#and i will get kinder and meaner

[possum-down]

good borth

#i had at party for the first time in years #and came to the conclusion that i am cery loved in this world #i shall make my twenties my bitch #and i will get kinder and meaner #also #choclate bunt cake with choclate ganosh #plus pineapple cake from yesterday #very good #birthday

[idyllic-affections]

i am feeding you angst enjoyers well tonight.... here's a snippet of the ex-fatui agent!reader (from the wip collei fic that i talk about non-stop LMAO) making scaramouche cry. <3

A soft whimper, a hitch of breath unnoticable to the untrained ear drew them out of their thoughts. Their gaze briefly flickered to the Balladeer's face, fingers halting all motion. All the muscles in their abdomen tightened with an overwhelming sense of guilt and frustration. A stray tear rolled down his cheek. If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. They chose to pay it as little mind as possible, if not for anyone's sake but theirs. His eyes were hazy and vacant, as if he were recalling some other event such as this one--as if, above him, he saw someone else. They shook that thought off before it could spiral into something worse. Whatever he was recalling was not their fault, and certainly not their business. It had nothing to do with them. It was no concern of theirs. It wasn't their fault. It was absolutely not their fault... right?

#aphelion speaks 🌸 #the wording may be adjusted a little when i get into the final editing phases #but.... for now #here's this scene of scara feeling very uncomfortable and frightened bc [name] is being meaner than usual <3 #he's a harbinger and of course i don't think this would happen often #but for a little more background context #[name] has him in a very vulnerable position bc they're doing internal maintenance #and you know #generally its either them or dottore who does that #but usually they're kinder and gentler about it #and they aren't very gentle in that scene in particular #and it scares him a bit. #(their own cruelty also scares [name] themselves but that gets explored in a later scene)

[dulcesiabits]

you arrive like a dream.

summary: you are fourteen years old when bachira breaks your heart, and you run halfway across the world to avoid him. so how are you supposed to react when the universe, against all your express wishes, brings the two of you back together again?

notes: 14k words, fic, author's notes, childhood friends, childhood heartbreak, messy relationships, really kind of a study of how people fall apart and then get back together

“I want to take a break from us.”

It’s the first thing your boyfriend says to you, barely waiting for the waitress to set down your order and clear away your laminated menus before speaking.

Instead of responding, you take a long sip of your milkshake, whipped cream sinking into a chocolate sea, your mouth flooding with sweetness. You regard the boy across from you thoughtfully, the one you’ve been dating for six months ever since he confessed to you during a school dance. He’s not the only boy you’ve ever dated in America, but he’s the one you’ve dated the longest. 

Most American boys seem to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as an exchange student from Japan. The kinder ones try not to treat you any differently than they would from your other classmates, but the worse ones will make constant jokes about hentai and mock your faint accent. 

By this point, though, you’ve learned to tune out the insults and the passive aggressive comments. You’ve always been good at dealing with other people, knowing how to read the mood and adjusting your behavior accordingly. Your teachers often praised you for being so well-behaved and conscientious. 

The meaner boys treat you like a zoo animal precisely because they want to see your reaction, so it’s better not to give them the reaction that they want. Otherwise, the second they sense hurt, they’ll sink their teeth in and never let go. Of course, they don’t seem to realize that in the same way they observe you, you can observe them right back. 

As for your boyfriend, Thomas? Well. He does his best. Or at least you think he does his best. No one mocks you to his face when he’s around, and he valiantly tells people to “knock it off” whenever he thinks you feel uncomfortable. He’s sweet, if a little obtuse, and you like him well enough. You wouldn’t date him if you didn’t. But his confession had been so out of the blue, and you had no real reason to accept him– just like you didn’t have any real reason to reject him. 

In short, your relationship started on an ambivalent whim. He’s not the sort of person you can share your thoughts with, but it’s not as if you’re looking for a lifelong companionship. He’s mild, and nice to be around, which is just what you need after everything that happened to you in Japan. He’s just like the whipped cream slowly disappearing into your milkshake in that aspect.

Your boyfriend calls your name. “Hey, are you okay? Do you want me… to explain?” Thomas says softly. 

You’ve been staring into space for too long, and your milkshake is half-empty. You smile at him. “No, it’s fine. A break, right? I understand.”

“I don’t want this to be permanent. It doesn’t have to be,” Thomas says, running a hand through his shorn blond hair. “It’s just soccer season is kicking up again, and I won’t have a lot of time to spend with you. I didn’t want you to feel abandoned, or anything. And I want to focus on practice. So…” He looks at you like a kicked puppy, as if you’re the one breaking up with him, and not the other way around. “We can date again once the season is over.”

“Okay,” you say, dragging your straw through your softening milkshake. “Let’s see what happens at the end of the season.”

Thomas perks up. “Great! Do you want anything else to eat? It’s my treat.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Thomas says.

Milkshakes are no remedies for break-ups, but you bite your tongue. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Thomas flags down the waitress, a freckled and red-haired girl who lets her stare linger a little too long. Not that you can blame her; he is cute. But Thomas, good old oblivious Thomas, only smiles innocently in return. 

Maybe you should get jealous. Pull some American teen movie line and say that “he’s your man” and put her in her place, or something equally dramatic like that. But he’s not really “your man” anymore, is he? Besides, staring is free, and, as you often hear, this is a free country. 

By the time the two of you are out of the diner, Thomas is pulling you into a hug. You limply wrap one arm around his back. “See you later,” he whispers. “You can still call me if anything happens, okay?”

Should you remind him of the international fees that it would take for him to call you Japan? “Okay.” 

You’re still standing outside the diner when Thomas waves at you through the windows of his car and pulls away from the curb. Maybe you should have asked for a ride, but getting a ride with your now-ex is a little weird. The weather is clear and the sunshine warm, so it’s a mild enough spring day for you to walk back. You’d prefer the walk, anyways, compared to the awkward silence in Thomas’s stifling truck.

Halfway down the pavement, your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out: it’s your mom. There’s a seventeen hour time difference between California and Japan, and the international fees of a phone call are exorbitant, but your mom has never cared much about finances. “Money is there for you to spend it,” she always claims. Easy enough for her to say when she runs an investment firm that rakes in enough yen for her to send you abroad.

“Hello, Okaa-san,” you say when you open your phone. 

“Hello,” she coos. “Good morning! Ah, wait. It’s afternoon for you, right?”

“It’s afternoon, and you’re a day ahead of me,” you confirm.

“Oho! I forgot! So you’re talking to a time traveler right now,” she says.

“Seems so. Have any news from the future?”

“You’re going on spring break next week, right?” She doesn’t wait for you to respond before barreling on. “Why don’t you fly home to Japan for the holidays?” your mom says. “I’m already booking the tickets.”

“Why’d you even ask if you were going to do it for me?” 

“Just because you always tell me you hate it when I do things without telling you. So I’m alerting you in advance,” she chirps.

You sigh. “Okay. Send me the ticket details when you’re done.”

You can imagine your mom’s grin over the phone. “Perfect! By the way, I ran into Yu-san a little while ago. We talked about how much you used to love her art lessons! Do you remember how you used to beg to spend extra time at Yu-san’s studio?”

You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the sunshine suddenly searing your neck. You fight to keep your voice steady. “Yeah. I do. Why?”

“Well, then we started talking about Meguru-kun. You always bugged me about when he could come over and play. You were such a mild-mannered child, but as soon as you saw Meguru-kun, you would just get so wild. I’d never seen you have so much fun. I swear, it was so cute.”

“Okaa-san,” you say faintly, but she continues on.

“Since it’s been so long since you were back in Japan, Yu-san and I thought it would be nice if the two of you could see each other again, so we arranged a little meeting for the four of us. Won’t it be nice to catch up with your childhood friend over dinner? There’s no need to thank me.”

There really isn’t. You gape like an open-mouthed fish after your mom’s triumphant little speech, thoughts scattering like bubbles on the surface of a pond.

“Does Meguru know that you’ve done this?” you say. It’s the only question that manages to escape. His first name feels like ash in your mouth. When did you last use it? 

“Yu-san told him right away. I think she said he was excited to see you!”

“That’s… great,” you say. “I have to go now, Okaa-san. I have something to do. I’ll see you when I fly back.”

“Okay. Love you!”

With a cheerful blip, your mom ends the call and you sink to your knees, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes. Shit. This is going to be the worst possible way to spend your spring break. Thomas is one thing, but Bachira? No way. There is absolutely no way in hell you can face him again.

You might have gotten along back in Japan, running around Chiba together as children, but it’s been years since then. Maybe if you were two regular childhood friends, you would jump with joy at the opportunity to see him. If you didn’t have the particular history you did, this would have been a pleasant surprise. But you two don’t have that sort of relationship anymore, and the thought of Bachira makes old wounds flare to life.

You can’t blame your mom for not knowing, not really. You’ve mentioned your American boyfriends here and there, but you tend to keep a tight lid on your love life, as you’ve always been her pristine, studious child. You try not to make it a habit to keep secrets from your mom.

In fact, the only secret you’ve ever kept from her is that Bachira Meguru broke your heart when you were fourteen years old. 

–

You have always wanted to be the perfect child for your mom.

Ever since you could remember, your afternoons and weekends were full of different lessons, from piano to dance, and English to math tutoring. Your mom cooed with excitement at all your new hobbies, demanding you show her every time you learned a new musical piece or math equation. You charged headfirst into whatever skill you could learn to mold yourself into a well-rounded adult, so no one could find a way to look down on your mom. All of her business associates patted you on the head and spoke indulgently at you. As if you couldn’t sense the way they viewed you as an extension of your mom, and a way to judge her.

Art lessons, however, were when your life took a sudden, unexpected turn.

You remembered this: you were eight, and it was a cool spring day during your very first lesson, and Bachira-san had given you free reign of the canvas, handing you a palette and a brush. Her lessons always took place in her studio, the door open to let in the breeze, sunlight sinking into stacks of piled canvas and painting supplies placed haphazardly on every free surface.

You stared up at Bachira-san with a frown, looking uncertainly in her smiling face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked.

“Whatever you want,” she replied, ruffling the top of your head. You gave a squeak of protest. 

“But what do you want?” you persisted. 

“I want you to do whatever you want,” Bachira-san said with a grin. “Why don’t I give you some space to paint? I’ll come back in a little bit, ‘kay?”

And so Bachira-san had left you in front of a canvas, your frown growing as you dipped a brush into the green paint. Incomprehensible. The adults in your life always had such clear expectations for you, and Bachira-san’s instructions feel like she just handed you a blank map and told you to chart unexplored territory. 

You dragged a tentative, watery streak of green on the bright white canvas, but it looked ugly and intrusive. You’d marred the pristine surface already.

Something brushed your foot. You looked down to see a football rolling across the wooden floor of the studio, and not a second later, the small head of a child peeking around the corner of the door. 

“Kaa-san! I’m back– eh? Who are you?”

The boy approached you curiously. There was a bandage on his face, and streaks of dirt running down his legs and striping his cheeks.

“Who are you?” you demanded, brandishing your brush like a sword. “I’m having an art lesson right now.”

Undeterred, the boy tilted his head like a giant chipmunk. “Art lesson? This is where Kaa-san works.”

“Huh…” Your teacher must be his mom, and he must be her son, you deduced. 

Seemingly losing interest, the boy ran after the football, which had lodged in the corner. With a few swift kicks, the boy skilfully bounced it up on his knee, his elbow, and his head. It was just like the seals you saw once at the aquarium, who could perform the same tricks for a few fish as incentive.

“Hey! Can you play football?” the boy said suddenly, turning back to you with the ball balanced precariously on his head.

“Football? I can’t play. I have to study art.”

“But that’s boring… Wait!” The boy brightened as he lurched towards you, wrestling the brush from your grasp. You watched in horror as the boy slashed the brush across the canvas, dipping randomly into the paint, creating an incomprehensible mess of lines and paint splatters. “Done! Now you can play with me.”

You shoved him, as hard as you could, and the boy toppled to the floor, his football bouncing sadly into a pile of canvas. “What are you doing? You– you ruined it!”

“I helped you,” the boy protested. He leaped up into the air, regarding you quizzically. “Kaa-san paints like that all the time.”

“Bachira-san– Bachira-san is a real artist! You can’t just– argh!” You stumbled at him, annoyed, tiny fists swinging, but the boy only dodged out of the way.

A grin splitted his face. “Are we playing now? Yay!”

You don’t know how long this chase lasted. All you knew was that you wanted to wipe that unbearably happy look from his face after he ruined your lesson, because how on earth could you explain this to Bachira-san? But the boy only danced around, laughing as you tried to lunge at him, always just one step away from you.

You weren’t unathletic, but the boy had stamina on another level, because while you sweated and panted, hands on your knees, he only skipped in circles around you. “Hey,” the boy said. “Are you done already? Come on. Let’s play some more.”

How annoying! How super, super annoying! You gave a great yell as you jumped at him, and, startled, the boy couldn’t move away fast in enough time. The two of you crashed onto the floor, rolling and tumbling. You pulled at his hair and the boy grabbed at your cheeks.

“I’m back! Are you done with– Meguru? Kiddo?”

The two of you froze as Bachira-san stepped into the studio, a plate of cookies in her hand. The two of you watched her with big silent eyes as she surveyed the room. And, for the first time, you realized that you had knocked over some of her paint tubes and canvas, and the two of you were covered in streaks of paint and dust from the floor.

