
“Hmph!”
“But that’s not how telling the future works anyways.”
“Oh yeah, well how am I supposed to know if you never TELL ME!” She suddenly scrambled into Astor’s lap, trying to steal his papers.
“H-Hey! Get off you insolent—”
“Tell me what your jooooooob issssss you never doooooooooo anything despite having the coolest room…” Zelda palmed her face on his papers, refusing to move.”
Astor was just about pulling his hair out, before taking a deep breath. “If I tell you, will you get off me?”
“Maaaybe.”
“Ugh. You’re insufferable…” Astor leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling.
“Well it’s like this. Every choice and possibility exists. Every universe and timeline with every outcome and conclusion you could imagine exists in the grand unknown. There’s a universe where you’re a boy, there’s a universe where you don’t exist, there’s a universe where you’re quiet and don’t bother me all the time—”
“Is there one where my mom’s alive?” Zelda leaned her head back and looked up at him.
He was silent for a moment, pondering his words. “...Yes. There is.”
He finally raised an arm, gesturing to the decorated ceiling. “See now, predicting the future is all a matter of trying to identify exactly what kind of universe you’re in. You look to the stars—gifts from the spirits, who roam as a constant in all timelines. You look to dreams, and magic, and visions...your surroundings, the people...there’s a pattern and predictability that I can use to identify what universe we’re in, and how the future will play out.”
“So you think we’re in the one where the Calamity wins?” Zelda raised an eyebrow.
“From what I’ve seen, I’m almost certain. Yes.”
“That sucks.”
“It does...suck.”
Zelda jumped up and went back to playing with the gold and silver trinkets. “Why don’t we just go to a universe where we don’t lose?”
Astor turned back to his work. “Because that’s not possible.”
“Really? You sure?”
Astor stopped, pondering for just a moment, before shrugging and continuing to work.
“Probably anyways. I imagine millions of people have tried before, millenia ago. And from the looks of things, nothing’s worked.”
Zelda fiddled with an Ancient Core.
#???#Assivus Hartell#long ago and long away#hku spoilers#Ligero Hartell#Didymos Astor#Princess Zelda Mallory Hyrule
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ANOTHER EDITION OF INCORRECT QUOTES
ft: @catchmewiddershins @paradise-creator @elektrosonix @lilikags @todd-the-phrog and my irl bestie
Lili: I think I'm falling for you.
Anna: Then get up.
Anna: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room.
Pauline: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you.
*Wid walks in*
Pauline: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know.
Sara: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreashing.
Wid: Are you a software update? because not right now.
Isamu: Is something burning?
Wid, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.
Isamu: Wid, the toaster is literally on fire.
Isamu: *seductively takes off glasses*
Isamu: Wow...
Anna: *blushes* Haha... what?
Isamu: You're really fucking blurry.
Anna: Any questions?
Wid: Uh, yeah, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?
Anna: Uh, a plan, duh...
Shiyu: Wid, chill, I know it’s weird, but Anna has a point.
Wid:
Wid: THAT WAS LITERALLY A PONY DOODLE WITH A HAT!!
Wid: I know this isn’t going to end well and I don’t care. So don’t you try and stop me, Sara!
Sara: I wasn’t stopping you. I was asking if you had a spare camera so I can record this.
Lili: I'm not that stupid!
Shiyu: Lili, you literally ate the wax from a babybel.
Lili: ANNA TOLD ME IT WAS EDIBLE!
Isamu: *visiting the squad* Hello, I just came to-
Isamu: *sees Sara shoving Shiyu into the washing machine while Anna records and Wid watches*
Isamu: *retreating* Something suddenly came up.
Shiyu: I failed my safety training course today.
Lili: Why, what happened?
Shiyu: Well one of the questions was "In case of a fire, what steps would you take?"
Lili: And?
Shiyu: Well apparently "FUCKING LARGE ONES" isn't an acceptable answer.
Lili: How would you like your coffee?
Wid: As dark and as bitter as my soul.
Lili, shouting to someone behind the counter: I need one vanilla latte with extra cream and sugar!
Wid: It’s time to turn this into a real business.
Shiyu: What do you mean? Like, carry a briefcase, and wear a tie, and pay taxes?
Anna: Wait, have you not been paying your taxes?
Sara: I handle our accounting.
(no but this is actually me)
Sara: Honestly, I am so evil. So full of darkness. I feed of the souls of the living I strike fear into-
Anna: You sleep with a teddybear.
