#I do nevertheless FEEL stupid but that kinda comes with the territory I guess | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greennct · 5 years

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yukhei is not your boyfriend

three parties, three encounters,,,,, one fuckboy

i know this isn’t the most original idea lol, but i hope you enjoy anyway!! 💞💖💘

warning!! there’s some examples of toxic behaviour in this one, nothing blatantly physically violent, just a boy treating you shitty, with over :( reminder that my inbox is always open if you want to talk about anything!

3.6k words, angsty, but ultimately fluffy

song rec: just saying by 5sos this life by vampire weekend

It was 9:30 on a Saturday night, and you were already trying to excuse yourself from your best friend’s birthday party. You were not at all surprised by how furiously Jaehyun protested.

“Are you kidding?! You got here, like, an hour ago! Half the guests haven’t even arrived yet!”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“Don’t you dare even say his name in my presence.” He interrupted.

You sighed. Here we go again. It was not a secret Jaehyun didn’t approve of your boyfriend. You understood that from an outside perspective, it looked like he was too controlling, however you saw the constant monitoring of your behaviour as sweet, and protective, rather than scary or oppressive. Sure, it meant that you didn’t feel comfortable going to every social event you were invited to as a result, since your boyfriend would never really want to go with you, and left you feeling guilty for leaving him at home, especially as he always pressured you to come back quickly.

But you didn’t mind, as you felt you were content within your relationship, and didn’t care much for other people’s opinions. However, Jaehyun did not make your nonchalant attitude towards others’ criticism easy, as he made sure his disapproval was excruciatingly clear each and every time your boyfriend was brought up in conversation. Just like right now.

“It’s just, he gets angsty when I'm out late. I don’t want to worry him, I-”

“Girl. You know he doesn’t own you? You don’t actually owe anything to him!”

“Jae, it’s about-”

“Commitment, I know.” Jaehyun mocked you, already knowing how you were going to reply to him. It was almost comical how many times the two of you had had this conversation before. “Look, I’ll let you leave soon, but stay for at least another half an hour.”

You managed a smile, relenting immediately. You could text your boyfriend, giving him a definitive time you would be back, and actually enjoy yourself for thirty minutes. You opened up your messages app to send him a quick text.

“Hello?” Jaehyun coed over your furious texting. “Earth to-”

“I’ll stay until ten, Jae. Thanks for being so-”

“Huh?” Jaehyun laughed. “Doll, I just asked you if you’d met Yukhei before.”

You looked up from your phone, realising that someone had joined in to your conversation. He had clearly just arrived at Jaehyun’s apartment, tugging his coat from his shoulders, and turning to face you. And look you up and down. Extremely obviously.

“Oh,” You flushed, embarrassed that you had been caught out on your phone. “Sorry. Hi.”

“I’m Yukhei.” He smirked. Then winked. “But you already knew that.”

When you didn’t reply, literally in shock from how flirtatious the boy was, your best friend had to step in.

“And your name is?” Jaehyun teased gently, eyebrows raised slightly.

“I have a boyfriend.” You blurted out. “And I love him. So-”

“So that means you can’t have a name? What is this, the 17th century?” Yukhei interrupted you, tone still relaxed, suave.

“What?! No!” You exclaimed, managing to splutter out your name. You turned to your left, looking from Jaehyun for support. Of course, he had completely disappeared, just when you needed him most.

You fiddled with your hands nervously, unsure of how to navigate this new, unforeseen territory. All of your friends had known that you were with your boyfriend for such a long time, that no one bothered even playfully flirting with you anymore. Suddenly, this boy had waltzed in and sent your world spinning on its axis with his stupid lopsided grin and suggestive looks.

“That’s a cute name.” He cocked an eyebrow, titling his head ever so slightly in such a calculated way that you could tell he had done it a thousand times before.

You realised that this was common practice for Yukhei, scoring a conquest to fawn over for a night before discarding them in the morning, leaving a broken heart behind with the rest of the detritus strewn over an apartment floor once packed with people. The fact that you had a boyfriend, that you had made it clear you were not interested, was of little importance to him. The boy had simply never heard the word ‘no’ before.

You felt a small sense of satisfaction that you were about to be Yukhei’s rude awakening.

“Thanks. It means Devil Spawn.” Your face was open, innocent.

Yukhei blanched. “D-devil Spawn? Uh, that’s... “ He tried to regain his facade of confidence. “Kinda freaky, I guess.”

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” He squirmed in your unflinching gaze. “That’s, uh.” A nervous chuckle. “Funny. I dig chicks who are funny.” A hint of a smirk began to return to his cheek.

“My name actually means mother of all demons.” You finally flashed him a sarcastic smile, and stalked off.

You were surprised to realise that Yukhei eventually followed you to the other side of the party. Halfway through catching up with some of your friends from high school, you felt his presence behind you, almost breathing down your neck.

Whipping around irritably, you tried half-heartedly to suppress a grimace. “Do you need something? Can’t find the bathroom?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could show me to the bedroom,” he shot back, not missing a beat, all with that same infuriating smirk.

“Ugh. You’re disgusting.” Glancing at your phone’s lockscreen, you were relieved to discover the half an hour you had pledged to stay was up, and hurried towards the door.

“Wait up, babe! Too soon? I’ll wait ‘til marriage! Or a least, ‘til the second date!” Yukhei yelled, jogged around the clustered bodies in pursuit of your disappearing figure.

Not bothering to even bid Jaehyun a farewell in your haste to leave, you shouted a “Goodbye, Yukhei!” before slamming the door. Leaning against it for a second in relief of having escaped the situation, you muttered to yourself, “And good riddance.”

It was 2:30 on a Sunday afternoon, and you were practically itching to leave your shared apartment. You technically owned the place alone, since your boyfriend didn’t pay rent, but since he spent so much time there rather than at his actual apartment, the two of you basically lived together.

“Sweetie, are you ready?” You called into your bedroom. “I laid out some clothes for you on the bed about an hour ago.”

You heard a grunt come from the open door, and chuckled slightly to yourself. Twirling back and forth in front of the mirror in your living room, you admired your outfit.

Taeil was having a barbecue in honour of the first few days of summer in his huge communal garden, and you weren’t ashamed to admit you were extremely excited. You had convinced your boyfriend to accompany you that afternoon. He had made it clear from when you first started dating, that he didn’t like your friends, and didn’t want to have to spent time with them. However, today, he had agreed to stop by for about an hour, and you were ecstatic. You also knew, with a flutter of guilt, that Yukhei was going to be at the gathering.

You had found the brown-haired boy drifting in and out of your thoughts the past few weeks. Somehow, something about the twinkle in his eye when looking you up and down had been harder to forget than you had anticipated. Each time you caught yourself thinking of him, you pushed the thought to the back of your mind with an overwhelming feeling of wrongdoing.

You decided that your unnerving infatuation was down to the fact he had given you such blatant attention. Your boyfriend had never really been one for romantic gestures, however you had to admit that during the past few months, his affection had dwindled to almost nothing. Sometimes it felt he was more of a tenant in your flat than your actual boyfriend.

However, today was going to turn all of that around. You had bought a new outfit and styled your hair to perfection, spending a copious amount of time on ensuring that you looked nice. And staring into the mirror now, you knew that you looked stunning.

Though you knew it was morally questionable, you were actually kind of relying on Yukhei’s inappropriate advances in order to try and recapture your boyfriend’s affection. Hopefully, he would become jealous of the attention that you were receiving, and suddenly realise that he had been taking you for granted all this time. You sighed at your reflection. Even you could see how flawed your plan was. Nevertheless, you were determined to make the most of an afternoon spent with your friends, relationship drama aside.

You turned, hearing movement from your bedroom, surprised at what you saw. Your boyfriend had emerged from playing video games in your study, still wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants from the previous day.

“Honey, didn’t you see the clothes I put on the bed? There’s still time to change!” You encouraged.

He simply rolled his eyes. “We’re only staying for half an hour anyway. Let’s just get this over with.”

Ten minutes into the barbecue, you found yourself almost as unenthusiastic as your boyfriend. The entire time you had spent walking around and greeting everyone, he had been whispering snide comments into your ear. His nose was way too big, and her skirt was much too short, and the decorations were tacky, and the punch wasn't cold enough, and a million other things you were sure that no one else had noticed. You were irritated, and upset that everything he had pointed out had influenced you as well, now only being able to see the flaws in the people you loved so much. So when you heard a familiar voice calling you from the other side of the room, you were eager to move towards the source.

“Hi, Yukhei.” You tried to suppress a smile. “This is my boyfriend.” You introduced him, glancing between the two men’s faces as if watching a tennis match while they shook hands.

“What’s up, man?” Yukhei was as confident as ever.

“Yeah, uh... Good for you, dude.” Your boyfriend turned the other way.

He had completely ignored the meaningful look Yukhei had shot you when you had first met his eyes. He had completely disregarded the conversation Yukhei had tried to imitate with him. Instead, your boyfriend had decided that the chocolate fountain to his left was much more important than any attempt at being polite.

You sighed, turning back to the boy in front of you, about to apologise on his behalf when you were interrupted.

“Let’s go. The food here is shit.” Your boyfriend commanded offhandedly. You could feel Yukhei stiffen at his imperative language. The tiny, yet obviously negative reaction gave you enough confidence to reply with a contradiction.

“Actually, babe,” You ventured, “I think I’m gonna stay for a bit.”

There was a short pause as both the men next to you absorbed what you had said.

Your boyfriend laughed awkwardly, confused. “But I said we’re leaving.”

“And I said, I'm staying.” You remained resolute.

“I don’t care what the fuck you said!” He exploded. The chatter in the garden died down as everyone turned to see why someone had started shouting.

“I want to see my friends!” You couldn't help but to raise your voice to his level. “You never let me anymore!”

“That’s because they’re all idiots, you’re just too fucking stupid to realise!” Your boyfriend took a step forwards, moving his hands forwards to grab you by the shoulders. The next few moments happened so quickly that you could barely remember what actually went on.

Firstly, you flinched, and started to cower slightly, prepared for the worst as you were caught off guard with his sudden movement towards you. However, before he could even touch you, Yukhei cut through the space between the two of you, forming a physical barrier between you and your boyfriend.

“Hey, man-” He started, politely but firmly, however was once again interrupted by your boyfriend.

“Stay out of this, dude.” He shoved Yukhei slightly. “We’re going,” your boyfriend threatened, leaning around the other boy’s large torso. “If you’re not in the car with me within the next five minutes, don’t bother coming home.”

Humiliated, you watched your boyfriend storm out of the party with cheeks flushed red with shame. The entire party was silent. You could feel Taeil’s concerned eyes on you, but you couldn't even look him in the eye, already guilty about making a scene at his barbecue.

“Are you okay?” You heard a gently voice to your left, and realised that Yukhei was still standing close by you. You looked up into his eyes, suddenly noticing they were a deep shade of brown, softening as his face twisted slightly with worry.