You sprang up as Bachira-san moved closer to the canvas you were supposed to paint on– the one her son had ruined. Your hands were clammy as you lowered your head, like a criminal readying for their punishment.

“Hey, nice artwork, kiddo,” Bachira-san said, breaking into a smile. “Very avante-garde.”

“He… he was the one who did it,” you mumbled, face heating up with shame, pointing at the boy– Meuguru– who was still on the floor. 

He stuck out his tongue. “I only helped!”

“Well, the both of you did a great job,” Bachira-san said. 

“Really…?” you mumbled, looking down at your black shoes, now scraped and scuffed from your scuffle across the floor. 

“Yes, really! Why don’t the two of you have some snacks?”

The three of you munched on cookies for the rest of the lesson as Bachira-san explained the color palette and different forms of art to you. Meguru gifted you the very last cookie with a beaming expression on his face as if you hadn’t tried to tear his hair out, and you thanked him quietly. 

During your next lesson, Meguru was waiting by the entrance of the studio. When he saw you, a goofy smile stole across his face, and he bounded towards you like a puppy.

“Here!” He thrust some flowers into your face. They were small and white, with five different petals. You took them gingerly. 

“What are these for?” you asked.

“For you! So we can be friends! I had a lot of fun with you last time, but you didn’t look really happy. Kaa-san said I have to be aware of other people’s feelings, so this is a ‘let’s be friends’ flower!” 

“You want to be friends with me?” you mumbled.

“Yup! No take backs,” Meguru added. “We’re friends for life now, okay?”

 “Are you sure?” you said. “Yesterday I was rude to you.”

“Were you?” Meguru tilted his head. “Does that matter?”

“I was. I’m sorry,” you said.

“We’re friends! So it’s okay. Hey, this time, you’ll play football with me, right?”

He grabbed your hand, and you carefully wrapped your fingers around his. For some reason, there was a strange fluttering in your chest. Why did holding Meguru’s hand feel a little different from holding your mom’s, or your friend’s hand at school? 

But all you know is this: ever since you took Meguru’s hand that day, you don’t think you’ve ever really let go.

–

You haven’t stepped foot in Japan for three years.

There’s always been an excuse not to: you were busy with studying. You had clubs and other activities. It would be too much of a hassle, and really, you wanted to enjoy every minute abroad you could get.

Your mom bought your excuses easily, so you never had to tell her the real reason you stayed away, the same reason you even bothered to study abroad in the first place: you didn’t want to be in the same country as Bachira Meguru.

But when your plane descends and jolts to a stop, when you pass through customs and scramble to find your luggage at the baggage claim, when you take that first wobbly step into the spring sunshine, squinting into the sky as you raise your hand to shield your eyes, you have no more excuses left. It’s like the universe won’t let you run away, because why the hell does Golden Week fall during the same week during your American spring break? Bachira is on break, same as you, so you can’t even use the excuse that he’s in school to avoid him. It’s a coincidence, or the universe is laughing at you for thinking you could get away so easily.

You pause to scroll through your phone; there’s a few messages from your mom, and an email from Thomas. You hover over the message with your thumb, before swiping away. You told him to email you if he needed you, since it’s not like he had Line or Whatsapp, but you didn’t think he’d actually go through with it.

Everyone is speaking in rushed Japanese around you. It’s a sea of people with black hair and black eyes and luggage and appointments and harried expressions, hurrying in every direction. This is home. America has never felt more far away.

You wander to the edge of the curb, phone still held loosely to your ear as a car pulls up. Your mom rolls down the side window, scarf around her throat and a grin wide on her face. “Hello, hello. Look who’s decided to show up on our side of the globe again.”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice,” you acknowledge. 

The driver steps out to put your luggage in the trunk, and your mom rests her arm against the window. “How was your flight?”

“It was fine,” you say. “It’s not that far from California to Japan.”

“Perfect! So I assume you’ll be ready for dinner in a few hours?”

“Dinner?”

“Well, there’s this wonderful seafood restaurant I wanted to take Yu-san to, and Meguru-kun is free, so we planned our little get-together for today.” Your mom winks, but you feel as if someone pushed you off the airplane without a parachute. Actually, you’d have preferred that to whatever torture this is.

“Okaa-san, I can’t,” you protest, taking a step back. “I just got back. I’m tired. I–”

“Nonsense! It’s just some dinner. Aren’t you excited to see Meguru-kun?”

You force a queasy smile. “But I need to get ready. I want to shower and–”

“Then we can stop by home before we go to dinner. It’s not as if we’re going right now. Come, come. Hop in the car. The sooner we get back, the more time you’ll have to freshen up.”

The next few hours pass by in a weightless blur. You turn the water as hot as it can go and stand under the thundering steam until your fingers turn pruny. You pick out a tasteful outfit, decide you’re trying too hard, and settle for something casual, but then it feels like you’re not trying hard enough. This goes back and forth for half an hour until you throw on the first thing you picked out of your closet.

It almost feels like you’re getting ready for a date, and the thought makes you want to laugh hysterically.

When you’re done, you flop onto your bed and stare up at the ceiling. You haven’t been in this room for years, and there’s no dust, but it feels like a graveyard, a testament to a different time. There are faded patches of discolored paint on the wall where you once hung up photos of you and Bachira, and empty spots on your shelves where the plastic toys he won for you at summer fairs had once stood. You forgot where you put those old trinkets. They’re either shoved in a box in the back of your closet, or buried in a garbage heap.

Your mom calls your name. “Time to go! Are you ready?”

You’re not. You never will be, but you descend down the stairs and get into the car. You still feel weightless. Dread is the only thing propelling you forward, and it grows heavier with each passing step, weighing you down with its leaden mass.

The restaurant is all polished glass and cool blue tones, so you feel like you’re standing underwater when you step inside. The tablecloths are pressed, the menus so new and shiny you think you could cut yourself on their edges. You’re scurried off to a corner table, next to a painting of the ocean, layered with many painful shades of blue, the frothy white waves so textured you could lick it off like cream.

You order something. You’re not sure what, but the waiter is smiling at your choice.

“Yu-san is running a bit late,” your mom says, with her bright red lipstick which always looks elegant on her and never tacky. You feel childish, all of a sudden, trying to play at being a composed adult, next to her and her genuine enthusiasm for old family friends.

You hope Bachira and his mom never get here. Because of a traffic jam, perhaps. Or a sudden freak accident that cuts off their path, so they have to stay home. Or maybe they’ll just forget, and you can call the whole thing a wash.

“Ah, there she is! Yu-san! Meguru-kun!” Your mom waves wildly, her arm springing back and forth.

Against your will, you turn, biting the inside of your cheek hard. They’re both in street clothes, which sends a dull jolt of surprise through you, but then again, your old teacher has never been one for formalities. You focus hard on her instead of the boy next to her, never taking your eyes off her once as they both settle at the table. Your mom hugs Bachira-san, and they both giggle like schoolgirls. There’s paint on Bachira-san’s sleeves, faint splatters of red and blue and purple. Her hair is in a bun, pulled low.

She reaches out for you, and you melt into her embrace. She smells like paint, like salt water, with an artificial floral scent from her shampoo. “It’s been so long! You’ve gotten so much bigger. Have you been keeping up with your art?”

“I still sketch sometimes,” you say. “But I’ve been busy.”

Bachira-san laughs, a charming sound like windchimes. “Ah, so my lessons weren’t totally wasted! I’d love to see what you’ve been sketching. America has been nice to you, I see.”

You’ve chewed your cheek for too long. The sharp copper of blood fills your mouth like new pennies, and you manage to work your lips into the shape of a smile. “It’s been fun studying abroad.”

And then Bachira calls your name, and you feel like you’re fourteen again, getting your heart broken for the first time. “Hey, hey!” he says cheerfully. “Long time no see!”

You fight to maintain your smile. You can’t look him directly in the eye, so you look somewhere over his shoulder. Has his hair gotten longer? It looks like his mom had tried to tame his bangs with clips. “Hi. It has been a long time.” There. You even sound like you’re happy to see him.

Bachira and his mom order. She and your mom are drinking glasses of red wine, absorbed in their own world, so it’s just you and Bachira. He’s tearing his napkin into little pieces, a miniature blizzard that only grows in intensity with each ticking second. You’re both silent. Is he feeling just as nervous as you? Or are you the only one idiotically aware of the tension? Maybe he doesn’t even notice at all.

“Meguru-kun is on his school’s soccer team?” your mom asks suddenly, forcing the two of you to look at her. “That’s amazing! I heard you want to go to nationals.”

“Yup yup!” Bachira says. “It’s fun to play with everyone.”

“That’s great!” Your mom nudges you with her elbow. “This one over here is juggling a ton of different clubs in America, too. A math team, and a science one, and an art club on top of it, I think.”

Bachira is looking at you now. You stare hard at your glass of water, avoiding his eyes. The silence grows, stretching between the two of you, taut as a wire. Your mom looks back and forth between the two of you, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows.

You stand. “Okaa-san, I think I need a bit of a break. I’m still dizzy from my flight,” you say politely, flawlessly. You smile at Bachira-san and your mom, and throw a fuzzy look in Bachira’s direction.

“Are you? I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Do you–”

“I just need some air,” you say, still smiling as you back away from the table. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

You flee before anyone can respond, pushing through the doors and into the dizzying sunlight. It’s a coward’s move, but so what? You’ve never pretended to be strong. Your go-to is to put on a smile and smooth over any situation. It’s better not to rock the boat. It’s better to just keep everyone happy– but you can’t do that now. You can’t do this, not now, not in front of Bachira Meguru. 

You look up and down the streets, disoriented as you stumble to a stop. Where are you? The restaurant is at the end of the block, and you’ve somehow paced down the entire length of the street in your desire to escape. This is a high-end area with exclusive fashion stores and exorbitant restaurants, and their polished facades only make you feel smaller and uglier.

You sigh. Maybe it would be better to go home, to leave now before you worry anyone further. You would just ascribe all blame to your plane flight, and no one would be any wiser.

Just as you make up your mind, you see a figure blurring down the street, dashing at an impossibly high speed– a blur of yellow, no, a boy, running straight towards you– alarmed, you try to move to the side, but then he screeches to a stop right in front of you.

It’s Bachira. Shit shit shit— But then he abruptly spins around until all you can see is his back and the way his hair sticks up at the ends, perpetually untamable.

“What are you doing?” you say, irritated. Is this another one of his childish pranks?

“You don’t want to see me, right?” he says, more quietly than you thought he was capable of. 

“I–”

“This way, you won’t have to look at me. Is that okay?”

“So?” you say. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”

“Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to,” you say petulantly. You flush; why does Bachira bring out your inner child? “There’s nothing for us to say,” you add more coldly.

“I miss you.” The world, in its perpetual motion, freezes for just an instant at his words. Planets stop their revolutions. The tectonic plates pause. Everything slows down, to this single moment in time and space.

You can only manage to faintly say, “So what?” The world resumes spinning again.

“I want to talk to you again,” he says. 

“I don’t care,” you say again.

“I’ll bug you if you don’t come see me again,” he says. “I’ll blow up your phone. I’m gonna send you a ton of mail. I’ll even go to your house and–”

“Stop!” you snap. “You sound like a stalker. Bachira, you know things can’t move backwards, right? We can only go forward. And I don’t want to act buddy buddy with you again.”

“One chance. Pleaseeee. Come on. If you talk with me just once, I won’t bother you again! I promise! Otherwise I’m going to call you! Every! Single! Day!”

You sigh. With the way Bachira is, you have no doubt that he would make good on his threat, no matter how childish or ridiculous he sounds right now. Just once. You could talk to him just once. Besides, this way, you could get rid of all your lingering feelings, and it’d be the same relief of a loose, bothersome baby tooth finally falling out of your mouth.

“Fine. I’ll see you just once. But!” you add, raising your voice before he can throw his hands up in the air in joy. “I decide when and where we will meet.”

“Yay!” Bachira whoops, waving his arms. “Let’s go back, then!”

“Go back where?”

“To the restaurant, duh. The food arrived. I was supposed to tell you that, actually. Oops!”

It would be so easy to just go home right now. But… you glance at the back of Bachira’s hair again. He’s grown taller. And despite his antsy movements, shifting back and forth on his feet, he still hasn’t turned back to look at you once, keeping his ridiculous promise.

“Fine. Lead the way,” you say grudgingly. Your steps feel light as you stare at Bachira, following him all the while, but he still doesn’t look back at you.

At the table, your mom smiles at you. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” you respond. The next time you look at Bachira, you finally meet him in the eye, and his smile lights up his face, just like it did when you were little, the sun rising to sweep the world in light and color.

–

Art lessons with Bachira-san quickly became your favorite thing in the world.

Maybe it was because she never demanded unerring perfection from you, nor did she treat you like a little doll. She delighted in every advancement you made with art, no matter how messy or imperfect. She treated you like you already had things worth saying, and listened to you babble about anything on your mind.

But as much as you loved those things, what you most loved about art lessons with Bachira-san was her son, Meguru.

At some point in the afternoon, he would inadvertently drag you away from your canvas for an adventure through the neighborhood. Bachira-san never seemed to care, and would even encourage you to leave your pastels behind and pick up a stick to be a sword, as long as you had finished drawing at least one thing that you liked.