Sara: He’s my sECOND IN COMMAND IN MY ARMY OF DARKNESS!
Lili: You are an absolute fucking dork.
Anna, singing: Yeah, but I'm your dork!
Lili: *sighs* Yeah, you're my dork.
Lili: Guys, I didn’t memorize my lines!
Isamu: Just use your lack of common sense! Everyone knows the characters in plays are dumb as fuck!
*During the play*
Pauline: Hey! You finally made it! Did you get the donuts?
Lili: W-what’re donuts?
Pauline: I am darkness. I am an power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am-
Anna: A doll.
Isamu: A cinnamon roll.
Lili: A sweetheart.
Pauline:
Pauline: ...stop it.
Pauline: I think I just figured something out. I got to go.
Wid: Aren't you forgetting something?
Pauline: Uuh...*hesitantly kisses Wid's forehead before running out.*
Wid: No, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?
Pauline: Why should I make my bed, when I'm just gunna unmake it to sleep in it anyways?
Anna: Why should I feed you if your just gunna die anyways?
Pauline:
Pauline: I'll go make my bed-
Lili: Yo dumbass, get over here.
Shiyu: Okay-
Anna: *gleefully runs past* I’m coming!
Shiyu, sadly: I thought... I was dumbass...
Shiyu: That shirt looks great, Sara.
Sara: Thanks.
Shiyu: But I bet it would look even better on Lili's floor.
Lili: Are you hitting on Sara... for me?
Pauline: I dare you-
Lili: Isamu is not allowed to accept dares anymore.
Pauline: Why not?
Isamu: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say.
Pauline: Dearly Beloved, we are here today to remember Isamu, taken from us in the prime of life; when they were crushed by a runaway semi, driven by the Incredible Hulk.
Isamu: Aww, you knew my favorite cause of death.
Lili: Why are there little handprints all over the walls?
Wid, whispering: Why are there little handprints all over the walls?
Sara, whispering: Because I have little hands.
Wid: Because they have little hands.
Anna: I’ve made a spread sheet of all the crime in Brooklyn.
Anna: There’s so much crime in New York, no one should live here.
Lili: Pros and cons of dating me.
Lili: Pros. You'll be the cute one.
Lili: Cons. Holy shit, where do I begin-
Shiyu: Sometimes I drink milk straight from the container.
Pauline: The cow??
Shiyu: What?
Isamu: Pauline, W H Y?
Lili: We just ate. Why are you making pancakes?
Sara: For the dogs.
Wid: Why are your tongues purple?
Isamu, texting in the group chat: I wonder what Apple shots would look like?
Shiyu: That’s the longest worm I’ve ever seen.
Isamu: Is this your plan B?
Lili: What do you call quantums of electromagnetic radiation that don’t get along?
Sara: Hey, no, you stay out of this, this is between me and Isamu!
Anna: Truth or dare?
Isamu: How many children do you have?
Isamu, tearing up the room: Where are they?
Sara, very tired: Can I sleep in your bed?
Isamu: I failed my safety training course today.
Pauline, watching Isamu and Sara fight: Are you sure they should be fighting? What if they get hurt?
(ok but this is kinda accurate)
Isamu: Do you want some tea?
Pauline: I have an idea.
Wid: When I was a kid, Isamu told me that the paper strip that’s in the chocolate kisses were edible and I ate them with the chocolate for a year.
Pauline: What the fuck? People actually tell their crushes they like them??
Shiyu: What's wrong with you?
Wid: I intend to stay pissed at you forever.
Anna, hungover: Please tell me I'm imagining that I claimed I was king of the ducks.
Anna, holding a rock: Isamu just gave this to me and said "I feel like you deserve the moon but all I can give you is a rock".
Anna: What do you have?
Pauline: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.
Lili: Alright, listen up you little shits.
Anna: I wasn't hurt that badly. The doctor said all my bleeding was internal, that's where the blood's supposed to be!
Pauline: So are you gonna explain how the hell you crashed my car?
Sara: How stupid do you think I am?!
Pauline: Honestly, I am so evil. So full of darkness. I feed of the souls of the living I strike fear into-
Lili: I'm going the fight the next person who insults Pauline.
Lili: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no idea what to put in them. Any suggestions?
Anna: I wanna die.
Shiyu: Are you sure this is safe?
Wid: My life is a little too much panic and not enough disco.
Isamu: The time to act is now.
Isamu: Shiyu won’t wake up, what do I do?