He was being sweet. Too sweet. Something about this Yukhei, a protecting, understanding man contrasted a little too much with the sleazy teenager you had met before. There was no way of telling which version of him was real. You could feel your chest hardening as you started to scowl at him.

“I was doing just fine without you butting in. This wasn't any of your business.” You muttered, making sure to hit him with your shoulder as you barged past him, following your boyfriend out, head hung in humiliation.

You didn’t reply to anyone’s concerned texts that evening, reading them in silence at opposite ends of the table to your boyfriend. You cursed yourself for refreshing your messages so frequently, searching for a text from the one person you had truly upset today. You couldn’t get the image of Yukhei’s expression after you had snapped at him out of your head. He had truly looked upset, and even a little disappointed. Somehow, that image had affected you more than your boyfriend’s stony quiet the entire evening.

You sighed. You knew what you had to do. That didn’t make doing it any easier.

It was barely even 7:30 in the evening on Friday, and you were ugly-crying embarrassingly hard. The tears pouring down your cheeks were mixing with the snot and saliva that covered your blotchy face as your chest heaved up and down with sobs. You were sitting in Doyoung’s spare room, in semi-darkness as you made no attempt to cover up your wailing. The music was playing so loudly that you were confident that no one in the apartment could here you.

It was safe to say that your day had not been going well.

You had broken up with your boyfriend the same day he had tried to grab you at Taeil’s party. Looking back, you couldn’t believe it had taken so long for you to realise how toxic the relationship had been. You also couldn’t believe how completely devastated you were that it was over.

It had been three weeks since the breakup, and you had ventured outside of your now achingly empty apartment for the first time in order to celebrate Doyoung’s birthday. All of your friends had rejoiced the minute you had told them of the end of your relationship, finally being able to freely voice their hatred for your old boyfriend. It was clear now, looking back, that, he truly had been an A* asshole, however, you still found yourself feeling depressed and empty after he finally packed his things. After a few nights spent throwing crumpled tissues at romantic comedies, you had decided to try and put an end to your moping, and become your carefree self once again.

You had thought that you were ready to socialise, however within five minutes of having to sit next to Taeyong’s girlfriend gushing over the amethyst promise ring he had just gifted her, you had excused yourself in order to bury yourself within the coats everyone had shoved in the guest room, and bawl away in peace. You reckoned you had at least another ten minutes before any of the already slightly inebriated guests started to look for you, and so you safely wallowed in your despair.

You were just about to open up the instagram app on your phone to scroll through all the photos of your ex-boyfriend that you had archived, when the door half-opened, and a coat was thrown directly onto your face.

“Hey!” You squeaked at the closing door, more for your own benefit than anyone else’s, as you suspected the partygoer could not even hear you over the SNSD blasting from the living room.

To your surprise, the door re-opened, and an all-too-familiar voice responded. “Hello?”

You huffed, pushing the coat off of your body as you came face to face with Wong Yukhei.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, accusingly.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” He shot back. “I’m not the one hiding in a pile of coats, am-” He stopped himself when he saw the tears trailing down your cheeks. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the question. It could not be more apparent how utterly destroyed you were, sitting snivelling in the dark in a pile of coats while everyone else was partying. “Yep!” You replied sarcastically. “Just peachy.”

Yukhei startlingly did not take the opportunity to tease you. Instead, he shut the door behind him, and flopped down next to you. “Wanna talk about it?”

Although taken aback by his sudden change in personality, not to mention the fact that he somehow knew exactly what you were sad about, you were honestly too drained from crying so much, to really question or protest against it. “Not really. I’m so relieved it’s finally over, so I don’t know why I miss him so damn much.” You sniffed, wiping the mucus from your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, not caring how it might look to Yukhei.

He astonished you with his behaviour for the umpteenth time. “I don't think you miss him, I think you just miss the idea of him. The feeling that you always had someone waiting for you at home, no matter how bad of a person that was. It’s hard, especially because you two were together for so long, to suddenly find yourself alone after such a while. It’s scary, and you miss the security of having someone care about you.”

You were silent for a few minutes, digesting what the boy had just told you. “You know what... I think you’re right. I miss being in love. But honestly, I don’t think I have been for a long time.” You paused again, trying to organise your thoughts. “Hey, how did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Take my emotions, and make them... make sense, I guess.” You let out a wry laugh at your nonsensical sentence.

“I just care about you a lot.” He replied. He said the words in such a casual, matter-of-fact way that you almost missed the meaning behind them.

You turn your head, and are taken aback by how close Yukhei’s face is to yours. He was already looking at you, and your sudden movement meant that you could feel his breath fanning softly over your face.

“What?” You whisper, hardly daring to speak.

“I like you.” He stated, voice lowering to match your tone. “I have since the moment I walked into Jaehyun’s apartment all those weeks ago.”

“W-why?”

He laughs, softly, and you feel something in your stomach stirring, a warmth you’ve felt before, but never allowed to grow or even be acknowledged.

“Because the first thing you say when I confess is ask for proof. Because you didn’t take shit from me when I tried all my usual tricks on you. Because you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before, spunky and witty and...” He struggled to find the right word. “Effervescent. You’re effortless, you’re incredibly strong, and I admire you so much.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t know how to. The compliments that Yukhei gave you so unceremoniously, that seemed to roll off of his tongue so naturally, were unlike anything your ex-boyfriend, or anyone else, for that matter, had ever said.

And suddenly, you understood. You understood why you had been aching slightly even before you broke up with your boyfriend, why you had felt so empty. And now, why when you were lying next to Yukhei in the semi-reality that was an empty room in a houseparty, you suddenly felt more whole than you had in years.

You were snapped back to reality when he started to babble. He had clearly taken your silence as a bad sign, and began to backtrack. “Of course, I want to do this right, when you’re ready. I don’t want to force anything on you, or-”

Yukhei’s voice was muffled by your lips pressing to his. You kissed him, slowly, tenderly, simply enjoying the feeling of intimacy with him. You pulled back after a few seconds, searching his face for a reaction.

“Are you sure it’s not too fast?” He frowned a little, evidently concerned for you.

You smoothed the wrinkles on his brow with your fingertips. “I’m sure. This is what I want. You’re what I want, Yukhei.”

He sighed with happiness, brushing the remains of tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs, cupping your chin within his palms. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Oh,” You grinned, “I think I do.”

And with that, he crashed his lips against yours.

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wavesofinkdrops · 7 years

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Hellfire - part V

First - Previous

A/N: that’s all, folks! After months of excruciating planning, this is the last part - save for the informative post coming afterwards to clarify timeline and link it all to the book. Hope you enjoyed this!

1961 – LONDON, AIRSTRIP ONE London is so very different from what it had been some years ago. One of the first cities to be hit, radiation still had not exactly cleared up. But nevertheless, people desperate to return to their home city had resettled there, and some tentative attempts at shelters had settled here and there in the rubble. Alfred toes a piece of a building out of his way, and walks forward. He constantly has to avoid uneven pieces of stone or rubble that may give out under his foot, but generally finds it easy enough to make his way through. "Where did you say he was?" Alfred asks no-one specifically. "In a safehouse. I've been told he's pretty out of it, confused and afraid," María responds. A smirk spreads on her lips. "Whenever he's more up-to-date, he's very... determined to resist you, no matter the cost."

Alfred looks at her with amusement. "Does he know what state this place is in? Does he think he actually stands a chance in hell?" He turns back to face ahead of him, stepping over what looks like a charred body.

"I think it's more than that – perhaps he's delusioned, or just disconnected from the outside world," Matthew contributes. Alfred looks at him, and thinks the red and black uniform suits him well. It's not the already-standard Thoughtpolice uniform – it's a uniform of leadership, and Alfred's own military uniform and overcoat bear the same colours. Black with a blood-red lining. Once he has to actually blend in a bit more, he'll simply settle with the Inner Party's overalls. But so far, he has no need for those, and appreciates a bit of theatrics. After all, this is the uniform of his very own army leadership. He might as well truly show Arthur who exactly is in control now. "Well, is either of you going to lead the way? I have no idea where we're going, I was told one of you knew," Alfred inquires, and turns to them with an expectant look. "Your job is, after all, collecting information, no?" "Yes, it is." Matthew steps ahead, and Alfred and María follow him. "It's less than two minutes, a few blocks away maybe." Alfred looks at the destroyed surroundings. "A 'few blocks' is a rather... imprecise approximation," he mutters, but doesn't bother to actually make himself heard.

It's not long before they arrive at what seemed to have been a hospital, once upon a time, Matthew stops. Alfred frowns.

"María, go ahead and check the place. We'll be right behind." She walks off, and the moment Alfred is sure she's out of earshot, he grabs Matthew by the shoulder and slams him against the wall. He lets out a pained groan, wincing.

"What is it?" Alfred demands. "Why did you stop?" "It's nothing, I swear, I just thought..." Matthew gasps, Alfred's upper arm coming to press against his chest, almost at his windpipe – a threat.

"Do not lie to me. What. Is. The matter?" Alfred demands more forcefully, pushing more strength towards the wall – towards Matthew.

"This is the hospital – hospital where I – I left – oh God, I left Arthur here, I promised him, I promised him not to fall–"

Alfred's scowl deepens, his anger flaring up. "You thought you could resist me? So what is now, then? Do I need to remind you who won? Who is it you answer to now? Who you obey?” Alfred snarls. "Do I?" "No! No, you won, Alfred, you won – please – let me go, I swear-" Alfred chuckles. "You swear, but you swear to God and you call me Alfred. When we fly back, I seem to have some unfinished business with you, don't I?" Fear flashes in Matthew's eyes, and Alfred releases him. Matthew gasps, gripping onto the wall of the building. "Move it," Alfred commands, and Matthew hurriedly stands upright, and with an unsure footing makes his way into the building. The matter with Arthur is quickly sorted, his deluded shouts and screams ignored by every member of the team present – they'd sent a troop ahead in case there were escape attempts. All in all, the entire matter went by smoothly. Alfred had flown into Occupied Britain that morning. He left Airstrip One once he had sorted a few things out with Arthur. Not all, but going by what he'd done with Matthew and María, solitary confinement for a few months should work miracles.