So, in those perfect sunny afternoons, you would poke at bugs, digging worms out of the dirt and following ants back to their nest and lifting up rocks to watch rollie pollies curl up. You would climb trees, always trying to outrace each other and get to the tallest branch. You would pretend to be pirates and adventurers, clamoring up and down the slides on the park, searching for treasure.

Mostly, though, Bachira wanted to play football.

“You gotta kick it like this! And that!” he cheered, dribbling the ball back and forth between his feet in lithe, swift steps.

“Huh?” you said, trying to keep up with his movements. You always did well during your elementary school’s sports meet, but Meguru was on another level. 

“No, no! More like this!” Meguru said, and kicked the ball high in the air, only to catch it with his knee. 

“I’ll try,” you said. 

“Yay! Then let’s play a few games, okay?”

And you played, not because you particularly loved football, like Meguru did, but because you liked it when he smiled. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. Why would you need anything else? The boundaries of your world began and ended with his hand in yours.

Bachira-san would let him sit in on your lessons on slow days, too, even though he would invariably end up doodling on your canvas instead of his.

“Use your own paper, Meguru!” you retorted as Meguru scribbled a lumpy shadow onto the corner of your sketchpad. “This one is mine!”

“Eh? But we’re friends! So I can draw on yours!”

And then the two of you bickered playfully until you ended up doodling all over each other’s works, which Bachira-san then dubbed a “collaborative masterpiece,” and hung up the pictures side by side on a corkboard in her studio. It made your heart flutter to see the papers fluttering like friends.

Other times, Meguru would wander off in the middle of your lesson after drawing to his heart’s content, grabbing the football that was perpetually by his side.

“I’m done,” Meguru said, throwing down his colored pencil. There was a strange red creation on his page, some machine with a thousand different blue and green buttons and square windows. It had dragon wings and a boat’s rudder, and soared through scribbled stars and over choppy turquoise waves.

“What is that?” you asked him.

“A car that can fly across the ocean,” Meguru explained. “I’m gonna drive it up to pick up all my favorite football players, and there’s gonna be a stadium in it, and we’re all gonna play football together!”

“Can I come, too?”

“Duh! You can sit in the pilot seat with me. That’s why I made it so big,” he said, before dribbling his football out the studio door.

Even if he wandered off, Meguru would always rejoin the two of you on time for lunch. He had some sort of sixth sense for the moment Bachira-san started passing out snacks, peeking his head (sometimes with twigs or dirt scattered in his hair) around the studio door, cheerfully announcing, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back, Meguru! You’re just in time for a snack,” Bachira-san said, sweeping her hands at the row of pudding cups on the table. You were sitting quietly in a chair, posture straight, methodically scooping out every last bit of pudding with your spoon.

“Pudding! It’s pudding time,” Meguru exclaimed cheerfully at the sight of the snacks, running up to the table to snatch up several cups and a spoon in his chubby hands. 

“Meguru! Leave some for your friend!” Bachira-san scolded lightly, and Meguru would come running right back to you. 

“Here,” he said, dropping a cup in front of you.

Meguru could never sit still, so your eyes were inevitably drawn to him as he danced around the room, running from corner to corner and shoving pudding into his mouth so fast his cheeks puffed out like a small animal’s. Whenever he caught your eye he would stick out his tongue, and you would stick out your tongue in return. When there was only one pudding cup left on the table, you reached for it, before turning to Meguru. 

“Have this,” you said, handing him the pudding cup, which Meguru had been eying with a wide open mouth and sparkling eyes.

“Yay! Thanks!” he said. “Let’s share it!”

“I saved it for you, though.”

Meguru shook his head as he unpeeled the cap, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of the shiny, golden treat. “Well, I want you to have some, too.”

There was no better pudding in the world than the spoonfuls you had that day, Meguru graciously proffering the very last bite for you to eat. The memory of that sweetness resounded through your dreams. 

Even your mom had gotten used to your chattering about Meguru. He was your favorite topic, and nothing was ever quite as important or interesting as him. As soon as your mom’s car pulled up to the curb at the end of your lessons, you would clamber inside, your artwork for the day clutched tightly in your hands, and a new story about Meguru on your lips.

“Okaa-san, Okaa-san,” you said brightly. “Guess what Meguru did today?”

“Let me guess,” your mom said playfully as the driver pulled away from the curb. “The two of you played together?”

“Yup! This time, we pretended to be monkeys living in the trees! And then we got into a monkey war! And we threw a bunch of sticks at each other, and Bachira-san let us eat bananas for a snack! And we kept trying to peel them like monkeys, too.”

“How exciting! I didn’t realize I was taking a monkey home with me today,” your mom replied. “Are you having fun with your art lessons?”

“I’m having a lot of fun, Okaa-san. I’m learning a lot!” You squirmed in your seat. “Oh! But you have to hear about what Meguru did!”

You didn’t know if your mom ever got tired of you chattering on and on about Meguru. If she did, she never let it show, and she watched you with gentle eyes the whole time you talked. 

“You act differently around Meguru-kun,” she said.

“Is that bad?” you asked anxiously, suddenly alert.

She smiled. “No, not at all. Everyone has different sides to them. But I’m glad you’re good friends with him. You talk about him all the time.”

You fiddled with your fingers, feeling strangely pleased and shy all at once. Meguru always stirred unknown emotions in you. “I just like him a lot!”

“Enough to marry him?” your mom teased.

Your face brightened at her words; you hadn’t even realized that was an option. But it was such a great idea. If you married Meguru, then the two of you could be together forever. It just made a lot of sense; who else in the world would you rather spend your entire life with? No one else could compare to your best friend. If you lived in the same house, then you could have sleepovers everyday, and never be separated. “I do!”

Your mom laughed. “Does he want to marry you, though? You can’t decide that on your own!”

“He will if I ask him,” you explained. “He doesn’t say no to me.”

Your mom laughed even harder at that, tears springing to the corner of her eyes. “So he’ll do whatever you say? That sounds very sweet of him.” 

However, one memory from this period of time stood out to you, clearer than the rest. You would dream about it, taking it down from a shelf to blow off the dust and stare into its depths.

It was a hot spring day, about a year after you had started art lessons, and Meguru stumbled into the studio with bruises on his face and scrapes on his knees. He had been gone for most of the afternoon, which had disappointed you slightly, but you knew you would see him again. However, you never imagined it would be like this.

“Meguru!” You ran to him, watercolor brush dropping to the paint splattered floor, stopping to grab his shoulders in concern. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Bachira-san?”

Meguru shook his head, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “No.” 

“What happened?” you asked urgently. “You’re hurt!” 

Ushering him to a seat, you ran to the sink and grabbed a towel, running it under a gush of cold water, before returning and dabbing at Meguru’s wounds as gently as you could. Blood came away in thin streaks like paint. 

“Hey…” Meguru began quietly, in a small voice. He didn’t sound like the cheerful boy you knew, the one who was never phased and bounced off from every mistake and accident with a bright smile. It reminded you a little of how, when you were driving home after lessons, you would peek back at Meguru. His figure looked a little lonely outlined against the sunset, as he bounced a soccer ball quietly to himself. 

“What is it?” You ran back to the sink, where you opened the cabinet underneath it to fish out some bandaids. 

“We’re friends, right?” Meguru asked. 

“Huh? Where’s this coming from? Of course we are. What else would I be?” 

Meguru looked down at his knees as you slapped a bandaid on his skinned knees without a complaint. 

“So you don’t think I’m weird, right?” he said, and his lips quivered with each word. “You’re not gonna leave me?” 

“You’re not weird,” you said firmly. It occurred to you, then, that Meguru never talked about anyone in his life outside of you and Bachira-san. You hadn’t seen him with any other kids your age, either. Maybe you were his whole world, in the same way he was yours. “You’re my best friend, and I would never leave you. If you’re worried about it, then we could get married.” 

“Married?” Meguru peeked at you from under the fringe of his bangs. 

“So we can be together forever,” you explained. 

Meguru smiled, just a little, a wobbly uplifting of his mouth. “Okay! Pinky-promise me, then! We’re gonna get married.”

You lifted up your hand and, with all the clumsy reverence of a child, locked pinkies with Meguru. You shook once, twice, and then let go, as if this was a ceremony as solemn as a real wedding. 

“What happened, though, Meguru? Are you sure it’s okay if I don’t get Bachira-san?” 

Meguru shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because we have each other, right?” 

You beamed at him, sunshine spilling in your chest, a golden glow. “Right. We’ll always have each other!”

–

Over the next few days, Bachira’s promise hangs over you like a darkening cloud, slowly threatening rain. 

It’s not like you forgot what you told him. You would contact him, eventually. But there was a time and place for everything, and this required more delicate care than anything you’ve undertaken so far. Besides, when you look at your phone screen, you feel a flush of embarrassment. You’ve never been able to bring yourself to block Bachira’s contact, and you still know his number by heart. 

When you first moved to America, a small, foolish part of you thought that he would contact you eventually. He would come running back to you, unable to stand the distance any longer. In your most unbearable, romantic daydreams, he would fly over to California and beg you to go home to Japan with him. But the weeks passed, and you entertained desperate thoughts each time you saw the lack of notifications on your phone screen.

You should message him first. No, you should call him. Or call Bachira-san instead, and learn more about Bachira through her. Or you could show up at one of his football games, and Bachira would be overcome by emotion and throw his arms around you and everything would be repaired, as easy as that. 

But your dreams were nothing compared to the overwhelming silence of reality. No, it was better to find a way to bury the memory of Bachira, and find someone else. There were so many people in the world, and maybe you had been too distracted to realize that, out there, there was someone more perfect and wonderful for you. That’s how you found yourself dating Thomas, accepting his confession without a second thought.

You’re reminded of that time as your fingers hover over Bachira’s icon now, sitting cross-legged on your bed. Keep it simple. A short message. 

Are you free to meet up today? I think we should go to the park near your house.

Not even a few seconds later, your phone dings.

yes!!!!!!! heading over now :3

Now? You aren’t even ready! Is your outfit good? What about your appearance? Your hands flutter nervously. You could be over at the park in a matter of minutes if you took the car, but… Wait. Why are you worrying over this sort of thing again? Why do you still care so much about his opinion? Knowing Bachira, it’d all be the same to him whenever you showed up in a trash bag or a thousand dollar suit. He’s never been one to care much for appearances. 

Your phone buzzes again, and you whip it up to your face. It’s not a message from Bachira, but an email from Thomas. Your heart lunches as you open it to read a simple message asking about your trip, and if you’ve been well. 

You’ve forgotten entirely about him. Instead, you’ve been thinking only of Bachira. Sure, you’re technically not dating Thomas right now, but why does it still make you feel so guilty?

You made a note to yourself to message Thomas back later. You can only handle one thing at a time right now, and Bachira is the major agenda on your list. It only takes a few minutes for you to make your way to the park, agonizingly short and slow at the same time, as if time is warping around you.

Bachira is sitting on one of the swings, twisting the metal chains in spirals and letting go slowly, so he twists in dizzying loops. The air is soft, perfumed with the scent of newly flowering trees, white petals falling like pale rain.

You pause just outside the entrance. He hasn’t noticed you yet. When did Bachira grow taller? He’s always had a round face, but puberty has melted the last of his baby fat away. His hair, at least, is as messy as ever, strands curling in every direction away from his face, his wild bangs held in check by a few clips clinging to remain on. 

The worst part is that you know him still, that you will always know him. That you would recognize him even under a different name or if you had been struck blind and deaf. You would know him by your touch alone, by scent, by taste. The very space Bachira occupies is left changed by his presence, and you could chase his lingering trails for the rest of your life. 

“Bachira,” you greet, walking slowly to where he’s still twisting in circles. You grab the chains, jerking him to a sudden stop, and he tilts his head up to look at you as he sways back and forth on the swings, your shadow falling across his face. 

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re here!” 

You nod. Your voice has fled in Bachira’s presence, and all you can do is drink him in.

“I missed you,” Bachira says.

“We met a few days ago.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I meant I missed you the whole time you were gone from Japan! I thought of you the whole time.”

You finally manage to unstick your voice. “Why didn’t you text me?”

“Because you told me not to. You were so mad at me. I didn’t want to make you madder.”

“Did you think I hated you?” you say. 

“You didn’t?” he says quietly.

“I…” you begin, then clear your throat. “I could never hate you.”

Bachira kicks at the ground. “Then why didn’t you text me?” he says, echoing your question.

“I was mad, Bachira. I…”

“You said we were best friends.”

You blink. Once, twice. “I did. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Then are we still best friends?”

“I…” You duck your head so he can’t see your face. “It’s been so long. And…” You can’t forget what happened in middle school. You can’t return to the way your relationship used to be, when you were children, and the world was simple, and uncomplicated. Why did he look at you like the two of you could? “It’s different now.” 

“I always thought you were my best friend,” he says plaintively. “That’s never changed.” 

“Then in middle school, why did you…” You chew the tender flesh of your cheek. 

When you were in America, you had fantasized about what you would say to him, how you would redo your argument and say the right words to strike home. You had thought about running into him again, and how the perfect speech would flow from your mouth, conveying all your feelings, mending whatever had broken all those years ago. In angrier times, you thought about hitting right where it hurt, your words like a sword, and you, the perfect, righteous victim. Now, though? Now your sentences come in bits and pieces, awkward and stilted, breaking under his gaze. 