Isamu: Why doesn’t Pauline find me sexy when I bite my lip?
Wid: Anna's first detention, I'm so proud.
Pauline: She's the girl of my dreams!
(and now, an only ship edition)
Pauline: So, are you two dating now?
Anna: I didn't drink that much last night.
Anna: Did you know you remind me of all 26 letters of the alphabet?
Shiyu: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash.
Isamu: *sees Anna and Pauline together*
Pauline: Two years ago, I married my best friend.
Anna: Well, remember when Lili made a romantic dinner for me?
Isamu: Sara, let’s go!
Anna: Let’s watch Sharkboy and Lavagirl.
Wid: Is this your plan B?
Shiyu: I would never say that my partner is a bitch and I don’t don’t like them. That’s not true… My partner is a bitch and I like them so much!
Lili: I find it very unseemly of Shiyu to start dating again. Isn't the customary period of mourning 10 years?
Shiyu: Hey, Pauline? Can I get some dating advice?
Shiyu: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you...
Isamu: Someone take me to art museums and make out with me.
Anna: Guys, my friend here is bilingual.
Sara: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos-
Anna: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon?
Shiyu: Isamu kissed me!
Sara: Ooh, somebody has a crush
Lili: *sees Anna and Shiyu together*
*playing twister*
Wid: So, what is Shiyu to you?
Shiyu: Why are your tongues purple?
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Date Night
Continuation of Personal Space. Husk spends the day getting ready for his date with Angel and the rest of the night being a mess. Can also be found over on AO3.
Husk groaned as he rolled off the sofa in the foyer, bottles clattering as he disturbed them. He dragged a paw down his face before a huge yawn escaped. A sound of agony followed as he stretched his back, every vertebrae popping and shifting. That damn thing was not meant for sleeping on. A feather floated down to the floor and he followed it’s trajectory back to the sofa to find more littering the cushions. Oh, great, molting. That’s what he needed.
He checked his phone for the time and saw a message from Angel. It was a picture of him splayed out on the sofa with his mouth open, a bottle clutched in one hand, and a leg over the back. He’d captioned it “Sleeping Beauty” followed by one of those winking kissy faces.
Husk rolled his eyes as he picked himself up off the ground. If he found that damn thing on his social media, he’d kill him. Nobody had any damn privacy anymore. He texted back a threat and searched around his empties for any remnants - hair of the dog and all - until a static-filled voice interrupted him.
“Good afternoon, Husker.”
“Yeah, what’d you want?”
“Simply passing through, my friend.”
Husk’s lip curled. Every time Alastor called him friend it caused a visceral reaction. Fuckin asshole. He’d rather the fucker just treat their relationship as it was instead of trying to paint a polite picture. You could put lipstick on a pig but it was still a fuckin pig.
“But good luck on your little date tonight.”
Alastor’s smile turned sharper and his eyes more sinister. God dammit, Angel. Couldn’t he keep his fuckin mouth shut? Husk just gave Alastor the finger as he moved on with his day. He checked to make sure Angel hadn’t blabbed about this anywhere else. But it must have just been good old fashioned word of mouth.
Actually, he’d barely posted at all today which was weird for Angel. Probably knew he couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he did. Husk sighed and dragged himself to his room. He had a few hours to get himself together enough for this. Plenty of time to go over everything that would go wrong in minute detail.
It was Nifty who helped him get ready. Of course, she knew, too. Whole damn hotel knew. She insisted on helping him get dressed up in an old suit and tie. He didn’t see the need to bother. Wasn’t like he wore clothes regularly and they wouldn’t be on him long.
But it made Nifty happy to get him ready, giving him advice so fast he couldn’t take half of it in even if he’d wanted to. He smiled at her as she fixed his tie and stood back with her hands on her hips.
“You look great! Angel’s gonna love it. I’m so excited for you!”
“At least someone is,” Husk muttered, resisting the urge to loosen the tie a bit.
“Aren’t you excited?”
“Ah, I’m no good at this stuff. You know that.”
“Don’t worry! Just let Angel help you. He’s great at it.” She started dusting Husk’s own fur off his suit as it shed, her efforts only making it worse. “And he really likes you!”
“Yeah, I know,” Husk replied. “Thanks Nifty.”
Nifty gave him a big hug and he returned it gently. Her slight frame made him extra careful with her.
“I have to get back to cleaning, but I hope you enjoy your date!”