1963 - UNDEFINED LOCATION, DISPUTED TERRITORIES "This is a rather intriguing ending, is it not?" Ivan grins, dangerous and almost feral, breaking the frail silence that had hung over the three superstates. Alfred laughs, clipped and chilling. "I don't think it's an end." His eyes flicker up to look at Ivan - his cold, powerful eyes. He falls into a chair, with about as much care as before the war; but there's more grace to the movement, a subtlety that must have come with his new form of government. His own government. Subtle, sweet, gentle, a preying tiger. "And to be honest, I think it was pretty predictable," he adds with a tilt of his head. "Oh? So you saw this happening, did you?" The skepticism is clear in Yao's voice, but Alfred just smiles. "Not this, exactly, but something pretty close to it. While I would have preferred it not to happen,..." He makes a vague gesture. "I mean, you," he points at Ivan, "were setting yourself up for world domination, you," he points at Yao, "have been trying to do that before I'd even had a glimpse of the world, and I, on the other hand, just happened to be at the right place, at the right time." Yao scoffs. "With the right weapons." "I believe that point applies to all of us," Ivan says, before pulling out a chair and sitting into it. "And I also believe we agree that the use of atomic weapons proved pointless, yes?" "Can't argue, " Alfred stated, and Yao hums in agreement. "So, what now?" Alfred asks, propping his feet up on the table before balancing his chair on its two back legs. "What do we do now? I mean, no-one's gonna resist us, no-one's gonna do shit to us three - except us three. No-one has weapons, 'cept us, no-one has money, 'cept us, no-one has anything except us. What's the plan? We just get bored right out of our minds?" The two eastern nations look at him in amusement, and Yao laughs. "I can't believe we end up with you as our equal in this. Britain, I would have understood - after all, he was an Empire right up until the very end - until you absorbed his country and imprisoned him in it. But such an impatient, young, -" "Obnoxious, arrogant, brusque, irritating,..." Ivan adds. "- scoundrel like you, who has no experience or idea of what the world really is like, what it can be like, is not fit to dominate a third of the world, in my humble opinion," Yao finishes. Alfred's smile has nothing but grown with the insults thrown at him. "Aw, man, that's just cute." He chuckles, stretching even further in the chair, tilting even further back before bringing himself crashing back forward. He rises from the chair, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Is that what you guys think of me?" He looks at them both with apparent interest. "That I got here, into this room, just by sheer, stupid luck? That I thought it would be funny to press the buttons and see what happens? That my army just kinda did its thing and happened to conquer the largest empire in the world at this point? That I was lucky in how I managed to collapse every single established political institution in every single country I rule over?" Alfred smiles, his tone growing darker with every word. "Nah, wasn't luck." His grin turns to a grimace. "I might not have had a centuries-old plan, and it might have been lucky enough with how the wars just sorta came about - and I didn't have to start them. But I did watch how the both of you dealt with the other countries. I did see the interactions and the undertones. I did have a coupla spies here or there. I did study deeply the different economic, political and military climates in every country I was eyeing. A slow, planned but flexible takeover, none the wiser until I struck the final blow. I learnt from the best, in short, but then added my own twist to fit my purpose." Ivan's eyebrow arches. "And what is that purpose?" "You guys are old as all hell, but I'm not. You've kind of dissociated from your countries by this point, and you can rule it any way you want. Your countries have been through so much that you feel no pain any more. Revolutions, invasions, wars, you've seen it all and felt it all, and it doesn't affect you any more. But I'm still a pretty new country. My people still believe strongly in me. I'm just a bit more defined and close to the original idea of America that I can't. I need to know my people are safe and comfortable, and so I had to find a way to isolate mainland America from the rest of Oceania. So good-bye to a generalised government system that can be applied everywhere, and hello to a hierarchical decentralised society. My country is a place apart from the rest. Take that as you want." Alfred smiles again. There's a silence, where Ivan and Yao contemplate what Alfred had just unveiled to them. They had assumed Alfred would have just followed the same pattern the rest of the world did - but apparently, he had felt the need to preserve his greed for wealth as well as power. "So?" Alfred asks, bringing the both of them to focus once more. "What do we do now?" Ivan shrugs. "What would you suggest? After all, you seem to have it very well planned." Yao hides a laugh, though very unsuccessfully. Alfred doesn't even look at him. "Well, I guess we could keep this going." "This what?" Yao asks. "The war. I know you two have a society based upon the poverty of your lowest class, and you need to have an excuse to preserve that. I have a bunch of war profiteers at home who'd be more than happy if the war drags on." He looks so pleased with himself, and smile in such an arrogant way that the two others have to wonder which one of them really is the most deranged. Ivan looks incredulous. "That works with both Yao's and my system, people kept in the dark and blissfully unaware of the surrounding world, their minds focused on their patriotic duty. But if you have a system similar to or based on your old one - I assume that's the case?" Alfred nods. "How do you think to keep an authoritarian control over your people or your country? They're bound to rise up at some point." As has been seen too many times before. Alfred seems to think for a moment. "It's like... Lemme think of an example..." He walks around back to the table, before his face lights up. "Okay, I got it!" He sits onto the table. "You know how I often start speaking randomly about everything and nothing at the same time, and it pisses everyone off?" Ivan laughs. "I did not know you were conscious of it." "Well, none of you listen to me if I go on long enough." "Yes, five minutes is usually far more than enough." "Imagine that, but constant. Everywhere. All the time. A constant stream of information, data, knowledge, but it's all pointless. You have news in between two adverts, tv-series to distract the mindless, everything commercialised, and it never stops. It's a constant droning, a background noise. You don't know what it would be like without it, but you're not conscious of the fact that it's there. So, you learn to block it out, no-one cares, and so whatever little information you could have gathered gets lost in the rest of the pointless information no-one listens to." Alfred grins at the look the other two are giving him – they're almost impressed. "So, there's the illusion of being free, of having access to it all - but in reality, you know nothing, you care about nothing. I mean, sure, there's gonna be some who listen and care, but not enough of the people around them give a damn for them to be a huge danger. And whatever information they really get,... none of it matters. It's all useless. So, police swoops in because they're a threat to society and planning a coup or whatever and, who's gonna miss them?" There's a momentary silence, and then Yao speaks up, his tone heavy with respect. "I must admit, I gave you less credit than I should have." "People usually tend to do that," Alfred says confidently. "Has anyone ever told you, you are very cocky?" Yao asks. "I think I have reason to be," Alfred says with a grin. "After all, I – we own the world, right?" Ivan laughs. "He does have a point." He shifts in his chair and looks out the window of the room, unto a land almost unrecognisable. "We own the world."

#aph 1984 #1984 au #1984 hetalia #my writings #aph oceania #aph eurasia #aph eastasia #aph america #aph china #aph russia #aph england #aph britain #aph canada #aph mexico #violence #implied torture #war #dark

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7fics · 7 years

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Can I request a markjae wherein can I request a markjae wherein markjae: youngjae is a tourist who just arrived in los angeles and mark is the random skateboard guy he met and they would eventually develop feelings despite of language barriers. fluff :) thank you!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of suicide, probably rated pg-13

Author: Mia

Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: So sorry for this completely veering away from the prompt because Youngjae speaks very fluent English and he’s also a catboy??? for reasons unknown. And also Angst alert. But there’s some fluff as well so I hope that makes up for it. :3

august nights in los angeles are the reason why mark hasn’t moved down to chicago like tyler is always pressuring him to. sure, he misses his best friend of over six years and would like nothing more than to kick it with him on the daily. but it’s the warm breeze blowing across his front porch, tickling the leaves and making them rustle, the taps and crunch of his penny board rutting over smooth sidewalk, and the umami smell that always hits him in the face when he rolls past tj’s skinny dump, the best place for chinese-korean fusion this side of seventh street, that anchors him here. he wouldn’t trade this feeling, the feeling of waking up to home and going asleep to home and being home, for anything in the world.

he usually takes a quick ride after a heavy night of studying to drain the caffeine from his system and wind down enough to get some type of quality of sleep. good or bad, that’s up to the tides and the moon and black magic because it’s finals week and rest comes around in short, clumsy spurts when the exhaustion finally does his ass in.

mark hits up his neighborhood convenience store for some ramen and monster, truly staples of his diet. he microwaves the ramen in some water and stirs in the soup packet, stuffing noodles in his mouth with some chopsticks as he gurgles out a goodbye to the store’s owner mr. den, a wrinkled vietnamese man of sixty-two with a drinking problem and swearing addiction. nevertheless, mr. den fixes his green polo shirt with a rough hand and waves with the other, always a nice dude as long as no one’s asking for any trouble.

the block mark lives on has a reputation of being that ‘rowdy frat block’; true to the rumors, parties happen on a bi-weekly basis, more often during festive seasons, but regular enough as it is. on a good day, they end in some sick-covered laundry to do and booting of wasted stragglers. fortunately, kappa alpha theta is the preferred spot to throw the craziest rangers, as they are sponsored by one of the members’ insanely rich parents and have a huge swimming pool and alcohol bar. parties occasionally break out at delta tau delta and run into the deep night, but they never make campus news for being the best or greatest. which is okay with mark because he gets to sleep in his own bed most nights and rarely faces sick cleanup duty.

even so, parties or any social gathering of any kind are almost unheard of during finals week. the same week responsible, capable students are reviewing for their exams, party-addicted knuckleheads are blowing their brains out to get something done, and in-betweeners like mark are working moderately hard, not sweat inducing, life contemplatively hard, but hard. with the brain and instincts mark has, pursuing a journalism major and korean minor, he finds a nice ratio of him working it and it working him.

this all said, the streets are usually a ghost town by this hour. which is why he finds a hunched body trembling in the orange glow of the streetlight more than an oddity. some part of his brain is urging him to ignore it. superhero mark is nice and all in the daylight, but a creepy dude under a streetlight past midnight is psychopath serial killer territory. he has some exams in the next few days that he probably needs to be alive to take. but another part is telling him, as he gets closer and hears the quiet sniffling coming from the figure, that he doesn’t look like a serial killer at all. if he is, either he’s a real good one, or mark is a damn sucker, or both.

even if mark wants to pass him up, just feet from his house, almost at the finish line, the guy’s shoulders shaking and his endless crying has mark slowing his steps and eventually stopping right where he is.

against all his better judgement, mark says, “hey, you alright man?”

the guy, boy really, once he lifts his head and mark gets a good luck at his soft features and young face, looks up. his glassy eyes find mark in the dusty glimmer of the light and mark sucks in a heavy, important breath as he discerns a current of fear so thick it nearly shocks him. he hopes this isn’t some trick serial killers use to get their victims to soften up, because mark is falling for it, hard.

but what really hits mark like a frigid ocean wave is the velvet, auburn ears twitching softly in his equally dark hair and the matching tail flicking languidly behind him. he’s a catboy. mark’s never met one before. it’s kinda cool. but the situation itself overshadows the revelation.

the young catboy has a bulging backpack weighing on his shoulders, his entire life probably inside, along with a black suitcase on wheels that he’s using as an impromptu seat. if jaebum hadn’t schooled jackson on the finite differences in physiology of the east asian races, after the ladder let his ignorance slip (something not to be done in jaebum’s company) and mark hadn’t been suffering through every waking minute of it with a dead phone battery and no fake appointment to excuse himself to, he wouldn’t be able to tell that this guy looks korean as hell. and by the ‘america rocks’ button pinned to his thin jacket and the sadness in his pretty eyes, mark can tell he’s a tourist that’s having a strike of very bad luck. to mark, los angeles is his home. but to this poor guy it’s a jungle of unfamiliarity and he must be scared shitless.

that’s gotta suck.