“Why did you do that to me, Bachira?” you continue quietly. “Do you think we can go back to the way we were before, just like that?”

A buzz emanates from your pocket. Grateful for the distraction, you drop your grip from the swings. There are imprints of the chain links on your palm as you swipe open your new notification.

“Is it your mom?” Bachira asks.

You squint at the bright email on your phone. “No. It’s from my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” There’s a strange quaver in Bachira’s voice.

“My boyfriend. In America,” you add. “He plays football, too, and he drives me to places.” You feel mean then, your heart shriveling into something small and petty. You hadn’t intended to lie about Thomas, who was just your ex, but the lie feels good as you drink in Bachira’s lost gaze, eyes wide and shimmering with unspoken emotions. 

“I’m qualified to make nationals for football,” Bachira says, that odd tone still in his voice. 

“So is my boyfriend,” you add. The football season in America had just started, but Bachira didn’t need to know that. 

“Cars are overrated. I just walk everywhere. It helps me become a better player,” Bachira adds. 

“I should probably go so I can respond to him,” you say, waving your phone, ambling slowly towards the park entrance. Bachira’s gaze never leaves your phone.

Bachira kicks hard at the ground, shoes digging into the angry dirt. “So you like him, then? You like him a lot?” 

“Bachira.” Your gaze bores into him. A breeze, sweet with the scent of flowers, ruffles his hair. “The way we are now, I don’t think you have the right to question me.” 

He flinches, spinning the swing into motion, as if he can fly far from your words. But he’s only going back and forth in one direction, legs kicking at the sky. 

You watch him for a while longer. All the anger drains out of you then. What is it that you came back here for, anyways? What are you looking for? What do you want? If growing up is going to be so painful, then maybe Bachira is right. You should have remained the way you once were, just the two of you. 

–

By pulling some strings and begging your mom, you were able to get into the same public middle school as Meguru. The plan initially had been to send you to a fancy prep school overseas for both middle and high school, but you rebelled and pleaded, threatening to run away and to ruin the family reputation. 

“I’ve never seen you cry so hard,” your mom teased. “From the way you were acting, I might as well have been torturing you. I didn’t realize you hated the idea of studying abroad so much.” 

Your face burned at her words. “I’m sorry, Okaa-san.”

“Don’t be. It was cute. You hardly ever act like that, so it was nice to see.” She slid a sly smile at you. “But I wonder… is there a particular reason you wanted to go to this middle school?” 

You shook your head vehemently. “No! Not at all!” 

“Really? Not even for a certain little cute friend of yours?” your mom continues. 

“Okaa-san!” you protested, and she threw up her hands in surrender. 

When you started middle school with Meguru in the spring, though, it hadn’t been like what you expected. For starters, there was always a sea of people around you, pushing Meguru away like he was a piece of kelp set adrift on the tide. You knew how to make friends; how to smile just so, or to reply in the right lulls in the conversation to keep it going. But Meguru was always in a corner by himself. Even when you invited him over, your classmates would smile awkwardly at his nonchalant comments, or find reasons to drift away.

“He’s weird,” one of your classmates confided in you, one hand cupped around her mouth. “He talks to himself sometimes, and he never pays attention in class. He’s not a bad guy, but… he should try to fit in more.”

She looked expectantly at you, as if offering you a gift. You backed away from her instead, your own smile strained. “I see. But I like Meguru the way he is. He’s not doing anything wrong, and I don’t see why he has to change.” 

Regardless of how the other students treated Meguru, though, you were determined not to let it affect you.

You were the only one to greet him in the hallways, and to sit by him during lunch. In the warm weather, the two of you would sit side by side in a secluded corner of the classroom, or try to find a place to sit outside under the shade of some trees. You walked home with him (because he preferred to dribble his football on the way, instead of taking a ride in your car), and walked to school with him, asking the driver to drop you off in front of his house. You dragged Meguru to study with you, somehow pulling him through each exam by the skin of his teeth, because you refused to imagine a situation in which the two of you wouldn’t be in a class together. Your classmates started joking that if they wanted to find you, all they had to do was call Meguru’s name, and you would pop up expectantly. 

It was shaping up to be a good three years of middle school. You would graduate on time at this rate, and go to high school together. The only issue, though, was something that took place during the start of your third year of middle school. A classmate of yours had asked you to meet him after school, surrounded by two of his friends who grinned and elbowed him as he rubbed his neck, refusing to look you in the eye. 

You didn’t think much of it at the time. When you showed up at the classroom, he turned to you with a sudden desperation, face red, and bowed. 

“Please go out with me!” he said. “I’ve had a crush on you for the past two years!” 

“Huh?” You gripped the straps of your bag tighter. “You… you like me?”

He bowed even more deeply at your confused tone. “Is it no good? Do you not feel anything for me?”

“I’m flattered, but I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry,” you said gently. 

The boy groaned. “I knew it. It’s because of Bachira, right? The two of you are always together. I don’t stand a chance against him.” 

“Because of Meguru?” you repeated. 

The boy nodded. “You like each other, right? It’s obvious. Man, I shouldn’t have tried to get in between that.”

You couldn’t find the words to deny him or to fix the misunderstanding, even after the two of you parted. You and Meguru? Of course you liked him. He was your best friend. 

But you couldn’t let go of that boy’s words. You mulled over them, again and again. Like clothes that no longer fit quite right, your relationship with Meguru had changed shape before you had noticed. Somehow, that boy was the first to notice.

You always waited for Meguru to finish soccer practice, no matter how late it ran. Sometimes you had student council duties, or you would just sit cross-legged and work on your homework as he ran around the field. You’d done this for all three years of middle school, and the entire team knew you by name. The coach would jokingly ask if you were okay if you ever missed a day of practice, calling you an honorary member of the team. 

Today was no different, and you made your way to the soccer field to wait for him. Without fail, when Meguru finished, the first thing he did was whip his head around, looking for you. As soon as he did, he made a beeline straight to you, without a care in the world. 

He threw his arms around you from behind, causing the two of you to tumble into the grass. You shrieked, and he laughed, and you were a tangled pile of clinging limbs and grass stains.

It’s what he did. It’s what he was like. So why did your heart burst like a thousand butterflies into flight, reacting to his touch? He’s always been touchy. Your classmate was getting in your head. 

“There you are!” Meguru said, looping his arms around your neck, heedless of who was watching, even if the team was used to his antics. “Let’s go home now!”

When he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, you couldn’t move, skin hot wherever he touched you. 

“Okay, let’s go home, Meguru,” you said softly.

As soon as you went home, you sprinted past your mom to leap onto your bed and hug your pillow. You liked Meguru. You liked him so much, and it was so obvious now. It was the most natural stage for your relationship to progress to. Maybe you had always liked him, and you just didn’t have the words for it until now. Meguru had always been the most special person in the world to you, and that idea had simply taken on a new shade of meaning.

He had promised to be with you forever, hadn’t he? And Meguru would never break a promise to you.

You were careful not to let Meguru know your feelings over the following months. It would be embarrassing if he discovered them so soon, especially when it had taken you so long to realize them. But everyday after you went home, you would list all the things he had done that day, like touching your hand and hugging you, and calling your name three different times during history class. Everything about him felt so much more special now. 

You liked him. You liked him so much. And you had to do something about it before graduation. As the months dripped by like water falling from a melting icicle, you planned when to make your move: on the most romantic day of the year. 

During Valentine’s Day, you splayed your bandaged fingers across your desk in anticipation, your gift wrapped neatly in your backpack.

It had taken you all week to make the chocolates, which you had painstakingly molded into chocolate hearts. Since it was the first Valentine’s in which you were giving someone chocolate, you had delicately filled each heart with different fruit flavored jams– strawberry, orange, and even pineapple, Meguru’s favorite. The chocolates were nestled in a bag of pink cellophane and white tissue paper, with a red ribbon neatly tied in a bow on top. You had refused help from everyone, even the chef and your mom, because it was more special if you did it by yourself. 

You hadn’t been able to stop bouncing in your seat all morning, nervous energy thrumming through you as the teacher’s history lecture went in one ear and out the other. The chocolates burned like a secret in your school bag, and you couldn’t resist fiddling with the zipper, constantly sliding it down to make sure the gift was still there.

When lunch finally rolled around, like an anxious puppy, you jumped out of your seat and headed straight to Meguru, who was sleeping, his head buried in his arms and doodles scattered across his notebooks like stars.

“Meguru,” you said, shaking his shoulder. “Meguru, wake up. Class is over.”

“Uh?” Meguru blinked one slow, sleepy eye at you, before stretching. “It is?”

“Yes. I have something to show you,” you emphasized. “It’s a surprise.”

“What is it?” He sat up, staring at you expectantly. 

You glanced around the classroom; only a few people were still in their seats, eating homemade lunches and chatting with their friends, heads bent over magazines or phones. Reaching in your bag, you fumbled for the chocolates, hands trembling as you presented them to Meguru.

“Chocolate? Wow, thanks!” His eyes lit up as he reached for the bag, untying it and shaking a few of the hearts into his hand. He popped them in his mouth, his lips curling up in bliss. “These are so good!”

“I made them myself,” you explained shyly. “It took a while, but… I wanted to do something special for you, Meguru.”

He stuffed another chocolate into his mouth. “Thanks! You’re the best friend ever!”

Your face twitched at his choice of words, but you still plowed on. “Well… These aren’t just any chocolates, you know? Do you remember what day it is?”

“Uh…”

“It’s Valentine’s,” you supplied impatiently. “So, um…”

“These are friendship chocolates?” Meguru asked, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk.

“No.” Your hands were clammy now. It was just Meguru. Meguru, who you’ve known forever. Meguru, who promised to be by your side. Meguru, who understood you more than anyone else in the world. Why were you so afraid? He’d never hurt you.

“Can I share these with my mom?” Meguru continued innocently. “I think she’d love ‘em, too.”

“No!” Meguru stared at you, and your cheeks burned. “Sorry. I can make some for Bachira-san later. But these are special, Meguru. They’re… they’re not friendship chocolates.”

A sudden hush descended over the classroom. You were on a stage, a bright, hot spotlight beaming down on you and making your neck sweat. This wasn’t anything like what you read about how confessions went in shoujo manga. Meguru’s clueless eyes burned into you, and it was like he didn’t understand the script you were trying to read for him.

Meguru ate another heart, gnashing it beneath his teeth. “Eh? What other kind of chocolate can they be?”

You forced the words out. “They’re… they’re romantic.  I’m confessing to you. I like you, Meguru.”

Your breathing was shallow, and your heart beat like a frightened animal. You couldn’t look at him anymore, and the heaviness of your words dropped like stones onto the floor. 

“Oh. Um… I’m sorry.” The awkwardness in Meguru’s voice was too much. You backed away from his desk, tears burning at the corner of your eyes. When you looked up, you could see your classmates, feigning disinterest as they purposefully avoided your gaze. 

You burst out of the classroom, ignoring the sound of Meguru’s chair screeching back as he yelled after you, “Wait!”

You were fast, but Meguru was faster. You skidded down the steps wildly, taking several at a time, and you were half down the landing when Meguru caught up to you. He called your name at the top of the stairs, but you refused to look back– and then, he landed in front of you, breathing heavily, shirt sleeves rolled up. He had jumped down an entire flight of stairs to catch up to you. 

Meguru called your name. “Wait! Wait, wait.”

You turned your head away, but you could still sense Meguru in front of you. Your childhood friend. Your best friend. You had drawn hearts around his name in the back of your notebook this morning.

“What is it?” you said softly. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Meguru had just been surprised, and now he would confess his feelings.

 It was a joke, right?” he said uncertainly. “You were joking. It was a weird joke, but–”

“I wasn’t joking!” you yelled, shoving him backwards with a wild strength that surprised you. You haven’t been this mad at him since you first met. 

Meguru stumbled back a few steps, watching you with wide eyes. It was an expression you hadn’t seen on him before: confused, lost, and afraid. Shouldn’t you be the one making that face?

“Okay. Um. It’s just weird if our relationship changes like that. You and me? That’s kinda weird,” he said again. “We’re friends! I don’t want to be anything else.”

You dug your nails into the meat of your palm until the pain was all you could think about. “I don’t want to be friends.”

“Huh?” Now Meguru looked even more afraid.

“I like you, Meguru,” you said, a broken sob in your voice. “I can’t just be friends with you. I…”

Meguru stepped closer to you. There was a starburst of hope in your chest, before it was dashed by Meguru dropping your Valentine’s Day chocolate in your hands. You curled your fingers over the hearts, crushing them in your palm.

“I don’t want to do this,” Meguru mumbled. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear anything, okay?”

“You’re a coward,” you said furiously, pushing all your hurt into your voice. You weren’t sad. You weren’t going to cry. Not especially in front of him. “I– I don’t want to see you again. Don’t talk to me. You liar! You said you would always be by my side!”

When you looked down the stairs, you could see a few of your fellow students, awkwardly hovering near the bottom of the landing. They averted their gazes when they met your eyes, but your whole body felt hot with rage and embarrassment. How many people had seen and heard the two of you? By tomorrow, everyone in school would probably be gossiping about how you were rejected by Meguru.