“Yeah. I’ll try.”
He raised a hand in a slight wave as she hurried off. He decided to spend the rest of the day waiting for Angel at the bar. That turned out to be a mistake. Everyone had something to say. They wished him luck. They cooed and sighed like it was some big fuckin show. Their words were supportive but somehow they only made Husk more nervous, maybe even a little bitter. This shit seemed so easy for everyone else.
It had been easy for him once, too.
Eventually the foyer emptied out as it got late. Husk knew Angel would be returning for him any minute. He finally had to loosen the tie around his neck and decided to fix himself a drink to calm his nerves, but just as he reached under the bar, the doors opened.
His wings lifted slightly as Angel made his entrance. Husk wasn’t the only one who’d gotten dressed up. Angel’d gotten his hair done or some kind of extensions or something. Fuck if Husk knew. He wore a strapless pink number, the skirt covered with some kinda fake flower and vine decorations. Looked like it was supposed to be a train, but he was too tall for it to do much but brush the floor as he approached. Husk actually thought he looked beautiful all dolled up like that. Maybe he should tell him. Instead, what came out of his mouth was:
“What’re we going to the fuckin prom?”
“I dunno. Will you be doin’ my taxes when we’re done?” Angel shot back with a grin.
He reached across the bar and fixed his tie. Dammit, he’d choke to death before he got through this night. Angel didn’t release his tie right away. He used it to pull him closer for a quick kiss.
“Ready?”
No.
“Yeah, sure.”
Husk came out from behind the bar and let Angel take his arm. He had no idea where they were going, but he just let Angel take the lead. Like Nifty had said, he was good at this. When they arrived at their destination, Husk was a little grateful she’d insisted on dressing him up. Angel had chosen some high end, classy joint.
They got a lot of stares on the way to their table. He knew Angel was the center of attention wherever he went, but he didn’t like being caught in the crossfire of all those lustful gazes. A growl sounded low in his chest before he could stop it, his teeth bared. The stares become a little less overt.
Angel put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t scare my fans, Husk. I’m used to it.”
“Well, I’m not. People need to mind their own fuckin business.”
Without thinking about it, Husk pulled a chair out for Angel. At least he remembered something from the old days.
“Whatta gentleman,” Angel joked, batting his lashes at him as he sat.
Husk gave his chair a rough shove up to the table, taking his own with a grumble. When he looked up, Angel had his chin on his hands, fingers laced to make a cradle, staring at him with such a soft look it took Husk’s breath away. He made himself busy with the menu. As the waiter approached, Angel sat up suddenly.
“Oh, I forgot. This place is Italian. Like Italian Italian. But I can order for ya, if ya want.”
Angel looked quite proud of himself and Husk hated to burst his bubble.
“I got it.”
He gave the waiter his order in perfect Italian and looked back to Angel as the waiter turned to him. Angel stared at him in shock for a moment before stumbling through his own order. He waited until the waiter had disappeared before going off.
“You know Italian? Holy shit, Husk! I been dirty talkin ya all this time at the bar and you knew?!”
Husk hid his smirk behind his menu, trying not to laugh. Angel pushed it away and stared him down, motioning with two fingers between them.
“You look at me, look at me!”
Husk looked up, still grinning. Angel’s face had gone stern, and he held his gaze for a moment before simply uttering,
“You bastard.”
Husk let himself laugh a little and teased him.
“You get real creative when you’re drunk, you know that?”
Angel just smirked and crossed his second set of arms while another hand brought a glass of wine up to his cheek.
“Well, I guess you know what you got to look forward to then, donchya?”
The conversation during dinner remained light-hearted and Angel kept reaching out for Husk’s paw, making eyes at him. He avoided making direct eye contact, insides churning every time Angel tried. Once their plates were taken away, Angel stood and held a hand out to him.
“Can I get a dance before we go?”
Husk felt a little more confident as he put a paw in his hand. Dancing was something he knew he could do at least. He smiled back at him.
“Sure.”
He let Angel draw him out onto the dance floor and pull him into a waltzing position. His extra hands found a place to rest on Husk’s hips as they began to move. Angel took the lead, but Husk had expected as much with the height difference. He wouldn’t let Angel know, but he was surprised he knew how to waltz. It seemed a bit old-fashioned for him. Or at least for how he tended to present himself. It was easy to forget he was from an older era than he was.
“Thank you.”