“i’m lost,” he admits finally in a heavy accent. mark shouldn’t be thinking that it’s cute and melting a little because he’s still not out of the danger zone. he could be carrying murder tools in his backpack, it’s definitely big enough.

“and they stole my money,” he adds miserably in elaboration. “i have no money, and i’m lost. i’m stupid.”

“you’re not stupid,” mark can’t help but say, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand holding his black plastic bag, fingers looped through the handles. “uh, what’s your name?”

the guy clears his throat, sucking up his sniffles. “youngjae. choi youngjae.”

“nice to meet you, youngjae. i’m mark.” don’t tell him your last name, idiot. i swear for the love of all that’s good and pure, don’t- “mark tuan.” he points behind him, kind of guessing the direction so he has his eyes on youngjae, gauging his comprehension of the situation. “that’s my frat over there. since you don’t have money, you can crash there tonight and we can figure things out in the morning. what do you say, youngjae?”

youngjae looks troubled, uncomfortable. “how do i know you’re not going to harvest my organs and sell them on the black market?”

mark is equal parts amused and deeply mortified. “american television is crap. it’s all crap, okay? read books, youngjae. i promise not to harvest your organs and sell them on the black market. so come, yeah? i’d hate to have you sitting out here because i can guarantee i’m the nicest person you’ll encounter in downtown la in the middle of the night.”

youngjae’s eyebrows furrow in thought. he casts one long glance at the street before turning back to the hand mark has out stretched to him, a very transparent question: risk it for a cool bed or play it safe and end up roaming downtown la in the dead of night, susceptible to god knows what? for some reason, when youngjae takes mark’s hand and allows him to pull him up, he gets a weird sense of accomplishment, as if youngjae hadn’t just chose short-time survival over very possible long-term suffering.

“let me get that.” mark pulls up the handle of youngjae’s suitcase and rolls it alongside them as they walk, closing the distance between the street and the house with each anticipated step. mark has clocked out his good deed meter and is ready for some blissful, air-conditioned sleep. again, up to the moon and the tides and good ole’ black magic. but nobody can tell him not to dream.

“why are you out here, youngjae?” mark asks curiously as they step through the front gate, barb wire swinging closed with a clink and clack, whining like the antique it is.

“america is very beautiful,” youngjae says wistfully, slight smile visible underneath the porch light as it hums to life. “i’ve read about america in books as a child. the land of opportunity. i never thought i’d get to go. then my mother committed suicide just a month ago. i dropped out of university and worked full time at a cafe, saving money to come here. looks like i’m back at square one.” his coy smile doesn’t hide the tsunami of pain roaring in his eyes, suddenly too much for mark as he looks away.

“i’m sorry...uh, about your mom,” he mutters uselessly. “i’m sure she’s in heaven.”

“or hell,” youngjae blurts out unceremoniously. “suppose you go to hell for that sort of thing. or purgatory. maybe she’s there.”

all other generic, commercialized words of condolence burn at the back of mark’s throat, dying right where they are, cold, metallic niceties that slide down as heavy as iron and drop resolutely into his gut. he coughs out a meaningless “yeah”, like he gets it. he doesn’t.

this is weird.

they walk inside. as jackson is the only one with a car, there’s no way to tell if the others are home. mark’s quiet anyway. always is.

“this is the living room,” he says, and flips a table lamp on. light blooms in the crowded space. the black, suede pull-out couch is swimming in clothes, a mixture of clean and not. empty cans of monster and beer litter the squat coffee table, rings of moisture already leaving their presence on this little piece of the earth where jackson lives to irk mark’s patience. he always tells that slob to get tidy or get out. of course since mark holds no ownership over the house he’s a little out of his jurisdiction to call those types of shots, so jackson mostly ignores him. but he still says it and occasionally jackson likes to play human, doing human things like having some dignity and not crapping where he eats.

mark points to the darkened room right off the living room, left of the staircase, “kitchen”, and then to the room left of that one, “first floor bathroom. help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you clean up. i hate messes because no one cares enough to fret but me. need anything and i’ll be upstairs, preferably sleeping but probably not.”

for the first time since he’s seen him, youngjae actually smiles. not a tight grin or nervous twitch of his lips, but a real smile. the kind of smile that is raw and panic inducing and something mark wants to lock in a box forever.

“thanks, mark.” youngjae drops his backpack on the floor and goes over to the couch. mark regains his senses in time to run over and knock all of the clothes on the floor, pulling out the couch into a bed and dragging some pillows and a comforter from the surrounding furniture to make it look somewhat like a decent place to sleep and not just a filthy couch stained with caffeine and virginity.

“no problem.” he waits awkwardly as youngjae toes out of his shoes and lies his jacket aside in quiet task, content.

“do you need some sleep clothes?” mark asks, surveying youngjae’s remaining cotton graphic tee and blue jeans.

youngjae smiles meekly. “would it be trouble?”

“not at all. wait here, okay?” mark goes up the stairs, all nervous and jittery for some reason. he bangs around oafishly in his black room for a few minutes, not having the sense to turn on some light as he focuses on finding youngjae something comfortable to sleep in. he finally decides on some green basketball shorts and a plain white sleeveless shirt.

this is weird, mega weird. he’s letting a stranger sleep in his house, wear his clothes. jaebum’s gonna chew him out for this. it’s almost not worth the headache. he goes back downstairs and hands youngjae the stuff.

“thanks.” youngjae does that thing again where he smiles and mark doesn’t know what to do with the raw and genuine sensation.

“yeah, sure.” oh, jaebum’s definitely gonna chew him out.

he goes back up to his room and collapses in his bed. whatever happens in the morning is for the morning. the caffeine cleanse apparently worked, as he passes out much sooner than expected.

* * * *

“yo, tuan!”

mark rolls over in his bed, groaning at the bomb of luminescence bathing his room in unrepentant shine, unamused. if jaebum didn’t haunt his dreams on a regular enough basis he wouldn’t be doubting his actual presence. but after a door--his door--slams open, mark groans again, but no longer doubts that the real jaebum is in his room, and angry for some reason lost to his drowsy conscious.

“tuan, i swear to god-”

“jaebum,” mark says in a mock conversational tone, sitting up and kicking his thin sheet off his legs, blinking his eyes open slowly. “to what do i owe this unexpected visit?”

“i could say the same,” jaebum grits out, livid. “what’s a stranger doing on my couch?”

that’s when the gears get spinning and mark looks over at his seething friend, who has what he remembers to be youngjae’s bag gripped roughly in one hand, the other screwed on his hip in impatience. mark understands why he’s mad, knows there’s a dude sleeping on their couch who could still be a serial killer despite his completely disarming smile and shy tendencies. but he’s not one to lose to jaebum.

so he says, “you mean our couch?” even if just to save face.

as expected, jaebum is less than amused at the quip. “i’ll give you two seconds to talk, dumpling face. who is that guy?”

mark stands up finally, and shivers off the rest of his sleep. he refuses to flinch at jaebum’s unrelenting glare. “his name is youngjae. he’s a kid from korea, and he got mugged last night, so i let him sleep here. i couldn’t just leave him outside so something worse could happen to him, jaebum. that’s just cruel.”

jaebum visibly softens, the grip on youngjae’s bag handle loosening and his stare melting a bit, not as hot and unforgiving as before. “he understood you?”

“yeah.” mark shrugs. “he speaks perfect english.”

“dammit, mark.” jaebum’s frustrated more than mad now, which really is an approvement. “you couldn’t be your normal nonchalant i-don’t-a-flying-fajita self?”

“flying fajita?” mark stage whispers.

“whatever.” jaebum waves him off, tossing him the bag which mark catches easily. “take care of it. if he’s going to be staying indefinitely, i want some background info.”

“got it.” mark nods firmly.

“you’re just a regular ole’ clark kent,” jaebum grumbles to himself all the way to his room, closing the door and leaving mark standing in his open doorway with youngjae’s bag and at a loss for what to do next. he loops the bag over one shoulder and pads down to the living room. his fear of youngjae possibly being awake to suffer jaebum’s wrath and feel all unwanted is dissipated when he sees that youngjae is still in deep sleep, half of his face buried in the pillow, softly twitching ears and rising back the only sign of movement. he then sneaks a peek over at the den adjacent to the living room. jackson is knocked out, pacified in slumber by some beer that reeks its way all the way over here.

mark crinkles his nose and moves closer to youngjae, dropping the bag softly as he takes a tentative seat at the sleeping boy’s feet, gazing curiously at his peaceful face. youngjae looks so young that mark is immediately guilty for some reason. he has these soft looking, peach-hued lips and a cute nose. being able to stare so intently, mark also notices a beauty mark under his left eye--well, mark’s left, but youngjae’s right. he’s very pretty; so pretty that mark is lost in him, only aware that he’s being just a bit creepy when those sweet eyes blink open and fix him a perplexed stare.

“uh, sorry.” mark backs up, actually blushing like some chastised schoolgirl. youngjae barely responds, still mostly sleep, only blinking curiously at mark so blankly that mark is forced to ask his next question. “how old are you, youngjae?”

“18,” youngjae says sleepily, rubbing his eyes and fixing to sit up. he’s a baby, mark thinks solemnly to himself.

“you graduated early?” mark asks after remembering some stuff jaebum told him about the age of university in korea being 20 instead of 18 like in the states. he smiles. “you must be smart.”

“dumb enough to get robbed,” youngjae answers cynically. mark’s smile vanishes. he doesn’t know what to say to follow that up. move on.

“do you know anyone out here?” mark asks. “anyone you can call, or ask for a favor?”

“it was really a whim decision,” youngjae admits sheepishly. “i hated being in that apartment by myself. everything reminds me of her. her clothes, her bills, her favorite spot on the couch. everything smells like her.”

mark is really at a true loss when youngjae becomes visibly shaken, choking up on his words and eyes watering. if mark is good at anything, it’s giving people space and letting the dust settle. but he can’t exactly leave youngjae while he’s on the brink of crying, doesn’t want to leave him. he wants to hug him and whisper hushed comforts until he stops crying and making mark feel like an unfeeling ogre as he continues to sit by and do nothing.

who has he let into his house?

“youngjae,” mark says gently, biting his lip in awkward anticipation. “come here.”

youngjae looks up at him then, glassy eyes the same ones that had warped him the night before when mark first saw him, sitting like a sad puppy on the curb and waiting for a sucker like mark to stroll by. his bottom lip is trembling a little, and mark cracks at that. youngjae inspects mark’s open arms for a moment, not too sure what to do with him, and then, to mark’s bittersweet triumph, actually crawls into them.

youngjae sits cross-legged next to him, head cushioned on mark’s shoulder as the man rubs his back, hating the hiccups and shivers that rattle through him. mark’s never been the most clever or timely with words, so he keeps his mouth shut until youngjae calms some time after, shoulders stilling and crying fading into the early morning birds’ orchestra.