You ran. You ran, and this time, Meguru didn’t stop you as you jumped down the stairs. Somehow, you made your way home. You started listlessly at your phone, but there was no message from Meguru. You had been the one to tell him not to contact you, but… you threw your phone onto your bed.

Stupid Meguru. Stupid you. It had never occurred to you that Meguru might not feel the same way as you. You had been so arrogant, so certain that he liked you, and now you had embarrassed yourself in front of the whole school. 

Did he forget? He promised to marry you. But that had been on a childish whim of his, no doubt, something he had long forgotten. You buried your head in your arms, and cried until you could drown the entirety of Chiba in your tears.

When your mom came home that night, a frown was brewing on her face, but the sight of your puffy eyes and hoarse voice stopped her lecture.

“What happened?” she asked you. “The school called me. You skipped classes.” 

You shook your head. “I want to study abroad for high school.”

“What? Are you sure? You were so excited to go to school with Meguru-kun. The process would be–”

“I don’t care,” you said. His name stung your heart. “I want to go to America, Okaa-san. Please.”

She peered at you closely, then sighed. “Okay. Okay, let’s talk about this later. But if you really want to, then it’s not too late to make it happen.” 

For the rest of your time until graduation, you avoided Meguru. You didn’t text him. When you saw him in the halls, you turned around and went a different way. You stuck closely to your other friends, and went home right away whenever you didn’t have any extracurriculars. You no longer visited the football field after school. 

No one was cruel enough to talk about your confession to your face, but you could feel the glances, hear the whispers, until everyone lost interest and moved on to the next piece of gossip.

A part of you expected Meguru to come running to you, but he quietly kept out of your way. Maybe he was avoiding you, just as much as you were avoiding him. What an odd thought; Meguru had always been the first to whine when you had to leave to visit your grandparents for the summer. He was the one who always threw his arms around you. Maybe your relationship hadn’t meant that much to him after all.

When it came time for you to move to America, you and Meguru graduated middle school without talking to each other at all. 

–

For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to talk to Thomas about Bachira.

In fact, you haven’t told any of your American friends about Bachira. You spent the first year in California trying to forget him, blindly agreeing to go on dates with any boys who showed interest in you. But their love for you was never greater than your own lack of it. Thomas is only the most recent one and you follow his lead, not out of loyalty, but convenience. 

You keep your thoughts held tight to your chest, precious secrets that you refuse to let spill out of your grasp. With everyone in your life, sometimes even your mom, you have always put up a front. The only person you didn’t do that with was with Bachira. 

Bachira is an open wound, one that grows bigger with every year, overwhelming you with its enormity and the way pressing on it still makes you ache. Your friends would laugh if you told them you were hanging on to a boy for so long, nursing this pain like your own child. They wouldn’t understand, and you would look pathetic in their eyes. There are no words in English or Japanese to describe what he means to you. His hold on you is as eternal as the way the flowers bloom during the spring, and the world revolves on its axis. 

The rest of spring break passes in a flash. You hardly run into Bachira anymore, and your mom doesn’t force any more meetings. You email Thomas, who responds with boyish enthusiasm even at your dry answers. 

The night before your morning flight, you rush up and down the stairs, sorting your various toiletries and stuffing clothes into your suitcase. 

“All ready?” your mom asks you, nursing a mug of tea at the counter, watching you bustle.

“Yes, Okaa-san,” you say obediently. She holds open her arms, and you stop by for a hug, her arms enveloping you. She runs a hand in circles along your back, humming to herself.

“You’re such a good child,” she says affectionately. “Come visit me again soon. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“Okay.”

“And…” She pulls back to peer into your eyes. “You’re a little too good to me. You should try to be more wild. Rebel, so I can throw up my hands in exasperation at you and complain to all my friends.” 

“I’ll try, so you have something to talk about with your coworkers,” you say, and she pinches your nose. 

“Don’t try. Just do it,” she scolds. “I’ll always forgive you for any silly mistakes you make.”

“Okay, Okaa-san,” you say. “If I break a law, I’ll let you know in advance to prepare my bail.” 

She smiles sadly. “You’re so old now. I wish you wouldn’t get hurt in life, but I can’t fix everything for you.” 

“The world isn’t that nice,” you agree. 

“You haven’t talked to Meguru-kun recently,” she says gently. “Did something happen?” 

You stiffen, your face shuttering closed. “We’re okay. We’re just busy.” 

She stirs the tea in her mug. “Okay. I won’t push you any further. Your life is yours to live. But I’ll always be here for you, if you need me.” 

She leans in to kiss you on the forehead, and you want to cry. From the way she hesitates, you know she wants to say something else, but she simply lets you go.

How long has your mom suspected that your relationship with Bachira isn’t as pleasant as you pretend it is? You rub your forehead as you rush upstairs, dumping the last of your items into your suitcase. You sit on top of it to force it closed as you start zipping up the side, when your phone buzzes.

Bachira? No, it’s Thomas. The header of the email causes you to drop your phone in surprise.

About our relationship…

You pick up your phone, skimming the email.

Can we get back together? You read. I miss you.

How fickle. He was the one who broke up with you, and now he wants to get back together right away as soon as it’s convenient. That might not be a bad idea, though. A relationship where you knew what was expected from you, a simple transaction, would be easy. 

Your phone buzzes again; it’s an incoming call. You stare at the caller ID for a few seconds, your surprised face reflected in the screen, before you answer, pressing the phone close to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Bachira says. “I’m outside.”

“What?”

“I’m outside your door,” he repeats. “Can you come outside? If not, I’ll come in.”

“Why are you here?” You stand, heart pounding. 

“Kaa-san told me you were leaving tomorrow,” Bachira says. “So I wanted to stop by.”

“Bachira…”

“Just for a little bit,” he persists. “That’s all you need to do.”

You sigh. “All right, fine. But only for a few minutes, okay?”

You hang up, pulling on a light jacket before you’re flying down the stairs, trading your house slippers for flip flops, and burst into the cool night air. The sun is setting, painting the sky in vibrant swatches of peaches and reds. There’s a cool breeze, sweet with the scent of new growth.

Bachira is leaning outside your family gate, a football tucked under his arm.

“What is it?” you ask him tersely, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets.

“You’re going back to America?” he says.

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“When will you come back?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to university there,” you reply. You had planned to come back for summer break to see your mom, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Okay.” Bachira looks at the ground. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Why do you want to know about him?”

“Do you like him?”

“I… Sure,” you say, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. “We’re on break right now because he’s busy with football season, but we’re thinking about getting back together,” you add more strongly, and Bachira kicks at the ground.

“He sounds like a jerk. Why’d he break up with you if he just wants to get back together whenever he wants?”

“At least he’s clear with his intentions,” you say sharply. “And he doesn’t run away.” 

Bachira flinches, but it doesn’t make you feel as good as it should have. “... Shouldn’t…” he mumbles. 

“What?” You tilt your head to catch his words.

“You shouldn’t get with him again,” Bachira says, still kicking at the ground like he would dribble his football. 

“Why not?” You laugh, short and bitter. “How is that your business, Bachira? It’s not like you’re my boyfriend. We’re not even— we’re not even friends anymore.” 

No response. What did you expect? 

“I’m tired of this, okay?” you say softly. “All this stupid back and forth. We keep going in circles. If all we’re going to do is hurt each other, then let’s just end this here.”

Bachirs looks up at you finally, his gaze full of so much desperation and uncertainty. His chin trembles as he says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, more serious than you’ve ever heard him. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I rejected your confession. I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

Bachira might as well have stabbed you. “Do you think that’s going to fix things? You’re sorry? Now? After all this time? What’s that going to fucking fix?” you say, your voice rising with each word you spit out. 

“You didn’t call me, either,” Bachira says quietly. You flinch at the raw hurt in his voice, his overwhelming sadness. “You’re the one who just left without a word. You’re the one who ignored me. You were my only friend. You were my best friend.”

You chew your lip hard. Were. Not are. “I couldn’t face you anymore,” you say. 

“I thought our friendship was stronger than that,” he says.

“I guess it wasn’t.” 

“Do you really not want to be friends anymore?” 

“What do you think? You want us to go back to how we were before and pretend nothing happened? It’s too late. Everything has changed. There’s no going back,” you spit. “You broke my heart. I… I loved you.”

“Then why did you just leave so easily? If you loved me?” Bachira asks. “You ran away and didn’t even try.” 

“I could ask you the same,” you snap. “Just tell me it’s over. Okay? Reject me for good.”

“I can’t.” 

“Why not? It was so easy for you before.”

“Because I love you,” Bachira says desperately.

It’s the world’s cruelest joke. Bachira reaches an uncertain hand towards you, and you jerk back, tears rolling down your face and blurring your vision. He can’t touch you. If he does, you’ll break apart. “Don’t lie,” you say. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m not lying. I didn’t want to admit it before,” he says. “When you told me you liked me, I was scared by how I felt.” 

“Stop it.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he says. “Things were changing so fast. You were my only friend, and if you liked me, then we couldn’t ever go back to being just friends.” 

“So you’re doing this to me now?” you say. The tears are still falling, and you hug yourself. You feel so weak and so young, all your surety stripped away. “You think you can do this to me?” 

I’m sorry,” he says. 

“You lost me either way,” you snap, “when you broke my heart like that.” 

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt, and I’m sorry I pushed you away.” 

You give a strangled laugh. “Really?”

“You don’t have to like me,” he says. “You can be as mad as you want. If you gotta go to America, that’s fine. If you– wanna be with someone else, too, if you don’t love me, that’s okay. We don’t even have to be friends, if you hate me. Just– can I please– can I love you? Is that okay? I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re so mean, Meguru,” you whisper. You can’t go forward until you confront him. You can’t go back because it’s impossible. Your fate has always been twisted by the boy in front of you.

You grab the front of his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands savagely, as you press your lips against his. It’s a short kiss, salty with the taste of your tears, and Bachira is too surprised to kiss you back. 

“Eh?” Bachira asks dazedly.

“You piss me off,” you say. 

“Uh?”

You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Meguru. I’m sorry I left you alone and that I ran away from you and that I gave up so easily. I was scared, okay? But… I never hated you. Ever.”

“You called me Meguru,” Meguru breathes. And then he throws his arms around your neck. 

“You’re so clingy,” you complain, hesitantly wrapping your arms around his back. You’ve missed his warmth, familiar and pleasant and gentle. “Didn’t you hear what I said?” 

“Sort of!”

“Pay attention!” 

“Okay. Well, let’s start over from the beginning, then,” he says. “We can do it again this time, and do it better.” He pulls back from you, clearing his throat. “Hi, I’m Bachira Meguru! It’s nice to meet you,” he says goofily, sticking out his hand.

“Hi.” You take his hand, giving it one shake, introducing your name. “Let’s… let’s be friends.”

“We can’t date?” Meguru asks, pouting, and you frown at him. 

“No. Not now,” you acknowledge. “I have to talk to Thomas properly about how I feel. And I’m going back to America tomorrow. And there’s so much that I have to sort through—”

Meguru leans in and kisses you mid-sentence, a quick, butterfly of a kiss that steals all the words from you. “We’ll be friends for now. And if you want, then we can try dating. And even marriage.”

“Married?” you sputter. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“You did,” he says nonchalantly. 

“From when we were kids,” you point out. 

“Eh? Does that matter? We promised, so we have to follow through on it.”

“Don’t tell me you were going to propose to me.”

“In the future,” he says. “We can’t get married before we’re adults.”

“Meguru,” you say slowly. “Were you seriously planning on proposing to me? Before even asking my opinion?” 

“What’s wrong with that? I thought you liked romantic stuff. Isn’t that romantic?” 

You grit your teeth. You move to grab his shoulders, but Meguru dodges your grasp and slides backwards. You lunge at him again, but he dances out of your way.

“Come back here, Bachira Meguru,” you yell. “Do you have any common sense?”

“Who needs that?” he says cheerfully.

It feels like your first meeting as kids, so long ago. No one else in the world can quite make you feel this way, for better or for worse. Frustrated, you chase after Meguru as he weaves out of your grasp and hops down the length of the sidewalk. This goes on for a little bit, and just when you’ve run out of steam, Meguru spins around. Before you can move, he leaps at you and gathers you into a hug, his arms around your waist.

“Meguru, cut it out,” you say, annoyed, but you don’t move out of his grasp.

“Hmm…” he says. “I’ve decided! I’ll come visit you in America!”

“What?”

Meguru nods to himself, satisfied. “It’ll be fun! I’ve never been out of the country before! Hey, do you think I could fit in your suitcase?”

“Obviously not!”

You take a deep gulp of the spring air, sweet in your mouth, the flowering trees sending a blessing of pink petals over you. You and Meguru. Meguru and you. It’s just like when the two of you were little, only you’re starting over this time. Nothing would ever be the same again, but what new things could you build instead? What sort of people would you be now? 

You hold out your hand to Meguru. He takes it easily, interlacing your fingers like he’s always belonged there. With his touch, an endless world of possibilities unfolds before you. This time, the two of you will explore it together.

#liya writes #blue lock #bachira meguru #bachira meguru x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #bllk #blue lock bachira #bllk x reader #bllk bachira #bachira x reader #meguru bachira #meguru bachira x reader

[jeongin-lvr]

Hear me out..

Brat tamers!vocalracha.