Husk looked up and felt all the air rush out of his lungs again. Angel gazed down at him with such a genuine look of gratitude. If he didn’t stop stealing his breath, he’d never make it through this night.
“A bet’s a bet,” he repeated.
“You didn’t have to go on a date with me, but ya did. I really appreciate that. It’s nice.”
Husk closed their stance and pressed his forehead against Angel’s shoulder in response. Angel’s secondary arms held him close, his other hands sliding softly over his shoulders and down his arms. Husk turned his face in towards Angel’s neck instinctually. Everything felt so warm and comforting in this moment. Husk had to say something to break the spell before he started purring and embarrassed himself.
“You’re payin’ right? Cause I can’t afford this shit on my salary.”
“Don’t worry. I gotchya, babe,” Angel replied. “The least I can do is buy ya dinner first.”
Husk pulled back and a hand found his cheek as Angel leaned down to kiss him softly. Then again, a bit harder, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. Husk had to close his, but his paws slid up Angel’s back to grip his shoulders as he reciprocated. Angel broke the kiss and lowered his lips to Husk’s ear, brushing over the hairs at the tip for a moment, sending a thrill through his whole body.
“Let’s get outta here.”
Husk just nodded his agreement as Angel moved towards the table to pay, his hand sliding off Husk’s shoulder as he went. Husk loosened his tie as he focused on breathing. Fuck. This was happening. Shit. Fuck. As he panicked, a feather slowly floated to the floor then another. Oh, fan-fucking-tastic! This shit!
He stepped on the feathers to hide them as Angel returned, trying to keep a neutral expression. He probably wouldn’t have noticed the feathers anyways. He had his eyes locked onto Husk’s as he reached for his arm again. A devious light there had chased away the tenderness that had been prevalent the rest of the night, letting Husk know Angel’d fully shifted gears.
Thankfully when they returned to the hotel it wasn’t to some kind of fuckin fanfare. He’d half expected some kind of congratulatory party, the way people acted around here. But the foyer was as empty as it usually was this time of night. Just the two of them as it so often was. Angel stopped by the bar and released his arm.
“Okay, gimme ten to slip into somethin more comfortable,” Angel said with a joking tone. “Then meet me in my room.”
He made a show of walking away, swinging his hips and looking back at Husk over his shoulder before disappearing down the corridor. Husk just stood there calmly until he was out of sight. Once alone, he threw himself abruptly over the bar, gasping in air like a drowning man. He sent bottles clattering to the floor as he fished around for a drink. He leaned back against the bar and sank to the ground as he chugged whatever booze he’d managed to grab. The chugging became less frantic after a moment and he started to breathe again. Thank fucking god for alcohol.
“You did this to yourself, asshole,” he muttered under his breath.
He watched the clock as it ticked away the seconds he had to get himself together. He finally did away with his tie entirely and ran a paw over his head. Okay, this wasn’t such a big deal. God, it wasn’t like he didn’t find Angel attractive. And this would make him happy.
All of Husk’s limbs went limp and his head banged back against the bar. Dammit, he wanted him to be happy. How had he let this happen? He sighed and let the empty bottle roll out of his grasp before picking himself up off the floor.
He trudged down the hall to Angel’s room, leaving a sparse trail of feathers in his wake, and gave a light rap on the door before pushing it open. The lights were low and tinged pink from the scarves draped over the shades. Angel had tossed rose petals around the room wildly. He followed their general trail over to the bed where Angel was, of course, poised seductively.
He’d changed out of the prom dress and into lacy black lingerie, makeup entirely redone to match. How the fuck did he do that so fast? Angel shifted forward and pushed himself off the bed, sauntering over to him the way he approached a pole at a show. He brushed the back of a hand against his cheek as he circled around behind him. All three sets of arms snaked around him, hands working at buttons and sliding under his shirt.
Husk froze as his clothes just fell around him, only brought back to motion by the shiver that went down his spine when Angel pressed soft kisses against the back of his neck. Damn, he was good. His paws rose to find the closest pair of Angel’s hands and slid over them. Angel nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck before finding his ear.
“I’ve been waiting for this.”
Husk turned in his arms and tried to think of something to say. All he could think of was how long it had been and how badly he was about to fuck up. He started backing away slowly, but Angel followed.
He felt his knees buckle as he backed up into the bedframe. He fell back onto the bed and Angel leaned over him, using a pair of arms to hold himself up while the other two ran down his chest. Husk’s throat felt like it had closed up and he gasped for air.
“W-wait.”
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