“i’m sorry,” youngjae whispers in a quiet rasp. “you don’t even know me. i don’t know you. but look what i’m doing in your house. i really am stupid for coming here. you know, the really sad thing is i realize that after i’ve had my money stolen and have no way to get back. i’m an idiot. i’m so stupid. i’m the biggest dummy-”

he’s knocking his knuckles against his temple so hard that mark worries he’ll crack something, and he swoops in to grab his wrist impulsively. the boy looks up at him quizzically.

“you’ll hurt yourself,” mark answers his unasked question. “and you’re not stupid. you’re grieving. you can stay here as long as you need, or want. as long as you want.”

youngjae smiles finally. “you’re really nice, hyung.”

mark stiffens unintentionally. “hyung?”

“is that not okay?” youngjae sits up in a flash, face suddenly contorted in panicked apology. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. it’s just, i’m pretty sure you’re older than me. is it weird? should i just call you mark?”

“no, no, no.” mark laughs. “hyung is okay.”

youngjae’s smile returns, and mark knows it’s gonna be the end of him one day.

that’s when jackson’s loud grunt breaks through the peaceful silence, taking youngjae’s attention, something mark didn’t think he would mind until now (because he does).

“jesus fu-”

“idiot.” jaebum comes skipping skipping down the stairs with a joyful smirk, books ladening his arms and backpack slung on his shoulder. he looks much happier than about ten minutes ago. he must have a stash of chocolate in his room. mark wouldn’t put it past him.

“who’s this?” jackson’s irritated frown turns into a curious smile at the sight of youngjae. he’s looking at him the way the man looks at anyone he’s preparing to swoon, and for some reason mark is ready to spring between them because of it. he doesn’t, though. they just met. mark has no claim over this beautiful catboy named youngjae.

that would be weird.

“youngjae,” mark says a bit sullenly, already resigned to this quiet fate. “he flew from korea.”

“i didn’t fly,” youngjae interjects, looking over at mark.

“bus then…?”

“some very nice men and women drove me here,” youngjae says vaguely. mark’s eyebrows pinch.

“you hitchhiked?” mark’s voice raises before he has any control over it, almost hysterical in that instant. “youngjae, that’s so dangerous. you can’t just trust anyone. strangers are off limits, okay?”

“you’re a stranger,” youngjae says cheekily, a very clear smile on his face. mark is disarmed for a very long second, again at a loss for what to do with youngjae. this strange catboy who is lying on his pullout couch, apparently an orphan (though he’s not sure about his dad, maybe that’s too personal though). he doesn’t know what to do with any of it.

“i don’t count,” mark says after a long time.

“okay.” youngjae shrugs indifferently, faint smile still etched on his lips.

* * * *

somehow, mark is able to convince jaebum that youngjae is not a serial killer, despite his own doubts, and he has agreed to let him stay indefinitely. youngjae has his own special magic. maybe it was between the behind-ear-scratches and the content purring; regardless, jaebum and jackson are both infatuated. jackson is more vocal, but when is jackson not more vocal in general?

mark is happy. he really is. but he has no idea what he’s doing at all. youngjae seems fine, most of the times. he’s smiling and munching on jaebum’s secret stash of chocolate (which jaebum doesn’t mind at all, the discrimination!) and being all obliviously cute as he floats around in mark’s slightly too big clothes like everything’s hunky dory.

(it’s not.)

then he’s crying quietly in a corner of the bathroom before startling as mark purposely clears his throat, feigning ignorance as he stomps inside to throw a thin greeting his way.

he thinks they have built up a system that isn’t perfect, but functions somewhat smoothly. youngjae vents to himself, and mark intrudes after some time to keep him from drowning in his own anguish. it’s good. it’s a good system.

then the systems breaks about a week after that.

one day mark actually does walk in on him as he’s crying far too quietly to even be picked up. mark doesn’t even notice him until he’s halfway in his room, shirt already off and hand digging around in his drawer for something less sweaty.

their ac’s old and uncooperative sometimes.

youngjae is wrapped up in mark’s blankets despite the increasing wave of heat blowing through the house, lasting as long as the ac decides to spazz. his ears are flattened against his fluffy hair and he looks so small and sad that a piece of mark dies. the older’s puny desire to hurriedly pull on another shirt to cover his bare torso is disintegrated under the need to move closer to youngjae. which he does.

his shirt is dropped somewhere on the floor on his way to the bed.

“hyung,” youngjae sniffles quietly, big, pretty eyes full of tears.

“do you want me to leave?” mark asks stagnantly. he doesn’t want to at all. but if youngjae says so then he will.

“no.” youngjae shakes his head while looking all vulnerable and hurt. mark slides in next to him, pulling him instinctively into his lap without fretting if this is too intimate. youngjae wraps around him. the top of his head slots perfectly against mark’s warm throat and the little breaths he’s blowing from his nose tickle the skin there. the boy’s tail floats down across mark’s thigh and coils loosely.

“your mom?”

“my mom.”

“what was she like?”

“sometimes she was mean to me,” youngjae breathes unsteadily, wet cheeks signalling to mark that he’s crying again, or more, since he never really stopped before. “she called me mean names and hit me. dissociative identity disorder, the doctors called it. it’s like she had more people than just her living in her head. sometimes she was really nice. she baked my favorite cookies and rocked me to sleep. then she was being mean again, pulling my tail and tugging my ears until i was so dizzy that i passed out. when i woke up she would often be crying with a new batch of cookies in the oven. she was my best friend and my worst enemy.”

“youngjae, i’m--uh, youngjae--”

“you don’t have to say anything, hyung,” youngjae whispers. “can you please just hold me?”

so marks shuts his mouth, which is the best decision he’s ever made in his life, and holds youngjae in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. he’s not sure if that’s okay at all. but youngjae purrs like he does when he really likes something, and so mark doesn’t apologize about it.

* * * *

taking him sightseeing had been made a thing with jaebum’s offhanded suggestion and youngjae’s enthusiastic approval of the idea. he sees how youngjae slugs around the house in boredom, pressed thin between the thoughts of his mother, which are so obvious mark can almost drown in them along with him, and youngjae’s own restlessness.

mark is more than apprehensive about it all because as much as the right side of la can be a plethora of all good things; the bad side can be the complete opposite.

even though mark doesn’t mind seeing youngjae walk around in his clothes, small frame swallowed by the fabric, loves it actually, he would rather other people never have the pleasure. he takes the boy shopping at a high-quality and wallet friendly shop in the mall as a segue to the afternoon leg of their downtown adventure.

the morning had been a rush of breakfast, window shopping, and youngjae touching everything they passed, never letting a single thing go without mulling over it first, endlessly excited and curious and so new to everything. mark thinks he’ll fall asleep to youngjae’s voice going ‘what’s this?’ and ‘what’s that?’ and ‘is that what this thing does?’ because he’s heard it enough to absorb the sweetly pitched tones into his bloodstream. as if he needs anymore of youngjae running through his system than there already is.

“hyung!” youngjae tugs his arm and drags him over to a shop after they’re done picking out a few bags of nice, cheap clothes that should get youngjae by for at least a few weeks, paired with items from mark’s wardrobe since he won’t ever get over seeing youngjae wear his clothes.

mark isn’t partial to shops with ‘pink’ or ‘stuffed’ in the name just because those things creep him out. also, his sisters used to force him into dresses and makeup when he wasn’t old enough to toddle away by himself, so the trauma’s still there. he’ll brave if for youngjae, though.

he’d brave so many things for youngjae.

“isn’t this one cute?” youngjae holds up this bear thing with freakishly huge eyes and the cheesiest smile mark has ever seen. it’s this pastel purple color that makes the older’s skin crawl. it’s not only cute, but creepily so. killer china doll cute.

“yeah…” mark lies uncomfortably, trying to appease youngjae’s smile with a tight grin. “really cute.”

“you hate it.” youngjae drops the thing with a sigh. his eyes search around quickly after that, widening in delight when he sees something else he likes. he rushes over and mark trudges along behind him.

“what about this one?” he holds up a baby blue pikachu with white blushing cheeks. it’s actually cute and doesn’t look like something he’d open his eyes to at 2am trying to harvest his insides. because mark tends to be as easy to read as black and white print, his approval spills out onto his face and youngjae beams.

mark actually gets the thing because his tight wallet becomes a little looser with youngjae giving him these pretty pouty eyes and pushing his bottom lip out like the sun will stop shining or water will stop being wet if he doesn’t get this blue fuzz thing with the white cheeks, ears twitching something furious.

they have a pair of burgers and fries at the food court before leaving for their next stop. mark won’t forget how youngjae looks at everything like it’s earth’s saving grace, can’t forget how the sweet kitty touches everything with an innocent wonder and amusement not easily replicated by hands that have touched and eyes that have seen and chests that have burned for reasons beside the scorching love for one’s love lost.

the original plan had been to catch the fireworks at six, grab some snack to take home, and be done with their adventure. however, mark’s perfectly scheduled conclusion to their day is derailed when youngjae stops him as they’re walking over to the park, pointing excitedly at a crowd of people huddled around something. upon wandering closer, mark recognizes this man as the one that usually sets up his street magic a few blocks from his house and amuses groups with tricks difficult enough to entertain the average person, but simple enough that mark was able to memorize them in just a month after a dumb bet with jackson that cost him time better spent. he’s not at all impressed, but youngjae is engrossed, gasping generously enough for the man to come closer and let him get a better look at some tricks.

“is it that fun, youngjae?” mark asks with an easy grin, never not fascinated by how the kitty manages to find boundless excitement in the near mundane.

“look at that!” is youngjae’s enthused reply, eyes sparkling and hands mimicking the man’s motions sloppily, completely focused. that’s when mark thinks to himself, infatuated beyond belief, that if spring were a person, it’d be youngjae. he has such a fresh attitude; that paired with his teeming exuberance and virginal glee towards most of anything has mark swooning, falling so hard he’ll need someone to scrape him off of where’s melted in a puddle for this sweet, pretty catboy with bright eyes and a childishly pure trust in others.

dammit, dammit, dammit.

as they’re walking home mark is internally pleased at how they can still still see the fireworks from across the lake and youngjae is ‘oohing’ and ‘ahing’ again as if he has the sole power to see everything in existence through rose-colored glasses. he wants to ask youngjae how he’s feeling about his mom and just talk to him to see if he’s still hurting because mark gets sappy at the curling at dusk when the warm wind is whistling past his ears and making everything loose and quietly blissful. he also wants to press him into his chest and kiss his cute, squishy face until everything else loses all meaning. the only concrete necessity being youngjae cradled in mark’s arms.

none of these things come to pass because youngjae slips his hand in mark’s and the older forgets how to breathe momentarily, exhaling when he needs to inhale and almost passing out before he gets the hang of it again. he spares a sideways glance in the kitty’s direction to see his tail swaying happily in the breeze and a soft smile on his clear, bright face.

not to be dramatic or anything, but it’s a smile that could cure the world of all of its impurities.