You got invited to a award show with skz but oops.. You didn't wear any underwear under your dress, and you're incredibly needy for seungmin and jeongin so you decide to get their attention a little.. :)

needy reader and vocal racha ouuuu.... I need them both so bad… seungmin is definitely the meaner of the two and jeongin is more lenient… buttttt I’m thinking about making jeongin snap and him being the mean one!!!

You felt like seeing them like this— seeing them dressed so handsome in neatly pressed suits was making you mad. The kind of suits that hugged their slim waists and fit nicely around their arms. The kind that drove you absolutely insane. With their gelled back hair and pretty faces so nicely illuminated by the lights overhead; it was impossible not to think the thoughts that you were thinking. You couldn’t help yourself.

Jeongin had warned you that tonight meant no funny business. That meant none of the usual teasing or fussing you usually displayed for them. And Seungmin had agreed sternly, telling you that there’s a time and place. It’s funny they’d think you’d actually listen. You selfishly nodded along to their words as you had put your makeup on, the sounds of their voices only being background music now. Everything they’d just said— the warnings, the stern talking to’s —went in one ear and out the other.

That was so apparent as soon as they got to the event; what was supposed to be a suit and tie, calm, posh event ended up feeling like pure torture for everyone involved. Not because it was boring, not because the people there sucked. No, it was because in the limo ride to this award show you’d smugly shown the boys the fact that you had no panties on. Giving them a show as you snuck your dress up your body, watching as their eyes widened and their lips twitched. You could tell they weren’t surprised, just a little bit pissed. Deep brown eyes on your body, objectifying every inch of you because they fucking could. And you so desperately wanted them too as well. But before they could even think about getting their hands on you the car ride was over and they knew tonight would be a very long night.

To you, this was fun. To the boys, well, it was pure torture at its finest. The aching glances between the three of you, the knowledge that you were in deep shit later. All of it made you giddy. There was a side of you that felt like this was exactly what you needed.

You spent the entire night trailing your fingers up their biceps; making sure to drag your French tipped nails along their thighs and briefly over their bulges. And then you’d gleefully watch them bite their inner-cheeks and narrow their eyes in pure frustration. You could see the end goal so clearly— exactly what you wanted.

But so could the men you were so mercilessly teasing. So they’d decided to not give it to you. They let you toy with them the entire night and slowly they watched the excitement die from your eyes and fade into a dull boredom. A pout on your lips as you crossed your arms and turned away from them. So the boys enjoyed their night and you felt anything but that.

Until they got you home it was disheartening to see your plans so miserably fail. The ache between your thighs only grew and along came the distinct flavor of frustration on your tongue. You glared at the boys, preening and pawing at their suits. You’re sure people were watching; however, you didn’t care. You just needed their attention so bad you thought you might die. But they just continued staring ahead at the stage, admiring whoever was up there, and more importantly, ignoring you.

Jeongin was always the kinder one, the one who folded for you quicker, but honestly not by much. Seungmin on the other hand could go days just torturing and plucking at you. Taking his time with riling you up. At least with Jeongin it wasn’t tedious and horrifically long. But not this time. This time Jeongin was the one not sparing you the glances, he was stoic and dead set on eyeing the stage the entire night. Seungmin was the one returning your touches, still they were nimble and airy.

You wanted to stomp and scream and shout at them for not returning your attention; for keeping you waiting this long. And just as you were about to Jeongin finally broke his gaze from the stage and his gaze was electrifying. It was sharp, his scowl apparent and for once you finally shut up and froze.

Regret has swamped your being now as his fingers drilled into your poor, overstimulated pussy. And Seungmin merely let it happen, his own big hand wrapped tightly around your throat as his other pinched at your clit. “You wanted my attention and you fucking got it. Happy now? Say something or I’m leaving you like this, slut.” Jeongin’s words felt like they were corroding your brain; leaving nothing but a mushy, pleasurable mess. His palm slapped against your folds, words hanging in the air like knives. He’d ruined your dress, torn on the sides from where he’d hunched the tight material up; the straps loosening around your shoulders as they fell and your bare tits spilled out. Regret was an understatement.

Your body spent you simply shook your head, too tired, too maimed by the hands of the men you’d so desperately wanted. “Say something, bitch”

#feat. jeongin .ᐟ #feat. seungmin .ᐟ #BRAT TAMER VOCALRACHA !!!! SICKENING!!! #need 🤞 #skz smut #stray kids smut #jeongin smut #i.n smut #seungmin smut #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #also I’m working on new layouts sooooo….

[twelvemonkeyswere]

I re-read Good Omens via audiobook and I just collected my favorite details

"Crowley rather liked people" is a quote I still love so much. Even though he is a demon with the job of making people upset each other, he likes humans. The contrast between what they make him do and how he experiences Earth.

That scene with the ducks where Crowley almost drowns a duck and Aziraphale is like "I say, my dear" and Crowley is like "Oh yes I forgot myself" and allows the duck to return to the surface. Crowley is usually very polite about the most unhinged things which I just find endearing

All the times Aziraphale calls Crowley "dear boy"

The fact Aziraphale has "exquisitely manicured" hands lmao. I like to think he does go to the manicurist, same as he has a proper barber in the show

Aziraphale blushes sometimes and often gives mean looks to customers to push them out of shop

I like the on-going theme in the Good Omens universe of wanting to build a better world for loved ones, but how that drive, when taken to an extreme, is self destructive. Adam says he'll make the earth good for the Them, and will make sure the Them will be protected and happy in it. But the Them don't want it, they understand Adam is acting out and is not thinking things through. There is no point in trying to possess something and bend it to will forcefully. It wouldn't be good. It wouldn't be of free will. It would make them just another of his whims and no one, either the Them or Adam, actually want that

Aziraphale thinks Crowley is a creature of God when you "get right down to it", which is a thought both meaner and kinder than he realizes

Crowley is described to have "a voice so laid-back you could lay a carpet on it"and it's my most favorite thing ever lmaooo

"You're seducing women here!" /"I think perhaps you got the wrong shop" is always a brilliant line

Even though everything in the Bently turns into Queen's Greatest Hits, I love that Crowley actually loves music, and keeps his collection of records highly organized

Also love the fact that Crowley keeps his apartment orderly, though that's probably in big part because he doesn't really live there

I do appreciate that Crowley sleeps because he wants to, not because he needs to. Truly a relatable guy.

There's a big HOLY SHIT moment in the audiobook - the speech the American evangelist gives about the apocalypse. It's fucking incredible. The actor is amazing, delivering fire and brimstone and absolute hatred and certainty until Aziraphale pops inside of him.

Death really is Azrael, literally the angel of death

Aziraphale comes up with the solution at the end but ONLY because of Crowley, who challenged Aziraphale about the difference between the great plan and ineffable plan at the very beginning of the book

There are many moments where both Crowley and Aziraphale are thought to be a gay couple, but it really made me laugh that they are at the end of the world, telling each other it's been a pleasure to know each other all this time, and then Shadwell interrupts to call them "Nancy Boys"

Everyone in the Good Omens fandom is right, I do love that in the book, the wings of demons and angels are the same color

Crowley thinks the biggest battle will be heaven and hell vs humanity. This has got me thinking a lot. I figure this is because at some point humanity will rebel against any divine intervention, once we figure out that heaven and hell have been playing dice with us. But we'll see.

It does warm my heart that the story begins and ends with a garden and with the eating of the apple - Adam doesn't know why the old man hates people touching his apples so much, but the world would be a lot less interesting if he didn't. It's a fitting end for a fitting beginning.

#good omens #wendy reads #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #good omens 2

[breadsticksposts]

DUMB BUNNNY S/O WITH SCARAMOUCHE

-so you and scaramouche dont have that much in common, i mean..he is way smarter than you, and more serious while youre.. well lets just say you dont know how to read situation and more dumber.

-even though you are dumb but he still love you

- but sadly because he is always at work, he kinda doesnt have time for you. and also his behavior is meaner. but he didnt mind you sitting next to him while telling you about your day!

-but dont expect an answer from him, he LOVE to listen but didnt like to waste his time talking.

-but if he cant help him self, he commented abit of how dumb the story you tell him is. but he still love to listen

-he didnt really like you going anywhere other than his office or his house. so most. likely he keep you next to him or around him.

-if you got bored while waiting for hhim to finish his work, then he will give you something to do! like he give you a paper and a pencil, a book, or a small puzzle

-even though you didnt like most pf the things but he always say that those things can make you a bit smarter

“out of all thing you coud give me, you give me a book?? :(“ you whine

“maybe this book can help you pea brain some knowledge. who knows?” he says while not leaving his eyes off the paper

-if you hurt your self from somethng stupid. then he would likely to scold you while healing your wound

“this is what happens when you dont listen to me. i told you to say with me but instead you roam around the place. what were you thinking anyway? jumping off a freaking statue?? you know how tall that is! god.” he say while he patch up your wounds

“i thought i can land on my feet! and isnt bunnies supposed to have 9 lives?? and also that isnt that dumb..”

“you dumbass! cat have 9 lives not bunnies” he sigh

-now about the ears and tails part! i think he would pull your ear if you walk infront of him to fast. and about your small tail, i think he love to grab is out of the sudden to make you jumped/shocked.

-i think he will take a good care of you. when its 7/10 for me

-and if you do something amazing or something that amaze him, i think he will pat you and maybe let you out a bit.

-and what if you get out by your own? without his permission?? well get ready to be drag/carry while his worker, because you are not going anywhere. and be ready to be slap too. well he most likely to slap you and scold you. well after that he most likely to heals it or make it feel a lot better. and if you cry when he slap you then he would scold you more kinder.

-the place that you like the most this his garden! there is a lots of beautiful flower and its a big garden so you like to play with the the other little bunnies thatc scaramouche bought for you, so you something to play with in the garden.

-and the garden is the place you mostly get injured

-now sleeping headcanon!

he refused to be the little spoon. no matter the condition you will always be the little spoon. he jus love hugging you from behind . and if he feels exttra tired and need comfort then he like when you are facing him and your face is in his chest while you cuddles while he touch you ears/tails its depends on his mood

- and if he is mad at you or something, then there is no cuddle. unless you want to, the you could beg him?? but he still won budge so its kinda useless. but if the problem is not that serious the he will cuddle you, but not that clingy.

THAT IS ALL AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!

if you have some scenerios, please feel free to tell me! {my english is not that great so forgive me if i make some mistake] 🫶

[azurlily]

Can I request mary dating hc’s

Yes and for some reason my tumblr us acting weird and not letting me format things normally. This won't have smut unless specificly requested. Idk here you gooo. Completely UNEDITED.

Mary Satome Headcannons

As a partner Mary acts much like she does with Yumeko. Except kinder, or in some cases meaner. When first meeting you she doesn't know how to act, does she like you or hate you? Does her heart beat too fast and she cant look at you? What's wrong with her?!

Mary's love for you is unconditional, and I truly mean unconditional. She's slightly obsessed, she sees you as being able to do no harm. (Even if you're worse than her.)

As a girlfriend, Mary definitely gives you gifts a lot. She feels the need to make up for being mean all the time, and she sees this as a good way. If you're the type to not accept gifts like that, she will pester you until you do.

As a girlfriend, Mary enjoys holding you hand. She doesn't care about the approval of others as much when she's around you. She trusts you not to hurt her, and this us one of her ways of showing trust. She gives you more than she has and never regrets it.

Mary is still rude as a girlfriend, that'll never change. Although she's rude for completely different reasons. If you happen to not be eating, sleeping, or you just aren't taking good care of yourself. Be prepared to get yelled at, she doesn't care who it's in front of.

Mary does enjoy flirting with you, seeing your face get red and seeing you look away gives her a rush. Sometimes she'll just hug you and/or kiss your forehead. Although those are reserved for private time.

Mary hates when Yumeko hugs you. She'll pull the girl off and hug you, it's almost like a python restricting you. She's more touchy than usual, feeling the (unnecessary) need to stake her claim over you.

As a girlfriend, Mary gamble's against you over stupid things. Unlike Yumeko, the stakes aren't stupidly high. No, she just wants to pay for the date, but if you want to pay this time... well she'll make you gamble with her. And when you lose (because let's be honest you're not that good) you have to let her pay, and deal with the shame of losing.

As a girlfriend, Mary also gambles with you. The two of you will sit side by side, while Yumeko and Ryota sit in front of you. Yumeko and Mary joke about how it's a friendly game, but halfway through you're not so sure anymore. In fact you worry about playing against Yumeko at all times.

Mary hates it when the president comes with a 50 foot radius of you. Not even joking, she'd threaten Kirari over you. Of course she'd be scared as hell while doing it, but she isn't letting that bitch anywhere near you. She also hates Ririka coming near you at first too, over time that changes.

"I dont love you, love is a very strong- I'm lying! Dont cry please- my god!"

There has definitely been a time when she's said something along those lines. You cried and her reaction switched up real quick. She was apologizing like never before, and that memory will be ingrained in her mind forever. She hates the idea of you not loving her, and she hates herself for saying that.

Mary takes you on dates like it's nobodies business! That girl would spend every dime she had to make sure you're happy. Then she'd make the money back by gambling with some idiots. Higher stakes probably, and she'd bring Yumeko to watch. She'd bring you too, but that's so you can see her in action.