“can i stay with you?”

mark startles at youngjae’s honey-slick voice, staring down at him more focused. he must look like a puppy on a leash, but he’s okay with it being youngjae who’s seeing him like this, will always be.

“can i stay with you, hyung? for a long time?” he asks again, tightening his grasp on mark’s hand just the slightest and blinking up at him like this is all he needs. mark doesn’t even need to think, doesn’t care about the implications or strings attached because it’s youngjae.

“for a long time.”

and he really fucking means it.

#markjae #got7 #character:mark #character:youngjae #author:mia #genre:angst #genre:fluff #genre:romance

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anythingspossible-foraposs-blog1 · 7 years

Text

Octopus || Octoclam ft. Ana

Kim goes to Urs’ to give her a Christmas present only to find Urs in a compromising situation. Awkwardness Ensues. Nothing is solved. There’s an octopus named Gerald.

A/N: This is backdated to like before Christmas because Kirby and I are terrible with completing terrible, hurtful things in a timely manner

Kim

It was a bright Saturday morning, the first of the Christmas break. Kim had just finished getting ready. Urs had texted Kim yesterday about hanging out this morning and maybe ordering food to her place (of course this also came with the assumption that they wouldn’t be leaving Urs’ flat for the day, which was fine with Kim. They had plenty to do. And by plenty, it was mostly just each other).

She was pretty casual today, plus the fact that they lived down the hall from each other was pretty convenient in not having to deal with the burden of outerwear choices that came from the snowy weather. Clad in a dark v neck with her flannel over it and jeans, Kim grabbed the rectangular package all neatly wrapped in wrapping paper holding Urs’ Christmas present (well, at least one of them. It was kind of more of a decoy present from the real thing) and tucked it under her arm. She’d spent quite a while crafting it, and it was kind of dumb and a little childish but she figured Urs would appreciate it or at least get a laugh from it.

The redhead made her way down the hall, stopping at the familiar door and knocking. She couldn’t help the smile on her face that she got when she was with the painter. Honestly, it was a little bit embarrassing. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, present behind her back as she waited for Urs to open the door. After a few moments, she decided to try the door, a lot of times Urs just kind of left it unlocked when she knew Kim was stopping by. Sure enough the door was unlocked and she pushed through, shutting it behind her. When she turned, to be honest, she almost dropped the present in shock. She wasn’t ready for what she saw.

Urs

Sometimes, after the street lamps had come on, Ursula would call someone for company. Most times, that company came in the form of one of two people: Kim Possible or Anastasia Tremaine. If someone were to ask the artist her reasoning for texting one girl the same night she had made a kind of sort of date with the other, her answer would have been very frank:

She was horny.

It was truly amazing to Urs that her body could keep up with her sex drive, and Kim’s strength, and Ana’s teeth. Nevertheless, Urs trucked right along, keeping her hand down someone’s pants at least four times a week. And what was most disturbing was that wasn’t even nearly as often as she wanted it. Sometimes if she squinted at herself in the mirror or counted all of the scratches or bite marks on her skin, she could hear a voice in her head telling her that she might have an actual problem. And then she would stifle that voice by shoving her head between someone’s thighs

Sunlight had only just begun trickling through the blinds when Ana removed herself from beneath the paint smeared and resewn comforter. Urs had groaned, reached out to try and pull the girl back. You know, for the warmth. Not long after, Ana had pulled the warm blanket completely off of Ursula’s body, much to the painter’s dismay.

“Just because you have to leave doesn’t mean that I have to get up,” she’d protested, swinging her bare legs over the side of her once warm bed. The flannel she’d worn the night before draped over her shoulders, each button left undone. Ana had quipped back with something that Urs hadn’t quite registered before sauntering across the room to kiss the half-sleeping girl.

And, just as Urs thought that things would get steamy again, she heard her door open.

The painter groaned as Ana pulled away quickly, assuming it had been Gogo barging in for a movie or something. But then Anastasia chuckled. The sound made Urs’s eyes widen a little, because it had been low and rumbling and a bit scary. Hot, really, but it meant horrible things in the moment. When she poked her head around Ana’s body and her eyes fell on Kim’s wide eyes, she felt her heart drop to the soles of her feet.

Because she had forgotten. Maybe twenty, thirty, hell maybe even ten minutes after asking Kim to hang out, Ursula had forgotten and called Ana to hook up. If she’d thought it a thousand times before, this was the time that it rang the loudest in her mind- Ursula had a problem.

No amount of charisma could save this situation, especially not since Ana, spying a prime opportunity to- stake her claim? Mark her territory? Intimidate someone?- be a right bitch, glided right up to the girl in the doorway, muttered the word “Red,” and brushed past Kim. She physically bumped her shoulder into the girl as she left the room, and Ursula thought that that marked the end of everything.

For one of the first times in her life, Urs felt like curling up in her bed and dying. This was, quite obviously, some kind of joke or nightmare or hallucination. Maybe Ana had slipped her something in her sleep. But the way that Kim was staring at her now was very solid evidence that this had not, in fact, been a dream.

It was too early for this.

“Um… Wow. Morning?”

Kim

Kim Possible was not one who got flustered or surprised easily. And yet, here she was flustered and surprised. This was how she and Urs were. Kim didn’t understand why she could never actually find any balance or footing between them, not that she should, they were supposed to just be having fun, Kim had no claim to anything. But as her heart dropped down into her stomach, falling from the shining optimistic pedestal it sat on in her chest, it certainly seemed to point to something more than just fun.

Kim had no words, she just watched in shock. She really shouldn’t be shocked though should she? She was aware of Ana. She knew who she was. She knew Urs had a sexual connection with her almost as much, if not more, than with Kim. She didn’t, however, know how ridiculously beautiful Ana was until the girl was practically up close and personal in her face.

She had walked in on a moment. A private moment in which Kim saw the way Urs looked at Ana. The way her body moved to get more of Ana. The want she had for the blonde. And it made her feel very second fiddle in it all. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She hadn’t felt like this either until she saw her competition materialized in front of her. She wished she could just fade back into the ignorance of not knowing all of this. Wipe the slate clean again. Unsee the way they were together, but that was impossible even for a Possible.

The redhead wasn’t one to back down from a confrontation, but when Ana purposely bumped into her, she wasn’t herself. The nickname she’d so commonly heard from Urs’ lips fell from hers, and it somehow just tarnished the whole thing. It sounded wrong. Stupid. Childish. That Kim would let Urs call her that. And she became increasingly aware of how stupid and childish it was that she was holding a gift wrapped present to give to Urs rather than some form of lingerie or something. She was just embarrassed and all she wanted to do was throw the package as far away from her as possible and claim it wasn’t hers, but Urs had already seen her with it. So she was stuck.

And then Urs spoke. Honestly, it may have been the voice that wrapped everything up for Kim. It was the same voice she heard in the morning after they’d been going at it all night. Raspy, sleep filled, adorable. And Kim just felt a crack in her armor form, one she wanted to immediately repair.

“I..” She tried to search for the words in this awkward situation. Her voice was kinda squeaky so she cleared her throat. “Um, I guess you forgot huh.” She smiled at her, though it really wasn’t as genuine and sparkly as they normally were. She was trying to joke about it, when really all she wanted to do was throw this experience as far away as possible along with the present in her hands. She fidgeted with the gift wrapped package. Her childish little Christmas present to the girl she knew didn’t have much of a Christmas most years. She had to give it to her now, obviously. She’d seen it. She knew it was there. Kim couldn’t play it off. So she held up the present and added weakly, trying to still seem excited about her opening her gift. A gift she’d worked pretty hard on. “I.. Merry Christmas?”

Urs

In fear of sounding overly dramatic, Ursula kept to herself just how soul-crushing it felt when her eyes found Kim’s. So many times she had seen those eyes, those blue-green oceans of kindness and care and, sometimes, lust, and now they were verging on stormy waters.

Urs felt like her heart was kind of breaking, if she had one of those.

But she didn’t want to show that, didn’t want to prove to herself that maybe, just maybe, she’d had feelings before now. Because she didn’t, she couldn’t. If she did that then she would hurt Kim. She’d hurt herself. And neither of them deserved that. They were just friends. Friends with really fun benefits.

Benefits like Christmas gifts, it seemed.

Ursula had planned from the very first time Kim had, ahem, hung out at Ursula’s place that her Christmas gift would be the first painting that she’d ever done of the cheerleader. There had been others she’d done, arguably, better than that one, but the first had been special to Ursula. And, in turn, she’d hoped that it would be special to Kim. Because Kim was special to her, too. Really and truly she was, whether Ursula, with her stunted emotions and complete lack of communication skills, was good at showing that or not.

The painting had been completely finished a day or two after the day Kim had ripped her blanket (which, by the way, was something that Ursula thought fondly of. Being so good in bed that your partner literally rips the blankets is hot, super strength or lack thereof). It had been a near casualty in the Great Paint War, leaving a bright yellow glob of pigment on the bottom left side.

Now, the spot held a little message: “for Red” and her signature above the date “21 November, 2016.” Kim’s face was tilted down, bright hair falling over her face slightly, a brilliant pink spread across her cheeks and nose. The background had been one of Ursula’s favorite things to paint that year (second to her private investigator friend’s bag of gummy bears). It was a wall of ivy, all deep and light and bright shades of green, some brown and faded, some dark bricks peeking through the vines.

It was beautiful, Urs knew, but it did Kim no justice. And, now, seeing that face in such a different scene, Urs wanted to break into a run. Maybe she should leave Swynlake now. She bet that, if she played her cards right, that Nameless Goddess of hers would run off with her.

And then, Kim had handed her the gift. It was wrapped up neatly, in just the way that Kim would wrap a gift. Urs glanced at the painting, unframed (because artists so oft are poor), with a little red bow stuck onto the top corner. She should have wrapped it, she’d thought, but she hadn’t really considered it until the wrapped box was in her hands.

She held the package for a moment, really telling herself that crying would not make this any better. “Uh, yeah,” she mumbled, gesturing toward the painting leaning against the wall on her desk. “Merry Christmas.” Her smile was small, still ashamed a bit. Suddenly, without disturbing the pretty paper folded around the box she stood, set it back on the bed behind her.

“I’m… gonna shower. Please…” Teeth sunk into her bottom lip, brows furrowed. “Stay. I’m sorry I forgot. I’m sorry.”