Speaking of, as a girlfriend, Mary loves your validation. She literally lives for it. If you tell she did anything right, she's thinking about it all day. Sure, she acts like it isn't a big deal, but Mary treasures you more than herself.

So I'm gonna circle back to the being mean thing. So before the two of you dated, Mary wasn't the nicest towards you. She didn't treat you like a house pet, but she was a bully. She'd made you cry at least once, and while she personally couldn't tell how she felt. Mary knew she didn't like seeing you cry.

Of course, because you has to build trust, Mary has to earn it. Mary had visited you in your classroom, giving you small tips on gambling or maybe even just talking to you. She enjoyed her time with you, and would usually leave the classrooms as red as a tomato. It's not her fault you're so kind to her!

Mary definitely made you gamble her and the agreement would be like: 'you have to do whatever she says for a week if you lose and vice versa.' Mary had pretty much forcer you to go on dates with her, and by the end of the week she'd ask you out. She gave you the chance to say no, but you didn't and that made her all the happier.

After that there were many bumps in the road of yalls relationship, just like any other. You two were ready though, and hell you could maybe just imagine marrying this girl. Maybe.

#wlw #lesbian #im bad at this #women are hot #kakegurui #i cant write #kakeguri x reader #kakegurui Mary Satome #Kakegurui Mary #mary saotome x reader #mary saotome

[datingdonovan]

a/n: wake up. food's ready. just sat here for a few minutes and rehabbed an old draft that was probably based on this fabulous onceler drabble, I think? also VERY pg13... not really any explicit sex but. it's a lot about sex. my blog and my writing used to be so sfw but cece is back after her most recent troubling sexual relationship and is probably sexier than ever. he he ha ha help me. I hope you enjoy. also reader is gn but does get called beautiful so if that feels gendered or triggering to you please be aware! also mentions of tipsy/inebriated sex!!!! so dubcon in that way? I tried to make everyone not drunk drunk but if tipsy sex is slimy for you watch out for that too

10:45AM

Yamaguchi wakes up slowly, eyes halfway open, naked body warm. And then he remembers what happened. The muscles in his body all tense at once, and it takes every fiber of his being to stay still. No no no no no. That hadn't happened. Shit. That hadn't happened, right?

But it had. His palm is resting on the soft skin of your hip and despite his best efforts he's squeezing lightly, so fucking nervous, and you're squirming toward him, still asleep, smiling softly, and it had, it had happened, oh god, it had.

Fuck. His ears are ringing with anxiety. What had happened? What had happened? He hadn't drank nearly enough last night for this to possibly have fucking happened.

And the information floods his mind as you nuzzle closer to his chest, your skin flush against his, a soft kiss where your mouth meets his shoulder. You, Tsukki, Tsukki breaking up with you — meanly, meaner than was necessary. You, Yamaguchi, and Tsukki, best friends, best friends since freshman year and Tsukki dating you and Yamaguchi shutting up and enduring it and you feeling tired of Tsukki's pretentiousness and his mean jokes and you telling Yamaguchi about it and Yamaguchi telling Tsukki about it and instead of fixing it making it worse and then you. You. YOU.

You with no more Tsukki, crying into his shoulder, and saying you just want to fuck someone. You're not even angry, you knew this was coming, you just want to fuck someone to forget. And Yamaguchi, the ever-loving asshole that he is, saying yes, yes, that makes sense, instead of saying, no, it's a bad idea. And then your dorm room, and then your sheets, and then your skin, god, your fucking skin. And now probably a hundred missed calls from Tsukki when Yamaguchi can chance a look at his phone, and the swirling feeling of bile coming up his throat, but what the fuck was he supposed to do? Wouldn't anyone have done the same?

He'd been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you, and in better, kinder ways than Tsukki, he knew. You were so beautiful, a ray of sunshine, someone who deserved the world, and to be treated with tenderness, and care. Tsukki just treated you like he did any other adoring idiot who was obsessed with him. Yamaguchi knew you deserved someone who was obsessed with you, and he knew he could be that. He knew he could love you. He had to constantly fucking remind Tsukki how you took your coffee in the morning, and what your favorite flavor of ice cream was, and that it did in fact matter when he got home if you were waiting up for him, and that you actually cared about him more than he knew and he shouldn't be wasting this opportunity treating you like an annoyance, like you didn't deserve his attention. Hell, with everything Yamaguchi tried to do to make sure you were treated right, you might as well have been dating him the whole time.

And he hated how his heart twinged with jealousy every time you chose his best friend over him, but he let it happen, because he loved you, even though he just fucking knew that wasn't how it was supposed to be. And then last night, everyone was tipsy, and you were crying, and he saw the chance to show you what really being loved could look like, and he took it. Fuck.

You mumble something soft and sweet against his shoulder and he remembers what he said last night with you on top of him, the only thing he could find the words to say, in every cadence he could think of, even after you laughed and told him to stop:

"I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you."

Yamaguchi swallows hard.

It hadn't been sex. It had been love. And that was so, so much worse.

#the stuff of cece #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #yamaguchi tadashi #yamaguchi x reader #yamaguchi x y/n #yamaguchi x you #tsukishima kei #hq x reader #hq x you #hq x y/n #hq x gender neutral reader #idk if this is good but the idea has been in my brain and im getting attention by writing fanfiiction he he he he #also yamaguchi im reading all ur sexy fics sir so you can marry me now!!!!!!! #yams/tsukki/you situation feels real challengers coded in some of these fics I won't lie #that 'not fair' one by Tumblr user Akaash me outside.... ya #I. love u yamaguchi. show me what it means to be loved hm? :)

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hey, I reblogged your alphabet so here's a quick request as I promised! If it hasn't been done, may I get Jax and Ragatha with B, C, and N? Take your time and take care of yourself! Thank you!

Jax and Ragatha for the fluff alphabet!

yippe! first dual character thing for the alphabet, lets hope i format this in a way that makes sense!

JAX:

BONDING- if you're a trouble maker just like jax then you two are most likely going to bond over your shared interest in causing problems.. but thats a little boring and repetitive, compared to what i usually write for jax... i can see you two goofing off at the digital carnival, too, honestly! even if the games arent rigged i dont think jax is going to play fair...

CUDDLING- you can find here!

https://www.tumblr.com/the-s1lly-corner/732101740746440704/c-i-k-l-q-and-z-for-jax-plz?source=share&ref=tixuctoad

NO- can not stand goody two shoes type people. i dont mean like, kinder people. i mean the annoying nagging tattletales, he can not stand people like that, really

RAGATHA:

BONDING and CUDDLING- you can find here!

https://www.tumblr.com/the-s1lly-corner/732082169599705088/b-d-c-k-and-l-for-my-favorite-girl-ragatha?source=share&ref=tixuctoad

NO- while she does seem to be friendly with jax, i think that if he were meaner she would have to call it quits. basically if you're like. a HUGE asshole, shes not going to stick around you. like she would still be polite around you, but there would be no real relationship between the two of you

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #jax x you #jax x reader #jax imagine #ragatha imagine #ragatha x you #ragatha x reader

[iifishizzleii]

sibling johnny mactavish includes

unedited😛

having eight sisters.

this man has ‘younger brother’ energy written all over him. he’s the middle child, but by the time his parents got to having johnny, they were already at the ‘eh, i don’t care what you do just don’t die’ phase parents get at with their kids. which meant that it was up to his four older sisters to raise the boy right.

johnny knows how to read women. and while it’s partly because his sisters taught him well, it’s also because living in a house full of that many women meant learning their language or fucking perishing. this man is fluent in eyelingual. he knows every eyebrow raise, side-eye, narrowed gaze to a pointed look. who needs morse code in the military when you got eyelingual?

being a big character

because when you learn the language, of course you’re going to want to learn the culture as well. and johnny mactavish has been submerged in women culture all his life. which means three things:

one, he knows how to play the long game. whether it comes with petty revenge or simply asking for something from a higher power (his oldest sister), johnny is the king of waiting it out, finding the sweet spot of those moments and taking it. it’s the reason why only he, out of the entire task force, can get away with so much shit when it comes to laswell.

two, johnny knows how to be mean without being rude. thanks to the second and third mactavish daughters, his sisters (bless their heart), johnny knows how to kiss a person’s cheek while stabbing them with verbal cues. his sisters would do it all the time to each other and to guests that came over that they didn’t like. and it paid off being the brunt of so many passive aggressive comments because johnny’s work sometimes requires being civil, but that doesn’t mean he has to be a gentleman.

and three, johnny knows how to play dumb. really. it’s almost scary how quick this guy can go from playing with sticks and making dumb jokes about mud, to building a bomb made of sticks and mud. and it was his younger siblings, surprisingly, who taught johnny that being as pretty of a family that they were (because let’s be fr, soap is gorgeous), nobody expects them to know how to think. it makes getting out of certain situations and receiving special treatment so much more easier, too, when all you gotta do is give a charming smile and bat your eyelashes (ghost has been at the receiving end and has fallen for this act far too many times to let anyone else know).

having really thick skin

a lot of people think having an older brother is tough. and hey, it is! ghost would argue its a lot meaner than having a sister, because sisters are naturally more nurturing, nicer, and kinder than brothers are.

and for the most part, that was true. all of johhny’s sisters are good people. they’re kind, yes, and helpful and overall worthy of their spots through the pearly gates. but they’re not fucking nice. the fuck.

the amount of times johnny was dragged out of bed to take out the trash at the crack ass of dawn is ridiculous. he should have brain damage now from how many times his head hit the floor. but, he was the only boy, so all the ‘manly’ jobs like mowing the lawn, washing the cars, bringing in the groceries, all of those were johnny’s chores. (but, even then, most people would pass their home and see several girls—blondes, brunettes, and gingers— washing the porch, the family truck, and tending to the yard. johnny was j

and that’s not even to mention the psychological warfare. mactavish’s are infamous for their temper, so when you’re living with eight other land mines dressed in heels and lashes just waiting to be stepped on, everyday was a different fight blowing up in the house. and when you got insulted by your sister, johnny learned that the only way to deflect is by hitting them with something meaner a lot more quickly or you’d cry.

like that time johnny blamed the wet floor in their bathroom on all of the leg hair his younger sister kept shaving and getting stuck in the drain so the water flowed out the tub and soaked the tiles. and she automatically replied with, “or maybe it’s all the grease from the back of your fat fucking neck dragging on the ground that’s making the tiles wet”. (it was their other sister’s fault it turned out.)

loving the hard times

because as much as johnny could give his family shit for all of the bad days, none of them could compare to the good ones.

the mornings where he woke up to the smell of sourdough pancakes and sizzling bacon.

when his sister would pull him out of school early to go shopping at the mall, and she’d buy him a new toy or cool shirt.

when he did one of them a favor and later that week she’d taken johnny to get some greasy fast food with her to eat at a park because she wasn’t trying to buy food for the whole house.

when his younger sisters spent their first daddy-daughter dance standing on his church shoes and holding his hands because their real father wasn’t around anymore.

when they spend the rest of the day outside spraying each other with the water hose after washing the cars because the house was too hot, and sandwiches with premade lemonade under the tree was lunch.

when the winter winds were so strong they broke the heater, and the family spent a week having a slumber party in the living room to keep warm.

when they all got matching tattoos on the ankle, a roman numeral for each sibling.

when johnny went off to join the army, leaving his sisters for the first time, they all went to the airport to see him off.

#call of duty #cod #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap call of duty #call of duty mw3 #mactavish family #sergeant johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish has siblings #specifically sisters

[6irlpet]

Psych who is there to train you out of those disgusting kinks by subjecting you to them in extreme ways until you learn to hate them. But you keep getting off anyway so they are just going to have to try even harder to make sure you regret it…

yesssssss this would be so fun uhhh i mean torture… for sure thats what i meant…….. it’d be sooooo horrible and disgusting ofc! i’d end up strapped down in the most humiliating helpless immobilized positions with every part of my body accessible and exposed, estim and monitor pads all over, but my cunt just drips more when the treatments get meaner ^_____^ a tech in a lab coat with cold gloves could grope and pinch and smack me all over to mark down all the marks and welts on my body in their notes, twist the plugs in all my holes, maybe set up a fucking machine to watch me moan and struggle to fuck myself on it like a desperate animal. ofc they open their coat and fuck my face while i twitch and shake and drool and lose my mind <333 i’ll be a personally conditioned private project, i cant wait til they decide my condition is incurable and its kinder to adopt me snd make sure i’m getting broken forever instead of getting silly thoughts like ever being a person!!

#ask

[cloudninetonine]

Hiya! Hope you're doin' good wherever you are! I wanna share an idea with you, I think you may find fun if you don't mind ^.^

So the Chain are in the Player's home, settling in and getting familiar with things with the Player and their dear (awesome) Mom lending a much-needed hand, as the Chain and Player's Mom get to know each other Player's Mom begins to bring out the albums. And while scrolling the Chain get to see a set of peculiar photos that make the Chain raise their brows (wheater in disbelief or amusement can be debated later). The photos in question?

Young Teen Player in their (Japanese aesthetic mayhaps? Those are pretty neat) Delinquent phase. (Thankfully not the baby photos)

There is one photo in question that depicts them all roughed up with a patch on their cheek, bruised eye, and wrinkled messy clothes holding a slightly rusted bat nonchalantly as they're wiping their nose while their Mom looks baffled and exasperated beside them.