Kim

Kim always felt to innocent and childish around Urs. Like she wasn’t ever really on an equal playing field. Kim Possible was no prude, that’s for sure, but something about the way Urs spoke and acted made her feel like she just wasn’t quite there.

Ana was there though.

Just by the dazed look she saw on Urs’ face and the way she seemed to not want to let the girl go (because she very obviously had been leaving, her clothes were all in the right place and Urs was still in a state of disarray), Kim could tell that she wasn’t where Ana was. And for once, the thought crossed her mind that maybe she never would be.

Instantly she swatted that away and told herself that she shouldn’t care. She knew Ursula and Ana were hanging out just as frequently as she and the artist were. Urs had others too. Kim wasn’t deaf. She heard plenty around down about the painter flirting in hallways and coffee shops and all sorts of other places. It was a small town, Urs got around and the news of her getting around travelled even faster than she did.

So why did it send a weird pang of hurt and embarrassment through Kim’s body and straight to her heart at the sight of the two of them? She didn’t want to find out.

She handed over that present in the end, because what else was she going to do? She’d spent so much time on it and Urs had already seen the gift wrap that she was stuck giving her the gift. Her carefully crafted and gift wrapped present that kind of took her a whole week to make given her ridiculously busy schedule and balancing her free time between making the present and their romps in Urs’ flat. She watched the way Urs held her present as if it was going to shatter into a million pieces at her touch and then Urs looked at her the same way before gesturing to the painting in the corner.

Kim’s heart ached from being jerked in a million different ways. She looked at the painting and didn’t recognize the beautiful woman in it. A beautiful mature woman with the same hair as her. It couldn’t be her, she was just a kid. She looked back to Urs mirroring her small smile and nodded reassuringly, “Yeah… don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Go shower.”

As Urs slipped off towards her bathroom, Kim moved to where the painting was. Her fingers grazed over the bow in the top corner with a certain fondness, Urs had thought to at least give it a bow which was a nice touch. She sat down in front of the painting, head on her hand as she stared at what was supposed to be her reflection. Kim didn’t recognize it. The beautiful coloring of the hair, the vines that wound down along behind her, the rosy blush of her cheeks. If she hadn’t seen the beginning stages of the painting and known this was done by Urs who made no painting mistake in her opinion, she would’ve said it wasn’t her.

Artists paint what they feel. What they see out of people. And so, Kim ran her eyes over the woman in the painting. Trying to figure out what Urs saw in her. Not that Kim didn’t know she was a catch. Obviously she knew that. She knew she was attractive and had a good personality and ambitious and all of that. But so was Ana (well, minus the personality bit but maybe when she wasn’t being a total bitch she was decent, Kim didn’t really know how Ana acted around Urs. It could be totally different). And so her eyes wandered across every brush stroke and drop of paint looking for an answer.

She didn’t know how long she spent staring at the painting, seeing the personality and craftsmanship of her more than friend. Her eyes came to the bottom of the painting and she bit her lip, smiling fondly at the paint splotch and their first time. Red. Urs had insisted on calling her that. Normally, she didn’t like it, but from Urs? It just sort of seemed to flow. And at least it was better than Kimmy or Kimmy cub. She touched the lettering of Ursula’s signature, fingertips moving along grooves and indents like she was reading braille. It was all just very Urs, so no wonder Kim loved her gift.

She just hoped that Urs didn’t laugh too hard at hers.

Urs

Steam filled Ursula’s senses as she tried, desperately, to wash Ana off of her. It was like the girl’s scent was stuck, lingering inside her nose or settled just beneath her skin. Urs didn’t want that, not while Kim was around. Maybe if the water was just a little hotter. She turned the knob further toward the red side.

Normally, Ursula wouldn’t have cared if someone had caught her at the tail end of a hook up. It was normal for her. Sure, since it was Ana she had been worried (couldn’t have everyone finding out that they were bed buddies), but that hadn’t been what threw her off her game so much.

It had been the look on Kim’s face.

Urs had kept her fingers gripped into Anastasia’s hips for a moment too long, her eyes glazed over in both want and need, and Kim had seen in that moment that it was different for her. And it had been clearly spelled out in Kim’s features. Which, really, was unfair. Kim knew that she and Ursula were just friends, and the same went for Ana. So why had her face bloomed with all those emotions? Upset and shock and a brief second of disgust, before giving in to a certain confused sadness that Ursula hadn’t been ready for. And then the artist’s heart had hurt.

The water was still not hot enough. She twisted the knob again.

What was she doing? Why did she care if Kim thought that she wanted Ana more? Why did she care that she might want Ana more? Kim was just a friend, and Ana was just a friend, and neither of them were allowed to cross that line. Sex was nothing more than a biological process, a way that animals knew to make themselves feel good. For Ursula there were no feelings that got mixed up into it.

What was she doing? Typically if she thought that someone she was sleeping with was going to cause problems for her she would cut the loose, set them free. There were plenty of people that could hold on to platonic feelings for someone and have sex with them. Why would that be any different for her with Kim or Ana?

As fingernails scraped against scalp harder than normal, she twisted the knob again.

Why was she doing this to Kim? She knew that Ana didn’t give one flying fuck about her, only used her as a plaything. But Kim was sweet, she was stable and she was good. Why would Urs put her through this? She could have anyone she wanted, someone that didn’t dangle it over her head that they were friends, someone that could give her those feelings that Urs saw in her eyes sometimes.

Ursula couldn’t do that. She didn’t know how to. But more than anything she didn’t want to hurt Kim. That wasn’t what she deserved.

This time, the knob wouldn’t move. Urs realized now how the water stung against her skin.

Muted colors mixed with water and a few arrant tears around her feet. Ursula couldn’t remember a time that she’d ever been this angry at herself. This disgusted with herself. This ashamed of herself. She stayed there for a while, watching the dye run out of her hair and into the bottom of the shower, telling herself that she didn’t deserve someone like Kim.

The redhead didn’t notice when Urs slipped back into the room, and Urs was unsure of what had gotten her into this trance. It made for a good sketch, Kim’s chin rested in the palm of her hand, fingers laid gently against her cheek. Ursula committed the image to memory to draw out later.

When she spoke, she stayed a few feet away.

“Hope it looks alright.” She gave the other girl a small smile before moving back to sit on the edge of her bed, next to the wrapped box. It was light, so light in fact that she almost thought that it was empty. But she heard something; something slid against the bottom of the box, something inside clicked together softly. As she pulled the paper away, her heart hurt a little more.

“You know you really didn’t have to get me anything.”

Kim

Though it had probably looked like she hadn’t noticed Urs step back into the room, she did. It was impossible not to. Especially for someone like Kim who was extremely observant in any sort of environmental change.

What tipped her off the most was that the room’s temperature increased briefly, the steam from the shower she took billowing out into the room in a wave that Kim felt. It was almost like Urs had wrapped her warm body around her again, blanketed before it slipped into the cooler air of the room and dissipated as she sat in front of Urs’ rendering of herself.

Kim turned just before Urs spoke, her eyes wandering over the damp haired barely clothed artist. The smile just about broke her heart. It was soft. As if Urs had seen her innermost thoughts and was trying to make up for them. But why? They were just friends. There was nothing to atone for. “It’s amazing, Urs. Really.” She gave a small, soft smile, one that actually met her eyes this time because she genuinely loved it, even if it was hard for her to believe sometimes that that was actually her.

Kim missed their closeness as Urs stood feet away from her. She’d grown used to touching Urs in the smallest of ways and to keep her distance in this moment was extremely trying, but the moment called for it.

The crinkling of paper caused Kim’s heart to start racing, she rarely got nervous but with Urs it was like she was never on equal footing. She got up from the floor, replying simply and readying herself to explain this gift that was already making her cheeks blush a deep red. “Well… I know I didn’t have to… and so I made it instead.”

Inside the box, which the artist opened in moments, was a stuffed octopus. Not only was it a stuffed octopus but it was an octopus made by the one and only Kim Possible, grey and complete with buttons sewn onto its tentacles for suction cups.

Urs had teased her about having a few stuffed animals, Cuddle Buddies, which were collectibles actually as she had explained to Ursula. Most notably her Pandaroo. And so, Kim thought it would be funny too give her a stuffed animal for Christmas. However, when discussing this project, Ann Possible thought it would be an even better idea for her to make the stuffed animal as it would be more personal. And so Kim began to think about what animal Urs was most like and she settled on an octopus. Why? Well, that was going to be explained in a moment.

“I--Listen, I know it’s ridiculous and silly and kind of childish but I swear there’s a much more adult meaning behind it.” She was already trying to dig herself out of the hole she thought she’d caused.

Kim ran a hand through her hair and sighed, “You know, initially I thought Octopus suited you because you know, you’re all arms and legs. You’re skilled at what you do with those arms and hands, and you know it.” She blushed an even deeper red trying to hold onto what she was trying to say. “I, um, then I--well I thought about it as I was stitching it up and thinking of you--not that I think of you a lot but I mean I kind of do but also I mean I was working on your present so you can’t blame me.” Smooth. This was going well. “Anyways, I thought to myself how much an octopus fits you, because to have so many arms shows what you can do all at once. You can paint a picture one moment and roll on the floor with me in the next. You can sketch something and then effortlessly use chopsticks on our cheap takeout.” And now we were getting towards the deeper stuff. “But also... “ She bit her lip, looking over at her. “Also you use their length not to pull people close to you, but to push them away. Tentacles wrapping around them so that you can use those arms to propel yourself off and away, sinking deeper into the sea.” She scratched the back of her head, “Just like the subject of your family and whatever.” She didn’t really look at Urs anymore, still bashful and still trying to get all of this out and she was worried that if she looked at the girl in front of her she’d forget what she was going to say. “But also, people underestimate you. Because aside from being all arms and legs, Octopi are ridiculously cunning with large heads caring even larger brains and I think people don’t give you enough credit for that.” She played with her hands, attempting to not pace all over the room as she spoke. “As for the different colored buttons, they stand for the the endless possibilities of what you could be, who you could be and also you know, what hair color you might change to next.” She looked up at her this time, trying to joke a bit about it a small smile on her lips. Her cheeks still were pink with embarrassment, but she forced herself to look at the girl. Eyes meeting eyes as she spoke her last little bit of speech.

“You’re so much more than just an artist or whatever term you use to define and narrow yourself, Urs. You’re an octopus.”

Urs

She was an octopus.

Ursula wanted to laugh and cry and yell at herself all at the same time, wanted to crawl back into her underwater cave and use all those arms to protect her squishy little heart.

At the first comparison she had smiled down at the grey thing staring up at her. This was payback for teasing the girl about her panda thing, she figured, and all those other weird little animals that she was sure Kim cuddled with at night.