Player's Mom: *chuckling some as they gesture to the Photos* Ah yes, I believe this was around the time they were going through their -what was it again- trouble-making phase?

Wind: Woah~! Hey, look! They even have a meaner scowl than Legend or Time have in this one!

Bonus points if Player is currently more well-mannered and mellowed out but god do they struggle to be the better person whenever legend or some rando is on their case. So it would give most of the Chain whiplash if the Player they know currently leans more on the sweet kinder side but their younger self was a rough and rowdy Delinquent.

Basically, Ex-Delinquent Player who gets super embarrassed and flushed when you bring up their delinquent past! \^0^/

Ex-Delinquent Player who had lost their temper one time around Legend while no one is looking and just punches him in the stomach, and walks off, no one believes him because they're just "sweet old (Name)!" until they see the album and suddenly Player is meek about the topic ;OFOFHI

#cloud answers #Anon asks

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

i’ve been getting haunted by dumb past social mistakes i’ve done. also trying to tell myself that i have the right to be mad/upset about things that have happened to me instead of completely blaming and beating myself up for them. because maybe it wasn’t just me. sorry. long pointless ramble of “dumb thing that shouldn’t bother me but is bothering me again” so i can sort out my brainwaves:

like a little while ago in a discord server, before i requested people use tone indicators with me in my bio, i had a misunderstanding with another person in the server. i had made a joke and the person just responded to me with “No.” my brain immediately interpreted this as a cold response compared to how they were responding to others at the time (friendlier, full sentences). it didn’t help that i was already having a bad mental health day. i thought i had offended them somehow, so my socially awkward ass (who was still trying to learn how the discord social system/unspoken rules worked) decided to dm them to apologize and also mention that i liked their art in the zine that we both were in, because i thought it would soften the awkwardness and make it more lighthearted. the response back to my stupid paragraph of a message was just, “jesus christ girl it’s not that big a deal.“ which my brain interpreted as annoyed/aggressive. so i apologized for dm’ing because at that point i started really panicking. the person responded, “maybe think before you go dm’ing people out of the blue next time.” i told them that i was sorry that they had to be my learning experience and that i wouldn’t bother them again and that was how it ended.

except this stupid interaction keeps coming back up in my mind once in a while to haunt me. and i would beat myself up about it. because yeah, i shouldn’t have dm’d this person that i haven’t dm’d before. but at the same time, i wasn’t really familiar with what was “socially acceptable” in discord. i didn’t see dm’ing in the same light as other discord users at the time.

when i told that person that i was sorry that they had to be my learning experience, i meant it both ways. to them and to myself. because i know i fucked up, but at the same time, i wish that person had been nicer to me about it. and i wish they hadn’t responded to me with just that “No” that started the whole misunderstanding in the first place. and even though i don’t feel like i have the right to be, i feel angry about it. or maybe frustrated is the more accurate word. because i know that if i had been in that person’s shoes, which i have been, i would not have responded like that. and maybe that’s another problem with me: not being able to be aggressive and stand up for myself. and i guess deep down i was expecting to receive the same treatment that i give. in hindsight it could’ve been worse and the person could’ve been even meaner, but i think it was just a shock to my system at the time, because i had this rose-tinted glasses impression of people in that server being all chill. i got too comfortable and i overstepped boundaries. but i’m trying to tell myself that the way the interaction went isn’t completely my fault. it isn’t because i’m terrible and deserve the way that person responded to me. i shouldn’t feel guilty about feeling upset about it. my brain just doesn’t work the same as others and i have to learn to be kinder to myself.

anyway that interaction made me realize how useful tone indicators were to me, which in turn made me think that maybe i actually am in the autism spectrum. and here we are. so i guess i can thank that person in a way. but also fuck them for making that bad day i was having worse /lh (but also deep down kinda /s)

#trash rants

[qqueenofhades]

Hob understands Dream's conception of time better by the decade and like that somehow Does things to me... Like where does one draw the line between human and Being, between mortal and Endless?

The thing I love about Hob, as other people have pointed out, that he is Just Some Dude (his name literally MEANS "Bob the Common Guy," more or less). He was born a peasant, he has no special powers, he has no magic, he has nothing extra at all, except for his ability not to die. And unlike all the other angsty immortals in fiction who are like WOE IS ME I CANNOT PERISH, he's constantly able to adapt, to get through even the worst periods in his very long life and still want to try again, to see the bright side, and be excited about humanity's successes, even in the midst of all their failures.

This is why Hob is such a good match for Dream: while Dream only sees the worst in people, Hob sees the best, and while Dream takes eons to change or forgive or let go of anything ever, Hob’s best quality is his ability to do just that. He quickly adapts to the fashions and customs of every era, he doesn't spend his time constantly looking back and brooding (again, unlike Certain Entities) and yet, he's able to become kinder and wiser and gentler with the passage of time, rather than harder and meaner. Which is, again, something that Dream needs to remember, and which he's even appreciative of when Death, giving him knowing big-sister looks the whole time, tells him to reconnect with Hob. Because she knows that they complement each other perfectly and Hob can help Dream see the things about humankind that he struggles with, and I have many feelings about this. Many.

#anonymous #ask #hob gadling #dreamling

[thefanficmonster]

Hiii! I hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if I could request a fic on one with the reader not having a great day and Dylan comforting them? (I’m not having a brillant day myself so I think this would definitely cheer me up😂)

Thank you so much if you do write this!! 💗💗 <3

Hi dear! I'm sorry to hear about your not-so-great-day. I personally have been prone to quite a few loads of them these past few months. I hope life treats you to nothing but incredible days from now on, filled with a lot of love and happiness. In the meantime, enjoy this short fic! Love, Vy ❤

Dylan Lenivy x Reader (Gender Neutral) [The Quarry]

Warnings: Homesickness, Minor Melancholy, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Angst

The nightmarish time you had last night was just the prolog to the awful day you'd be experiencing today.

A few campers staying in your cabin were not having the greatest time due to the storm roaring outside while others were dealing with a minor stomach bug. In short, you didn't get to bed till close to 3 AM and when you lied down you were finally made aware of the painful sunburn on your back.

Today hasn't been any kinder than the night that brought it. If anything, it's meaner.

The campers struggling with the tougher symptoms of the stomach virus had to leave this morning. You were treated to a couple of teary goodbyes with kids who you loved spending time with, giving them swimming lessons and building sand castles.

You were already in a low mood when you got a letter from home.

It wasn't an atypical letter by any means. It had the usual greetings, questions and updates on all that you've missed while on-duty at the Quarry. But due to your sunken spirits, the letter hit you differently than it was meant to. It made you miss home. Your pets, your parents, your siblings.

And things didn't get much better considering you're now sitting on a slope of a small hill overlooking the lake. The problem is - you're not sitting here voluntarily. A twisted ankle's got you down. The pain isn't really the biggest issue, it's got more to do with this incident being the cherry atop the crappy ice cream this day has presented you with.

Tears seep down your cheeks, a result of the dull ache spreading throughout your foot, the homesickness and the unkind day that's still got plenty of time before it ends.

"Y/N?" You quickly wipe away the tears and the stains they've left on your cheeks when you hear a familiar voice say your name, "Is everything ok?"

"Y-yeah, everything's fine." You could've fooled him too, if your voice wasn't as shaky as your lie.

You didn't have to turn around to know he was approaching - his footsteps echoed closer until he was beside you. "You sure? Cause it doesn't exactly seem like it."

You sniffle, wiping some dirt off the hand that's holding onto your ankle, "Just twisted my ankle. The storm has turned the place into 90% mud. Should've thought of that before going down a slope so carelessly." It's not a complete lie, but it's far from the truth either.

Much to your surprise, Dylan sits down stat on the wet grass next to you, his jeans printing green as you process the sight. He extends his arm to show you a nasty bruise by his elbow, "You're not the only one that took a tumble today. I slipped on the freaking stairs to the booth. Felt real damn ridiculous too."

His confession manages to get a genuine chuckle out of you, "Want a kiss to make it better?"

"Are you offering?" He wiggles his eyebrows, turning that chuckle into a laugh that for a moment causes all your melancholy to dissolve.

"I will if you tell me where does one kiss a person to heal them from non-physical injuries?" You bend the uninjured leg at the knee, resting your folded arms on it, laying your head so that you're looking directly at him.

Dylan's eyes widen for a moment, stunned by the depth of your question in response to his (intendedly) flirty remark, "This got poetic. What 'injuries' do you mean exactly?"

You shrug, "Like, homesickness, loneliness, self-doubt, low self-esteem, the feeling of not being good enough. That sort of thing."

Dylan doesn't even bat an eye, now fully prepared to be deep-conversation-diving. Though, something in his gaze tells you he's taking this just as seriously as he knows it means to you.

"Well....to remedy that, I think I'd kiss the person...." his curled pointer finger comes to rest below your chin, his thumb gently running over your lips, "....here."

It's your turn to be stunned, but your ability to recover isn't any less than his - which is why you lean in and press your lips to his.

It's a sweet, small yet seemingly endless fragment of time that has ridden you of all your pain. In that moment, you forgot how pain feels, the physical and emotional kind alike.

And you're sure that no matter how long it would've lasted, it wouldn't have been enough. Which is why you damn near pout when his lips disconnect from yours.

"Better?" He asks kindly.

"All better." You nod with a suddenly shy smile.

"Let's get you up then. It's almost time for dinner." Just as Dylan starts getting up, you wrap a hand around his wrist, stopping him.

"Wait!"

He freezes mid-motion, allowing you the two seconds you need to press a gentle kiss to the bruise on his arm.

Your smile borders into a smirk as you ask: "Better?"

His smile is nothing short of heart-melting as he replies, "All better."

#the quarry #the quarry dylan #dylan lenivy x reader #dylan x reader #dylan leviny #ryan erzahler #emma mountebank #jacob custos #nick furcillo #abigail blyg #laura kearney #kaitlyn ka #max brinly #supermassive games #supermassive #dylan lenivy fanfiction #dylan lenivy x you #dylan lenivy fanfic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #x reader #request #drabble

[andivmg]

(big paragraph rant ahead thanks to madison beer’s memoir)

okay so i finished reading The Half of It today and i have a lot of thoughts. but i’m gonna post just the pages that spoke to me the most in regard to online stuff and rant

i remember 2021 as being literally one of the worst years of my life this far because of twitter (obviously a bunch of personal stuff too but yk). to this day i’m mildly afraid of the internet which is very silly but very real. because of the part of the internet i was “famous” in i was forced to see every single thing people wrote about me and at first it was super fun super cool but it very quickly shifted into people picking me apart for everything i did or said. then i started associating myself with my ex and his circle of people and it only got worse. their audience was welcoming at first but after a week i would see people call me annoying and a pick me on a daily basis. and this was before i got “called out” for some stuff i don’t wanna get into now because i feel like it has been discussed enough but iykyk. so when that happened people latched onto that and to this day i still get the one off rude message about it. and when people tried to stick up for me i was reduced to sex. which was so demeaning in so many different ways. like the only reason i would ever be worth defending was because of my “pussy”. like that was the only thing about me that mattered. and as a woman on TWITCH of all places i was already hearing that enough. it was even more infuriating knowing that my male counterparts had done so much worse than me and faced maybe half the backlash. and even then had their mistakes and behaviors excused to the point of them not having to own up to them at all. as a woman of color i was held to a much higher standard than a lot of my peers. i was expected to know everything and to never make a mistake. so yeah, i wish i had been kinder to myself at the time. because no matter how mean the internet was to me, i was meaner. at the time it literally felt like my life was over. i would go online and only read bad things about myself. it was such a small group of people though, but i was so chronically online that it felt like the whole world was against me. and it sounds dumb and self centered but it’s how it felt as a teenage girl whose whole life was centered around twitter, tiktok, and twitch. once a big group of us went to universal and i tried to stay out of as many pictures as possible. whenever a fan would approach us as a group i would always offer to take the picture for them because i didn’t want to be in any of them. my friends told me i was being dramatic but i was trying to avoid what ended up happening anyway. people quote tweeting the pictures and making comments about me. i expected every fan that came up to either not know who i was (ideally), or worse, to know and hate me.

madison also talked a lot about being paranoid about her personal life being leaked online and talked about and i felt that deeply as well. once on stream i accidentally showed my lock screen (a picture of me and my ex) for like half a second. then immediately after, i ended stream and deleted the vod along with most of the clips but people had already had seen it and a week later my ex called me up mad as hell because people were posting screenshots of it on twitter and he was not happy about it. people were speculating on our relationship and making fun etc. and i just felt so powerless. like nothing i could do or say would change their mind. now i realize it literally does not matter what people say.

anyway yeah clearly madison’s book brought back a lot of memories for me. it was honestly oddly comforting to read. i know so many people that have gone through similar things and it’s never handled well by anyone involved. i feel a lot more comfortable talking about it now and especially here because i know it won’t become a huge thing since i’m irrelevant now and this is old drama. it’s just nice to write to the void sometimes (you guys aren’t a void i promise but yk what i mean). but yeah i’m over most of the stuff that happened that year. my therapist is amazing and helped me through it all. and now i can talk about it without feeling any type of way. it is something that happened. and i am okay now.

in conclusion, i love madison beer

#rant #the half of it #madison beer