She cradled the octopus in her hands, legs dangling limp as she set the box aside. As Kim spoke, the artist didn’t know what to do or say or think, all she could manage was to rub a thumb over the soft (wow, was it soft) fabric, over the colorful buttons. Kim had made this with her own two hands and had thought of a meaning for every part of it. She’d never really thought about that before, about other people spending their time thinking about her. Course she spent a lot of time thinking about her subjects, sometimes weeks on end. She’d thought about what had made Kim’s cheeks blush the first time, about what had made her hair look just slightly out of place. She’d considered how years of cheerleading and superhuman strength only made the girl’s muscles look lean. She’d spent a couple of days trying to decide if her underlying freckles had more of a brown tone or a red tone.

Something about a person spending that much time thinking about Ursula made the painter very uncomfortable.

And that was exactly what Kim had meant. She was using her tentacles to shove Kim away in her mind, simply because she had spent time analyzing Urs and thinking about Urs and she had mentioned Urs’ family and-

It took the painter a few long moments to decide what to do here. Her brows were stitched together as she stared down at her gift, her lip gnawed on between her teeth. On one hand, Kim had put way too much thought and time and effort and sentiment into this little stuffed animal. This was the kind of thing someone was meant to keep forever, forever. Urs could scoff at the thought. She couldn’t keep one hair color forever, much less all the feelings someone had sewn into a toy octopus. A part of her wanted to settle the grey thing back into its box. She’d hand it back to Kim and shake her head. You’ve got the wrong girl, she’d say. And she did; Kim had gotten all tangled up in Ursula’s tentacles and Urs was a monster, dangling her just out of reach and shoving her away each time the girl made her heart stir. She’d gotten involved with entirely the wrong girl, and Ursula the octopus really and truly felt bad about it.

Is this what happened with others, as well? Did other people realize that she toyed with them like this?

On the other hand, Kim had done probably the nicest thing for the orphan girl that she had ever experienced.

Ursula fought very hard against the urge to cry. She felt like she was fucking up. Like she was always constantly perpetually fucking up. Especially with Kim. Or maybe she was fucking Kim up. Either way she didn’t want that. She had a choice to make, here in this moment. But first she wanted some answers.

“Why are you still here?” She had looked up suddenly, eyes glistening with the threat of tears. “Why do you do things like… like this,” she said, gingerly holding the stuffed animal out, “and… and like taking me to America to spend Christmas with your family? You shouldn’t… shouldn’t do things like this, not for someone like me. Not for someone that is too afraid to not hold you at, you know, tentacle length.” She looked back down to the octopus, afraid that she might really start crying. She loved it, this damned stupid little stuffed animal. She absolutely loved it. “Anyone else would have left me and my bullshit in the dust by now. So why have you not?”

Kim

Former teen hero and all around bad ass Kim Possible was officially scared of something. Of being rejected. By Ursula Yamada. As Urs looked over her present, the one she’d put so much effort into for the past week, she was basically holding Kim’s heart in her hands.

And those glistening eyes just about broke her, her body instantly reacting before her brain could keep up with what she was doing. She needed to comfort her. Why? Urs spoke and asked that very same question along with a few others like it. “Because I’m a Possible.” She said softly, her arms wrapping around Urs’ neck and pulling her in. It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t a come on as a means to kiss her or anything. It was just the need to be close to her to let her know that she wasn’t going anywhere. “We kind of take in strays.” She smiled reassuringly at the girl she had her arms wrapped around. “Despite whatever they’ve done to get themselves in their situation, cat, dog, octopus, we still find the good in any one. And there’s so much good in you, babe.” She brushed her nose softly against the other girl’s. “You just don’t see it yet.”

She ran a hand through damp neon colored locks, massaging into her scalp gently in an attempt to calm her down and talk her off the crying ledge. “You got dealt a shit hand, Urs. And I--and my family--want to help fill in a few missing pieces. I know it won’t be a perfect fit or anything but, it’s better than the big gaping hole right?” Her voice was soft, her words spoken with emotion she didn’t like to show around Urs because she was easily spooked.

Kim leaned up, pressing a small kiss to her nose. It was so gross and cute, Kim couldn’t even believe she did it. She couldn’t believe she did a lot of things around Ursula. She made her a fucking stuffed octopus for crying out loud. “You can hold me at tentacle length, but I’m pretty ferociously strong. Don’t think I won’t fight and climb right up those tentacles. I can do anything you know.” She joked with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood for everyone involved and to keep herself from babbling more as her heart raced over what Urs’ reaction would be to all of this. Did she even want to go to the States with her anymore? Was it too much?

Urs

Feelings weren’t something that Ursula Yamada handled well. In fact, she wasn’t sure she’d really had them before. Of course that was an emo, middle school lone wolf way of thinking, but it was how Ursula had dealt with things her entire life.

No one had wanted her. She wasn’t a stray that people just decided to take in. She was trouble, even if she was good at school. She was broken, even if she tried to hide it with jokes and smiles and laughter. From the age of five she had bounced around, foster family to foster family, hell hole to equally as terrifying hell hole. She’d heard stories of people who hadn’t been sent to families that used kids for money. Unfortunately she’d never been one of those kids. She’d been tossed around and called worthless and ignored. That’s all people did. People used other people for selfish gain. She used people for sex and for muse and for money, sometimes. Love was not real. Love did not exist. It was a fairytale told to children as bedtime stories to keep the monsters in their heads away.

No one had helped keep the monsters in her head at bay.

She had learned to keep them away with sex. She filled the emptiness with brief moments of touch from another person. When she was twelve she’d filled herself that way, when the painting had become just a tool for her foster mother to milk more money, more funds, more attention. It became more frequent, just as frequent as she finished pieces of art that people hoarded away from her. Pieces of art that fake mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters never complimented.

People complimented her when she slept with them. They liked her body and they liked her mouth and they liked the way she felt wrapped around them. She knew how to make art with her body. That was what fulfilled her, even then.

Now it seemed that the thing she was so good at had become the monster in her head. Was this how she was supposed to overcome it? By letting an innocent girl get all tangled up in her mess of a life, her mess of a head? What if she was just like her mother? What if she ended up causing three deaths just because she couldn’t keep it in her pants? She couldn’t do that to people, she could do that to Kim.

Kim deserved better. (Ana deserved better. Her friends deserved better. Everyone deserved someone who wasn’t Ursula. Everyone. Full stop.)

But Kim was here. She acknowledged that she had gotten tangled up here with someone who was just a sea monster. Ursula felt like Hamilton, complete with foreboding warning: “Will do what it takes to survive.”

But Kim was here. Kim was holding her and asking to help put pieces together and giving her a place to rest her head in the vacant space in her heart. Ursula didn’t know what this was like. She didn’t understand what she had done (nothing, she had done nothing for this), she felt like she was pulling the wool over Kim’s eyes. Her tears were ernest, hot against her skin and seeping into the fabric of Kim’s shirt. I’m not worth this, she wanted to say. I’m not worth this time and these feelings, I’m not worth you fighting to get close to. She wanted to jump up and run, wanted to propel herself into the blackness of the sea, somewhere where it was far too dark for Kim’s light to find her.

Instead she clung to Kim’s frame, one hand bunched into the fabric of Kim’s shirt and the other holding the octopus against her chest. She didn’t want Kim climbing up her tentacles. She didn’t want Kim to get hurt. But in the end, she knew that she couldn’t stop her.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m just gonna hurt you.” It was all that Ursula could squeak out past the thickness of tears in her throat.

Kim

Arms wrapped around the girl who’d stolen her heart without even trying to it (hell, it seemed like she didn’t even want to do it), Kim just listened to the poor girl’s tear filled voice acknowledge essentially between the lines that she truly did care about her, truly did feel something whether that be friendship or something entirely more, but also attempt to back away from that. It was a pretty weak attempt of course, she didn’t physically push her away or even give the stuffed octopus back to her. It was Urs still fighting against emotions and feelings, ones Kim thought would really eventually bring her happiness once she accepted them, maybe not with her, but eventually.

Kim’s heart ached listening to her voice fill with tears, feeling them seeping into her shirt as Urs hid her face away. Kim didn’t back down though. She wouldn’t give up just because things were tough or Urs wasn’t willing to accept her feelings yet. She was patient. She’d wait for whatever came her way. Truly she could convince herself that it would be a decent arrangement, right? They’d still fuck and cuddle and kiss and hang out and the two of them could still sample the single pool of Swynlake without a worry right? Totally perfect. It could be that easy. She’d be that easy for Urs.

Kim leaned down a bit, pressing her forehead against the painter’s and looking into tear filled eyes. “I’m not scared.” That was a lie but one she didn’t even really know herself. “No one ever got anything done without trying, Urs.” She caressed her cheek softly, brushing her thumb over a tear stained cheek to wipe it away. “Also I’m like practically invincible. You’ve seen me like lift like a 5 gallon bucket of paint with a finger.” It was true. She was strong. She always had been both physically and emotionally and whatever was in store she’d survive. She always did. “I’ve been warned ya know, it’s my own fault if I get hurt.” She joked softly, trying to get the girl to give her a smile, anything really. She hated that she’d done all of this. Why did she have to go and be punctual? Couldn’t she have been like 5 minutes late today? But she supposed this was the universe’s way of telling her that she’d need to deal with this sitch eventually. She just didn’t want to today. She wanted to keep Urs to herself for the rest of the day. Make her forget all the pain she was currently feeling.

“Ya know, you gotta name her/him.” Kim smiled softly at her, motioning to the octopus clutched in her hand. She was trying to maybe lighten the mood just a little bit. “Every stuffed animal needs a proper name if you aren’t up to date on all the stuffed animal rules and guidelines. So what’ll it be?”

Urs

Kim kept saying that she was strong, that she was invincible, but all Urs could do was wonder if she really was. She wasn’t stupid; she saw the way that Kim looked at her sometimes, she knew what was going on. She noticed the way she looked at Kim, late at night when the once teen hero was falling asleep and when she threw her head back in fits of laughter and when she was laser focused on something. All things considered, Kim might have very well been strong enough to make it through something like this virtually unscathed. But, really, Ursula was not.

But that was… fine. Good, even. It would hurt and Ursula would learn to keep to herself, maybe, if the world was lucky.

She gathered herself, peeled her body away from Kim’s so that she could feel the space. So that she could think clearly, obviously. Settling the smiling octopus into her lap she brushed the tears away from her face, coughing away the thickness clogging in her throat. “Right,” she croaked, “a name.” The painter moved to scoop the stuffed animal up again, her nerves and slight embarrassment settling over her skin making her begin to fidget. She needed to paint, or fuck, or both. She could sketch while they watched a movie or something, could play in Kim’s hair.

“It’s Gerald,” she said finally, matter-of-factly. “He’s obviously a Gerald, you should know this.” With a nod she stood, settling Gerald on her pillow gently. “Let’s watch a movie, yeah? The more mind-numbing the better. I sketch better that way.”

#HAHAHA ha ha #octoclam #ana #kimana #gerald #UGH

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